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!

Purim within, Purim without

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

אני צה''ל I am IDF

"I hereby commit myself to remain loyal to the State of Israel, its constitution and official government and to accept unconditionally and unhesitantly the weight of responsibility of the Israeli Defense Forces, and to obey orders and commands given by my official commanders and to devote all my strength and even sacrifice my life in the defense of my homeland and the freedom of Israel."

I squint into the bright January sun. The cloudless blue sky over Acko is witness to an important day in the lives of two hundred young men and women. The oath is told over a loudspeaker and the new Israeli soldiers repeat each phrase at the top of their lungs. I do not understand all of the Hebrew, but had reviewed their meaning the day before and was prepared for this moment. After nearly a month in uniform, training with a gun, learning commands and how to obey orders, and living the life of a soldier, I finally committed myself to the defense of Israel. At the bakkum on my first day, I signed a paper that officially made me property of the Israeli government. Now, more importantly, I committed myself to the defense and security of the State of Israel.

The swearing-in ceremony signified a landmark in my IDF career: the conclusion of tironut, basic training. (Check last week's post for more information about tironut.) I have learned the bare-boned basics about how to be a soldier. Its culmination was the ceremony on Tuesday in Acko. Sunday was a day off for lone soldiers to clear up personal errands, such as bank accounts, apartment contracts, etc. It was great to have a four day week...although in many respects it still felt like a long week. But anyway, we arrived on base by eleven-thirty on Monday. The sleeping quarters were closed so each tzevet formed a chet outside. We welcomed our mefakedet, she said a few things, then gave us ten minutes to change into our Bet uniforms. While that is often more than enough time to change, we took our time and a few people ended up being late to report back to chet. Maybe they didn't have their shoe laces tied or forgot to change their shoulder tags to the new uniform. Consequently, our mefakedet was extremely displeased, to put it politely. She shouted and yelled, and gave us seven minutes to change BACK into our Aleph uniforms. Then again we had to change into our Bets, in seven minutes. What a way to start a week.

The rest of the day was uneventful (code for I can't really remember what we did) but that evening both plugots (remember: three tzevets (about 12-15 soldiers) in a machlekah, two machlekahs for a plugot) had tests on everything we learned during tironut. I forgot to mention last week, but right before we left early for the weekend, the mefakedets gave us written tests about the M-16, the radio, first aid, and the gas mask. By written, I mean my mefakedet asked me the questions and if I didn't exactly know the answer, she would help me out and mark it down as correct. But again, all this was in Hebrew. So, Monday night, we had to demonstrate that we knew how to handle each of the four equipment. I had to put the M-16 together after a previous soldier had taken it apart; I had to assume the amidah (standing) firing position and then crawl a few yards with the weapon; I had to put the radio together after changing a battery; I had to properly and quickly put on the gas mask and take it off; and I had to wrap my friend's arm with a field bandage. I passed the tests. Well done, soldier!

The next day we dressed in our Aleph uniforms because we were to leave the base that afternoon. However, before we left, the מ.מ. (Mem Mem [Mefaked HaMachlekah: head of the machlekah]- one above the HaSamelot, who is one above the mefakedet) gathered the machlekah in a classroom as we have done numerous times when he spoke to us about the shetach, the M-16, and other things. He spoke for a few minutes, clearing up some last items about our impending ceremony. Then he talked about something he, the HaSamelot, and the mefakedots had decided over the past few weeks: leading soldiers in each tzevet.

Dmitri, from Tzevet Echad. Congratulations. Moses, from Tzevet Echad. Aaaand, from my unit, Tzevet Sholosh: Sam! Congratulations. As each soldier's name was mentioned, he walked to the front of the room, saluted the Mem Mem, and their mefakedet would say a few words about why each soldier earned the recognition. After Sam sat down, the Mem Mem spoke one last time, about one final recognition: the מצטיין מחלקה- "Daniel Flesch." WOW! I stood up, said "קנ, הממ", walked to the front of the room and saluted. Then my mefakedot stood up and explained why I had been chosen. All of this was in Hebrew, so I didn't exactly understand all of it. The gist I got was that I was quiet when necessary, led by example, helped translate commands to English when my fellow soldiers didn't understand everything, and so on. For those who read this and are going to Mikveh Alon, I just say this: follow orders, keep time, and stay positive.

With the recognition, I received a letter with my name and ID number on it, and the statement stating that this award is given to a soldier who demonstrates heart and a willingness to help fellow soldiers without being asked, etc. Also, that evening, my mefakedet, who had taken my dog tags that morning, returned them to me, wrapped in interlacing black threads, designating me (and Sam, who received the same cover) as recognized leading soldiers. We also got one more recognition, to be mentioned shortly.

After the awards, we boarded buses to Acko. We stopped at the Acko Prison, where a famous prison break took place in the 1930s. A tour guide led us around the prison, everything in Hebrew, and we prepared for our ceremony. It was very exciting. First, we had received flaps to hang on our left shoulder epaulet that designate your place in the army. Ours is a white and blue flames on a green background: it denotes a position of education. An hour before our ceremony, we were all arranged in perfect rows according to our machlekah and we rehearsed the order of the ceremony. Before our ceremony, we had a half hour break. But first, we had to give our guns to the HaSammelot to put on a table in front of the machlekah. During the ceremony, we would "officially" receive our guns. We walked to the front and the HaSammelot spoke to us for a few minutes. I, conveniently, was the last person in my machlekah to receive my gun. The Sammelot talked about how I should not rest on my laurels; I need to become an even greater soldier. I responded with an affirmative, and walked to the other side of the table where the Mem Mem was waiting for me. And this was the final special item I received that day: the Mem Mem's gun. Incredible. But not for keeps. He had replaced my gun with his; as I had won the Mem Mem's award for the machlekah, I was given his gun (the tzevet winners were given their mefakedet's gun for the ceremony).

I stood at attention before him as he handed me the gun, which I snapped to my right shoulder. I then took the Tanach he offered and held it against the gun, holding it proudly as a sign of my belief in its word and value, willing to defend it with my weapon. He congratulated me profusely on earning the recognition and said some other things I didn't understand. Then I kissed the book, set it back on the table, and returned to my spot in line. Then we sang Hatikvah, Israel's national anthem and one of the most beautiful and meaningful songs I know.

After the ceremony, soldiers met up with their friends and families who had traveled to Acko to see them be sworn in. For perhaps the first time, I truly felt like a lone soldier. No one waiting for me, no one to take my picture, no one to congratulate me on realizing a dream that has dramatically changed my life. It's incredible having David and Amy here for me in Tel Aviv. But Acko wasn't the same without my parents, my sister, and my brother. After tironut for whichever unit I join after Mikveh, David/Amy will come to my swearing-in; it'll be a much bigger ceremony, and maybe my family?

But it's always good to come back to Tel Aviv and be able to hear English all weekend. It's a great relief to chill with Ben, my best friend from home, and just have a few beers and watch West Wing. (He also wants it known that he is a frequent editor and often the first one to read each new post.) Having a little bit of home with me provides some normalcy to my dramatically altered lifestyle.

That evening, we returned to base in a joyous mood. We had dinner and were ordered into sport clothes; no rest, even for the victorious. Back to business.

The next day, we started our ulpan, or course Ivrit. It was rough. Not in the difficult sense; we started with learning the bare boned basics: the letters of the Aleph-Bet. Somebody shoot me. On Thursday we started to learn some words, conjugation, etc. I know all this stuff, so it's kinda hard to pay attention and take it seriously. But I hear the pace will pick up. We're in class at least seven hours. The day is somewhat easier. We get a ten minute break every forty to fifty minutes. We still run everywhere, but now we're supposed to get at least seven hours of sleep at night, as opposed to six. In reality, we get much less.

Friday was going home day. We were told not to hitch-hike and not to drink and drive. If there's a war, we have to report to Mikveh Alon right away. I had never really thought about being a soldier off base before. The first time we got released for the weekend and I traveled home on the train then the walk back to my apartment in my uniform, I realized that I am a potential terrorist target. Obviously, what the hell do I know about anything in the IDF? Nothing. I can't do shit. But still, as Gilad Shalit's tragic and terrible situation demonstrates, IDF soldiers are targeted by terrorists. But I think I'm pretty safe in Tel Aviv.

So, if you read last week, you're probably wondering why I'm not on base this weekend. And you've probably been wondering why I didn't address this right away. Never mind the latter, but the former's reason is because I think my machlekah doesn't do guard duty until February. Sweet! I'll still be coming home for the weekends for the rest of the month.

And speaking of "month," check back on my blog entry list to November 15th. The title of that entry is "One Month!!!" Well, folks, it's been ONE MONTH SINCE I ENLISTED!!! One down, seventeen to go!!

In other matters: I want to thank everyone for reading this. And I'm not just talking about my friends and family (that means you Mom, Dad, Kimberly and Eric!!). I've received a few emails and there have been comments posted by complete strangers, which is wonderful. I'm glad that my writing has attracted so much interest and reached people who share an interest in my experiences. Many of these people have sons interested in joining the IDF, or already in the service. PLEASE: pass along my blog to your friends and families. I am encouraged by the responses I have received and will continue to try my hardest, both on my base and on my blog!

A final few words about Israel. What's going on in this country? Well for those of you who don't read the Jerusalem Post every day, and that includes me now, too, there are two things I want to point out. First, the government is currently deciding whether or not it wants to begin an investigation into Israeli human rights organizations. What's the big deal? In a nutshell: a report has recently surfaced that many of these organizations receive a large percentage (meaning over half) of their funding from European or Arab sources. So? Well, on a basic level, it indicates the leaning these groups take when evaluating Israel's treatment of Palestinians, human rights record, democracy, etc. No longer can many of these organizations (including B'Tselem) be considered "Israeli." With money flowing in from anti-Israel and anti-Semitic donors, the non-biased stance these organizations proclaim to take is clearly compromised. I used to laud Israel for having non-governmental groups that took a hard-line stance on many of the government's policies: it is a strong indicator of a free society, the only one in the Middle East. While on the outside my praise still remains true, it is clear that these organizations do not simply operate to keep the government in check; rather, they operate to delegitimize Israel's actions, and therefore compromise its security and standing in the world. (See: Caroline Glick's editorials in the Jerusalem Post.)

Finally, not all is peachy on Israel's borders. In fact, I mentioned that my officers told us what to do in case of war for a reason. First off, they mentioned the procedure for the first time since our first weekend off. Why? It's probably because the IDF is on alert in the north. What's going on there? Well, the UN is set to release its findings of an investigation into the 2005 assassination of Lebanon's prime minister. It is a well-known secret that Hezbollah murdered the popular leader. Now his son is prime minister and Hezbollah has warned him not to cooperate with the UN. That's the gist. Look online for more. My point here is that Hezbollah, who is already operating as a state-within-a-state in southern Lebanon, is a terrorist organization holding a legitimate government hostage. Hariri's coalition has disbanded. The future of Lebanon's freedom appears to be at risk. And the results could spill over into Israel.

So that's it for this week's post. Back to base tomorrow to learn more Hebrew. I'm starting to miss home a bit. Life's much different here, even outside of the military. It's sometimes hard to watch tv shows or movies; reminds me of home and makes me feel anxious. I'm really starting to enjoy myself at the base, though. The recognition/award was incredible; a real, definite high. Of course, there are times, like I've mentioned before, where we get knocked down a peg or two. Then we rebound later. I'm gelling with the guys real well. We enjoy our times on breaks, even if it's for ten minutes here or fifteen minutes there. Life is picking up now that we're going to learn Hebrew. It's fun, and also a little frustrating, learning Hebrew. I just have to make sure that I'm as proficient as possible by March 3rd. I have no doubt that I will be able to understand commands and survive in the IDF. But I want to be able to converse with the Israeli soldiers and have a good time with them, in Hebrew. Thinking about that sometimes gets me anxious to learn everything and I think we don't have enough time, that a month and a half isn't enough. But hopefully it is.

Until next week, thanks for reading!!

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.