Standing at the Wall

The tunnel was packed with soldiers jumping, shouting, sweating, pushing each other in a huge mosh pit as we followed the lead of our commanders, getting ourselves psyched up to formally announce our loyalty to the defense of the State of Israel.  101, 202, and 890 shouted their particular battlecries, hurling insults at each other as we proved our own units to be the best.  We were moments away from walking out to the Western Wall and we were acting like animals with too much testosterone to burn off.  And it was fun.

Shortly before 8:00pm on Thursday evening, we formed rows of six, donned our berets on our heads, rolled our sleeves down (something kravi [combat] soldiers never do, we're tough guys so our sleeves are always rolled up past our elbows, no matter the weather), and started to stamp our feet in unison before marching forward.  I passed the entrance of the tunnel and a rush of cool air and the cheers and camera flashes from hundreds of people hit me.  Our marching led us out onto the huge plaza in front of the Western Wall and into a sectioned off area for the ceremony.  As we marched, I looked around for people I knew were coming to see me: David and Amy and their three girls; Sam and Ben, my Israeli friends; and Ami, a friend from Chicago who is studying at the same yeshivah where I spent three weeks last summer.  I couldn't find them, but knew they were somewhere in the crowd.

As I stood there as important generals and colonels made speeches about the history of Tzanchanim and the Kotel (Western Wall), about the loyalty Israelis show to their country by serving in the armed forces, about the journey ahead of us, I couldn't believe that a year ago I was standing at a different ceremony: my college graduation.  The past year has been one of the craziest of my life, if not the most insane!  I'm so proud to be here; during the speeches, I found myself thinking, "a hundred meters to my right is the reason that I am here; when it comes down to it, I am here simply because I want to be between the Wall and anyone that wants to destroy it."

This ceremony was incredibly more powerful and important than the one I had at Mikveh Alon.  Actually, I think I'll just stop talking about Mikveh and you can always assume that everything I do is incomparably superior to that base.  Instead of repeating lines of an oath of loyalty, one of the high ranking generals said some words and then everyone shouted in unison: "אני נשבע Ani Nishba I SWEAR!"  Silence for a second, then the entire plaza erupted with cheers and applause.  We were officially sworn in as soldiers of the IDF.

A week and a half before, my gdud (battalion) earned our tekkes hashba'ah (swearing-in ceremony).  We had another masa (hike): seven plus one.  Daniel, that's eight kilometers, why don't you just say 'eight?'  Thank you for asking, interested and slightly confused reader!  We say 'seven plus one' because the last kilometer is traveled while carrying someone on the stretcher.  This masa was called the 'masa hashba'ah' because at the end, we were to receive our paratrooper tags (to be explained in a little bit).  It was going to be a hike with our entire gdud: MemMem, MemPay, the works.  For this, I decided to step up and take the pack of water on my bag.  Every masa, each citah (squad) has to have a man on the radio, another carrying the stretcher, and a third with the water.  The guy with the radio is at the front of the column with the commander; generally he doesn't do much with the radio itself and is just there to run up and down the column relaying orders from the commander.  However, this time, because of the large group, our MemMem (company commander) was at the front of the machlekah (company) and he used the radio quite often to communicate with the front of the gdud.  The guy with the water is carrying a lot more weight.  In addition to our combat vest, helmet and rifle, he carries an extra pack with about twenty liters of water.  I was that guy.  An advantage to carrying the water is that you stand at the head of the column, right next to the commander.  At first, because we had three citahs in the column, I was behind another 'water guy.'  But he couldn't keep up with the MemMem, and would walk a few paces then run to catch up, walk then run, walk then run.  I knew the masa would be significantly harder if I kept that up because I was behind him.  After the first two kilometers, I grabbed his arm, told him to switch with me, and then was able to keep pace with the Mefaked Machlekah for the rest of the hike.

And this masa wasn't easy.  We went up a sloping hill, then up a steep climb; we caught our breath for five minutes at the top, then went down the other side, in the dark, with rocks and boulders, pits and sloping surfaces, enough to twist ankles and throw off your balance.  By the end of the masa, especially after carrying the stretcher for the last kilometer, I was tired, but not beat.  All three machlekahs gathered in a chet formation and the MemPay, who led the masa, stood in the middle, shouting at us, and each time he shouted we raised our stretchers up.  They lit a fire that spelled our gdud's name and number: 202 צפא (tzefa: python).  Then we received our tags.

If you come to Israel and see all the soldiers, you'll notice a few things.  First off, everyone has different colored berets for their different units.  Tzanchanim is red, Golani is brown, Nachal is light green, Modi'in (intelligence) is dark green, Totchanim (artillery) is blue, and so on.  You can learn what each kumta (beret) is as there are only about a dozen different ones.  In addition, each soldier has a tag on their left shoulder, but these you cannot know all because there are dozens and dozens.  You can learn to recognize the major fighting units' tags, but there are also so many more that are specific to different jobnik positions or even within combat.

The Tzanchanim tag has a green snake with white and black wings against a red backdrop.  All of the gduds are named after different snakes (check out the Tzanchanim website link on the right for more, and specific, information!).  I think I read somewhere (probably on that website) that Tzanchanim are like snakes because we can attack quickly and viciously.  We can infiltrate through the air and carry out a mission that would otherwise be impossible because it can't be accessed by land.  The wings are for that, for being a tzanchan-- a paratrooper.  You see that tag, you know the soldier is in Tzanchanim.  Receiving it is one more official step to becoming an accomplished Israeli soldier; it is another piece of hardware that proves your experience.

I spent Shabbat on the base and then we had a few days of guard duty and kitchen work, really nothing to write home about.  But, as you already, I had a yom siddurim in the middle of the week, which was great.  But when I got back, I found out that my machlekah had gone to the firing range and done a lot of work with their rifles.  I'm pretty bummed I missed that because I have not fired my M16 since those few times almost two months ago when we aligned our sights.  I honestly feel like the entire Israeli army has done more than my gdud.  It's very frustrating to hear about my friends in Nachal, Golani or even in gdud 890 in Tzancahnim tell me that they've spent days on the rifle range, or that they know certain things about the Syrian army or Hezbollah, or that they've already completed a krav maga class where all they did was stay in a pushup position for an hour.  Instead, it seems that all we do is guard duty and kitchen work.  But if at the end of basic and advanced training we know and have done everything that everyone has and we're at the same level, then it's all good.  But for right now, I've been frustrated and, honestly, it kinda sucks.

One good thing about guard duty, and this is very particular, is if you guard at the front gate.  It's better for many reasons, the main one is that you are with someone else.  Not another soldier, but a commander; either your Mefaked, Sammal, or MemMem.  The time goes by faster because you can talk with each other, or at least attempt to.  The first hour of my shift I was with the commander who punishes me whenever I speak English.  While there is some distance between the soldiers and our commanders, it is certainly nothing like at Mikveh, and it will go down because distance isn't good when you're going to battle together.  Anyway, we had a great conversation for an hour, and in Hebrew, mind you.  The next hour, he switched out with the Sammal (sergeant) and lets just say that talking was kept to a minimum and there was plenty of distance--literally, he moved to stand on the other side of the road and was on the phone most of the time.  But it was all good, the time still passed.

As I look back on the last week, I do realize that I've learned quite a bit.  We had an intense day or two of learning first aid: what to do if you come upon a soldier lying on the ground; how to treat his wounds; the different kinds of treatment; pretty much everything that a soldier who is not the medic needs to know and do to help his buddy.  It was actually during a break in one of these lessons that the commander heard me talking English to the other Americans and pulled me out of class.  I then did sprints for ten minutes, including shouting to a rock, in Hebrew, and in full view of a citah passing by, "I will not speak English again!  I will not speak English again!" and then sprinting back to make it in the twenty seconds.  Fun stuff.

We also learned about the different pachals, the specific weapon assignments each soldier will receive.  These include everything from being the radio man to a sharpshooter, carrying anti-tank missiles to light machine guns.  I'll talk more about that in my next post.  We're supposed to get our assignments in the next two or three weeks.  890 already has theirs; just another indication that it really seems like 202 is behind.

On Thursday morning, I woke up at 5:30 after four hours of sleep and we practiced our marching in preparation for the tekkes that evening.  We spent the next several hours cleaning our rooms and bathroom.  Tedious, unnecessary work.  I ate breakfast in seven minutes.  We boarded buses around eleven to head to Jerusalem.  We arrived two hours later and stopped at a high vantage point on Mount Scopus, next to Hebrew University.  Our MemMem gave us a lecture on what Tzanchanim encountered as they battled the Jordanians on their way to retaking the Old City and the Kotel in the Six Day War.  The next several hours were spent walking that path.  And this was pretty cool.  We would stop every kilometer or so for an update on what battle or skirmish took place at that location.  There would also be a small memorial or monument to the soldiers who fell in that location or from the specific unit that fought there.

The path took us deep into East Jerusalem, the Arab part of the city.  All of us are in our Aleph uniforms with our guns strapped on our shoulders and a double magazine holding fifty-eight bullets on our belts.  Some of the looks we got from the locals were anything but friends.  I heard awkward, uncomfortable laughs as we passed by food stands.  One time when we stopped for an update, I saw two young boys, probably seven or eight, one of which had a rusted piece of metal that happened to form the shape of a gun, pointing it at us and pretending to jab us as he ran by.  A friend of mine told me over drinks last night that he narrowly missed being hit by a rock thrown by another child.  I felt pretty safe the entire time, but I could also tell there was tension in the air, especially after the Nakba Day turmoil.  But one of the bright spots was passing the U.S. Consulate!  Oh it was great to be on American soil, or the steps, for even ten seconds.  But it was also during this time that I spoke a sentence in English to a South African friend who asked if I liked being home.  Another Mefaked heard me, asked me how many English words I spoke ('9), and how many pushups per word ('don't know'), ok then you owe me ninety push-ups.  Ummm, rain check, please?

We finally got to the Kotel around four in the afternoon and set our bags aside along a wall.  We were given twenty minutes free time to pray, use the bathroom, whatever.  There was certainly a buzz among the tourists as they saw a bunch of soldiers with guns show up.  Especially coming from the States, you'd think there was some sort of national security issue.  But this is Israel; there are always soldiers with guns.  I heard one man talking, in English, with his yeshivah students and wondering what was going on.  He came up to me and asked in Hebrew, 'what time is your ceremony tonight?'  To which I replied in English.  Hell yeah I want him to know that I ain't Israeli!  He was shocked and eventually asked for my picture!  What a celebrity I am, haha!  But honestly, he was excited to hear about there being non-Israelis in the IDF.

At five thirty, all of the lone soldiers had to gather because we had a dinner to attend.  Instead of eating plain sandwiches, the lone soldiers and their families who came were treated to a very nice meal at a restaurant near the Kotel that I've passed by a hundred times but don't have the funds to eat at.  At the end, we received more gifts, this time clothes like socks, boxers, undershirts, etc.  And also letters from people around the world expressing their gratitude for our service.  It's the same company that is the link on the right: Lone Soldier Care Packages.

We finished the meal with about forty-five minutes until our tekkes.  I put my gift in my bag, gave my gun to a commander who put it on the rack for the ceremony, and rejoined my brothers in the tunnel.  Enjoy this little snippet I took on my phone:

There were people on the sides taking photos and videos, enjoying every minute of being part of something very Israeli.  As a twenty-three year-old college graduate, I appreciate the vow I have taken much more, I'm sure, than the eighteen and nineteen year-old soldiers in my unit.  This was a conscious decision I made to uproot and move out here.  I gave it a lot of thought and consideration about what it means to pledge myself to a cause, to another country.

Reliving old times, Sam (l) and Ben?

It wasn't until I was in formation standing at attention that I saw my friends.  During a quiet moment between instructions, I hear my name shouted to my left.  I look and see Sam and Ben shouting, smiling and waving at me.  I knew my friends and family was in attendance, but it was great to see them.  In addition, a great surprise was having David's mother and her husband in attendance.  Her husband was born in Israel and served in the paratroopers back in the 1950s.  As you can see in the picture above, he wore his beret from his service; it's over fifty years old!  Incredible.

Of course now the best thing to come out of the whole tekkes is that I get to take my gun home on weekends.  It's sitting in the apartment, and I can take it apart, play with it, admire it, whatever, anytime I want.  Even though I don't yet have the red Tzanchanim kumta, I do have a gun with my on the train.

It's been a great חמשוש chamshoosh, or when you get off from the army on Thursday as opposed to Friday.  I was able to hang out with friends, have some drinks, check out some new bars in Tel Aviv and Herziliya.  Tonight is Lag B'Omer, thirty-three days after Pesach and a celebration where we light fires.  See Wikipedia for more.  I return tomorrow and will spend another week in the shetach (field).  Then next Shabbat my gdud is going to Hebron for guard duty!  I'm really pumped for this.  I don't really know what to expect, but it's off base, it's in Hebron, and it's the first legitimate defending of something in Israel that I will do.  Two weeks until I'm back...again.  But I'm getting used to this.  The days and weeks are going by and they certain move faster if I'm on base more often.  Until then, thanks for reading!

tobealonesoldier II

It's good to be in Tzanchanim (for glossary of Israeli military jargon, click here).  Apparently, the city of Ramat Gan has adopted us and is more than willing to shower us with gifts and goodies.  For all of Tzanchanim, they gave us two workout shirts and a pair of shorts, complete with the Tzanchanim logo and the phrase "!אחרי לצנחנים"/"After the Paratroopers!"  Now, when we go for a run, everyone sports the red shirt and black shorts.  Unit pride and cohesion or effective uniformity and conformity?  For the lone soldiers, we got a little bit more.  There was a special lunch held for the lone soldiers with all of the top officers on base in attendance.  The food and decor was appropriate of a meal for the bigwigs, and not simple soldiers.  At the conclusion, the generous group from Ramat Gan gave us more presents.  We got a nice analog watch, a wallet, a thermos, a pocket knife set, all with the Tzanchanim logo, and a fleece.  The items are all fine and good, but what really matters to me, us, to the lone soldiers is that they show that there are people, Israelis, entire cities who care about the lone soldiers of the IDF.

A few days later, again the lone soldiers had another event.  This time, the head of the New Jersey chapter of Friends of the IDF came to visit his Tzanchanim brethren.  He read a letter from a former lone soldier on the difficulties of being a lone soldier compared to an Israeli soldier.  He told us that there are people all over the world thinking and praying for us.  "Even when you are by yourself, doing guard duty in the middle of the night, know that you are never alone.  We are always with you."

We also celebrated four soldiers' birthdays with cake and drink.  A few of us spoke before the group on how and why we came to be in the IDF.  A little while later, all of the lone soldiers on the base gathered in the auditorium to hear from the head of the base, the FIDF guys again, and were given a comforter and bed sheets.  One of my friends commented that we should quietly put our gifts into our lockers and not tell the other soldiers in our units about them because they may get jealous.  I think he's right in a way, but "jealous?  Do you think they think to take their conversations with their mothers, their families, their friends outside of the room so I don't hear because I may get jealous or upset that I can't do that because my life lives 6,000 miles away?"  But still, I put my presents away without fanfare.

The New Jersey man asked me at one point where I live: קיבוץ המעפיל Kibbutz HaMa'pil.  "You're a lucky soldier."  And he's right.  At this kibbutz, where I am right now, in the clubhouse, sitting in a comfortable sofa, my feet up on the coffee table and my computer in my lap, the lone soldiers are provided with so much.  We each get a large room with a double bed, table, television, large closet, mini kitchen station with utensils, cooking ware, refrigerator, microwave, and a bathroom.  It's essentially a fully furnished studio apartment.  Lunch is provided for us every Friday afternoon and we have time before Shabbat to take whatever food we need from a collection the kibbutz provides from a grocery store.  We do our own laundry.  And every Sunday morning at 6:30, a man drives us from the kibbutz to the Hadera train station.  As with most kibbutzim, it is difficult to get to places; there are few buses, and no direct line from here to the train.  The best way is by car, and usually that means "tramping" or hitch-hiking.  My commanders tell us every Friday not to tramp while in uniform, that it is very dangerous and could land us in a world of trouble.  (And they're not without reasons.  It's not safe to get into a car with a stranger while in uniform because in the past, terrorists, posing as peaceful Israelis, have captured soldiers who hitch-hike.)  But when leaving from inside the kibbutz, its ok to catch a tramp.

Which is what I did on Sunday.  Because of Pesach, we're given a lot of time off from the army, and I wanted to take the opportunity to see friends who I haven't seen in a while.  A lot of my friends from Mikveh Alon have moved to kibbutzes, and myself being at a kibbutz now, I don't see my friends who live in and around Tel Aviv so much anymore.  But like last week when I went back and forth between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, this time it was good to know people in the area to have rides and a place to stay.

First thing that happened Sunday morning, was my MemMem (platoon commander) came to my kibbutz to look into my living situation.  It's something that every soldier is subject to: either the Mefaked (commander) or the MemMem comes to make sure his soldier has proper living conditions.  I showed him my room and the clubhouse.  We sat down and had a nice conversation; I explained to him how I started to learn Hebrew, and even showed him the book I had dug out of my basement this past summer; it's from my Hebrew school I attended when I was ten or eleven and first starting to learn the Aleph-Bet.  Our conversation was, surprisingly, pleasant and casual and we even shook hands at the end of it.  As we walked back to his car, he even joked with me about how my childish Hebrew level is comparable to his childish English level when he went to the States to work for a year.  It still amazes me how different the "real" army is compared to Mikveh Alon; as Ben, my Israeli friend, commented, "in kravi, it's family."  In the combat units, there isn't the kind of distance between commanders and soldiers as there was at Mikveh, which is essentially a jobnik base.

After the meeting, I caught a tramp from inside the kibbutz to the train.  The man who drove me was real nice and talked about wanting to bring his kids one day to see the great wheat silo of the world: America's Midwest.  It was great to speak of home.  I took the train to Tel Aviv and went straight to David and Amy's apartment.  They were on vacation in London and I have a key to their place and am able to stay there whenever I need it.  It's another place I can always go if I can't make it back to my kibbutz or want to be able to sleep later and catch a train from Tel Aviv south to my base as opposed to Hedera, which is a good forty-five minutes north.

I met up with one of my best friends from Mikveh who I don't see anymore because he moved from Tel Aviv to a kibbutz and is Nahal, another infantry unit.  We ate, drank, and caught up on each other's lives. On Monday, I hung around the apartment and Sam, an Israeli friend, picked me up and we went to Netanya for dinner.  Then we went to Ben's family's place in Renanah for a Moroccan feast to end Pesach.  I slept in Ben's place in Herzliya and he drove me back to my kibbutz, where I am now.

My point with all of this is that life is certainly difficult, foreign and full of uncertainty as a lone soldier.  But when you have places around the country where you know people, living becomes easier.  I can always crash at David and Amy's in Tel Aviv.  I have a friend in Jerusalem where I can stay if need be.  Sam and Ben have been the greatest help in the world to me; whenever I meet their friends or family, they explain how we knew each other from Birthright, and since I've come to join the army.  Their proud to have me as their friend and I am more than thankful to know them and have them in my life.  From driving me places to giving me tips and equipment for the army, they have been the best.  Not to lessen the sophistication of this writing and my blog, but to quote Wedding Crashers, "people helping people.  It's power stuff."  I'll add, "it's a beautiful thing."

And now I am going to have a relaxing day before tomorrow.  I return in the morning to base and am there until the following weekend.  We are closing this Shabbat ('closing': we're on base, we don't go home) and then we spend the entire next week in the shetach (field).  Living, eating, sleeping, operating, learning, everything.  In the field.  It'll be hard, very hard, but I'm looking forward to it; it's like legit soldier stuff.  Living in a building with a locker and bed is great and all, well, really great, but, as I alluded to in my very first post a lifetime ago, it's not how soldiers throughout history have lived.  I am going to learn what they all know.  The military isn't supposed to be a place of comfort and ease because war never is.  My base is one of the nicest in the country.  But now we go forth into the wild, into the field, to learn how to be soldiers.

Be back in two weeks!

!!!צנחנים

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tobealonesoldier

Ok, so maybe my last post was a bit heavy on the play-by-play of my life. Let me mix it up a bit. I'll be more than happy to open my life a little more to you and try to convey what it's like to be a lone soldier. I also think I promised a post more about thoughts and feelings a few weeks ago. One thing that my studies over the past year have taught me is to always repay my debts as soon as possible.

I was told/cautioned back in Chicago that is it easy for a lone soldier to become an alone soldier. I have been so fortunate to have an incredibly supportive family in Tel Aviv. David and Amy and their daughters have been like an adoptive family to me. They initially welcomed me in with open arms and I am yet (I hope, haha) to overstay my welcome. I come home on weekends and return to base on Sunday. I don't see them so much anymore, but they are always happy to see me and provide me with anything I need. (One cute story: the other week, Amy was home with Shai (3), who wasn't feeling well and wanted to know where everyone in the family was. 'Where's Lena?' 'At school, honey.' 'Kaya?' 'Also at school.' 'Abba?' 'He's at work.' 'Daniel?' 'In the army.' I'm just extremely humbled and honored that Shai considers me a part of the family, or maybe just the apartment's new jungle gym [see photo]. First, I would like to thank the Academy, and of course my fans, and I would also like to thank....) I cannot imagine what it would have been like to come to Israel without any connections, as many of my friends did months before Mikveh. Kudos to them.

Lone soldiers have different living options in Israel. It is common for us to live with extended family (if we have any), stay on a kibbutz (where we can be adopted by an Israeli family), or to rent an apartment. I have begun to look into moving to a kibbutz. I love it in Tel Aviv, but I'm looking for a place with, quite frankly, my own room. Also on kibbutzim are other lone soldiers, so it'll be a good place to chill with more guys my age, going through similar experiences as me, when I come back every few weekends. It's an option I'm strongly considering, but the process takes time. I've talked with the Mishakit Tash (a girl on base who's job is to help soldiers with personal issues) and as it stands right now, I should get the next opening at one of two kibbutzim where a few of my friends already live.

Even with a family all around me, I certainly still feel like a stranger in a strange land. Never mind trying to feel like an Israeli, I'm simply concerning myself with feeling at home 6,000 miles away. I used to think to myself "why am I here?" However, since Mikveh Alon has ended and my IDF future is imminent, I have gotten caught up in my life and have become more certain in my decisions. Still, life (or the IDF) gave me a big slap-in-the-face reminder that I am indeed a lone soldier. During the tekkes last week for the conclusion of Mikveh Alon, many of the soldiers had families in attendance. I was left alone, with only my thoughts and other lone soldiers to keep me company. It was one thing to finish Mikveh, but it will certainly be another to make it through seven months of basic and advanced training and be alone for that tekkes. It is one thing to go through this life in the military in your own country, and quite another to do it in such a foreign place. Even when I am home on weekends, I often feel hurried, already looking Sunday morning when I will again walk to the train station and travel back up north. It is very difficult to feel grounded. Maybe this has something to do with living with David, Amy and the family, how I come home on Friday, and each family member is often busy with their own lives, running here and there for school, activities, work. It has been difficult to feel grounded and completely at ease since joining. Part of this, I believe, is because I've been anxious to get out of Mikveh. I want to start the 'real' army, as I've talked about before. Eventually I will develop a routine at my new base and start to feel more at home in Israel. but for now, such is the life.

The fire in my heart to serve Israel is alive and burning. Even if I were completely alone, it would not be extinguished. What keeps it strong? In large part, it is what this week has brought to many US college campuses: Israel Apartheid Week. From Monday to Friday, pro-Palestinian academics, professors, activists, and students host events or speakers dedicated to denouncing Israel as an apartheid state, likening it to South Africa. Last year during IAW was the first time that I really started actively advocating, or rather, defending, for Israel. It amazes me how intelligent, supposedly liberal and open-minded people can demonize a nation and a state to the extent they seek to achieve. Last year's IAW really brought out the reality, for me, that pro-Palestinian supporters are really anti-Israel demonstrators.

On my campus last March, IAW was complete with its own events, including a faux "apartheid wall" where hyped-up students, many of whom spewed non-sensical phrases and slogans, shouted through a microphone to classmates passing through to class about the supposed evils of Israel, the world's only Jewish state. Needless to say, I took exception to this and decided to have a few words (pleasant ones, I hoped) with a few of them. What started as a simple conversation, in which I searched, in vain, for moderate voices, turned into a five-on-one free-for-all. Can you guess who was the one? Damn straight, and proud of it! However, what I soon learned was that it was impossible to reason with people set in their beliefs. People who are for Israel or against Israel are not able to be convinced in the merits of other arguments. That goes for me too; no one will be able to tell me that Israel should not exist. Instead, what Israeli activists should focus on is convincing the majority of people who know nothing about the issues people face on this side of the world. That itself is a very difficult task, but there are people who are on the vanguard of this effort. One of these is Sgt. Benjamin Anthony.

A few weeks after IAW, the Jewish organizations on campus held Israel Peace and Israel Independence Weeks. It was a fortnight of activity for the promotion of Israel and hopes for peace. One night, we had a former IDF soldier come to speak to a group of pro- and anti-Israel students. Ben Anthony made aliyah from Britain and fought the Second Lebanon War in 2006. After his service, he started an organization called Our Soldiers Speak (click), in which he explains to audiences the front-line experiences of Israel's conflicts, as opposed to what the media portrays. When he came to my campus last year, he requested a diverse audience, with supporters and detractors. I believe his intent is not only to field difficult questions from anti-Israel people and provide a solid and carefully crafted response, but also to demonstrate to the pro-Israel students that we don't have to be cowered into intimidation by the often volatile-prone nature of anti-Israel activism and their use of such difficult and emotional terms like "genocide," "apartheid" or "human rights violations." For example, in response to a comment that one Palestinian posed explaining how his grandmother feels humiliated while trying to pass through security checkpoints in the West Bank, Sgt. Anthony took the time to explain the purpose of the checkpoints (they were established during the Second Intifadah where the only way Israel knew how to defend herself was to physically create a barrier to control and monitor the flow of people to and from Israel proper) and then provided perhaps the most human of all arguments in support of Israel's practices: "I am truly sorry for the inconvenience your grandmother faces, but, simply put, I don't want to be blown up."

It is this most basic of human desires--to exist, to live--that was one of my initial driving forces pushing me to fight for Israel. There are many people out there who do not wish me, as a Jew, to have even the simplest of earthly desires. (Anyone who tells you that anti-Semitism is a thing of the past is sadly mistaken. In fact, in many parts of the world, it is on the rise.) I spoke to my brother, Eric, the other week and he mentioned how Sgt. Anthony had returned to U of I for another talk. This time, however, he spoke more about struggles he and his soldiers faced with themselves, not so much about Lebanon or living in Israel. According to Eric, there were times throughout his service that they pondered the following scenario: someone has a gun toward your head and says, 'convert or die.' What do you do?

Eric posed the same question to me. I didn't have a quick response. On the surface, I suppose it is certainly something that I need to consider, being in the military. But on a deeper level, this simple question is directed at something much more profound: would I be willing to die for my religion, for my belief in Judaism? On the one hand, it is easy to say, "Yes! I feel that strongly and am willing to sacrifice my life to practice as I please." On the other hand, I could respond with, "Sure I'll convert, then I'll just quietly practice Judaism" (much like Jews in Spain did after their expulsion in 1492). The truth? I don't know what I would do. The Israelis' response? Action; take the gun or die trying.

I wear a kippah everyday to remind myself of many things, but one of them is that I am here as a Jew. I am not Israeli, nor am I a mercenary fighting for any certain political cause (there's no way I can ever be given 'mercenary' status making 700 shekels a month!). So, to an extent--and I'm not going to skirt around this reality--I am certainly fighting a religious war. However, the battle lines have shifted. As I've mentioned before, I do not believe Israel today is threatened by Damascus, Beirut, Riyadh, or Baghdad (Tehran is a different story). Instead, Israel is losing the political and public relations battle. And where are those battle lines? On college campuses and in government corridors. It starts with IAW or the BDS (Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions) Movement (click). It appears to be directed at the Knesset's (Parliament) policies. It soon develops into a cause and then becomes a necessity. But if you come to Israel, if you study its history, if you learn about the relations between Jews and Arabs/Muslims, Israelis and Palestinians, if you take the time to listen to all sides, learn the facts, and see the results, then, I believe, you will get a much different picture than the ones who spearhead IAW or BDS paint for their consumers. You soon realize that much of anti-Israel rhetoric and activity is in fact anti-Semitism, but, unfortunately, there aren't enough people with the chutzpah necessary to call it as such.

Although not always the biggest advocate for Israel, Thomas Friedman said it best: "Criticizing Israel is not anti-Semitic, and saying so is vile. But singling out Israel for opprobrium and international sanction--out of all proportion to any other party in the Middle East--is anti-Semitic, and not saying so is dishonest."

So, how does it feel to be a lone soldier? How does it feel to be fighting for my people in one of the world's strongest militaries, in a volatile region, amidst a hotbed of upheaval and unrest? How does it feel to know more parts of the M-16 in Hebrew than in English? How does it feel to be living in one of the world's most beautiful and diverse country? A country that is energetic, humanitarian, passionate and also lawless on so many levels? How does it feel to be on the other side of the world, without constant connection to friends and loved ones? And how does it feel to be in Tzanchanim, the Paratroopers, for my IDF service? (BLEEPING) AWESOME!!!

שטח Shetach: the End of the Beginning

Cold. Rainy. Windy. Chicago? Nope. New York? Uh-uh. London? Not at all, well, actually maybe yes. But those three words describe the weather for me in Israel this week. I could also add cloudy, tired, dirty, fun, different, exciting, adventurous, legit-military stuff, and so on. Not exactly the adjectives I would have used for the previous three weeks, right? So why was this week different than previous weeks? Because it was the climax of Mikveh Alon's tironut, basic training. For three days, the entire base went to the Golan Heights to train on a Golani base for a shetach, like military exercises. So what exactly did we do? Well, most of the time we did absolutely nothing. Like I wrote about in a previous post, we all enjoy this down time. It's a time to sit on our asses and do nothing; nobody telling us to run somewhere or form two lines or a chet; nobody yelling at us not to move or talk; nobody telling us what we can or can't do.

But let me start at the beginning.

I leisurely awoke on a quiet Monday morning at the pleasant time of 3:45 am. I had a spring in my step, a twinkle in my eye, and a bright moon waiting to greet me outside. As usual with every morning, it took us the better part of two hours to clean our room. Then we were told to get our Bet bags and clothing for our trip north. Every soldier has two sets of uniforms, with a corresponding bag: Aleph א and Bet ב (the first two letters of the Hebrew alphabet). The Aleph uniform is like a dress uniform, which is only worn off base. The Bet uniform is more like a combat uniform, is worn only when on base, and each base has their own stock of Bet uniforms and equipment. I received my Aleph uniform and bag on December 15th and will have it throughout my service; my Bet gear changes with each new base.

Anyway, we were told (many times each day over the previous week) that we were going to Golani and should prepare appropriate warm clothes. Sunday night we got our clothes in our Bet bag and were ready to go. The ride took about an hour; we arrived late morning, ran off the bus and into formation. The main purpose of the next three days would be to learn how to shoot and be introduced into life outdoors, military style. Three tzevets (units) comprise one machlakah (company). Each machlakah was assigned to a firing range. Now, don't be mistaken. These are ghetto ranges. They are positioned alongside each other on a hill, with high earthen embankments separating each one; essentially, the ranges are level depressions cut into the slope of the hill leading up to the Golani base. And, in true IDF style, the targets were anything but state-of-the-art: we hammered stakes into the ground at the 25 and 50 meter lines, used twine to attach wooden poles and then stuck the appropriate cardboard target onto the pole through precut lines. Clearly, truly an indication of one of the greatest armies in the world.

The first time I fired a gun was a year ago August, when Eric and I visited Kimberly in Los Angeles for a week. There, we fired a few handguns (including a .44 Magnum) and an M1 Garand rifle. But firing the M16A1 (M16) is a completely different animal. First manufactured by Colt in 1963, it made its way to Israel in 1973 and has been a staple of the IDF. It was originally 97 centimeters in length, although a newer model features a shorter barrel. The M16 weighs 3.5 kg (about 7.5 pounds) and fires a 5.56 mm NATO caliber bullet. The IDF sports a 29 round magazine while in the US and other militaries use 30 bullets. Why the difference? Because Israel reuses its magazines and recycles its bullet casings and, from what I understand, a magazine with 30 rounds fits too tight to make the mags reusable. The rifle has three safety settings: safe, semi-automatic, and automatic. For more information, see Wikipedia.

We had received intense and elaborate instructions on protocol for firing our weapons. We are only to point the gun at a certain direction, cannot put our fingers on the trigger until a commander says so, can only fire when told, and so on. We first fired from schiva (prone) position. Each soldier got down on his stomach and we had a commander walk us through each step, where to exactly place the gun, how to breath, where to aim, etc. I felt very comfortable for my first shot. I remember being nervous when Eric and I went to the gun range. We had never handled a gun before; after we selected which guns to fire, the guy at the counter pointed us to a different room and said "have fun." Needless to say, we had the guy walk us through how to actually fire a gun. In total, I had 30 seconds of actually holding a gun and learning how to fire before popping off my first rounds. Here, I've lived with the gun on my body for three straight weeks and feel very comfortable handling the assault rifle.

I slammed the magazine into the bottom of the gun, locking it in place, and pulled back on the charging handle, loading a single round into the chamber. I placed my hand firmly on the grip and with my thumb switched the safety to semi-automatic. I tried to slow my breathing to minimize involuntary bodily movement, but my heart, beating rapidly with excitement, negated any attempt at absolute stillness. I looked down the gun at the yellow sheet of paper twenty-five meters down range and aligned the rear and fore sights at a spot immediately below the black semi-circle at the top of the page. After holding that position for a few seconds, I curled my forefinger around the trigger, gave a quick smile, and fired.

In total over the three days, I fired about forty rounds over five or six sessions. I think we were going to shoot a lot more but the weather wasn't too cooperative. Either way, the first day we just practiced schiva. The second day we mixed in kria (crouching) and amidah (standing) positions. Sometimes we fired at a cardboard silhouette of a full person, or just the torso, during the day, or at night, from 25 or 50 meters; sometimes they loaded six bullets, but the third one was an empty casing or loaded backwards: we would fire the first two from amidah, when the gun intentionally jammed we quickly kneeled into kria, had to pull out the magazine, eject the extra bullets in the chamber, reload the magazine and fire the remaining few rounds. After each round of firing, we would run to our targets and a commander would come around and mark off our shots: how many we hit and their spread across the target. My first five shots were spread 6.5 centimeters across at 25 meters. I got that down to 3.5 centimeters distance the next round. Most of the time I didn't have any particular spot to aim, just a general area on the target (like I'd rather hit the torso or face of the target than the legs), so I didn't often concentrate on creating a tight circle of bullet holes.

Shooting at night was really fun, and difficult. We moved closer, to about 20 meters and were simply told to hit the targets. My last shots I fired were at night; out of a ten round clip, I hit all ten! Not bad for a guy with a health profile of 72 because of my eyesight! The row of twelve rifles being fired rapidly at night is quite a thing to see. The M16 has a flash suppressor at the end of its barrel, but still, inevitably, a small flame bursts out as the bullet is fired. It's so quick, in fact, that I didn't always notice the flame on my gun as I was concentrating on the target. But when I finished my clip, I looked to either side of me and marveled at the beautiful sight of small fireworks jumping out from the incredible machinery each soldier wielded.

Most of the rest of the time in Golani was spent repeatedly practicing getting into the three firing positions. When one tzevet was shooting, the other two were either on break or practicing. But the other purpose of our shetach was to learn how to be a soldier in the field. We learned eight different ways a soldier can stealthily approach an enemy. Most of it is obvious, like not leaving footprints, not using light and hiding reflective objects, wearing camoflouge, etc. We also went for a two hour hike one night where each tzevet was lead by its mefakedet in two lines. At random times, the mefakedet would pretend to spot a terrorist, assume the amidah firing position and we would go to kria, or kria and schiva, respectively. Other times she would shout "grenade!" and we would fall to the ground, cover our heads, and count a few seconds.

It's interesting to note, and I think this may be the case of perhaps only the IDF, that whenever we practice firing our guns or we when we went on the hike, there isn't any mention of "enemy soldier." Instead, what springs us into action is the shout of "terrorist!" And that, unfortunately, is true; Israel doesn't face the threat of war with any of its neighboring states. It has peace treaties with Egypt (1979) and Jordan (1994). The last time it fought Syria was in the Yom Kippur War in 1973 and since Israel invaded Lebanon in the 1980s, the only threat from its neighbor to the north has been Hezbollah, the terrorist organization that is currently running a state-within-a-state in southern Lebanon. True, Israel invaded Lebanon in 2006, but it wasn't to fight the Lebanese army; instead, it was to stop Hezbollah from continuing to fire rockets into civilian populations in northern Israel. In my opinion, Israel did the world a favor (although unsuccessfully) by trying to root out the parasitic group that currently creates amusement parks glorifying its victorious wars of resistance against Israel (and no, I'm not kidding, see my entry on November 15th, "One Month!!!"). Be that as it may, it's always a little unnerving, off-putting, and exciting/realistic to hear "terrorist" as opposed to "enemy."

A major element of my experience in the Golan was sleeping in a tent outside. Doesn't exactly sound like a big deal right? I'm sure plenty of you guys have been camping before, where you slept in tents, too. Haha, well, the similarities, my friend, end there as the differences in our experiences are enormous. These military tents are essentially two sheets of some heavy material, like leather but not leather (sorry couldn't be more helpful, haha), and we snap or button them together, hold it up by two slim pipes at the front and back, and drive stakes into the ground, using twine to connect at the corners and front and back. They are about four to five feet in width, three feet tall, and seven feet deep....for two people. And we're not sleeping on some soft forest floor, but rather the rocky and sandy top of a hill, unprotected on all sides from wind or rain. And it did rain. We went to sleep around 11 and my tent-mate and I had guard duty at 2 am. A mefakedet came to our tent, shined her flashlight through the flap and told us to wake up. We had to be in combat attire, complete with equipment vest and gun. Although our guard duty was only twenty minutes, it was in the middle of our sleeping time. We were sleeping by 2:45, and up again at 5:00 am.

At the end of our guard duty, it began to rain, and didn't stop for a few days. The rain wasn't constant, but it was hard. In fact, oftentimes it would rain heavily for a half hour, then the sky would completely clear for an hour, then back again. Other times, half of the sky would be as dark as the night with imposing rain clouds, and the other half would be sunny, with a rich blue sky. Only in Israel.

The shetach wrapped up the tironut. Overall, the shetach was fun. A little rough and unexpected because of the weather, but enjoyable. We had to sleep with our guns, constantly wear equipment vests where we carried our canteens and mags, and lots of layers of warm clothing. We got back to Mikveh Wednesday night and were told to dress in our Aleph uniforms the next day. We thought it was because our Bet outfits were completely dirty and/or soaked from the Golan. After lunch on Thursday, they told us we were going home. What an incredible feeling! I'm getting four straight nights in a legit bed, where I can go to sleep and wake up as I please. However, I hadn't planned on that, and wasn't exactly in the best hygienic state to return home. I showered Sunday morning before leaving Tel Aviv. My next shower was nearly five days later, Thursday night, after coming home. I'd say for sure the longest I've gone without a shower.

What's more is we already have a long weekend as it is. We're given Sunday off for a yom siddurim, a day for lone soldiers to take care of personal matters such as bank accounts, apartment contracts, etc. As I already have everything in order, it's a free day! This is real nice because there have been rumors on the base that we're going to have to stay next weekend for guard duty for the base. I hear everyone has to do it once a month, so its been about that long. On Tuesday night, we have a swearing-in ceremony where we take an oath of allegiance and are finally recognized as soldiers of the State of Israel in the Israel Defense Force! It's a relatively small ceremony taking place in Acko. There'll be a bigger, more important loyalty oath at the conclusion of the tironut of whatever combat unit I join beginning in March.

So, unless we get next weekend off, I'll write again in two weeks. From what I understand, as our basic training for Mikveh is now over, the main purpose of our time at this base now begins: the ulpan, Hebrew learning. Our days will become easier; we get to sleep for longer hours, maybe don't have to carry a gun around all the time (although that seems like wishful thinking), and I'll let you know more when I know more.

One final thing. On Thursday before leaving the base, all the lone soldiers were given care packages. (I've included a link to the provider company on the right, under SUPPORT THE IDF/LONE SOLDIERS.) Inside was warm clothing, chocolate bars, and letters from individuals around the world. Two are in English, and one in Portuguese (I think) and another in some script I've never seen, but turns out to be Ethiopian (it says so in Hebrew at the top of the page). "Dear Soldier, There would be no Israel without you, שנה טובה Happy New Year." I like to think that my time at Mikveh Alon is directly leading to the preservation of the country. Haha, a little wishful thinking right now!

The other English one is from an elderly woman: "Dear Soldier, My daughter told me that I could help send a package to an Israeli soldier and I wanted to let you know how much I admire you and wish you well. I am almost 88 years old and I had hoped that by now we would not have to be fighting for our Homeland. I remember when Israel was founded and I remember all the wars trying to annihilate Israel. I wish you could be home with your loved ones and not fighting. My prayers are with you and with Israel. Please be careful and be safe. May there be peace in my time."

Amen.