Reflections After 2 Years

I am sitting right now in the Ben Gurion Airport about 1.5 hours away from departure time. I, once again, scanned over all of my previous blog entries in order to see how far I've come since the beginning and since my 1 year reflection. I mentioned in previous entries that it's hard for me to chart my progress and changes but this time looking back I realize how much I've changed. I don't know even know where to start so I think the most appropriate way of going about this is just to state my present views and juxtapose them with comments and notions from earlier. First of all, my English has gotten rusty. Obviously it's still my native tongue, but I wrote so well and with satirical and rich style in my first blogs. What's happened? I think maybe this has to do in part with the "Israelis not mincing words" blog I wrote about 1.5 years ago. My day-to-day life over the past 9 months has been almost entirely in Hebrew in Israelis my age. As a result my Hebrew has improved exponentially and I am able to relate and communicate freely without almost any cultural or lingual barriers with my piers here. It's bizarre because 2 years I yearned so much to speak fluently and be Israeli and now that that has happened more or less, I hardly even notice it because it is routine. Catch 22? Looking back on my views and opinions from 2008 was exciting because it is as if I was reading those of another person; when I then shifted back to my present mind it was like seeing my accomplishments take place within seconds. Since I've come to Israel, I've learned to be much more patient and accepting.

One of the things that I most proud of myself is that there does not pass one day while I'm in the army where I regret the decisions I've made about making Aliyah and joining the army. I don't know a single person that loves and enjoys the conditions and situation in the army but there are two ways of going about it. One is that you can endure the hardships that are thrown at you and complain about it the whole way and tell everybody who asks that you are suffering and that the army sucks. This is the "gisha" or attitude of many soldiers. The second way is to know that you are going to suffer but to be okay with it. To embrace the hardships and not complain. Despite the fact I do suffer in the army, and it is difficult, and it is not glorious or rewarding most of the time, I am fulfilling something I believe in and whatever happens along the way is irrelevant. Of course I have my moments where I give in to whining and bitching with the guys but about 20 times a day I try to remind myself to stay positive and be okay with sacrifice I'm making in order to do what I believe in.

The things I used to comment on in my posts 2 years ago seem so trivial and funny now -- the rust on the shower head, the food in the Kibbutz dining hall, the lack of timely maintenance services on kibbutz, "only" getting 6.5 hours of sleep. All these things are not concerns of mine anymore. There are things that concern me now that in another 2 years I will probably laugh at. One thing I have observed about the army is that there is always someone more "vatik" or experienced than you. So how do you go about not coming off as an ass when talking to someone more experienced than you? You listen and ask questions and don't complain and don't act like a know-it-all. The way the chain of experience goes in the army is as follows: new recruits, soldiers in advanced training, soldiers in plugat maslul (once you have your red beret and are on the border but still not vatik), and then the various stages of older soldiers. Then there are the officers who sign on extra time, then those who have gone through and experienced war, and finally those who have experienced multiple wars. Sometimes when I think that I've gone through a lot (and I think I'm justified in saying I have) I then think of those who fought in the Intifada in 2000 and the Lebanon War and once again am humbled and grounded. Such is the chain of wisdom and experience everywhere in life, it is just a matter of adjusting the mindset to the present situation and realizing that to be quiet and observant and humble is the wisest approach in any situation at any stage.

End of Training -- From Soldiers to Warriors

I never thought the day would come when I would say, "I'm finished with my training phase of the army." Low and behold, it has arrived. It arrived about 6 weeks ago on a Thursday morning when we finished our Masa Kumta, or Beret March. I don't want to delve too much into the details of the march since I hope to at some point write a blog about it, but I will say that 77 Kilometers (nearly 2 marathons) with full gear on is an experience that nobody forgets. The focus of this entry is to summarize advanced training and more importantly the importance of our training.

We came into advanced training with a sort of relieved sigh. At the end of Tironut (basic training) we were all so sick of our commanders coming down on us and treating us like babies that the idea that there existed another kind of treatment sort of enthralled and excited us. Indeed they sat us down the first day back and set us straight as to what would change, what would not change, and what would change with time. The best way to summarize the differences between Tironut and Imun Mitkadem (Advanced Training) is that Tironut achieves its goal of turning out soldiers by brute discipline and a heavy focus on fitness and Imun Mitkadem produces warriors by focusing less on discipline and more on wilderness training and combat-ready fitness. Combat fitness is storming up a 2 km strip on a steep hill or walking 12 km with 43 kg (about 100 lbs) on your back. It's funny looking back now at how afraid we were of the intense wilderness weeks and the infamous war week that our commanders would frighten us about toward the beginning of our training because at this point we have finished all of it and we're still walking and talking just like before. Well, I think we may talk a little softer now but nonetheless still talking. One of the big highlights of Imun Mitkadem was earning our wings by parachuting 5 times. The course was a grueling 2 weeks of constant yelling and sand in your shirt and ears and underwear. Personally, the 3rd jump that we did (a night jump with our equipment) was the scariest for me. I managed to keep my cool pretty well on the first jump but there were those who definitely needed an extra knock on the back to remind them to jump when they got to the door of the plane. One thing I have enjoyed most about my experience in the army is how much symbolism and how many metaphors you can find in day-to-day life; there is one from jump course that always comes to mind. The hardest part about anything in life is waiting in anticipation of something. Once you get to the door and you have the opportunity, it's pretty simple to just jump. Once you jump, you experience the rush of a lifetime that makes you see things in a new light.

War week was probably the most difficult week of our entire training and it was ultimately the culmination of everything we had learned. I hope to blog about this individually so I will not waste too many words about it as well. We went out on a Monday night and started with a 9 km hike with all of our gear at 2/3 height on a hill. The point of walking at 2/3 height is to disguise yourself more -- when scanning an area you will notice the extremities, such as the top or the bottom of the hill, much quicker than the 2/3 point. Also, 2/3 is disastrous for your knees and ankles as your left foot has a longer journey to the ground than your right foot. Although the first walk was painful, there was another one later in the week that would become infamous in my memories. The routine of war week was Company-level ground exercise, retreat with stretchers, break (due to extreme summer heat), hike toward next exercise, ground exercise, retreat, night hike. We averaged about 1.5 hours of sleep nightly and during the day if you could overcome the intense heat and manage to sleep then by all means. We ate about twice-a-day which was not a lot but it was most definitely enough. Although we were all exhausted, hungry, and disgusting, I learned from war week that you really don't need that much to survive when you are in "combat" mode. And this was just a simulation.

My parents made it to my Beret ceremony and it was great to see them and Arielle and all of our family friends at the end. We were so dead after the march but it was so satisfying to get my red beret finally. It was the goal that we had been waiting for for 7 months. One of the things I love about the army is that in order to reach your goals you have to go through hell, but you do always manage to reach the end and finish. While the red beret was a glorious prize that only somebody whose endured IDF Paratrooper training can enjoy the David Citadel Hotel was also greatly appreciated. I was in desperate need of some rest and luckily I got it. After 77 km with a poorly-set ankle brace my right foot had essentially lost blood circulation. After only about 2 or 3 hours into the beret march I was in agony and felt excruciating pain surging in my ankle and foot every time I put weight on it. After the march I could barely walk on my right ankle and even now, 6 weeks later, I still have some numbness in my right foot.

Since the beret march, we have moved on and are now officially part of Battalion 202. We are in what is called "Plugat Maslul" which is a sort of "residency" for the battalion. We are considered battle-ready, just not as battle-ready as the older soldiers so we have 4 months of this. We are on the Gaza border and while it is not like it was in 2008 it is by no means quiet. Many people seem to be Shavu'z (Shavur Zayeen) or bummed out by the fact that all we're doing is patrols, guard duty, and kitchen duty but these seem to be the people that every step of the way in our training also had a negative outlook. I can imagine that after the army these people will also be complaining about their studies, their roommates, their mortgage, their blah blah blah. My trip home has been approved by the army and I'm thrilled that I'll have a few weeks at home in a little bit. While I know the changes I've undergone are gargantuan I still just feel like Ben and don't quite know what to expect when I go home. We'll see what's changed more, Potomac or me. I'll end this entry on something simple yet inspiring that my host dad told me a couple days ago on the phone. Daniel (my host dad on kibbutz) called my on Friday to see how everything is going and if I would be coming to dinner in the kibbutz dining hall that evening. I told him yes and that everything was fine and that I was just tired from not sleeping right for several weeks because of guard duty and patrols and the wretched sand flies that terrorize the soldiers at night time. He responded with the simple yet wise, "That's okay, that means you're doing your job. Because you don't sleep well at night, my family and I do."

Civilian to Soldier -- Tironut March 2010

So my dreams of updating this blog weekly with new and exciting stories from the army failed miserably mainly for 2 reasons. One reason is that when you have less than 48 hours to relax and unwind from the army, one of the last things you feel like doing is writing about the grueling exercises you did that week. The second excuse is that it's hard to divulge too much of what we've been doing without crossing the army's security guidelines of what is and what is not acceptable to share with the public. I'm not in a top-secret unit or anything like that but any scrap of information that terrorist organizations can gather about the IDF is a loss and a liability to Israel's security. Therefore, like one of my many mottos in the army, I will proceed with caution.

I just finished basic training and am finishing up my "regila" or army vacation. The point of basic training is to mold civilians into soldiers. The next step, advanced training, is to make soldiers into warriors. Basic training focuses mainly on the fundamental skills of a soldier, such as fitness, discipline, weapons training, discipline, team building exercises, and discipline. I think I need to emphasize the most important skill once more: discipline. While Basic started out easy and slow, it ended like a long race with everyone panting and gasping for air and crying out despairingly, "When will it end?!" The mefakdim (or commanders) on the first day were welcoming and consoling. As training went on, remarks like, "You look like a group of girls humping the ground. Give me 20 more real pushups," or "What do you think this is? Day camp? I don't want to hear your suggestions or your complaints," became quite mainstream. There a few infamous quotes that will make every tiron (or basic training recruit) shutter if you utter them to him. One of them is "Kulam b'yishur kav" which means everyone line up in a straight line. This means that on the commanders' "go" everyone will start crawling. Usually crawling took place on comfortable surfaces like jagged-rock covered ground with a side of deadly desert thorns or in the shooting ranges where metal wire, rocks, rough sand and dirt, and bullet casings became one with your limbs. Another beloved sentence was "Tiftach sha'on" or open up your stopwatches. This was followed by the commander giving you instructions for a task and then the alloted time for its completion. Almost everyone who has gone through this treatment has a new appreciation for time. You realize that you can defecate, shave, polish your shoes, and stand in line-up with everyone else in a total time of about 7-10 minutes. The fastest shave I had during basic training was about one minute and forty-five seconds. Another word which in every place in Israel other than the army is loved by all is Shabbat. It didn't happen to many guys in my company but when it did you could see how unpleasant it was. If someone screws up badly by leaving their gun unattended, sassing their commanders, fighting, or just repeated and consistent bad behavior, a not uncommon punishment will be to keep that soldier on base for Shabbat while everybody else goes home. This can be horrible for the reason that if your squad is supposed to close the following weekend, that means that you will not see home for 3 weeks. Needless to say, a lot of people get their shit together pretty quickly.

One transformation I've noticed about myself is that I've become tougher. Not in the sense that I'm gonna go out to bars now and beat up neo-Nazis with pool sticks, but rather during a 21 kilometer forced march when your thighs feel like grounded-down meat and your spinal cord like a bent paper clip, I have learned to keep my mouth shut and trek on. A lot of guys find it necessary to complain, or to speculate and banter but not of those things help. What it comes down to is what the most efficient way of getting the tasks at hand done. Worrying and complaining impede concentration and confidence and are therefore a soldier's biggest enemies. I get fed up sometimes with some of the guys around me that joke around and behave very unprofessionally but one of the worst things you can do is to fight the things you have no control over. You can't tell them to shut up because the group will ridicule you yet if you don't do anything the commanders will punish the whole group for one soldier's insubordination. So what is the solution? I found that it was best just to take the punishment and be the best at taking the punishment. Each time the commander makes you run to the fence behind the barracks and back in 20 seconds, it is another opportunity for you to prove to yourself and to your commanders how strong you are. Your experience in the army is contingent upon your outlook on it. If you pity yourself and constantly focus on the difficulty of the task at hand, you will find yourself a stressed-out and depressed mess. If you take everything in stride, the good and the bad, then you find yourself a lot more grounded and capable of handling anything. It means that when you have to carry a stretcher with 80 kg. on it on your should when you already have 30 kg. on your bag, you walk tall and strong and don't pout. It also means that when everyone is giddy, almost drunk, with excitement at the end of tironut (basic training) you walk on tall and strong and don't get caught up in the excitement. The lessons I've learned from the army are incredibly deep and I can't wait to see what else is in store for me in the later stages. More to come hopefully next week. For now, I have to go enjoy the last 9 hours of my regila. Lila Tov

The Fallen Soldiers of Israel -- Z"L

Today is Yom HaZikaron (Israel's Remembrance Day) and it feels different than any other Yom HaZikaron now that I am a soldier. It feels different because the people who I saw at the Haifa Military Cemetery were coming to commemorate me. Well, not exactly me, but rather young men and women who were in my exact same position and place in life yet did not get to grow up. It's hard seeing a mother and father standing by there son's grave; it goes against the natural progression of nature. In the Paratroopers Brigade, there is a tradition that on every Remembrance Day a paratrooper will stand beside the grave a fallen paratrooper. Yitzhak Berkowitz was born in 1950 and grew up on a Moshav near Haifa. He liked sports, especially soccer and table-tennis. He was a modest and loyal guy who gave his all in everything that he did. He got along with everybody he came in contact with. When he worked in the fields of his Moshav he also befriended many of the Arab workers. Yitzhak went to the army in 1968 and became a medic in the paratroopers. His cousin, who was at the ceremony today, told me that he was a real "gever" or "good guy" in colloquial terms. His cousin also told me that Yitzhak was always the first to volunteer and a leader, therefore explaining why he absorbed the brunt of the enemy's bullets when he and his fellow soldiers were ambushed by a group of terrorists. He was 19 when he was buried. Yitzhak's brother was at the memorial as well. He arrived at 10 am, about an hour before the ceremony started, with a tired look on his face. He's been mourning his brother's death for about 31 years now but it doesn't look like time has healed his scars. He shook my hand and I introduced myself and told him that I was the representative from the Paratroopers Brigade. He nodded and proceeded to put the flowers in the vase already sitting on the grave from years passed. He then opened up the bottled water and poured it in the vase in the most routine fashion as if he did this every week. I can't imagine what it would be like to have to bury your younger brother and then go back to his grave every year for the rest of your life. I looked around the cemetery to scope out the scene. There were a lot of soldiers who, like me, were there to stand by the graves of the fallen. The families there were a diverse mix of all ages and backgrounds. In the row behind me, 6 graves to the right, an elderly woman of probably about 75 sat on a stool, alone, with a sort of dazed and pained expression on her face. She looked like she hadn't slept well for many years. About 2 rows back and 3 graves to the left sat an elderly couple of about 80 who were crying and hugging each other. The closest description I could attribute to their cry was a cry of despair. I don't think they wanted to cry but there wasn't so much they could do when the familiar siren started wailing. Occasionally I saw kids and teenagers with their whole families gathered around the grave. For the most part, the families kept it together a little bit better than the lone mourners. Perhaps they kept it together because the parents don't want to give the impression to the kids that their family fell apart. People's reactions to the memorial were wide-ranging as well. Some people cried. Some people looked away. Some people tried to be emotionless while others embraced those around them and sobbed helplessly. After Hatikvah was sung and the ceremony ended, people started to leave. The skinny middle aged man at the beginning of the row I was standing in took out a Marlboro cigarette and lit it up as he made his way toward the exit. Yitzhak's cousin stayed a couple minutes to reminisce about his army days. The weeping elderly couple continued crying but started to gather their things to make their way home. On the way out things had more or less returned to their normal state and everyone was going about their lives as usual.

It's important to remember the people that were there today and the loss they have had to deal with. It puts my woes and miseries in perspective. Of course it's difficult when at 5 am I'm standing outside in shorts and a t-shirt waiting for my commander to come yell at us and then start our hassled and stressful morning routine. It's hard when we're on one of our marches and my shins are beginning to burn and my lower back feels like a car being crunched in a junkyard compressor. It's hard when I come home on Friday and I'm exhausted from the week's endless lessons and exercises but I have to take my laundry up to the laundry room and do groceries. But nothing is as hard as what Yitzhak's family and all the other fallen soldiers' families have to go through when they think about what a huge part of their family was taken from them and how he or she will never come back. All of the fallen soldiers that were honored today are the reason why their is a Jewish State that I and others can fight to defend and their sacrifice is holy. Zichronam Livrecha.

Life after Sayeret

So much to write yet so little time. It's 11:50 pm and I have to get up tomorrow at 5:10 am to catch the train down to Be'er Sheva so much to my dismay (I have a lot to tell) I will have to be brief in this entry. In my previous blog two weeks ago I was about to find out where I would be spending the rest of my service (that is to say, in which battalion). We got back to base and everyone was quite apprehensive to say the least. The "ceremony" in which everyone is sorted into their respective battalions is known in Hebrew as "Misdar D'maot" although it's formal name is "Misdar Haluka". Misdar D'maot can roughly be translated as the "tears ceremony" and Misdar Haluka as the "sorting or dividing ceremony". They call it the tears ceremony because a lot of soldiers who hoped or expected to get to the Special Units do not, to their surprise oftentimes, make it to those units. What follows after their name is called from one of the regular battalion's lists are usually tears, therefore giving the event its name. I, unfortunately, turned out to be one of the people who expected to get to the Special Forces and was caught unexpectedly when I heard my name under the 2nd platoon in the 202nd battalion. As I recall, I was fetching a tissue from my bag because my nose had just started to bleed when they called my name. It was a rather ominous occurrence and the next 2 days were tough. I questioned whether the army was worth it, and how I would explain to a lot of people that I did not get to Special Forces. I don't want to spend too much time dissecting the details of the outcome of the Gibush but for my peace of mind, indulge me. There were definitely some aspects of the Gibush where I was not the strongest in my group and even instances where I was among the weaker in my group. However, that being said, for the amount of people that got in to Special Forces from all the guys who finished I definitely should have been among them. I tormented myself for days after the Gibush with questions pertaining to my not being accepted. I've come to several conclusions. I think that the testers made a mistake my not taking me. My statement comes not out of emotion but rather out of logic. If they didn't take me because I wasn't good in some parts of the Gibush (perhaps the crawling), there were always guys worse than me and I more than made up for it in other physical areas. If they didn't take me because of the discussions and mental challenges well then they did not measure us accurately. Some mental drills simply became a yelling match between who could voice their opinion the loudest. This was not a rational way to test who is most "mentally" fit for SF. Also, I contributed some of the most insightful comments in the debates and demonstrated a wide-range of knowledge in the talks we had to give on a specific topic. There have also been some other reasons that have arisen in my head or that others have suggested as possible explanations for my not being accepted. It is possible that there is a "quota" of foreigners the army wants to take into SF and I did not make it this time. Another explanation that some have told me is that they also want to keep some quality guys in the battalion. In any case, the best thing to do at this point is to shake it off and be the best in the "gdud" or battalion.

The melancholy and anger expressed in the previous paragraph dissolved about 1.5 weeks ago. After a few days getting used to my new surroundings in the 202nd Battalion I realized that the stigmas about the battalions are not accurate. The guys in my squad are great guys and I get along with all of them really well. Most of them also seem to be fairly motivated and want to be there; after all, we still are in Tzanchanim (the paratroopers) and everyone here had to be accepted from a Gibush. In addition to the guys, my commanders and commanding officers are fantastic. My squad commander, Paz, is a quiet and friendly son of an agricultural worker and teacher from the North. He is patient yet expects a lot. Our staff sergeant is a complete bad-ass. He is probably about 6 foot 1 inches and weights between 200-240. He speaks to us only when he has to and he demands our attention whenever he does. The way he speaks is quite Tachlis (Hebrew for "straight to the point) yet it is always compact with meaning and tact. A few days ago he was telling us about what our experience is going to be like. It was more or less along the lines of, "I am going to destroy and break all of you. You will all suffer a lot. But you won't suffer without a purpose. I'm not going to break you down because I'm bored or anything like that. I'm doing it because I want you all to be the best soldiers that you can possible be." In addition, he straightened us out as to our present jolly feeling toward one another. "You all think you're buddy-buddy here on the base and that you get along great and are best of friends. The truth of the matter is that when you get out into the Shetach (wilderness) for training, there won't be any beds or showers or hot food or air-conditioning. That's when you'll see who your real friends are and that's where you'll be measured."

These past 2 weeks have truly measured my ability to adapt to Plan B. I think I succeeded. One of the most valuable things I've learned about myself from this let-down was that even after my SF dream was shot down and my ego was torn to shreds, I trekked on and it is still worth it.

Gibush 2

Since my last post I have moved from the comfortable confines of my base close to home in the North to the relatively luxurious base of the Tzanchanim (Paratroopers) in the South in Beer Sheva. The main topic of this week's blog is the Gibush for the Special Forces attached to the Paratroopers that I went through this past week.

Despite the fact that I'm getting better at the gibushes and I think I'm starting to understand the way they work, I never want to have to do one again. The intensity of Gibush is something that is not matched by any other thing in the army except for war. This may be simply naive since I have not experienced anything else in the army but I think I'm accurate in my stating so. The reason I say this is because although there are more physically challenging activities in basic training and so on, and drills and that are more difficult than those of the Gibush, you are never really competing with your friends in the rest of your service. Gibush is a cut-throat, every-man-for-himself kind of competition that, while you still manage to make friends, you are constantly on your toes. In this Gibush, we woke up at 3 a.m. on Tuesday morning (Monday night) and went out to start the Gibush. As expected, we crawled a lot, sprinted a lot, carried heavy loads up steep inclines, and were belittled and criticized by our commanders. They continued to destroy us during the day with petty breaks in between for small mental drills or to swallow water. I say "swallow" water because you would have literally open up your throat and let the water fall down in order to drink it all in the allotted time. The elbow pads and knee pads given to us only helped in the slightest and as the day grew older, the cuts on our elbows and knees grew wider. By dusk, I was not doing so well in one of the rounds of crawling and had to drag myself along the ground since it had become too difficult to use my legs in the drills. Currently there are several large, purple spots on my thighs as a result of the beating from the rocks on the ground during the crawling. At night we were actually granted a generous 8 hours of sleep only interrupted by 25 minutes of guard duty each. Of course, we were sleeping in 2-man pup tents outside so it wasn't that comfortable, but when you're that exhausted you can sleep just about anywhere. The second and last day was a little bit less challenging physically than the first day. This was because they could not abuse us to much or else there would be nobody left in the group. There were many more mental activities and group puzzles. That night (Wednesday night) we were left in suspense as to whether there would be more physical testing the following day and I actually remember dreaming that night that they woke us up and made us go on a forced march! Of course they didn't wake us up in the middle of the night and the next morning we packed up our tents and equipment, returned to base, and waited for our interviews. Although structurally similar to Gibush Matkal, Gibush Yachatiot (as it is called) was different and unique for several reasons. One reason is that it is only 2 days; the implication of its length is both negative and positive. The positive part is that it is only 2 days and that's not so bad. The negative is that it's only 2 days and that means the testers only have 2 days to break you down and cull the best of the group. Another difference is that Gibush Matkal was on sand and this Gibush was on hilly terrain with lots of dirt and rocks. Dirt and rocks are not a good surface to crawl on; trust me on this one. This gibush in my opinion was physically much harder than Gibush Matkal. Everybody trying out is already a soldier so the testers have a little more leeway in their drills and punishments.

As I said earlier, despite the fact that I never want to participate in other gibush, I have gotten better at them. In this gibush, I was not as timid with my Hebrew. More often than not I was offering advice on how to solve a problem, or offering up a topic for discussion. We had to give talks on something that interests us and I (naturally) gave a 2-minute talk on avocados. One of the testers at the end actually said he was very interested in my talk and I think I did right in picking this topic because it was completely out of the ordinary and nobody was expecting it. Physically I was also a lot better of this time. Despite the fact that I was sick before this gibush, I sort of threw caution to the wind. I was a lot more generous with enduring wounds and during crawling flung myself left and right like a madman despite the fact that it was bruising my legs and stomach and arms. My attitude of semi-indifference within the army proved effective in the gibush. In order to be a good soldier it is necessary to be somewhat of an automaton, listening to and doing everything your commanders say to you. My pain and agony in the gibush were no longer relevant. What was relevant was crawling and running toward where they instructed me. When you adopted this attitude everything becomes easier. Not whining or complaining to the other guys was also paramount. When you hear other guys making a fuss but you yourself stay quiet, it empowers you to a certain degree. On Monday we get the results of the gibush and then are divided up into our respective brigades or companies. Hopefully the news will be positive. Arielle came up this weekend and it was good to see her. Tomorrow I have a day off to go get my passport from the Interior Ministry and do not have to be back on base until 8 p.m. I'm looking forward to this week and to finally getting started with official basic training!

Army

This is a significant post because it is the first time I am writing as a soldier and not as a civilian. I came here to serve in the army and I am finally doing it; so let's talk about it. I just finished my 3rd week and tomorrow I go back to my base in the north for my final 2 days there. I am in a 3 week program for Hebrew-speakers that were not raised here (and are therefore lacking basic, cultural knowledge pertaining to the army). The base is near the town Carmiel and the Sea of Galilee in the North and is known as Mikhveh Alon after General Yigal Alon. On Monday, we have our ceremony and will then find out where we will be heading off to next. The army is everything I thought it would be: hard, tiring, and interesting. The point of this program has been to acclimate us to the army and its rigors and it has done an excellent job. They managed to fit a large portion of all the fun drills and routines of basic training into this short program without overloading us but at the same time challenging us. I feel that I will be very ready for the next stage.

One thing that I have come to learn from my experiences in Israel and before is that there will always be bumps in the road. It's a simple enough lesson that we tend to forget until we hit the next bump. Throughout my time here I have encountered obstacle after obstacle in reaching my goals and the main message I am taking home is not to get too excited by anything. That doesn't mean 'be dull' but rather just be more in the middle with relation to new events. You didn't get into Matkal? That's okay, there are plenty of other good units. You didn't get into that other good unit? That's okay, even in the other units you still find good guys and are serving Israel. The bed is disgusting and you can feel the metallic springs poking into your back? That's okay, you won't die and at least you're inside for the time being. A lot of the guys in my unit get very hyped up about a lot of things throughout the day and while it is important to be passionate in the army and try your hardest, I am now a firm believer in "taking it all with a grain of salt." It's a good attitude and despite the fact that I still get hyped up as well, I'm getting better at it every passing day. I like what the army is doing to me and I hope that I will be continue to be pleased with the outcome.

A bit of Judaism

I've been doing a lot of soul searching over the past year and a half, specifically on the topic of Israel and Judaism. The most common question I'm asked here is, "Why did you make Aliyah and decide to join the army?" It's a complicated answer that I'm not even sure I know the complete answer to. One thing I can say for sure is I had a gut feeling about it and that feeling was supported by several indicators that made it seem like a good idea. The most simple, general answer to the question is Zionism. The next level of the answer is that Judaism is important to me and I believe that without Israel, the Jewish homeland, Judaism cannot survive and thrive in a healthy and non-oppressed fashion. The Neturei Karta would have you believe that Judaism had been fine for 2000 years and that the real anti-Semitism started only after the inception of the Jewish State in 1948. They should be called Neturei Charta (Charta = bullshit in Hebrew). My grandparents and their parents and so on could attest to the fact that Judaism in the Diaspora was not treated kindly. So the next question that is more rarely asked is, "If you're making Aliyah because Judaism is important to you, then why do you not keep more religious?" Well, what can I say? I'm a fundamental moderate who believes in not leaning to far to either side. Judaism is important to me for multiple reasons but one thing that has always left me impressed with regards to my religion is the truth and wisdom in the Tanakh (the Torah, Prophets, and Writings).
I was thinking about something the other day and I think I struck a chord with one story. The story about Abraham offering up his son Isaac as a sacrifice often seemed savage and dogmatically blind to me. I think that when you look upon the story as a metaphor then you realize the true significance and depth of the story. What was Isaac to Abraham? He was his flesh and blood, his offspring, his genetic hope and future. So why would God or Judaism ask him to, so cruelly, sever his only line in the gene pool and kill his son? I think the two factors here are symbols. The God character in the story can be looked at more as Jewish morality. Not the Jewish morality that tells you not to put fish and meat on the same plate you eat off of, but rather the deeper stuff. Abraham and Isaac are humanity, the animal kingdom, evolution if you will. Is there a single healthy organism in the entire world that would sanely forfeit its genetic offspring just because? No; but we learn from this story that some things are more important than ourselves. In some areas we must not fall prey to our tendency toward evolution and furthering our link in the genetic pool. Our morals that are sometimes incongruent with evolutionary interests must be upheld despite the sacrifices we have to make to uphold them. That is what makes mankind different than other animals, whether it be God-given or an acquired evolutionary trait. That is what makes Judaism important to me.

The End of the Beginning

9 days until I am no longer a civilian. A week or two after the Gibush I went home for a brief 2 week visit and did not inform my mother of my return until I was home. Needless to say it was a great trip home and we all very much enjoyed what will be our last family thanksgiving for a while. I came back on December 9 and went back to work. I had an interview for the Egoz unit and although I thought the interview went rather successfully, I was not accepted to the unit. The worst part is, through all these interviews and tryouts they never let us know why we were not accepted. The let-down of the Gibush and then subsequently of the interview were upsetting but through it all I haven't broken down or anything like that. I've held up a good attitude that I guess comes in part from my family's way of "looking toward plan B". Anyway, I worked up until January 14 and then officially was unemployed. Since then I have been taking care of little things that I could not attend to while I was working. Last week I went to London and met my Dad there since London is equidistant from both of us and I have never been to Europe (except for shit-ass Poland in winter).
It's weird...I've been waiting for the day that is about to be upon me in a little over a week for a year and a half now and I don't quite know what to make of it at this point. I'm sure my feelings will change in the 9 days to come and I will begin to become more excited and nervous but at the moment I just feel like, "well it's about time." I think a year and a half of waiting has left me a bit over ripe but at least by this point my Hebrew is very good and I have a pretty good idea of how Israel works in a general sense. I wouldn't say that I'm bitter about having to wait so long but rather just very ready to go next week. It will be challenging to become a Chapash, or Chayal Pashut (Simple Soldier) where you don't receive any kudos and no one lauds your triumphs and your extraordinary efforts. This week I am going to buy some gear I need for the army with Dudi, take care of some last minute things, visit my girlfriend Arielle in Tel Aviv, and take advantage of the last few days of peace and quiet to maybe travel a little or just rest. That's all for now but I hope I'll be able to blog later this week. Email me and let me know how things are (it will be great to hear from everyone before the army).