Learn Hebrew!

I just put up a new page for those interested in learning Hebrew.  It's a program with the Jerusalem Post (the same newspaper that I also write a blog for) where you are paired up with a teacher/instructor and have lessons over the phone or Skype.  It's good if you've never spoken the language before or even if you have years of experience.  It also hits all the bases: reading, speaking, listening, comprehension.

Anyway, what's below is their description of the program.  I urge anyone with any interest in learning the language of Israel and Judaism to contact Leon and take it from there.  Enjoy!

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Why do we need an instructor to improve our Hebrew skills?

Well, can you imagine flying a plane without first taking flying lessons?  I know this is an extreme example…but still, you would never attempt flying a plane without getting the proper instruction first. This is because it would be very important for you to do it right: naturally, you would want to stay alive  

The question is really this: what sort of a connection to Judaism, the Jewish people, and Israel do you want to have?  From this question, you can ask: how important is it to learn Hebrew? How important is it for you to feel connected to your Jewish roots, to Israel and to the Jewish world in general? How close is this goal to your heart?

If you feel the desire to become more connected, then the Hebrew language is something you do want to learn and improve.  Here are a few steps you should follow in order to achieve maximum results:

1. You must begin with knowing your Hebrew level: note what mistakes you make and what processes (systems, exercises) will suit your competency best. This is important in order to understand what is required to reach your desired proficiency level.

2. You need someone who will work with you; someone who will know your weak and strong points and who will focus on what you need to do to improve and how to do so. 

3. This "someone" must be a professional who has years of experience in teaching Hebrew as a foreign language and who is able to demonstrate good results with past pupils. 

4. You need to be committed and to closely follow the instructions given to you by this person.

5. You need also to constantly repeat the new ideas and concepts you learn from your teacher. If you take a lesson or two once every couple months you will not see results and the process may prove frustrating. But if you commit to a lesson a week and during that week work on assigned exercises, that would be very productive!

The Jerusalem Post is a company established 80 years ago and has recently created a revolutionary program called IVRIT-TALK which is composed of all the above steps and more. 

This program consists of online private Hebrew lessons with professional teachers. Initiated in February 2011, the program has already more than 900 happy subscribers.

What could be better than having a professional teacher calling you on pre-arranged times that you have scheduled in advance, at your convenience? What could be more instructive than a one-on-one session where the teacher concentrates solely on you? 

The teachers taking part in the program not only speak fluent English and Hebrew but they are also calling you from Israel (by telephone or Skype).  It does not matter where you live; irrespective of location, our teachers will contact you at your convenience, mainly through an internet connection, such as Skype.

Having someone to speak with in Hebrew (irrespective of his or her proficiency level) is necessary when wanting to learn and mantain a foreign language.

If you are able to dedicate at least 1-2 hours a week, please send an email to Naomi@jpost.com, Subject: Attention Leon, with your details (first and last name and a contact number) and I will contact you as soon as possible and we'll find out together if this program is something that can really help you.

Recent testimonials from happy subscribers:

"I have just finished my tenth IvritTalk session, and I wanted to let you know how much I enjoy and value IvritTalk. These 20-minute sessions are a very worthwhile use of my time and investment of my money. You have trained the IvritTalk staff extremely well! They really know how to pack a lot of learning into a 20-minute session, and they are incredibly friendly and warm at the same time. Truly, kol hakavod to you for such a great program!"

Steve,
Massachusetts, USA

"I am enrolled in the Ivrit program, and although I have only had one lesson, my interest in your beautiful language has been renewed. I worked with Tali on Monday and she was very helpful and very encouraging. I am working again on the Alefbet and also on the vowel points. Just for your info, this study helps me in my Sunday school classes every week. My class this week includes psalm (Mizmor) 133 and I have been looking at it in Ivrit and that pushes me even more to get the message of unity out to those in my class."

Jerry
Mississippi, USA

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...

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.