tobealonesoldier III

What little I saw of the All-Star Game at a bar in Tel Aviv.

A week's break is a precious thing and something not to be wasted.  That's why I've spent this week in Tel Aviv with other lone soldiers, going to the beach or walking around during the day, napping in the early evening, then meeting again for a night out until two or three in the morning, somehow finding my way back to my apartment, and talking with friends until five or six.  Go to sleep.  And repeat.

My bank account sure has taken a strong hit.  But you have to live it up while you can, right?  And by 'it' I mean freedom.  Sometime during my sixteen years of schooling, I learned that one of the biggest difficulties an inmate can face following his release is not finding a job or place to live.  Instead, it is the simple reality of being free that can prove so challenging.  I certainly feel a little of that.  But on the other hand, I feel there is so much to do in so little time, or rather there is just enough to do in the proper amount of time but I misuse my time and hence it seems like such little time.  I want to write a post here and for my Jerusalem Post blog, talk with family and friends, attempt to catch up on national (Israeli and American) and international news, and just spend time doing nothing except vegging in front of the tv or the computer catching up on shows.

I finally received my mom's Blackberry!  Wow, this was an ordeal.  Pretty much, because she had declared it of value in the event it was lost in the mail and it was made out to my cousin's name and not mine, I couldn't get it from the central post office in Tel Aviv.  And then there was a time crunch because David, Amy and the family were leaving for the States (definitely jealous) for the summer.  Anyway, between this and that, it took literally weeks for me to get a simple phone out of the post office.  But now I have it and, just like my buddy Bear from South Africa, it has become my Crackberry, meaning I'm addicted.  But now it's a lot easier to keep in touch with friends from home, which is sorely missed.

Israel has a surplus of jellyfish.  I'm not talking about ones in zoos.  For a few weeks to a few months every summer, these guys invade the coastline.  You walk along the beach and can see them washed up on the shore.  They're just a pile of cloudy white, without any discernible features, sometimes a tentacle or two strewn out to one side.  You can wade into the surf and tread cautiously.  Or you can go for a swim with your buddies and get stung on the ankle.  The choice is yours.  I opted for the last.  And after about ten minutes chilling with my friends in the water, I felt a sensation like needles on my ankle.  Didn't really hurt, but felt odd and continuous.  Then a few others felt the same thing.  And we left the water, with a red mark the only testament that I was stung by one of the oddest creatures on this earth.

Another quick story took place during huliah week, my last week in the shetach.  (See my last blog entry for more about this week.)  This was quite an experience and I want to take note of it for its uniqueness and to remember it.  We had just woken up from our afternoon slumber when the Chopel (Medic) arrived with a few other officers.  He was carrying a bag of bandages and I figured he was going to review with us the proper way to administer first aid in the field.  He pointed at a few of us and said "פצוע/wounded."  I was included and lay down on the ground.  He came around to me and said that I had been hit in my right upper leg, left arm and my nose (the last for no reason other than I had broken my nose a few weeks before).  Shimon, an Israeli buddy of mine in my kitah (class/squad), opted to be the one to bandage me up.

He went through the steps of checking my consciousness and assessing the damage.  As the wound was on my upper leg, he needed to take my pants off.  So far, so good...?  Then he took a bandage cloth and proceeded to wrap my upper leg.  The particular bandaging he was applying required a stiff object to wrap and twist to ensure enough pressure.  A metal stake was lying on the ground.  Why not right?  My pants are around my ankles, my boxers are soaked in sweat because of the searing heat, dozens of people are watching, so why not throw in some rusted metal to the equation?

He twisted the metal and the bandage tightened.  After a turn or two, I looked at him pleadingly and said, "Shimon, that's really enough."  Now, the Samech Mem Pay (the assistant to the Company Commander) was watching our little play-acting and decided, in his ever intense and serious persona, that the bandage wasn't tight enough.  So he jumped in (and I do mean "jumped"), grabbed the stake in both hands, and gave it another complete turn.  I felt my blood pounding against the bandage.  I couldn't wiggle my toes.

Next Shimon moved on to my arm.  For this he used a rubber strip that you wrap above the wound to staunch the blood flow.  The particular bandages used in this exercises mimicked if the wounded has a missing limb.  So everything needed to be tight.  Shimon tried to go easy on me and not pull the rubber too tightly around my bicep.  But my Mefaked (commander) didn't think his work was up to snuff so he grabbed the rubber strap and went to town on it, pulling as hard as he could on each wrap.  I could barely control myself with the pain between my arm and leg.  And we had to wait until the Chopel could come around and make sure I had no pulse.  I couldn't bend my fingers.

After writing on my arm, chest and forehead with permanent marker the time of the bandage, and ensuring that I had no pulse in my arm, the Chopel told Shimon it was ok to take off my arm bandage, but to keep my leg tourniquet intact.  Then it was time to "evacuate" me. They brought a stretcher, slid me on, strapped a helmet on my head, then went trouncing and bouncing and jogging off up a hill and back down.  Finally, after twenty minutes, I could relieve the pressure on my leg.  What an experience.  Lesson learned?  It is very painful to be wounded!

During our Education Week, I had asked the Mem Mem (platoon commander) why he thought Israel allows non-citizens to join its armed forces.  We were in the middle of an open session where us soldiers could ask our commanders any question about the military and our daily lives.  I have my own beliefs, but wanted to know my commanders' opinions.  To my knowledge, Israel is the only country in the world (now with 193 nations, congratulations to South Sudan!) that allows non-citizens to join the military and serve in combat roles.

He identified three reasons: first, Israel needs the manpower and anyone willing to come from overseas and help fight for this country is welcome because he provides an extra body; second, this is a Jewish country and Jews have a right to fight to defend it; and third, it's a way to connect to the Jewish Diaspora.

I believe the first reason is really neither here nor there and possibly inconsequential.  While there is a universal draft, there are many segments of the populations (primarily the ultra-orthodox [Haredi] Jews and the Arabs) who are not forced into military service.  If Israel was truly desperate for manpower, then it could easily cut back on some of the ways people evade service (often by feigning religious piety).  In addition, in Operation Cast Lead (the 2008-2009 war in Gaza), over 100% of the reservists that were called up reported.  That means that there were volunteers.  While the standing army may lack sufficient numbers, Israel has no shortage when it comes to fighting its enemies.

Me with a friend from high school who made aliyah.

If I said I do not strongly agree with my Commander's second reason, then I would undercut the very reasons I am here.  I am here as a Jew, not as an immigrant.  This land is Jewish land and I want to defend it from its enemies.  Anything more need to be said?

Finally, I chuckle at his final reason, because at the same time it is so close to and far from reality.  There is nothing in Israel that creates the "Israeli identity" more than military service.  The Israeli ethos is molded during three years of hard, difficult work to defend this nation.  And this is no more true than in combat versus non-combat roles.  This is also a reason I am here; as I likely will make aliyah (immigrate) later in my life, I want to have paid my dues and served this country like every Israeli does.  I don't want to receive the benefits of citizenship without giving something back.  Now, that might sound noble, but the army isn't for everyone, and that's where my Commander's idea runs a bit off track.  While the military might be the best way, it is certainly not the only path to becoming "Israeli."  In addition, and this is a concern my dad expressed way back in my previous life when I was considering joining, what if the volunteer or new immigrant was wounded or even killed?  How would that influence relations between Israel and the mother country, between Jews and non-Jews?  In the event of something happening to me or another soldier from the States, how would it affect relations between the two countries?  Food for thought.

A street in Jerusalem during the party.

I went to Jerusalem yesterday to meet up with a friend from my Birthright trip from a year and a half ago.  In the center of the city, there was this festival/party.  It's like the Taste of Chicago but without the food.  Pretty much, there was beer to drink, music to listen to, and people to mingle with.  But from two to four in the afternoon, as is the daily societal custom in Jerusalem, the loud music suddenly quieted.  But it didn't die.  So where did it go?  Into wireless headphones you could rent for 10 shekels ($3).  On the outside, things were relatively quiet, with the usual noise hundreds of people generate from talking, walking, doing whatever.  But with the headphones, a whole new world filled with heavy, dancing beats opened up to you.  It was really quite cool.  It reminded me of my freshman year in college during finals, myself and a few friends put on headphones and had our own dance party.  We went up and down the hallways, visiting friends and inviting them to partake in our little party.  You could never hear a thing from the outside; we were quiet and respectful.  But our heads and bodies were filled with music.

On the way home, as I took the 480 bus from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, free while wearing my uniform,  I gazed at the surrounding hills.  Rows of apartment complexes and winding streets faced the biblical Mt. Moriah, the current city of Jerusalem.  The late afternoon sunlight bathed the buildings in a golden aura, making the Jerusalem stone bricks glow and radiate.  I thought of the hundreds of families preparing for Shabbat, a day of spiritual holiness and fulfillment for many, and a day to spend with your family for all.  In the waning hours before sunset on Fridays, Israel prepares for the Sabbath.  It is in many respects a literal, physical preparation.  And here I was, leaving my friends in Jerusalem to return to Tel Aviv to an empty apartment.  For the first time in a while I felt alone and disconnected...from everything.

My one week break is at an end.  I return to base tomorrow to begin advanced training...

From beneath the cows to above the clouds

I dropped to the ground, covering my head with my hands as my unit began to count the seconds until the light stick "grenade" would explode. The mefakedets were screaming to get down and lie still. After our counting, the MemMem yelled to start crawling, forward towards the front of the two lines. It was a free-for-all; if you were faster than the guy ahead of you, you tried to maneuver around him without having his boots kick you in the face. You didn't pay attention to what you were crawling over (mud, rocks, cow shit); you just focus on getting to the front as fast as possible, ignoring the pounding of your heart, muscles screaming for relief, and stones cutting into your knees. What were we doing in the middle of the night, slogging through a heavily muddied path, through cow fields, carried people on stretchers? It's called a 'masa', a hike led by a commander intended to practice and simulate patrols, complete with springing into different firing positions, shouting orders, and running. The night was cloudy and I had no idea if I was about to step onto somewhat solid ground or plunge my boot into a foot of water. I had my head down, looking at the guy's boots in front of me. I knew if we were about to sprint based on the sound of the soldiers ahead of me; the quickened pace sounded like an oncoming rush of water. In total, we hiked about six or eight kilometers. That's not significant distance by any stretch of the imagination, but what made it difficult were the conditions. And personally, I had also just completed a two hour shmirah shift.

As I mentioned in my last post, I was going to spend two straight weeks on base. It was time for my plugot to do shmirah, or guard duty. After a month with no guns, we went to the armory on Tuesday to receive our weapons. For the next week, the guns were not to leave our side. What's more, we had to always have our combat vests on, complete with two filled canteens and three magazines, each with twenty-nine rounds. Yes, I was packin' heat all week: eighty-seven 5.56 caliber bullets, ready to be locked and loaded if I noticed something suspicious while on guard duty. Every day, the MemMem spoke to my machlekah about guard duty: protocols, tips, sanctions, etc. In total, I pulled six, two-hour guard shifts. Twice I was the solo guard for the armory, another two times I was by myself at a post overlooking a valley, and another two times I was with another soldier at the "bunker", an isolated location on top of another hill, protecting Mikveh Alon's ammunition cache. Shmirah is good and bad. At some times I feel very proud to be protecting something, even if it is only Mikveh Alon (I swear, if Israel's enemies ever find it necessary to launch an assault on Mikveh, then Israel is already lost). It is also probably the only opportunity to be alone and have time to think. But the bunker is a great place, too. Its isolation makes it easy to see if a commander is coming to check on you, but, as in my case, I was paired with Russians both times and for two hours we spoke Hebrew. Shmirah, in general, is boring. It's also a huge pain in the @$$ getting up at 3:30, after four hours of sleep, to be ready for guard duty from 4-6 in the morning. After one of these shifts, I got back to my room at 6:15, we were to get up at 7:15. I just took off my vest, laid my gun down on my bed, sat down, leaning against the wall, and closed my eyes for an hour.

So what's the protocol if someone suspicious shows up at our guard post? If we don't recognize the person, we first ask, in Hebrew, "who is it?" If there's no response, or the individual appears to be a threat (pulls a weapon, starts running towards you, or, frankly, is Arab), we shout "stop!" in every language we know. They taught us how to stay "Stop or I'll shoot" in Arabic. The next step is to cock our gun twice, although without it loaded. Hopefully, the sound itself will frighten the individual. If that doesn't work, then we can load our guns with a magazine. Then we're allowed to shoot two warning shots into the air. If still that doesn't work, then we can shoot the threat in the legs. Thankfully, I never saw anyone I didn't know and never had to go through those steps.

For the two hour shift, we're only allowed to sit for the last ten minutes of each hour. The rest of the time I either stand in place or pace back and forth, counting the number of tiles on the ground, cows in the fields, or street lights in nearby towns. It is an automatic Shabbat (meaning you stay on base for the weekend) if you're caught sleeping, sitting, smoking, eating, or drinking (anything but water) during your shift. A friend had given me a candy bar before my first shift when I was solo at the armory. After the first hour I was bored of pacing back and forth and was starting to get really tired, so I made it a challenge to secretly open the candy bar with one hand in my pocket and break off small bites. The whole operation took a good twenty-five minutes. Quality use of time.

Throughout the day we had our normal Hebrew classes. Soldiers would leave in the middle of the day to report for shmirah duty. That's why we had to have our vests on at all times. One afternoon, after our MemMem gave us our daily shmirah briefing, the siren sounded. If that happens, we have exactly seven minutes to get from wherever we are (even if we're sleeping) to a predesignated spot and form a chet with the machlekah. After the formation, with our helmets on and canteens filled, we were told to run to the perimeter of the base. We spring to our designated spot, shouting war cries and running over people who are too slow; our excitement in pretending to be doing something important is evident. I run to some brush and lay down in prone position, aiming my gun at some random things in the distance. The drill was fun, if pointless. We were told we did a good job, and that was it.

The day after our nighttime masa, we had a competition between the nine tzevets in the plugot. This was one of the highlights of the week. First we had a "jeep" run: one soldier wrapped his arms around two others and draped his legs over the shoulders of a third. We sprinted about fifty meters, then had to answer a question in Hebrew from a mefakedet. Then we were to run to the next location around a bend. We started at a full on sprint, then realized it was a good quarter mile away. Most of us made it huffing and puffing. After another question, we had to crawl fifty meters over hard pavement, littered with rocks. I still have scabs on my hands, two weeks later, from the cuts. People's knees were bruised for days. Crawling isn't supposed to be as "bloody" as it was for us, but because we have no training, we just do whatever it takes to get to the finish line. Then we had to consume a can of beans, write "tzevet 3" with sticks, and spring to the flag for the final leg. In total, the competition was about twelve minutes, but it was fun. I always enjoy getting my blood pumping with competition and sport. We haven't had much of it over the past two months, so this was really enjoyable.

Finally, on Tuesday morning of the second week, we woke up at 2:30 AM for the masa of the MemPay, the officer in charge of the whole plugot. This turned out to be the easiest thing. We were bused about forty-five minutes to a random spot in the road, formed our two lines, and starting marching....on the road. In total, we walked about two kilometers, sometimes running, but never dropping down to a firing position and never crawling. At the end, we finished on top of a mountain overlooking the Kinneret, a lake in the north and Israel's main source of freshwater. The MemPay talked about the area, we grabbed some photos, then had a ceremony in the parking lot with the higher ups of the base present. It was nice, but unnecessary to wake up that early just to see the sunrise.

At the beginning of the two weeks, I was excited to do shmirah and spend my first Shabbat on base. A lot of guys were apprehensive about the two weeks without a break. The truth is, during kravi service, it is common to spend two to three weeks at a time on base. And Shabbat was fun. We had a great Friday night meal, and Saturday (aside from waking up at four for shmirah) was a lazy day. No one could order us to do anything. If we wanted to sleep, we could. If we wanted to exercise, it was no problem. Some people watched movies on their iPods, I read a book ("Brotherhood of Warriors" by Aaron Cohen, it's about Cohen's experience as an American in the IDF [sound familiar] in the mid-90s when he was a part of Duvdevan, an elite unit charged with infiltrating the West Bank), or we just talked about nothing. When Sunday and Monday rolled around, I felt completely at ease on base, as if we had not already spent seven or eight days there. It became routine. So long as you're with your friends, life becomes a whole lot easier.

Finally, after our week of shmirah ended, we left our base to go to Jerusalem. On Wednesday, we boarded a bus and drove to Har Hertzl, Israel's Arlington Cemetery. I was there a year ago on Birthright, but this time was completely different for me. I looked at the graves and the most off-putting thing about the place, is that most of the soldiers who lay forever on that hillside were between 18 and 23 years of age. When I say most, I mean if there's a row of ten graves, seven will be in their late teens or early twenties. One guy was born three weeks before me and was killed in action in 2006 in Lebanon. I remember a year ago thinking about the young age of the soldiers. I now thought....well, I'll keep that to myself.

Next we went to Yad Vashem, Israel's Holocaust museum. Again, this was my third time within a year. But it's always an important place to go to if in Israel. If you haven't been to a Holocaust museum, please find one to visit. There's a great one in Washington, DC, and one recently opened near my town in northern Chicago. Yad Vashem, and my tour guide, really hammered home the point that the Nazis made the Jews out to be non-human, something aside from humanity. I could talk for hours about the museum and the Holocaust, but suffice it to say, as I've mentioned before, it reinvigorates me with a renewed sense of purpose in my service.

Afterwards, we went to Gush Etzion, an area in the Judean hills in the West Bank. The story behind Gush Etzion, briefly, is this: during the aliyahs of the early 20th century, many Jews wanted to settle this land that is believed to have been a passageway for Abraham and Isaac before they reached Mt. Moriah for the binding; King David slew Goliath in these hills; and other biblical stories. The climate was difficult, the soil rocky, and the surrounding people hostile. During the War of Independence, one day before the State of Israel was created, all the defenders of Gush Etzion were massacred by the Jordanian legions. The children of these Jews, having been evacuated weeks earlier, grew up and vowed to one day resettle the land. That opportunity came in 1967 when Israel reclaimed control of Judea and Samaria. Now, there are a few thriving communities in the area and a yeshiva for the study of Torah. It is a great testament to the will of the Jewish people to reclaim their land, a story of yearning and a hope fulfilled.

The next day, we were given a "tour" of Jerusalem's Old City, courtesy of our mefakedets. Hardy the best tour of anything I've ever received. I've lost a lot of respect for my mefakedet. At the yeshiva, my tzevet sat in a chet and our mefakedet asked us about our day, what we thought of Har Hertzl, Yad Vashem, Gush Etzion, etc. I told them, point-blank, "I feel like I'm on Birthright" not in the freakin' IDF. I'm sorry, but I don't really care to talk about what it was like to see twenty year olds buried in the ground with an eighteen year old girl who doesn't know anything about me, what I'm thinking, or who I am. What a load of crap this place and these people can be at times.

But on a high note, we were given time to ourselves at the Kotel, the Western Wall. And as the sun was setting, my entire plugot formed a big chet on the plaza in front of the Wall. We're about 100 soldiers, plus thirty or so commanders; needless to say, we took up a considerable area. We're standing with our berets on, at attention in formation, tourists stopping to take pictures or video, wondering what was going on. We all shout responsively in unison at the appropriate times, creating a small, thunderous echo off the surrounding buildings. The MemPay spoke some words, which I couldn't hear, but at the end of the ceremony, we were each given a military-issued Tanach, a book of the Torah, Prophets and Writings, essentially Judaism's entire Written Law. And its pretty awesome because it has the IDF insignia on its cover. This is just another example how I can be face-down, crawling through cow droppings one day, and standing in formation, in front of the eyes of Jerusalem, receiving an IDF edition Tanach.

Finally, that night, I ate dinner with another soldier with a family who lived in the area. Before we left base, the HaSammelot asked us who would want to eat dinner with a family who wants to get to know lone soldiers for Thursday night. I volunteered, and it was great. I got a great meal, spoke Hebrew the whole time, and now have some people who were genuinely interested in helping make my life here easier. Israelis can be incredible people.

A lot happened over the past two weeks. I'll leave the heavy thoughts, feelings, and emotions for next week. I'll just say that now it's getting to crunch time to deciding whether I want to go to the Tzanchanim gibbush, try to get into Nahal with my medical profile, or go to Totchanim (Artillery). The HaSammelot gave us a presentation about each of these units before we went to Jerusalem. I think we're going to learn more this week, but that is still to be determined. And I feel completely out of world events. Apparently the Arab world is on fire. We'll see what that means for Israel in the comings weeks. 'Til next time, you stay classy!

PS- if you want to get a quick look into what my life is like, check this out:http://www.jpost.com/VideoArticles/Video/Article.aspx?id=207527

Happy (?) New Year!

2011!! New Year's resolutions? Survive? Thrive? Get through basic training at Mikveh Alon? Normal stuff. I actually rang in 2010 in Israel. I was in Jerusalem on Birthright. The new year celebration here isn't as elaborate, or even recognized, as much as in America. I miss that about home. I always liked watching the ball drop in New York at 11:00 my time in Chicago. In Jerusalem last year, we asked the dj of the club if he was going to let us know when it was almost midnight. Even though there was just our group in the club, he still wouldn't do it. At least this year, the bartender turned off the music and counted down the last ten seconds. New Year's for Jerusalem is really Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. Secular Tel Aviv, it turns out, recognizes the new year.

It was a fun night, a good way to relax and enjoy myself after a long week. Days starting at 4:30 in the morning, running everywhere (we are only allowed to walk on our breaks), doing pushups for seemingly no reason, standing at attention for hours, not understanding most of what the commanders say...what a wonderful life I've got right now. It's at least nice to get the weekends off, even if I have to get up every Friday at 3:30 am, clean our rooms, get yelled at, do some pushups, leave the base at 6:00, bus to the Acko train station, train to Tel Aviv, 20 minute walk back to the apartment, in comfortable clothes, vegging on the couch by 9:00.

We will only stay on the base on Shabbat for guard duty, but that requires us knowing how to shoot a gun, which we are yet to do. But not for long! I return to base tomorrow morning and on Monday, we are going to the Golan to train with Golani, an intense infantry unit. We're going to be outdoors for three days, sleeping in tents, learning to shoot, training, don't really know exactly what just yet. I'm excited. It'll be a hard three days, the first of many, I'm sure, but it's what I signed up for.

The days at Mikveh Alon, miraculously, go by. They are long, but you look forward to certain moments, such as meals, when we have ten minutes to eat, but can stay longer because we have the next twenty or thirty minutes to ourselves for a break. We also get a fifteen minute break every hour or two. We can go to the bathroom then, there's generally bread and jelly available to eat, and, of course, we bitch about everything. It's a great de-stressor, allows us to get through the day. We begin to realize how young our commanders are. Granted many of the guys are 18-20, and there are many, like myself, who are early to mid-20s, but all our officers are in their late teens. They try to discipline us. While most of the English speakers (Americans, Brits, South Africans, Australians, etc) are already disciplined, the Russians are anything but. The officers try to discipline, and it's been working more and more as the days go by. But as it began to sink in with all of us that a lot of the shit we do we'll do no matter what (running, pushups, mindless cleaning), it becomes more of a joke and we laugh about it. Just the other day, as we're standing at attention outside the dining hall, waiting for permission to go in, the guy next to me moved. When I say "moved," I don't mean jumping around or drinking from his canteen. I mean he scratched his face or shifted his weight. One of the roving commanders came by, got in his face and asked, in Hebrew, if he moved without permission. The guy doesn't speak any Hebrew, knew what was coming, and just laughed to himself and said, "yeah, I'll just go do ten pushups now."

So, Daniel, what did you learn this week? Well, we learned how to operate a military radio, how to use a gas mask and what to do in the event of a atomic, biological or chemical attack, and first aid, like what to do if I get a cut or a limb blown off. It's cool to learn these things. Maybe not thinking about losing arms or legs, but the sort of things I will learn in the military are, basically, cool things. On Monday, a company came in and attached laser sights to the end of our M16 rifles and we practiced shooting in prone position (lying down). It was the first legit step to shooting the gun we've taken. Actually, it was the only thing we've done with the rifles except carry them around everywhere.

The time away from the army is great. Relaxing, enjoyable, mindless. Usually I feel like I have to always be doing something productive, but now I just enjoyed sitting on the couch this morning with cousins, nursing a hangover, and watching hours of Entourage. Next week I'll write a little more about what's going on in Israel, because there have been some incredible developments, like discovering a massive reservoir of natural gas off the coast of Haifa.

So, do I 'like' or am I 'happy' with my time so far at Mikveh? Don't really know if those words are the most appropriate. I enjoy serving. I am extremely honored to wear an Israeli uniform. I still have to ask myself often למה אני פה why am I here? I remind myself with the kippah on my head. I remind myself by looking around at the beautiful scenery around the base. I see the sunrise every morning and the sunset every evening. Life will improve, become more exciting. For now, I often keep telling myself the reasons I decided to make my body and my life property of the Israeli government for the next eighteen months. Why nineteen year old girls yell at me in a foreign language. For now, life is bearable. I often go from feeling great about myself and my situation to feeling like crap. But we survive and endure and look forward to the weekends.

Oh, and December 27th was my one year anniversary of my first time in Israel! How my life has changed in the last twelve months...