September

My week in a picture, compliments of Gidon (Florida).

...is a month that usually fills me with so many different images, emotions and feelings.  It is the beginning of school and the excitement of seeing friends and taking new classes; it is the cooling of temperatures and the renewed energy that comes after the sweltering heat of August; it is the month of my birthday and always a great way to kick off the fall season.  And now, it is the month of anticipation: of the end of my training, of the fervor of social change thats been sweeping the streets of Tel Aviv, Jerusalem and other Israeli cities all summer, and of a political climax at the UN after months of expectation.  With the last comes perhaps the most tumultuous and violent month since the Second Intifadah.  I'll explain more at the end of this post, where I'll flex my rusty political muscles and explain what is going on in the region.

For now, let me start with the last Shabbat I had off base.  As I mentioned last time, we were kept later on base on Friday because there was the possibility that we would have to be on call if we were needed to guard somewhere in the country following the attacks in Eilat.  In truth, we all just wanted to go home.  But the situation is becoming more real with the realization that our training does have a purpose, that it isn't all punishment and hell.

I stopped in Tel Aviv to pick up some clothes from my cousin's place and then took a bus to Jerusalem, where I spent Shabbat with Shmuel (New York) and Effy (Australia) in their apartment.  We also met up with other friends in Tzanchanim, including Shmaya (New York) and Eliyahu (New Jersey).  Most of these guys are Chabad, an outreach organization based in Brooklyn, that sends people all over the world to connect with Jews in different countries.  Bottom line, though, is that Saturday reminded me of Unofficial, a very holy holiday at the University of Illinois where students wake up very early, don green outfits, and proceed to drink all day in honor of it being unofficially St. Patrick's Day.  It was a great Shabbat with the boys.

Then I received a call Saturday evening from my commander, telling me that instead of going to Machanah Natan in Beersheva the following morning, my unit was to meet in the Tel Aviv central bus station.  And it wasn't just my unit; there were hundreds, if not thousands, of soldiers packed into the lowest level of the building, convening for the week(s) ahead, then getting on buses to head off to our bases.  Why did we meet here?  Because rockets were falling on Beersheva and the surrounding area.  I suppose the IDF thought, wisely, that it wasn't exactly safe for most of its southern-based combat forces to convene in an open area so close to where missiles from Gaza were striking.  Thank you Hamas.

We had another surprise that Sunday: riot training.  Never a part of basic or advanced training, I hear that all of Tzanchanim (both those in training and operational) took a day to learn how to deal with a riot.  It was a chill day.  We learned the thinking behind how to confront, oppose and contain a riot; the different, non-lethal weapons that are used to scare and intimidate rioters; the equipment soldiers wear if they are on the front lines against the rioters; and we even had a mock drill.  One machlekah (platoon) pretended to be a crazed group of Palestinian supporters advancing down a hill while the other two machlekot, in full military gear, advanced to confront them.  Even though this was a drill, and my Jewish friends were the ones waving the Palestinian flag and shouting all sorts of things (mainly in Hebrew), it was still quite an unnerving sight to see.  You can watch videos of riots or large groups of people demonstrating, but let me tell you: it can be frightening.  The amount of energy that is contained in a large group of people is nothing less than explosive, and the smallest, tiniest, most seemingly insignificant trigger can set the whole situation on fire.  I now empathize tremendously with the IDF and police forces who faced down groups of rock-throwing Palestinians during the two intifadahs.

My day was marred by the stupidest of things: I slipped on some unsteady concrete, fell and cut my knee open.  (I think this story is getting old.)  I went back to base a little earlier than the rest of my friends and was told by the doctor that I was unfit to go into the shetach (field) for the hardest week of our training: Machlekah Mitkadem, Advanced Platoon.  While it is certainly preferable to stay at the base instead of going for a week in the shetach, my friends were all going while I wasn't and I was to miss out on the experience and sense of accomplishment that comes with each hard week that passes.  Every day I went to a medic to have him check my knee to see if it was ok to go down to the shetach.  Finally on Wednesday, I received permission and was driven out that evening.

Woke up early with my unit and we had a TarPal, a Targile Plugah, company drill.  This was another thing to make us more combat-ready at an earlier stage in our training.  Supposedly, once you do a TarPal, you're considered a warrior and can engage in combat.  And after a week of not sleeping much, walking a lot, and eating a little, it was a hard morning for my friends.  And also for me.  As the Magist, I sat back on a hill and provided covering fire to the successive hill that we were to attack.  As my company advanced further up the hill, I had to pack up, run down my hill, across the field to the next, and up, up, up past the most advanced units.  All with over 40% body weight between the Mag itself and all its ammo.  It was hard.

But that was the extent of my week in the field.  Or so I thought.  The day before, a few guys had come back from the shetach and I joined them to learn about our new positions in an attack: provide covering fire from the rear.  Thursday evening, this new citah (squad) went back into the shetach for the evening to practice demolishing a hill.  It was fun to shoot the Mag at a distance of 300-400 meters, to set the gun up on the stand and get into place in less than three minutes.  My partner, Michael, and I have great chemistry and can set up, take down, aim and fire the weapon with great fluidity that we make a great pair.  I watched the other Magist and his partner shout with each other and become frustrated; made me thankful to have a partner like mine.  Although he's a small guy (my previous Mag partner got moved to a heavier weapon), Michael is strong and can carry a lot of weight.  He's one of my best friends in the military and his English makes it easier to communicate with me, although we still focus on doing everything in Hebrew.

Anyway, the citah also includes other, heavier weapons, such as an automatic grenade launcher, mortar and .50 caliber Browning.  It's a relatively easy citah to be a part of, and fun to boot.  After we were done, we hiked the four or five kilometers back to base.  Now, I happen to be the only lone soldier in this citah.  My Hebrew isn't the best, but, as Shmaya observes, he's impressed that I'm not afraid or hesitant to flex my linguistic muscles.  I'll speak in front of large groups of people; I'll try to express myself without feeling insecure about my Hebrew level, etc.  It is with this that the Sammal (Sergeant), usually the guy who kicks our ass with discipline, would turn to me with a huge, laughing smile on his face and ask me to give a word or two of inspiration to the group.  I had extended myself earlier in the evening by shouting and expressing a lot of "rabak," or spirit/craziness.  He loved this crazy American, while a child at speaking Hebrew, is nuts and crazed when it comes to fighting.  Now everyone in the plugah knows about that evening when I shouted random things during our hike back.

Shabbat was chill, with no guard or kitchen duty to perform.  And the next week turned out to be one of the fastest in the army.

Kliah Mitkadem, Advanced Shooting, was a week spent all day on the firing range.  I turned in my Mag for the M16 for the week.  We practiced shooting in all three positions (prone, kneeling, standing), and learned some new ones.  We fired using tables and benches.  We fired during the day and at night.  From twenty-five meters to two hundred meters.  With jammed magazines and without.  Shooting on command at an assigned target at the shout of a number.  Running two hundred meters, crawling ten, then running the rest of the way and shooting at a target in less than three minutes.  Against stationary and moving targets.

Yes, moving targets, Israeli-style.  At the two-hundred meter line on some of the ranges is a concrete walkway, fifteen feet below ground-level that is accessible by ladder.  We staple the cardboard targets onto two wooden sticks tied together, and then we manually raise and lower them, run from the left to the right.  It is, honestly, a ridiculous scene.  And the walls of the trench are graffitied with all sorts of sayings, most in Hebrew, but also some in English.  I made my contribution: "Welcome to Tzahal, paid for by American taxpayer dollars."  If you see "DF, March '11," holla'!

This was a great week to improve our shooting.  I hadn't shot consistently and often with the M16 since becoming a Magist.  I had to have fired well over two hundred bullets each day, Sunday to Wednesday.  But the week was tiring.  Not hard, but exhausting.  Constantly running from the firing line out to the targets and back, to check how I shot, to set up targets, to take them down, constantly on the firing ranges, eating military rations, except for lunch where we went back to base, waking up early and getting to bed late.  But the week went by fast.

And the last evening, I was able to shoot a Micro Tavor!  It's the new Israeli-made gun of the IDF.  The Tavor has been used by Golani, Givati, and most recently Nahal.  The Micro Tavor is a tiny version of the standard Tavor.  It's gradually being introduced to all the combat units; the M16 and M4 are being phased out.  So the last evening, our shooting instructor let us shoot her Micro Tavor.  What's the difference?  Mainly it's a different style of gun, where the magazine is behind the trigger, as opposed to in front of it.  This condenses the entire weapon and also brings the weight and center of gravity closer to your shoulder, which makes it easier to maneuver.  (It's like a device I used when I was younger to train for baseball.  I attached a weight to the end of the handle that would bring my hands in closer to my body and force the barrel of the bat through the hitting zone in a more direct path to making contact with the ball.  When I took the weight off, my hands were quick to the baseball and the barrel exploded through the zone.)  The one immediate drawback to this weapon design is that the stock/butt of the gun is non-adjustable.

On Thursday I was given a day to finally get new shoe-inserts for my somewhat-flat feet.  I got back that evening during the middle of our free hour at night.  We went to bed early because we woke up at 3:30 the next morning to go to the paratrooping base!  Near Rehovot, I will be at this base for the next two weeks; this week learning how to jump and the following week jumping out of a plane five times!  I'm psyched, excited, nervous, and pumped all at once.  And this weekend I'm staying in Tel Aviv with David and Amy and the kids, who just got back from a few months in the States.

If everything goes according to the schedule, I have a month and a half left in my training.  My masa kumta is October 17th.  But there is the potential for things to change.  It's been a while since I flexed my political muscles.  What follows is my take on the politics of the region.  My account of my army experience is over for this post.  The rest is my analysis as a political science major on the different storms that have gathered in and around Israel.  If you're interested, please read on.  I've tried to keep things simple and not sound academic.  Enjoy!

(Please note that all of the information is what I have gathered over the past few weeks reading news articles on my Blackberry from base.  I don't have citations [it's not exactly a college paper] or quotes.  The facts are, to the best of my intentions and ability, accurate and the analysis is a combination of mine and others.  But I have neither the time nor will to properly cite everything.  This is as much an exercise for me to fulfill my enjoyment of talking politics as it is to help explain what is going on and also to look back in a few years and understand what was developing at this point.  Disclaimer over.)

The attacks in Eilat the other week indicate a number of things.  First off, while the Palestinian Resistance Committees (PRC) claims responsibility, they could not have acted in violence against Israel without the consent of Hamas.  For one thing, the terrorists originated from the Gaza Strip, went through the vast Sinai Peninsula, and crossed Israel's permeable border with Egypt to attack and kill civilians.  Hamas claims to govern Gaza and is consequently held responsible for everything that happens in its territory.  (If, for example, they had no knowledge of PRC's intentions, then that raises a whole other set of questions about who is in fact in charge of Gaza.)  The Israeli Air Force attacked military and PRC targets in response.  Hamas asked for a cease-fire, which was respected for all of a few hours until rockets began again to rain down on southern Israel.  Although the casualty numbers are very minimal (thanks in part to the primitive technology of the rockets and the surprising and welcome effectiveness of Israel's new defense technology, Iron Dome), hospitals are reporting a significant increase in the amount of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) cases.  The most damaging effect of these rockets is psychological.

But I want to go back to the larger picture.  Hamas is likely giving tacit consent to attack Israel because of what I can only think to describe as the build-up over the past half year of a political hurricane or vortex.  Currently, there are many forces within Israel and the Palestinian territories, as well as the Arab world, that are gaining momentum and force.  Unless you've been living under a rock since the beginning of the year (or in the Israeli army), you're more than aware of the "Arab Spring."  Leaders have been overthrown and regimes threatened in Tunisia, Egypt and most recently Libya.  The Gulf states have also not been spared.  In Syria, a blood bath continues to unfold as Bashar Assad has clearly made it his intent to kill every Syrian before relinquishing power.

The Arab Spring has been a reversal of what engulfed the Arab world in the 1960s and 70s.  The rise of the Mubarak (Egypt), Qaddafi (Libya) and Assad regimes represented the desire for pan-Arabism to be the dominant force across the region; an ideal that the societies strewn across the states could unify behind an Arab identity.  Needless to say, these were secular forces.  Today, the march of militant Islam (perhaps beginning with the 1979 Islamic Revolution in Iran) has turned into a sprint.

For years, Mubarak was the strongest force in the Arab world for the US against radical religious elements coming to power.  Although his regime still remains in place via the military, it is threatened by the Muslim Brotherhood, al-Qaeda, and even Hamas.  Among the Palestinians, Hamas represents this militant Islam.  Fatah (the governing power in the West Bank) represents the more secularly-inclined brand of Arab politics.  Fatah is the old and Hamas is the new.  In the current whirlwind of the region, Hamas is much more likely to curry favor than Fatah, especially since Fatah has shown an inclination (and history) of relative willingness to negotiate with Israel.

And that is something that should not be understated: no matter the differences across the Arab world, the constant unifying factor is animosity and hatred of Israel.  It is an interesting "rally 'round the flag" effect.  This term refers to the idea that a nation comes together when faced with an external threat; remember how everyone was suddenly so patriotic after 9/11?  In the Middle East, conflict with Israel is to be supported no matter who is doing the fighting.  If you're an Arab and against any conflict with the Jewish state, then surely you are for the Jews and against the Arabs.  Consequently, on the flip side, if you negotiate with Israel, who's to say you're not in bed with them or, God forbid, the US and the West?  Negotiation is paramount to treason.  And especially if negotiations continue to fail (as they have between Fatah and Israel), then the legitimacy of the call for peaceful talks weakens and people begin to turn to more radical elements who offer a solution.  Fatah recognizes this and, after years of a blood-stained rivalry, signed a unity agreement with Hamas.  Hamas is the vanguard, Fatah is the old guard.

What, then, is all the hype about September 20th?  It is the date of the opening session of the UN.  Mahmoud Abbas, chairman of the Palestinian Authority (essentially, Fatah), has created a stir for the better part of a year from when he first announced his intention to go the the General Assembly or the Security Council (no one is exactly sure which one) and have that body vote in favor of the creation of a Palestinian state.  If he goes to the GA, he will have the votes.  If he goes to the SC, he will not, as the US is expected (hoped [we really never know with the dynamic duo of Obama and Susan Rice, the US envoy to the UN]) to exercise its veto.

So let's say that by September 21st, the UN has in fact granted the Palestinians a state.  What does that mean?  In reality, absolutely nothing.  For one thing, sometime in the 1980s a similar resolution was brought to the UN, and I believed it passed.  To my knowledge, the resolution that Abbas is intending to bring to the UN is just for the organization to recognize the Palestinians as a state, but will not actually declare the creation of one, like they did with Kosovo in 2008.  In fact, I've read at different points throughout the spring and summer that this entire UN-ploy was initially a diplomatic maneuver by Abbas to strong-arm Israel and cajole the US into negotiations once again.  Abbas, I've read, really wants to climb down from the tree he finds himself in.  At this point, however, it is too late.  There is too much hype and expectation, and if he backs down, then he is lost for sure.  What do I mean by lost?  While the "situation on the ground" will not change come Sept. 21st, the politics within the Palestinian leadership certainly will.  If the UN does support Abbas, then his leadership is buoyed and renewed and we'll see where it goes from there.  If the UN does not support Abbas, then he is almost certainly finished as the leader of the Palestinians.

Which is now why the unity agreement with Hamas is so critical.  Who will fill the leadership void?  Well, the people will see Fatah going to the UN and failing.  So now they seek a solution in different channels.  And that is Hamas.  And that is the PRC.   And that is the Eilat attack.  Hamas knows it is in a relative position of power because Mubarak has fallen, the Rafah crossing into Egypt is open, radical elements akin to its own agenda are rising and threatening the powers that be across the region.  If Abbas fails, it is perfectly timed with a Hamas that, after a few years of quiet following Operation Caste Lead, has again begun to attack Israel as it claims to speak for the Palestinians.

Shifting our focus to Israel's northern borders, with Lebanon and Syria, a much more uncertain reality could unfold.  Hezbollah gained a huge victory in its 2006 war with Israel.  It didn't necessarily win the war, but by standing up to the IDF and withstanding three weeks of combat, it came out the victor certainly in the eyes of the Arab world, as well as others internationally, including many Israelis.  As the primary conduit between Iran and Hezbollah, Syria is seen as the only nation supporting effective resistance against Israel vis a vis Hezbollah.  Assad could push Hezbollah to war with Israel to ease pressure off his regime, much like the marches on the borders a few months ago were as much about reclaiming the Golan Heights and remembering the "Naksa" as they were to distract from domestic turmoil.  If Assad falls, Iran loses its most important asset and the ability to transfer arms and equipment to Hezbollah.  Tehran could push Damascus who in turn would push Hezbollah to begin firing rockets into the Galilee in northern Israel, test Jerusalem's resolve, and possibly initiate a conflict.  In the eyes of Assad and the Arab world, any of the Syrian demonstrators who continue to assemble against his regime while he is engaged in conflict with Israel via Hezbollah are traitors.

A combined escalation in tension between Hamas and Israel and Hezbollah and Israel would also put great pressure on the secular, military-led regime in Cairo.  The peace with Israel since 1979 would be in jeopardy.  Israel has enjoyed an unprecedented thirty years of peace with the most powerful Arab state.  But that peace was maintained because of Mubarak and his regime.  It was conditional on many things, including a demilitarized Sinai peninsula and assurance of US qualitative military aid equal to what Israel received.  The Egyptian population, meanwhile, was and still is very anti-Israel and anti-Semitic.  The demonstrations that led to Mubarak stepping down had a lot to do with them seeing their leader as in bed with the West and stepping on his own country's values, mainly Islam.  Two weeks before the Eilat attacks, Cairo asked for and Jerusalem granted permission for 1,000 Egyptian soldiers to patrol the Sinai as intel of increased terrorist activity between the Palestinians and the Beduins threatened to escalate into an imminent attack (as it eventually did).  But what were 1,000 soldiers to do in an area over 60,000 square kilometers?  It is a drop in the ocean.

While I believe a military presence is now certainly needed in the Sinai (although Egyptian soldiers may not be the best, as there are countless accounts of them using refugees from Africa as target practice), it is a tricky balance because it could lead to the slow chipping away of the once stable peace and security enjoyed between the Egypt and Israel.  And that is what Hamas wants and needs.  In order for them to truly flex their muscles, they need to operate from a position of security, and what is more secure if they have the full support of Cairo?  As the only Arab political body currently engaged in conflict with Israel, Hamas can become the leader and example of what all Arab bodies should be doing.  The generals in Cairo are soon to be in a very difficult position: how can they resist their population's growing resentment and anger of their power without cracking down hard on the population, especially following the relatively peaceful rebellion that toppled Mubarak and now that Assad has soured the international community's view of Arab leaders tactics in the face of demonstrations, all without losing valuable US foreign aid?  Withstanding these forces will be difficult, to say the least.

Quickly, I am reminded of a political cartoon from my AP European history class my senior year in high school.  It depicted Martin Luther at the top of a dam.  On the dam was written "the Church" (or something to that effect) and the water above the dam was filled with words such as social, religious, economic, and so on.  The dam has a slight crack in it and Luther tosses a small stone in the air.  The idea is that it was his 95 Theses that he posted on a wall in a German city in 1517 that released all these forces.  To apply it here, Hamas is Luther, the waters are the Egyptian people, and the dam is the military government in Cairo.

Now is the importance September 20th a little clearer?  Given a vote in affirmation or negation of a Palestinian state, I believe there could be, to put it modestly, unrest.  In this part of the world, that means an "intifadah," the Arabic word for "uprising."  As history demonstrates, the Palestinian people (whether justified or not) are prone to violence.  The first intifadah in the late 1980s attests to this.  The second intifadah in 2000 does as well.  What's more is that Yassir Arafat (quick story: Arafat calls Bill Clinton a few days before the end of his presidency to congratulate him on the past eight years.  Clinton responds, "if it weren't for you, we would have peace between Israel and the Palestinians.") instigated this second round violence.  (It was not, as is widely believed, Ariel Sharon's visit to the Temple Mount.  Arafat admitted in an interview at some point that he had planned the intifadah in advance; the visit was just the justification.)  Already, Abbas announced his intention to hold rallies throughout September in different Palestinian cities.  He wants them to be peaceful and away from Israeli settlers and Israel-proper.  As Hassan Nasrallah, the leader of Hamas, has said, "we love death as much as the Jews love life."  With sentiment like that, how can anyone possibly hope for peaceful rallies and for this month not to spiral into a new intifadah or some new round of violence?  On September 21st, the Palestinians will feel either snubbed or legitimized by the UN, and they may expect the instantaneous creation of a state, and when that fails to materialize, they will channel their anger and frustration into their favorite past-time: throwing rocks.

Purim within, Purim without

This has been, without a doubt, the most interesting week of my life.  I truly experienced the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.  Yes, even higher than receiving the Tanach at the Western Wall a few weeks ago.  That event was the culmination of something: the conclusion of Mikveh Alon.  Big whoop, right?  True, it was an incredible honor--as a soldier and as a Jew--to stand at that special and holy location and receive Judaism's Written Law.  However, this week brought me even higher because of its potential.  So what the heck am I talking about?  I'm talking about Tzanchanim!  I know, I'm starting to sound redundant starting to sound redundant sorry sorry; "hasn't he already mentioned the Paratroopers like a dozen times in each of his last posts?"  Yes, I think I have, haha.  But this time is so much different.

Before I explain, however, I want to mention a few new things about this blog.  First, I recognize that I use foreign military terms and whether this is your first time reading my blog or you are a faithful follower, it is unlikely you are familiar with all of the lingo.  As per my dad's suggestion, I created a link on the right that translates the terms into English.  In addition, on the left hand side I added ways to make it easier to keep updated on my blog.  The "Search this Blog" is also a way to find specific information in my writing.

Let me start from the beginning, from the hellish depths of the first few days of this week, to the top of the world and beyond (almost literally) at the end.

On Sunday, those of us from Mikveh reported to the Tel Hashomer base for our draft into the regular IDF units.  There are three draft dates in the IDF: March, August and November.  This week, all new soldiers would be sorted and sent to their units; needless to say, the place assumes a zoo-like atmosphere.  As dysfunctional (I say that with all my love) as the IDF is, this week brings it to an entirely new level.  In fact, at one point, my friend Michael commented that the base reminds him of a refugee camp.  You'll soon understand why.

To begin with, as we all sit on benches, waiting to see the ktsin miyun (officer who drafts us), my MemMem pulls me aside and, once again, brings up the issue of my 72 health profile!  He said he doesn't know for sure if I am in Tzanchanim and should prepare myself to join another unit.  What a great way to start the week!  Maybe I'm becoming one of those guys who really wants something once it's no longer available (girls, freedom, Tzanchanim...), because I felt my heart drop.  Suddenly I felt like an outsider looking in.  But when I went to see the officer, our conversation went like this (in Hebrew): "You want Tzanchanim?" "Yes."  "Best of luck."  "Thank you."  Bada bing bada boom.  Done.

But not for long.  That night we slept in tents, the same ones we slept in for the gibbush.  Or rather, I didn't sleep; no sleeping bag, frigid night, terrible.  In the morning, every soldier received a number, which indicated where he would serve.  While all the Tzanchanim guys received 601, I got 660.  They were all called off and I was left standing at the end with a dozen random guys.  No one from Mikveh.  Apparently, we all had profile issues and needed to be checked by a doctor before being sorted.  Not this issue again!  Back to feeling nervous.

Long story short (or rather, I can't exactly divulge all the details of what occurred that day), I went to see a few doctors about my profile and got it raised to an 82!  I can do infantry!  Tzanchanim here I come!  I went to see the ktsin miyun and (I think) he said I was in Tzanchanim, but the next day I needed to come back to see a Mishakit tash.

I returned to base the next day, not quite certain the purpose of needing to see the social worker.  A slightly irrational fear grew inside me that maybe I really wasn't going to Tzanchanim, that they needed someone who would tell me and figured a Mishakit tash could let me down easy.  But let me be clear: the sole purpose for me being on base that day was to see the Mishakit tash.  I sat around for hours in the morning and hours in the afternoon, just to have the Mishakit tash tell me in a ten minute meeting that my request to move to a kibbutz was on hold until I went to a new base.  Thank you very much for wasting my time!

Monday and Tuesday evenings I played the role of poor lone soldier, no one told him he would be on base for more than one night, he has issues to take care of at home, yada yada yada, bs bs bs....and I was able to go to Tel Aviv and sleep in a nice warm bed both nights!  I definitely worked some magic!

Also on Tuesday, the new Chief of Staff Benny Gantz (a Tzanchan) made a visit to Tel Hashomer.  Of all the days!  The few dozen of us still left from the previous day because we had one issue or another were in lockdown and stayed put in one corner of the base for three hours!  It just added to the tension, nerves and uncertainty I was experiencing, not truly knowing if I was going to be a tzanchan, not trusting what anyone said until I signed a contract.  But after the meeting with the Mishakit tash, I sprinted back to see the ktsin miyun, who said that I was for sure going to Tzanchanim!  I started to breathe easy.

Again I went home that night and returned the following morning.  This time, I was 601!  Finally!  But my excitement, once again, was dulled as the two dozen of us going to either Tzanchanim or Nahal were put to doing clean up around the base all morning.  All the other Tzanchanim guys (from Mikveh) had gone to the base on Monday.  We were still left, uncertain of our future, and the last thing we needed were stupid officers not telling us what was going on and making us run in circles around the base doing a lot of nothing.  We know we needed to get our uniforms and gear (I just needed a new uniform top) and wanted to get it as soon as possible so it would be official.  After lunch, I decided to take matters into my own hands.  I stole away from my group and met up with a friend who knew how to get a uniform.

All the soldiers who were waiting for something were penned up in this one area of the base.  There were benches with a tv, but really a lot of people just milled about, waiting, not knowing, frustrated.  There was one window where jobniks handled our cases, and the line took forever.  I went to this window, explained what was going on, and that I needed a uniform, who sent me (mostly lies), etc.  I then waited an hour for my name to be called.  A soldier from Kfir (an infantry unit in the West Bank that specializes in urban combat) told me to sit down, that I had a problem.  Not again!  I'm not sitting down.  Listen buddy, a ktsin miyun had told me three times that I was going to Tzanchanim.  He told me to wait, checked out my profile or whatever, then returned and told me to follow him.

As we walked, I angrily asked him where I was going.  "Golani."  "No.  Hell no, I am not going to Golani."  "Yes you are.  What's wrong with Golani?"  "Nothing's wrong with it, but I want Tzanchanim.  What does that paper say."  "Nothing, it's not for you to see."  "You better show me that paper."  "No, but you're going to Golani."  "You better not be fucking with me.  I swear, you better load some bullets into your gun because if you tell me I'm going to Golani, I'm coming after you."  "Haha, it's all good.  You're going to Givati."  "Still no.  It's Tzanchanim or nothing."

 He looked at me and laughed.  We reached a building where I saw a bunch of soldiers from my group that day huddled outside.  We walked in and the Kfir soldier handed the paper to one of the jobniks there: "this guy's going to Tzanchanim."  YES!!!  I shared a quick laugh with the Kfir soldier who I think appreciated the anxiety I felt.  He first said I was in shock--Israeli military slang for someone who, just as in English, is in shock by being in the army and his new life.  I told him I wasn't in shock, I was just angry, frustrated and fed up with being in limbo for the last three days.

Side note: randomly, I thought a lot this week about the Greek myths of Prometheus and Sisyphus.  Prometheus is chained to a mountain and every day an eagle eats his liver, which regrows each night.  Sisyphus is made to roll an immense boulder up a hill, just to have it roll back down, for eternity.  The point here is that they are both in limbo (or maybe their form of a Hell) and destined to do nothing for an unforeseen amount of time.  And now I return to my friend's comment that life was like a refugee camp: uncertainty, frustration, anxiety.  It made me want to pull at my own skin.  What made it worse is that the place has a carnival atmosphere, like Purim, but not in the good way.  There is so much miscommunication.  You go to one place and they send you to another and the next place doesn't know who you are or why you're there.  There is overlapping and underlapping.  Incompetence and incredible incompetence.  I spoke a lot of Hebrew, but also went to English when it became too frustrating.  And that was often the case.

In order to receive anything in the army, you have to return something.  In this case, Paratroopers have a special uniform top, so the guy needed my two Aleph uniforms.  I gave him the one I had on and wove some story about not having a second because I never needed one, knowing the whole time that it sits neatly folded, still in its packaging, in Tel Aviv!  A Paratrooper's uniform is different than the rest of the army's.  The material is slightly thicker and somewhat glossy.  It has four pockets: the breast pockets and one more below each.  In addition, and this makes it awesome, the uniform is fitted, which makes me look extremely sexy and bad@$$ if I may say so myself.  Finally, out of tradition, Tzanchans don't tuck their uniforms into their pants.  Instead, you leave it hanging out and tie the belt around the outside.  The "skirt" is something to be proud of.

And proud I am.  Damn proud!!!  Even more so than on December 15th, I feel like an Israeli soldier.  Although I haven't done anything yet, I feel such a sense of accomplishment.  Just wearing the uniform is intoxicating.  I am so happy to be in Tzanchanim now.  It is the highest I think I have ever felt in my life.  It is because of the potential of what wearing the uniform means that makes it even more fulfilling than receiving the Tanach.  The uncertainty of the past few days made me realize how badly I wanted Tzanchanim.  I would not have been satisfied with any other unit.  I am a Tzanchan!

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To make this week even better, I recently gained additional employment: I am now a blogger for the Jerusalem Post (click)!!!  This occurred only in the last week and is a true testament to how this country functions; people knowing people who are more than willing to help others.  My blog on JPost will focus more on being a lone soldier and less on my daily activities.  I will try to contribute a post about as often as I do here.  But realize that as I am beginning basic training, my postings will become less frequent as I will not be home every weekend.  I have a link on the left for my JPost blog.  Thanks for reading and the comments, emails and Facebook messages I receive.  I'm glad my experiences and writings are helping others find information, comfort, excitement, or simply ways to kill time, haha!

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This weekend is the holiday of Purim, a remembrance when the Jewish people were miraculously saved from liquidation at the hands of the Persian Empire.  It was perhaps even a darker time in Jewish history than the Holocaust; the entirety of the Jewish people were at risk of being massacred by King Ahaseurus's chief advisor, Haman, only to be saved by Queen Esther, a Jew, at the urging of her cousin, Mordechai (for more specifics, see Wikipedia, click here, or type "Purim" into Google).  It is a carnival atmosphere (cruelly akin to Tel Hashomer), and walking around Tel Aviv yesterday reminded me of my college campus on Halloween.  It is the day Israelis dress in costumes and get drunk.  Yes, even religious Jews are actually supposed to drink in excess.

But this holiday, tragically, comes in the wake of two very distressful events in the past week.  First, a Jewish family in the town of Itamar were brutally killed by terrorists (click).  The two parents were slain, as were three of their children, one a three month old girl.  The Fogel family's slaying again brings to the fore for me the tenuous situation that exists between those who wish to live in peace and those who want to prevent it.  (Although I am generally not a fan and can't bring myself to link it here, I do suggest you find Glenn Beck's comments about the Itamar Massacre on YouTube.  His words echo Israeli sentiment.)

The second event was the stopping of the cargo ship the "Victoria" (click).  The IDF peacefully boarded this ship the other day and in the crates protected by a lock unusually strong for the supposedly benign contents of lentils and cotton, found about 50 tons of munitions, including a new missile system that can destroy ships.  It is said that this new weapon, known in Iran as the Nasr-1 and in China as the C-704, has the potential to have the same effect as Surface-to-Air Missiles (SAMs) had when they were first launched forty years ago: they can alter the strategic balance in any conflict.

And then just this morning, Hamas fired forty-nine mortars into Israel.  If Mexico or Canada did that to the US, it would be considered an act of war.  But here, Israel lives with it every day.  Reality bites.

The Final Countdown

Winter is here! What a change of weather since the photo I posted on my last entry. The rain that Israel so desperately needs has finally come...in droves! It first started with cooler temperatures ("cooler" being in low 60s or upper 50s, although some parts of the north reported snowfall), then came darkening skies and lightning, quickly followed by deafening thunder claps. I'm tellin' you, G-d sure knows how to put on a show in His house! That was Friday morning and early afternoon. The day then turned bright, the sun came out, and David, Amy, the kids and I went to the boardwalk on the beach to watch the sunset. To our north, we could see occasional lightning bolts cut across the sky, providing a dull purple glow to the dark and menacing storm clouds.

Yesterday morning, the storm kicked into high gear. Gusting winds knocked over trees and power lines all over Tel Aviv. Our apartment building lost power for an hour. Today was no better. The rain comes in fits and starts, powerful and overwhelming one minute, gone the next. This has been Israel's driest year since records were first kept in 1927, and this rain spell probably won't be enough to provide for the country's needs. The Kinneret's water level, the largest body of freshwater and beginnings of the Jordan River, is at the black line, past the red line. Translation: that ain't good.

I battled the elements today when I returned to Tel Hashomer to pick up my tzav hagiyus (draft form). Three days before the date I've been planning for months to enlist, it is finally official. I also picked up two forms that confirm my status as a chayal boded.

What's left to do before Wednesday? After Tel Hashomer, I went to a mall in Tel Aviv and finally bought my own cell phone. Why didn't I do this weeks ago when I first got here? Every cell phone company has a special plan or rates for soldiers. Naturally, I sought out these plans. However, a subscription requires two things: an Israeli bank account and an IDF letter confirming my draft date. I got the former weeks ago, the latter just today. And David and Amy were kind enough to let me borrow one of their phones for the past month.

Over the past few days, I've been preparing a mental list about what to bring to Mikveh Alon. I'm fortunate to have two good Israeli friends who, while serving in the IDF, were on my Birthright trip last winter, Sam and Ben. Their suggestions and advice have helped me prepare, know what to expect, what to bring and what to leave behind, how I should conduct myself, etc. For the most part, the IDF supplies everything for me. They suggest I bring a stopwatch, knife, flashlight, etc., not all of it necessary but suggested nonetheless. In addition, being winter and moving north to a colder climate and higher altitude, Ben gave me warm socks, thermals, and other warm gear. He also threw in some tips on how to clean my canteen, stay awake during lessons, and other useful information. Sam told me that he has a couple locks I can use.

Both these guys are great friends and a primary support system I will constantly turn to throughout my service. I have my family (David and Amy and co.) but I'm sure I will want to talk with guys my age who have done the whole song and dance. This past Friday, Sam invited me over for Shabbat dinner. His family and some of their friends all sat down to a wonderful home-cooked meal. Everyone in Israel comes home for Shabbat dinner, he commented. Even if they're not religious, Friday night is a time for family. Unfortunately, I don't believe the same can be said for families in the States. Be that as it may, I want to point out the amount of care and compassion people in Israel have for one another. I've alluded to this in previous posts, but want to emphasize it here. When I left Sam's, his mother and father each impressed upon me how welcome I am to stay for a meal or a weekend during my service. It was a gracious overture on their part, and on the drive back to Tel Aviv, Sam made sure I understood that their offers are sincere.

Perhaps the one word I would use to describe Israelis (despite the plethora of different people and backgrounds that comprise this tiny state's citizenry) is "passionate." You're not partaking in a true Israeli conversation unless one or both of you starts to shout. Let me explain. Driving here, I will admit, at first seemed downright dangerous. Especially coming from America, with big lanes, big cars and lots of cops around, Tel Aviv's narrow, curving roads, bustling with small cars and more Vespas and motorbikes than you can count, and of course, the seeming lack of a police force make this transportation's wild west. Although I have not driven yet, riding a bike on the sidewalk is a risk all by itself. The Vespas are allowed to go on the sidewalks and people rarely care to abide by the designated bike lanes on certain streets. The stoplights are something different altogether. Before the light turns green, the orange light turns on with the red light, then to green. Why? Well, I think it was originally because most cars were manual, so it allowed the drivers to shift into gear before the light turned green. (Now, most cars are automatic.) This led to a mentality that expected the car at the head of the lane to be halfway into the intersection by time the light changes. If not, expect to hear a chorus of honking. People shout out windows all the time, swerve between lanes, Vespas dart between cars and trucks, buses randomly stop to pick up passengers, delivery trucks block entire lanes for unload their goods...all kosher in Israel. Nobody is mad at one another; they're just annoyed by the current situation and are not afraid to express their opinion.

The newspapers are abuzz with controversial policies and questionable actions. What should the IDF's policy be on conversions? Should Jews not sell or rent homes to Arabs or Druze? What to make on the recent wave of Latin American countries recognizing a Palestinian state? Hamas recently launched a series of mortar attacks into Israel: what should the response be? How do we properly thank the international community for its outpouring of support in the wake of the Carmel fire? Can we trust Obama or is it time to recognize him as the spineless, anti-Israel leader that he is? Ok, perhaps that last one was slightly, but not entirely, off-base.

Israelis care. Life here is constantly moving forward. TIME magazine's September cover story was about the peace process and how supposedly "Israel don't care about making peace." Bullshit. Israelis care. It's innate in the Jewish soul to care about another human being. In today's Jerusalem Post, op-ed contributor Katie Green shares a personal story about her son serving on the Egyptian border ("The gloves are off," Jerusalem Post, Dec 13, 2010). One of Israel's most pressing problems is the influx of refugees from Africa who cross inhospitable terrain, hostile governments, and come to Israel hoping for a chance at...money to send back to their families? No. Fame? Absolutely not. A chance to live? Yes. The Darfur refugee who risks everything crossing the Sinai peninsula, evading Egyptian troops who are likely to use these refugees for target practice, doesn't care what slurs the world hurls at Israel. He wraps his arms around Green's son, thankful to be out of reach of any Arab government. In the Jewish state, he will be taken in, processed, given a warm bed and a hot meal, and released into the only free society in the region. To say Israelis don't care about Palestinians is just wrong. Israelis care about peace because conflict isn't the answer, but sometimes the necessary route.

If conflict comes, then so be it. Israel knows how to defend itself. It also knows how to go on the offensive and try its hardest to prevent civilian casualties...even among the enemy's population! (What I am referring to here is the historically unprecedented actions Israel took during Operation Cast Lead to warn Gazans of its impending operation. This included: dropping leaflets from planes, specifically stating which buildings were going to be attacked; calling and text messaging Gazans warning of attacks; dropping fake bombs on roofs to disperse people who were sent up by Hamas to become 'martyrs'.) And if Israel goes to battle, then I shall go with her. As it looks right now, not as a foot soldier. My health profile does not allow me to be in infantry. Instead, my options are tanks, armored corps, artillery, or army engineers. None of this is certain. In three months, after Mikveh Alon, I will know where I will serve.

I have my supplies ready to report on Wednesday morning at 8:00 AM. I'm excited. It is certainly a new adventure, unlike anything I have done and will likely never do again. I will learn things that only soldiers will know. Not necessarily how to fight or shoot, but rather what serving in a military means. I will be able to add my name to the historical annals of those who have ever served in a military (see my first blog entry). The military will test me physically, emotionally, and mentally. It will be an incredible challenge. I will be given a number, become a statistic; my entire existence will be stamped on a small metal square to hang around my neck. But I will be proud of my uniform. Proud of what it stands for. Proud to serve a people, and not some dictator. Proud to serve in one of the world's finest and most elite militaries. Proud to be in the world's only Jewish army.

Fire and Rain

It's been another week in Israel. The impending date of my enlistment quickly approaches. Well, that isn't really correct. "Impending"? Hell no! My enlistment approaches and I welcome it with, to be honest, a bit of apprehension and nervousness, but also plenty of excitement. Part of the uncertainty comes from the ample time I've had to consider what I'm doing with my life for the next eighteen months.

After last week's tzav rishon I've had nothing to do, save wait for my appointment today to get an eye exam. Seem random? Not quite. I guess the IDF doctor at lishgat hagiyus didn't trust my optometrist's records, so I had to return to Tel Hashomer this morning for an eye exam. In short, by the end of the day I had completed my tzav rishon and received my medical form. A friend told me earlier that my account of last week's experience helped him out, so I will quickly recount the following experience.

When I walked into the doctor's office, I told him I was wearing contacts. He gave me an incredulous look and exclaimed, "you need to have your contacts out for twenty hours before this test!" My heart dropped. No way was I gonna be turned away and required to return tomorrow, after not wearing my contacts or glasses all day and then be required to navigate the bus system without my sight. Unbelievable. Pretty much, I acted like an Israeli and pushed until I got what I wanted. He used drops to dilate my eyes and I took the tests. Bottom line, they were the exact same tests my optometrist performed earlier this summer and the doctor here got the same results.

When it was all said and done, another doctor told me my health profile score is a 72. What does that mean? The highest health score is a 97. The next highest is an 82. After that is 72. According to the doc, I cannot score higher than 72 with a prescription below a -6.00 (my eyes are worse than that). She said that I am still kravi (combat). What can and can't I do? Don't know yet. I'll find out in the coming days and weeks and will fill you in.

But, today I did not want to talk too much about myself. My life outside of army stuff hasn't been too exciting the past week. My best friend from home, Ben, is here; he made aaliyah (despite already being Israeli) and is joining the IDF as well. Outside of our experiences, Israel is undergoing quite a lot these days: Chanukah and fires.

Chanukah is a time for a great celebration in Israel. As opposed to Christmas and New Year's break, students here have the week off for Chanukah. So what is Chanukah? Lighting candles and giving presents? Yes and...well, kinda. Chanukah is a remembrance of the Jewish experience in the second century BCE. After Alexander the Great conquered Judea, he allowed his subjects to freely practice their religion, customs, etc. This benevolent rule led to rampant assimilation among the Jewish population. A century later, Antiochus IV began oppressing and massacring Jews. Judah Maccabee led a revolt against the Greeks' oppression and assimilation. This culminated in the rededication of the Temple. So, where's the miracle? While a small force standing up to the largest empire the world had ever seen is no small feat, the miracle was when the Greeks left only a small amount of oil for the menorah, which is required to burn every night, but miraculously burned for eight straight nights. (Jews don't commemorate military victories. And as for presents? It's just a tradition started by Jews who lived near people celebrating Christmas. Here we go again with the assimilation...)

Unfortunately, Israel has had to cope with an extremely inordinate amount of fire and light. I am talking, if you don't already know, about the fire in Carmel, northern Israel. On Thursday, a fire was started in Carmel (near Haifa) that quickly grew out of control. When it threatened a prison, a bus full of extra security guards was brought in to help evacuate the prisoners, but the fire quickly spread 1500 meters in 3 minutes to engulf the bus, killing all forty onboard. The fire is a national emergency; experts say it will take forty years for the over 10,000 acres destroyed to regrow. The fire also exposed some serious flaws in Israel's fire and emergency management services.

Despite the devastation and horror, there are some bright spots to emerge from this disaster. For one thing, the international response has been extremely positive. As hoped, the United States, Britain, France and Russia have been forthcoming with supplies. An incredible, welcome surprise is the aid provided by Turkey, Egypt, Jordan, and even the PA. Of course there have been calls on Arab websites for Syria and Hamas to fire rockets, have the fires spread, and even incidents of Arabs in Israel throwing Molotov cocktails to spread the flames. But for some states--especially Turkey--to offer aid is a big positive step, especially after the flotilla this summer.

As of right now, the fire has been contained. Tel Aviv was never threatened; I was never in any danger, never even saw any smoke. Now Israel will work to recover from the damage and pay tribute to the brave men and women who fell trying to fight the flames. There is a lot of work to do to rebuild homes and lives.

So, there is quite a lot going on in Israel right now. In the world, as you know: Wikileaks. Great news for Israel: the entire Arab world's leaders want Iran stopped. Now the American public knows what America's leaders (should) know. Julian Assange, you are destroying the very thing you are trying to enhance: information. Stay in that bunker you've scurried to.

My next step is to wait to hear about my enlistment date being finalized. Until then, shalom and chag sameach!

Oh, and it rained today!