!!!צנחנים

I'm in Tzanchanim!!! Paratroopers, here I come! (victory cigars) Starting tomorrow, Sunday, I report back to Tel Hashomer, that black hole of a base near Tel Aviv where time seems to stand still as getting anything done, from my Tzav Rishon to sitting around for hours on my first day of enlistment on December 15th, eludes everyone there. Once again I go to the Bakkum, the supply base at Tel Hashomer, will be issued (or reissued) military gear and apparel. It will, hopefully, be an opportunity for me to scavenge more things. I hear a major rule of thumb among soldiers in the IDF is that if you have the opportunity to gather extra gear, do it!

This was a short, final week at Mikveh. After our tekkes last Wednesday, we all left on Thursday, but the kravi (combat) soldiers had to report back on Sunday. Why? For forty-eight hours of shmirah, guard duty. Probably one of the stupidest uses of our time. Because Mikveh legally owned us for the entire week, they decided to stick us on guard duty, to protect the extremely secretive and strategically important goings-on at Mikveh Alon.

For me, my week started off with a visit to a moshav in the north. A moshav is like a more privatized kibbutz. If you want a full history on the socio-political workings of a kibbutz or a moshav, just go to Wikipedia. As I mentioned in my last post, I've been wanting to get out of Tel Aviv to live on my own for some time now, but the process can take a long time. The first thing to do is broach the idea of moving to your Mishakit Tash. What's that? The Mishakit Tash is essentially the social worker of the military. She's generally a young, very cute girl, assigned to a machlekah, whose job it is to make sure each soldier's needs are met...I'm talking about living arrangements, financial issues, personal things, etc. So I told my Mishakit Tash that I want to move to a kibbutz, and I mentioned a few specific places to her where some of my friends are staying. She got back to me at the end of the week and told me that the following Sunday, instead of returning to base, I would meet another Mishakit Tash at Afula bus station. That morning, we met in the bus station and waited for a man named Tsvika to pick us up and take us to the moshav. If you're a lone soldier coming to Israel, get to know Tsvika. He is unofficially the official "father" of lone soldiers. This man has so many connections throughout the country that it is often faster to get things done through him rather than the military (but no big surprise there, right?).

We went to a moshav, looked around, and met some of the people who make that place happen. I would be given my own apartment, with one bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen. The moshav is located in a quiet low-lying area of the Galilee with a beautiful view of the surrounding hills and mountains. At the end of the visit, however, I decided the place wasn't for me. It was far removed from traffic hubs, which make it difficult to travel to Tel Aviv (where I still have lots of friends) or elsewhere. I went back to the Mishakit Tash that night and told her my thoughts. An hour before we left Mikveh for good on Tuesday, she came to me and said that I have the next available spot at one of two kibbutzim. Now I'm just waiting.

On the way back to base, the Mishakit Tash and I were waiting by the bus stop at Summit Golani when a car pulled up alongside us. The passenger window rolled down and who was the driver? The head of the entire freakin' base! He asked us if we wanted a lift back to Mikveh! We're always told before we leave for the weekends that we are not allowed to hitchhike (called tramping, in Israel). But I figured it was safe getting into his car, haha. It was nice to ride in a car and not an overcrowded bus. What a great (interesting) way to start the week!

I got back to base that afternoon and met up with the rest of my tzevet. The atmosphere was really relaxed for the two days we were there. Distance was broken between us and our commanders, we didn't have to run around places, we just had to go to our guard duty and report to different "classes" or for sports. For example, one day the MemMem of another machlekah taught our plugat how to read a map. The next day we watched an Israeli movie. Another time we had a few hours of Hebrew "class" where we just sat around and talked, in Hebrew, in English, it didn't really matter.

Monday night was a treat. I was one of a few English-speaking soldiers (but the only American) who were asked to say a few words before a group from Cleveland who came to Mikveh as they were interested in doing some English-tutoring volunteer work in the future. It was funny to hear everyone else introduce themselves in their heavily-accented English, say they're from this or that place in Israel, yada yada yada. "Hi, my name's Daniel, and I'm from Chicago." A few laughs followed as clearly they were not expecting an American, and we made short small talk about the Cubs, the snow, etc. It was fun. And it was funny that at the end my Hebrew learning, I spoke in English to a visiting group. Back in December, I did a similar thing, where I explained who I am, where I'm from, what I'm doing here, etc., but in Hebrew. Ironic. This also followed another "speaking appearance" I made a day before my tekkes to a group of Israeli boys studying in a yeshiva (a Jewish religious school). I was asked to say a few words about being religious in the army. It was fun and a great way for me to practice my Hebrew.

Sunday afternoon, before dinner, we were allowed to use the workout room! About time! It is a privilege reserved just for the commanders and officers. It felt real good to get back into a weight room; I haven't been in one since I left the US, instead I had been using the resistance bands I brought, doing pushups, sit-ups, and when in Tel Aviv, making use of their outdoor exercise areas along running paths. Monday afternoon we played soccer on one of the courts. Life was good.

It was during one of these Hebrew classes that my Mefakedet came up to me and told me to meet her outside for a minute. I had actually just discovered perhaps the most complex pen in the world. I was using my time to disassemble it, understand why it needed so many parts, and then reassemble it. I felt my time on this project was limited and extremely valuable, so I asked her if it could wait. 'No, come outside.' Of course, the pen then exploded and I, with ink all over my fingertips, went outside.

Now I'm not gonna lie: even after a few months of Hebrew, I really had no idea what my Mefakedet said. This could have been because I am nowhere near proficient, or it could have been that I stopped paying attention after she said that I passed Tzanchanim gibbush, and they want me in Paratroopers. B'hatzlachah! Hell YES! I didn't really know how to respond I was so pumped! She gave me an awkward high five and then told me who else got in. Of the eight guys in my machlekah who tried out, only four made it, all from my tzevet. In total, eleven soldiers from my plugat are invited into Tzanchanim. About eight guys from the other plugat (which speaks better Hebrew) passed the gibbush as well. I think about a third of those who tried out were invited into Tzanchanim.

So where did this desire to do Tzanchanim come from? I think it started last year on Birthright, when Ben, a former soldier and one of my friends here, told me that if I were to join the IDF, I should do Paratroopers. But that's probably not the serious beginning. When I signed with Mahal back in November, I was told that Tzanchanim is available for soldiers in Mahal, but that we'd have to sign on for more time than the eighteen month commitment I have right now. I was told I'd need to serve for two years. That time restraint dissuaded me from Paratroopers. During the last few months, both in and out of the army, I've thought about what life will be like for me if I do or don't join Tzanchanim. I initially signed up for the gibbush as a way to challenge myself. After completing the gibbush, and all the hurdles that came before it, becoming a part of Tzanchanim became much more real. In addition, a soldier in my tzevet commented that he had a buddy in Tzanchanim who was committed to only eighteen months. With that possibility now open, I went into the gibbush thinking that if I passed, then joining the unit would become a much more real possibility.

So why do I want Tzanchanim over the other options: Nahal, Givati or Golani? I'll first just say that I want it over Totchanim because I've always wanted to be in infantry. But I prefer it over the other three infantry divisions, and may be willing to spend more time in the IDF, because of Tzanchanim's history and prestige, even to this day. It is true that all four divisions pretty much do the same thing, just in different parts of the country (and they rotate territory every few years). The main differences between Paratroopers and the rest is that they have a gibbush (tryout) and they jump out of planes. Personally, I really want to join Tzanchanim for the masa koompta, literally "beret hike." At the end of the their training, every infantry division has a hike as a sort of culmination of their months of hard work. At the end, they are given their berets and have a tekkes as a formal acceptance into that particular infantry unit. For Tzanchanim, their masa koompta is well-known throughout the country. Because they were the ones who recaptured Jerusalem and the Old City from the Jordanians in 1967, Tzanchanim hike 75km (by far longer than any other unit's masa) and end up at the Western Wall, with all of the city out to welcome the conquering heroes.

There are other fashionable differences between Tzanchanim and other units, but I'll save that for later. One last thing that I want to mention is the photo of the Paratroopers at the Western Wall in 1967. For Israel, it is like the photo of the Marines hoisting the American flag over Iwo Jima during World War II. This photo, for me, captures a lot about why I am here. I have to do Tzanchanim.

After leaving Mikveh on Tuesday, I've had a few days off until I need to go to Tel Hashomer tomorrow morning. I've used this time to relax, watch some movies, have drinks with friends, meet up with old buddies. But I am really excited (even more so than in December) to start my service. I'm also excited to be going into Tzanchanim with some good buddies from Mikveh, although it is doubtful they will put English-speakers in the same tzevets. I'll just have to see. The weather was terrible since Tuesday; it was raining, cloud and cold. Today, however, is beautiful. One thing that I miss about this time in America is spring. David scoffed when I mentioned that earlier: "what are you talking about? Of course we get spring here!" To which I replied, "yeah, but with the heat today, for me it's like it's already summer." My point with spring is that after a (long) cold Chicago (or Champaign) winter, that first breeze from the south always brings tidings of good things to come. I would get excited about the possibilities for the summer. After months of applying to internships in Washington, D.C., with the idea of working there being nothing more than an abstract thought, the warmth in the atmosphere that accompanies the arrival of spring turns summer plans into a reality. Life is just better.

While I miss that breeze, I am warmed by finally becoming a (legitimate) part of the force that defends Israel. With Egypt down, Libya in flames, Iran on the rise, Lebanon teetering, and the Palestinian Authority more emboldened, Israel finds itself in a very precarious security situation. Did I come at the right time? I guess that depends on who's asking, haha! But I will say that--especially as a political science major, Arabic speaker, and Israeli advocate--I signed up without any disillusions about what Israel may be forced to do over the next few years. Damn, it feels good to be going to Tzanchanim!

(Some pretty cool news: my blog is now included on the Lone Soldier Center's forum [click]!)

Life speeds up; Life slows down

I've taken the train from Tel Aviv, on the coast in the center of the country, north to Acko a dozen times over the past month. I travel from the middle to the northern part of the country in less than an hour and a half. I've always noticed the remarkable smallness of Israel, but for whatever reason, it became more than apparent this weekend. In the same time it takes to cover half the length of the country (and virtually the entire length of habitable Israel, considering half of the country's land is uninhabitable desert), I could hop on a train from my home in suburban Chicago to the center of the city; barely any measurable distance when compared to the entirety of the length of the United States. From the relative plains of warm, coastal Tel Aviv, to the cooler temperatures of the elevated Galilee valleys in the foothills of the Golan, Israel has perhaps the most diverse topography of any country in world, especially given its size.

Every Friday morning, I wake up at 3:30 am to come home and every Sunday morning I return to my base in the north. I join the throngs of Israelis traveling to work. I join the hundreds of soldiers who pack the trains to continue their military service. Nothing unusual about seeing soldiers milling about the cities. Any other place in the world, and you would think the country is at war. But not in Israel. Everyone is, was, or will be a soldier.

This week was the first full week of "course Ivrit," aka ulpan. We are now completely into learning Hebrew mode and out of basic training. So what does that mean for us on a daily and weekly basis? Well, we no longer run everywhere, we are "supposed" to get longer hours to sleep, and there's certainly an overall sense of ease and comfort; dare I even say "relaxation"? In addition, on Sunday evening, our machlekah gathered in a classroom, as we often do, and our sammelot told us about some policy changes that are now in effect: improved privileges and harsher sanctions. One on the one hand we are allowed to visit the "shekem" on certain breaks, a store where guys buy mainly cigarettes, but also candy, drinks, etc.; we can run around the base at night for exercise, and most recently, we no longer have to clean our rooms in the morning in four, five or six minute sets. However, on the other hand, if we are late to reporting to base on Sunday, we stay two hours on Friday plus the time you were late; if you're late to chet for more than 30 seconds throughout the week, you stay extra on Friday; ultimately, getting a "shabbat" has now become easier. I honestly never thought the word "shabbat" would ever fill me with such dread and unease. But the army can chalk that one up as a success.

This was a fun week, although it began with a feeling of trepidation. To begin with, it rained all Sunday afternoon and evening. What a way to begin the week. Then I started to get into it with some of the Russians. I don't want to get into scuffles with these guys, but we clearly don't like each other. It's no big deal, sometime just some pushing, a couple stare downs, but then life goes on. It's not worth getting into a fight with them: a) this is Mikveh Alon, hardly the real army; and b) I'm here to learn Hebrew, not focus on petty, immature bullshit, especially in a language I can't understand, and especially especially after being recognized by the Mem Mem as the leading soldier of the unit. Bottom line, it's clear that our tzevet is divided by the Iron Curtain.

But then an amazingly odd and wonderful thing began to take shape. Come Friday morning, the English speakers and Russian speakers in our machlekah began gelling as never before. Things aren't great, but it's certainly a turn-around from where I thought we were heading just a few days before. How'd this miracle happen? From perhaps the stupidest game every invented, one that I had played when I was in elementary school. You make a circle with your finger and thumb and try to get someone to look at it. If they do, you get to punch them in the arm. This silly, immature game has helped the soldiers begin to actualize Reagan's plea: "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!" We'll see how this next week begins.

The tension within my tsevet made certain periods of the day seem to drag on. But overall, the day moves pretty quickly. We get up, clean our rooms for over an hour, eat breakfast, have Hebrew class, sometimes other activities for the entire machlekah, lunch, more Hebrew, Tzironut (learning about Zionism), dinner, time to work on "homework", free time, bed. Sun comes up (after already being up for over an hour) and the sun goes down (then we go to sleep three to four hours later). Somehow, the day begins and is over before I realize it.

Also each day we have, what the commanders call, "sport." Basically, it's exercise. One day, it's a 2 km run at five in the morning followed by pushups and situps; another day, it's three or four stations involving lunges, various pushups, wall sits, etc.; and one evening we learned Krav Maga. Hell yes! What is krav maga? It's the IDF's martial art; it literally means "fight" and "touch," sort of like hand-to-hand combat. No joke, the hour krav maga session we had was the hardest workout I've had in the army yet, but that's honestly not saying much. A madrich (leader) from the Golani base where we had our shetach was our instructor. To begin with, he spoke (in Hebrew) about the basics and the purpose behind krav maga. From the little I learned the other night (and I will learn a lot more once I join a unit in March), this fighting technique is intended solely to disarm and end your opponent, eliminate him as a threat, not merely to end the fight and leave, as is the focus of some martial arts techniques.

We all sat in a semi-circle around him and he pointed at me to stand up beside him and be his victim as he demonstrated the basics. Let me tell you, this fighting style works. The first thing he mentioned was why our hair is kept short: so you're enemy can't grab your hair and control your head and hence your body. The next critical spot on the head is the eyes: poke them, pry at them, anything. Then your nose. While a blow to the nose won't cripple your enemy, it will certainly disorient them. In addition, he placed his index finger on my upper lip and told me to walk forward. I tried, as hard as I could, but couldn't budge. Pretty effective. Then he focused on my throat. Knock it, punch it, grab it, rip it out; any of those are effective. Next was the back of my head, just above my brain stem. If you knock someone back there, it's surprisingly effective at making them disoriented. Finally, you can always go for the family jewels.

After this exciting demonstration (maybe not necessarily so for me), we were instructed to run in a ten meter by ten meter square. Upon his command, we would either jump to the ground and do a pushup or a situp or jump in the air. It gets tiring pretty quickly. Then we did שש ושש six and six: sprint to a line and back three times. Then again, and again. Then we did pushups, but ones where he would count "one" and we would lower ourselves as close to the ground as possible, and hold it until he said "two," then raise back up. Pain and exhaustion, he told us, is all mental. Finally, we hit something. Ok, it was a sleeping bag, not too exhilarating, but still something. He showed us how to punch, kick, and smash your enemy's head on your knee. Not bad for a short krav maga introduction!

One day, during one of our "sport" workouts, we saw (and heard) a pair of jet fighters practicing air sorties and dog fights in the area. Now I don't mean off in the distance, over unpopulated open areas. Not a chance. Instead, these guys flew low and they flew fast, darting between hillsides and villages, soaring straight up into the sky, twisting and turning, inverting their planes in large majestic loops, inspiring awe in each of us, and making us completely ignorant of our commanders' orders to continue our workouts. Right then and there I was ready to say goodbye to Mikveh Alon and sign up for the Israeli Air Force!

It might seem that the days are exactly the same. While this is true compared to tironut, where we never really knew what we were doing at any moment on any given day, each day has not been the same. One day I was pulled from my tsevet in the morning and handed over to a commander in charge of cleaning the base. Glorious work. For the next nine hours, four of us picked up trash, swept leaves and replaced garbage bags. The work frustrated me. Most of the time we had breaks. In total, I worked less than two hours, but it took me the entire day and into the evening. During tironut I would have been thrilled to do this work; but during Hebrew learning, I would much rather be in the classroom. I wish I could have been told at the beginning all of the work I would have to do for the day, complete it, then return to class. But no such luck; unfortunately, the army isn't always interested in efficiency and how to put its soldiers to the best use.

Thursday was the Jewish holiday of Tu Bishvat. It's a lesser known but very important day in the Jewish calendar. In short, it's a festival for the trees and to begin the planting season. It's a day when Israelis go out of their homes and into nature, to help plant trees and preserve the environment. Especially in light of the Carmel fire just a few months ago, this holiday was very important for rebuilding the forests, towns, and lives destroyed by the flames. (Quick and fun Jewish fact: in Jewish law, it is forbidden to unnecessarily destroy trees during war.) That morning, the entire base gathered in the center of the complex in observation of the holiday and to hear a few words from the base's commander. After an hour of not understanding what was said, we went back to our classrooms to learn Hebrew.

But I am learning Hebrew. My comprehension of orders and conversation I overhear is noticeable better than even a few weeks ago. While I am not always able to speak fluidly and maintain a conversation, I can understand the gist of what is said. The Hebrew course will certainly not make me fluent in about five weeks. I have no doubt that I will be able to understand orders and commands. What I still am not sure of is my ability to have a meaningful conversation with my fellow Israeli soldiers. However, I just recently found out that it is common for non-Hebrew speakers to continue learning well into their tironut. That's certainly promising for my language skills.

Finally, one last, and BIG, bit of information: I am strongly considering trying out for צנחנים "Tzanchanim," or Paratroopers. Yes, paratroopers. Where did this come from?! Well, in short, it's something that I've known is an option for Mahal soldiers. To begin with, I've known that Mahal can go into Nahal (which most often the case), Golani, Givati and Tzanchanim, although to do the paratroopers requires a commitment of two years. On Monday, my mefakedet asked our tsevet who was interested in gibbush (tryout) for Tzanchanim. They are not going to be held for a couple months, but I raised my hand and have thought about it for the past week. I found out that I may be able to serve only the eighteen months even in Tzanchanim. It's also an all-volunteer, more elite unit. Do they jump out of planes? Well, yes and no. "Yes" because they wouldn't be called paratroopers if they didn't paratroop. And "No" because from all I hear, the only jumping they do is a few ceremonial ones during training; parachuting isn't necessarily needed or used in the Israeli military arsenal. I've read online from other guys' blogs who have done the gibbush what it is like. It seems real intense, though not impossible. There are a handful of us who are interested in Tzanchanim. Together, we've started to train to get back into shape. Yes, get "back" into shape. But it's the army! Shouldn't they be sculpting my body? Yes, but not now. I was working out consistently before December 15th, and now especially that tironut is over, we're not running as much or being punished with pushups as often. We do more "sports", and the krav maga was intense, but with all the food we can eat at meals and the lack of constant physical exercise, my strength has definitely diminished from what it was just over a month ago. I need to again bust my ass to get prepared and ready for an extended, intense tironut. And this would be even longer and more challenging and demanding if I did Tzanchanim. One of the things I need to consider over the next month is if I am ready and willing to do a service that is more intense than the norm.

So life on a daily basis has slowed down. Routine has set in. The pace is steady and the day plods along. But it goes relatively smoothly and the days, at least this past week, advanced steadily and in quick secession. We'll see about this week.

I think there was something else I wanted to discuss in this post, but can't recall right now. I'm tired, and it's only 9:30 on Saturday night. I need to catch an early train back north to go back to base. Let Operation Look Forward to the Weekend begin!

Oh, and the picture: it's me burning my beret. All new recruits take their berets, burn off the fuzz, shave the excess, tri-fold it and place it in water over night, then unfold it and keep it under a heavy object for a day to give it the proper look and shape.