"Closing 21"

...sounds forbidding, doesn't it?  Ok, maybe not to someone unfamiliar with the term or its circumstances.  Alas, allow me to enlighten you, as it is not something you want to hear in the army.  It means you are on base for three straight weeks, "closing Shabbat for twenty-one days."  But "closing twenty-one" isn't so bad.  The hardest thing is to think about home.  If that's not an option for three weeks, then there's no need to worry yourself and the time goes faster.  In addition, as my friend Shmaya from New York put it, "you're on base, the first of the month comes around, and next time you go home, you have a lot more money in the bank and no time to spend it!"

These were going to be three tough weeks.  First off, it was coming right after my regilah (break) week.  In addition, these were going to be three weeks in the shetach (field).  And it was the start of imun mitkadem, advanced training.

Indicators of experience:
Watch cover
received after the 6k masa

I had almost no trouble getting back into the swing of things after my week of rest and relaxation with my friends at the beaches and clubs of Tel Aviv.  That Sunday we had our first krav maga session.  It's about time we learned some close-hand combat!  My Mem Mem (platoon commander) had commented that it was unfortunate we don't learn more krav maga, but the reality and time restraints of our training don't allow for the proper time required for its training.  This session we learned how to fight with our guns, much like our last session at Mikveh Alon.  After it, we finished packing our bags for the shetach and went to bed.

A few hours later, or at three or four in the morning, we woke, boarded a bus with our equipment, and drove off to the shetach for Shavuah Citah (Squad Week).  This week was to learn how to attack a hill as a squad.  For some reason, something that even my officer didn't quite know why, but I brought my MAG and all its equipment.  I had the gun strapped around my shoulders and the heavy vest on my back climbing up and down hills, providing covering fire and then running to catch up with my squad as they advanced.  The worst part?  The "covering fire" was just me shouting "MAG-a, MAG-a, MAG-a" over and over and over.  No actual bullets were fired on my part.  Wasn't exactly the most thrilling time for me in the shetach.

We did our daytime exercises, had lessons all day about the different specialty weapons in a squad, then had our nighttime exercises, and returned to base at three in the morning.  Hour free time before bed.  Over twenty-four hours awake.

We came back because Monday was a fast during the day.  It's the Seventeenth of Tammuz, a daytime fast to remember when the walls of Jerusalem were breached before the destruction of the Second Temple.  We woke late and then I met with the Mishakit Aliyah with the other lone soldiers to review for another test on our training.  The fast ended that evening and we returned to the shetach.   We slept, woke, did our daytime drills, slept during the middle of the day, and then watched a helicopter shoot up a few barrels with a Vulcan cannon.  My entire plugah (company) gathered on a hillside and waited as night descended to watch the reservists practice their drills.  It was pretty cool, if overhyped.  You could barely see the helicopter.  You heard the cannon fire and saw sparks shoot up a few hundred meters away from it.  It shot three times.  We did our nighttime drills and then returned to base.

Or rather, to the kitchen.  Again, not fun work being in the kitchen, but there are times that it beats being in the shetach!

For the weekend, my machlekah (platoon) went to Hebron for guard duty.  No one really gets excited about the prospect of a long weekend standing up and missing out on a relaxing Shabbat back on base.  For me, at least this was different than the last time I was in the city of Judaism's second holiest site.  We woke early and packed up to go.  This time, Kfir, another infantry unit, was on duty in Hebron.  The machlekah was split up and I was sent to a base with about forty of us.  I started guard duty at four in the afternoon and didn't end until ten.  Standing.

So where was I guarding?  Specifically?  Let's just say, from this photo from almost exactly a year ago, you can almost see where I was.  Off to the right is a street, or more like a dirt path, that leads to an Arab section of the city.  About fifty meters up that path is where I stood.  My surroundings looked like a scene in the video game "Assassin's Creed," a game that takes place in the Holy Land during Medieval times.  I'm completely serious.  I stood on a platform ten feet above the road, across from a house.  Really it was just a makeshift metallic slab that constituted a door and a tangle of stairs that disappeared into a construction of brick, wood and mud that called a house.  In addition, they had a horse and cart.

There were little kids in the area.  Either they walked through or played in the turn in the road, or peered out at me from behind green-barred windows.  (Why do I mention they're green?  Because I think they're intentionally that color as it is the color of Islam.  Hence the Arab section.)  I'm dressed in full combat gear, complete with a bullet proof vest filled with ceramic plates.  Heavy and gets hot.  Also difficult to bend over to pick up your water.  But you feel like you're doing something legit(imate).

And I was doing something important.  Around seven at night, people, meaning Jews, starting walking down the path towards the Tomb of the Patriarchs for Shabbat.  I was standing, protecting my people as they went to practice our faith.  Isn't that why I'm here?  Hell yeah it is.  It was tough standing for six hours.  It was tough to see a two-year old Palestinian girl throw a rock at me.  But it was great for the young and old, the men and women to take the turn in the road, look up at me in my uniform, wave or give a slight salute and greet me with a "Shabbat Shalom!"  An ego trip?  Ok, maybe a slight one.  Fulfilling?  Definitely.

Tzanchanim tag
received after 7+1 masa

The ten or so of us who were on duty for that shift were picked up and returned to the Kfir base at the end of the evening.  Then we had a Shabbat meal with the base.  It's cool to have one on an operational base; it's what military service is really like.  But the next morning, woke up for a seven to eleven shift, then a quick afternoon break and back again from five to eight.  I was located at a closer location to the Tomb for the morning shift and was able to have short conversations with the Jews as they passed.  I was able to converse pretty easily in Hebrew.  I always made sure to say something if I heard English.  There was a group of guys from Brooklyn who I got to know that morning and we had a nice conversation about the army, America, politics, Judaism in the evening.  I also received quite a few invites for Shabbat and even for places to live.  Jews helping Jews is a beautiful thing.

(For me, in Hebron, for the first time, the Islamic call to prayer became a noisome cacophony of sound.  I was saddened and surprised to feel this way.  I've heard the call numerous times before and always thought it a beautiful thing about Islam.  In fact, the Arabic that i sounded from the tops of the minarets strikes at the beginnings of my interest in the Middle East.  For me, songs and sounds, both in Hebrew and Arabic, of this region are so full of yearning; for truth, for understanding, for reason.  It transports my mind to a much different realm, in time and place, to the beginning of beginnings, to where answers can be found to some of the most fundamental aspects and questions of life.  It makes me realize how old this place is, how many centuries people have lived here and throughout the wars, conquests, and disputes, still live everyday.

The sound is of yearning.  It was this sound that probably had the biggest impact on bringing me back to Judaism.  When I first heard the song "Yedid Nefesh" at the Western Wall a year and a half ago on Birthright, the sense of yearning and simple desire to live that the vocals arose within me made me think of my people being loaded into box cars, about them forming lines and being told who will live and who will die, and primarily, of walking out into a forest to dig their own grave, be shot, and fall in...all because they are Jewish.  How can I not want to fight back?

But I digress.  The call to prayer those two days in Hebron all jumbled together to hurt my ears.  Maybe all the mosques are competing for air space.  It seems like businessmen know no boundaries.  The commercialization of religion?  Topic for another time and place.)

One week down.

The start of the next week was a time of catch-up for me.  Back during Pesach, I got extra time off and missed throwing grenades.  About two dozen of us in the plugah were yet to learn to throw and Sunday was the day to finally catch up.  We again put on the protective vest under our combat vests.  Climbed up a hill and practiced with a rock and dummy grenade before the real thing.  The whole while, I had a live grenade in a pocket on my vest directly over my heart.  Honestly, it was a little freaky.  The guns and everything don't bother me.  This highly explosive devise with a kill radius of eight meters and can wound up to fifteen meters made me a bit nervous.  I pulled the grenade out of my vest and pulled the pin.  Thrust my arm behind me and threw it.  I ducked behind the bunker.  I heard the lever fly off with a surprisingly forceful noise and counted for four seconds.  Then BOOM, 1,024 pieces of shrapnel flying out in every direction.  Even from a distance at the bottom of the hill, you see the violent explosion and then hear the noise.  It's quite incredible how powerful something the size of a baseball can be.  It also made reality for me a bit more real.  War has got to be a terrifyingly hellish time.  Your world explodes into a violent fury of noise and steel.

But for now, I'm still in training.  And I'm relatively safe from everything.  Sure the grenade made me nervous at first, but I approached it like a roller coaster: I'm somewhat scared of heights, but if I'm strapped in, I know that countless people have already done what I'm doing without any harm and I know I'll get through it with no problem.

Discete (dog tag) cover
received after 10+2 masa

After the grenade, I rejoined my plugah to do some shooting exercises.  Run two hundred meters and shoot at a target fifty meters away with five bullets, all in two minutes.  Shoot a target two hundred and fifty meters away.  Shoot at fifty standing, then then kneeling, then prone.  Fun but surprisingly very difficult.  In addition, we did another buchan maslul, the obstacle course.  I improved my time from 8:30 to 8:13.  I'm happy with that time, but will probably do it again.  Looking to get under 8:00.

The shetach experience that week was learning to fight in an urban environment.  It was fun but very hot.  The IDF had built a group of a few dozen square, cement blocks that mimicked buildings and rooms.  We learned how to enter through the door as a unit of two or four, advance into more rooms, walk up and down stairs, and how to climb over a wall with the squad while advancing in a village.  Essentially, I put my back against the wall and bend my knees.  The soldiers climb onto my thighs, then my shoulders, then over the wall.  It builds and tires the legs.

We did countless drills peering around corners, into buildings, entering buildings and clearing rooms.  It was again a little freaky doing the drills with live ammunition.  Each machlekah had a special room to fire in.  The walls were padded with fiberglass and plenty of other thick material.  But the quarters were really small, maybe fifteen feet by fifteen feet.  The first soldier peers around the doorway, spots the terrorists, lets off a few shots, then they both enter and shoot the back wall, spraying their fire from corner to corner.  We certainly wear earplugs.  The room smells of gun powder and you can see the dust kicked up by our boots and bullets lazily waft around the beam of sunlight from a small ventilation hole in the roof, providing the only source of light.  At night, vision was essentially nil.

We finished the shetach after two nights, three days, and came back to base.  One of the machlekahs went to Ein Gedi for guard duty while mine and another stayed on base for guard duty and kitchen work all of Shabbat.  It was really not the quiet, relaxing Saturday that I desperately needed and wanted.  Instead, kitchen work means long days on your feet and guard duty means odd shift hours and an irregular sleeping schedule.  We were on this rotation until Tuesday.  It was a tough last twenty-four hours for me.  Sometime on Monday, word got around that we were going to close another twenty-one starting the following week.  In addition, I had been getting fed up with how completely crappy the jobniks who work in the kitchen as their military service treat us.  We work all week in the field or on base, sweating, bleeding and not sleeping, and then we come to work in the kitchen and these guys expect us to worship the ground they walk on.  Most of them are there because they were injured early on in their kravi service and their just finishing out their three year service in the kitchen.  They probably hate their lives, even though they get a week on and week off rotation.  Sometimes I feel bad for them, but when they yell at us to work and then they go play on their iPhones for hours, I don't care for them.

Two weeks down.

Tuesday evening was the beginning of Citah Mitkadem, Advanced Squad training in the field.  Supposedly it is one of the hardest weeks of training.  To make it a little easier, that afternoon, the entire plugah gathered for a brief ceremony where we broke distance with all of our commanders and officers.  Finally, the mental relief that I wrote about last time was here.  The first two weeks we were still in Tironut (Basic Training).  Now, with calling everyone by their first name and other informalities, the mental stress relaxes, only to be replaced by more physical difficulties.

The beginning of the field featured a short masa (hike): 5+5 (five walking, then five more carrying a stretcher).  And we did it with 35-40% of our body weight on our backs.  We were weighed earlier in the day and then added our equipment for a final count.  I weigh 87kg, and then added the heavy water bag and weighed 118kg.  Never before have I ever weighed 87kg/191lbs.  I've only ever reached about 185, and that's after lifting a lot of weights.  It's my legs, they're getting stronger from all the walking.

And this masa proved that.  It was hard, surprisingly so, despite it's relatively short distance.  At the end of it, we were expecting a 'layla lavan' (white night), where you stay up all night.  Instead, thankfully, they let us go to sleep.  But it's not fun having your uniform soaking wet and trying to sleep outside.  In fact, one of the most difficult things about the shetach is that you sweat so much during the day that when night falls, you start to freeze at night.  And we had received new combat vests the week before, and they cover the entire chest and stomach, which makes breathing and ventilation a little more difficult.

Infantry pin
received after Masa Sammal

Anyway, this was a week (or really a day and a half, which was enough) where my Mefaked didn't even know what the schedule was.  We would receive our orders through the radio and carry them out.  Food would be dropped off at different locations and we had to hike there to get it.  And by hike, I mean carry someone on the stretcher up and down hills, with the weight on our backs, not knowing exactly where we were going, and sometimes our Mefaked also not knowing.

Similar to Citah Week, we also did exercises battling up hills against cardboard enemy targets.  Before one of these exercises at night, one of the guys in my citah got sick and had to leave.  It was a little scary because we had been warned and heard about guys in other units getting heatstroke.  We were sure to drink plenty of water throughout the day as a precaution.  My friend was evacuated by jeep, but we carried on until the next day.  The second morning we woke up and immediately put our packs on our bag, put a heavy guy on the stretcher and followed off after our Mefaked....for over an hour and fifteen minutes, about four kilometers.  It was one of the hardest things I ever did.  There were about six or seven of us carrying the stretcher the entire time.  A lot of time carrying and not much switching.

But then the hike finally, mercifully, ended and we boarded a bus that picked us up to bring us back to base.  The end of the week--the three weeks.  We had a short run that evening and went to bed early.

The other week, the August draftees came to base.  A lot of the Israelis were really stoked that they we are the big guys on campus and not complete novices anymore.  That's definitely not true.  I was personally excited to see them because it showed how far we've come in just four months.  I think back to what we've accomplished, been through and what the new guys will have to endure.  It's just another time marker.  In country for nine months; in the IDF for seven and a half months.

Done with the twenty-one.

On Sunday, we train with helicopters!

All now permanent fixtures
on the uniform, with Shimon

1700

Four years and eight months. Sunday marked the 1700th day in a row that Hamas has held Israeli soldier Gilad Shalit (click HERE) captive in the Gaza Strip, without access to the International Red Cross, Doctors Without Borders, or any other international aid organization. The last time proof of life was established, was on October 2, 2009, when Hamas released a short video. He was captured on June 25, 2006. At the time, he was nineteen years old.

I don't want to offend anyone, but if you would please allow a short prayer for the soldiers of Israel:

כל בית ישראל, הנתונים בצרה ובשבוה, העומדים בין בים וביון ביבשה, המקום ירחם עליהם ויוציאם מצרה לרוחה, ומאפלה לאורה, ומשעבוד לגאלה, השתא בצגלא ובזמן קריב. ונאמר: אמן

"Our brothers, the entire family of Israel, who are delivered into distress and captivity, whether they are on seas or dry land--may the Omnipresent One have mercy on them and remove them from distress to relief, from darkness to light, from subjugation to redemption--now, speedily, and soon--and let us say: Amen."

--------------

My last full week at Mikveh Alon. It first started with a trip to a base near Rishon LeTzion, a city just south of Tel Aviv. I've been trying to get my profile raised from a 72 so I can do infantry and that required getting an appointment with an IDF eye doctor. My appointment was for Sunday morning. I was able to get an extra hour of sleep, which is always appreciated, hopped on a bus packed with other soldiers, wandered around the enormous base for a while, trying to locate the right building, and finally had my appointment. I tried to b.s. my way through it, explaining that I only wear glasses at night, intentionally neglecting to tell him that I wear contacts all the time, but he inadvertently called my bluff when he told me to put my glasses on a read an eye chart. I had to say that I currently had contacts on, otherwise my sight would have been blurry out of control. That prompted the doctor to do a full eye examination, and at the end, he concluded that my eyes, in fact, have not dramatically improved over the past two months. Big shocker.

So I'm stuck with a 72. But that's ok, so far. On Monday, I go to the Tzanchanim gibbush (Paratroopers tryout). It's overnight and I won't find out how I did until a week or so later. On Tuesday this past week, officers from the Bakkum (the base where every soldier goes for their Tzav Rishon, then later to decide what units to go into, receive clothing and equipment, etc.) came to Mikveh and each soldier told an officer what units he requests. I put down Nahal, Totchanim, and Givati. Nahal and Givati are both infantry units. Technically I should not be allowed in because of my profile. However, as I am Mahal (volunteer from abroad), generally speaking if I request Nahal I go there (many refer to Mahal as Mahal-Nahal). If not, then hopefully Totchanim, the artillery unit. I threw in Givati just as another infantry unit in case. Still, we'll see how I do at the Tzanchanim gibbush, if I pass, and if I decide to do it, and also if I have to sign on for more time. But one step at a time. I need to complete the gibbush and be accepted.

Also, this week we had our final Hebrew exams. Once again, soldiers (cute girls) from the Bakkum came and tested us on our Ivrit. It was the same thing we all did at our Tzav Rishons. A few things. I have one of the best Hebrew language abilities in my machlekah. Also, I know that they are (most likely/hopefully) not going to make anyone "re-do" Mikveh. So, I wasn't really nervous about the test. It also helped that the girl who administered my first test was assigned to me this time. Being flirty is always a fun relief from army life. Long story short, the test was hard, but I made up for it by throwing in a lot of extraneous talking (in Hebrew). Whatever. I'm done with the Alon.

Later that day, we finished our Tzionut. It culminated in a fun and exhausting race around the base between three teams within the machlekah to find their team's color coordinated question about Israeli history, answer the question and sprint to the next location on base. Conveniently, each successive question was somewhere on the opposite side of the base. At the end, the entire machlekah was allowed to climb to the top of the massive water tower/observation post that is the iconic (or infamous?) symbol of Mikveh Alon. It rises about 150 feet and provides a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains and valleys, cities and towns.

Thursday morning we had our "sport test." In true IDF style, it was at 5:15 in the morning. What a great time to see how physically fit our bodies are, especially after having cold muscles and tight limbs from, I don't know, sleeping! Remember we had one at the beginning of tironut? Same thing here. I honestly don't know how I didn't do less pushups or sit-ups than last time (87 and 70, respectively). I also ran a good 2k, about 8:05, which gives me confidence for the 2k I'll run at the gibbush. Afterwards, everyone changed into their Bet uniforms, except for me! I had a doctor's appointment to get to in Nahariyya. Afterwards, I was told to go home! Sweet! Home on Thursday! The best part, aside from not being on base, is that the next morning I wouldn't have to wake up at 3:30. Sometimes, life just works out.

This upcoming week is going to be busy, but also go by fast. I return to base on Sunday, as usual. However, on Monday, me and a bunch of other guys are going to the Tzanchanim gibbush. I'll return to Mikveh on Tuesday. On Wednesday is our "graduation" or "culmination" ceremony of officially completing Mikveh Alon. Then I return home on Thursday. Technically, Mikveh owns the soldiers going into kravi units until the following week, so I'm have to return the following week to Mikveh simply for shmirah duty. It kinda sucks, but won't be that big of a deal. The following Sunday or Monday, I go to wherever it is I will spend the rest of my time in the IDF.

On Wednesday, my machlekah gathered in a classroom for our weekly sum up of the week with our commanders. Michael, one of my friends in my tzevet, commented that Mikveh sapped him of his motivation to go into a kravi unit. Truth be told, I definitely agree with him. I am certainly pumped to finally go into the "real" army, to be with Israelis and become a legit soldier. But the past month and a half at Mikveh has lulled me into a sense of complacency about military life. I don't really consider my base to be actual military life for a number of reasons. First, the commanders are all girls. Hold on, I'm not sexist! The commanders in the army are all guys, even though I hear that girls teach soldiers specialties. Also, there are no Israelis (apart from the commanders/officers). Everyone is like me: a foreigner. Even if someone is legally Israeli, it's because he made aliyah recently. In addition, those of us at Mikveh Alon are at the bottom of the IDF barrel. Our time there certainly counts for my overall service time, but, for example, it doesn't count towards promotion time or being considered a "veteran" soldier. Bottom line, I am a soldier in the IDF, but don't feel like I'm in the IDF.

In addition, even after almost four months in Israel, and not for sight-seeing or some tourist program, but for joining its freakin' military, I definitely don't feel like an Israeli. But I'm also not expecting to feel like someone who's lived here for their whole life. I only bring it up because, for one reason or another, the topic of feeling like an Israeli has been discussed multiple time in different settings over the past week. My Mefakedet brought it up, as did my HaSammelot, and also a few friends. The army is perhaps the strongest influence in creating the Israeli identity and ethos. Everyone serves, everyone has stories, and everyone knows someone who's seen combat. In the IDF, teenagers grow up to become young men and women. While the same generation is going to college in America, Israelis are serving in the military. How can it not have anything but the strongest influence on a young Israeli's psyche? For better or for worse, the IDF shapes Israelis' mindset and consequently Israeli culture. This includes a great appreciation of time and learning to live for today (especially now that Iran is working towards a nuclear bomb, because tomorrow might not be here); impatience; respect for authority, but not blind respect like we often find around the world; and other traits which I will certainly discover over the next year.

(Last night, as I was talking with Kimberly, I finally watched "Don't Mess With the Zohan" on my computer. While it is certainly not one of the best movies ever made, I did laugh a lot because it definitely hit on a lot of stereotypes and comical things about Israel and Israeli culture. Kimberly couldn't believe that I didn't think it was the stupidest thing ever. Maybe I would have if I wasn't so "in tune" with Israeli life.)

What else shapes the Israeli mentality? How about rockets being fired from the Gaza Strip into Beersheva, a city in southern Israel? Yeah, I think that helps, too. On Wednesday, the Islamic Jihad, a terrorist group that operates in Gaza, fired two rockets into Israel. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, rightly, ordered the IDF to conduct a counter-strike and publicly stated that Israel will not stand for this, just like any other nation would never stand for the unprovoked attack on its cities. It is likely that Egypt's current political (and national) instability is opening the way for more arms to be smuggled into Gaza. In addition, in a show of force, Iran just sent two warships through the Suez Canal, the first time since the Islamic Republic took power in 1979, en route to Lebanon. The more instability in the Arab world, the greater influence Iran will wield across the region, or at least make a play for regional supremacy.

But at Mikveh, the world does not exist to us. Our Mefakedets still have us by the balls, but their grip is certainly loosening, both by their own accord and ours. We expect them to "break distance" with us in the next few days. They'll cut the commander-soldier relationship and re-assume their normal teenage girl personas when in uniform as they do, I'm sure, when out of uniform. They'll start treating us like equals. And I'm kinda curious to find out why my Mefakedet's Facebook network (yes, we found her on Facebook, as we found all our commanders) is from the high school twenty minutes from me back home.

But it already feels as distance has been broken, at least on our end. On Tuesday, my mefakedet left the base for whatever reason (as she has done often) and we had a replacement, the machlekah's MaMach (ממח). (I still haven't figured out what that position is exactly, but it's common for MaMach's to fill in for Mefakedets.) We've had this girl as a stand-in before. It is almost excruciating how painfully clear it is that she is green. She does not know how to properly command a tzevet, especially mine, with all of its difficult personalities. By "properly" I mean that she does not know/follow the method of ordering us everywhere. For example, our commanders tell us, in Hebrew of course, "You have seven minutes to go clean your room. Seven minutes, seven minutes, move!" Then we respond, "Yes, Mefakedet, seven minutes!" But this new girl, she'll just say, "You have seven minutes to clean." And we're left standing there, waiting for her to finish her command. At first, her "style" was off-putting. At this point, as we now expect this method, it's quite comical. And that obviously does not help her attempt to command our respect.

In addition, the MaMach decided to do something new with our tzevet. We gathered, as usual, before the flag in preparation for singing Hatikvah with the entire plugot. However, my tzevet showed up a good twenty minutes in advance. Why? Because, in her infinite wisdom (and experience) the MaMach ordered us to run into our rooms, put on our combat vests, and report back outside. She then proceeded to show us how to shoot our guns in the schiva (prone) position. What the &$%@! Seriously?! First off, we're done with tironut. We've BEEN done with tironut. Second, our Mefakedet showed us, seemingly to no end, how to fire in the three different positions. We don't need someone new to try to teach us. Also, the MaMach's teaching did not help her; she had nothing of the confidence required to show soldiers how to use their firearms. She was uncertain of proper positioning, stumbling over her words, not commanding our attention, etc. What's more, she decided to make us go through this pointless exercise on the day we were to have our Hebrew tests. At this point I was getting fed up with the MaMach's incompetence. I said to her how it was wrong for us to go through this worthless exercise, especially on the day of our exams, that our time would be better served practicing our Hebrew. It wasn't going to change anything, just to let her know what I thought of her decisions.

To end this on a positive note, we finally had another krav maga session! That's why we had our guns. And this is also stupid: we picked up our guns from the armory on Monday for a single session of krav maga on Tuesday and had the M-16s for the rest of the week. We needed our guns because we learned how to use them for krav maga. There might be times when we can't fire our guns. For example, we may be in a crowded place and Israeli soldiers don't fire indiscriminately into crowds; or we may be too close to the enemy to get off a shot; or there may be the risk that the 5.56 caliber round, if fired too close, could pass through the enemy, and, because of its rounded tip (as opposed to the bluntness of a handgun's bullet), be redirected and hit a civilian; or any other reason. We did some difficult and exhausting exercises, as is the custom at the beginning of krav maga, then learned the reasoning behind and practiced a few different moves; how to hold the gun properly and stabilize it with your arm, use a quick, snapping motion, and always be ready to advance for another blow or aim your gun if the enemy falls to the ground. I thoroughly enjoyed the session, but don't think it was worth getting our guns for the entire week. Anyway, that's army life.

I was on the bus today and behind me was a guy rocking out to Katy Perry's "I Kissed a Girl" on his iPod, singing along and everything. Classic. Israeli.

Shabbat shalom.

Life speeds up; Life slows down

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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