New Blog

The time has come for this blog to end. I will be blogging occasionally on my new blog which can be found at http://benycblog.wordpress.com/ . It looks so official. "Wordpress". In any case, adieu, goodnight, and thank you for reading. I hope you continue to follow me during my time in NYC. Oh, and for those who don't no Hebrew -- b' or beh means "in" so the title of my new blog can be read as either Ben-YC or B' NYC (in NYC in Hebrew).

BeNYC (B'NYC / ב-NYC)

זהו אז מזמן לא כתבתי בעברית (במיוחד בבלוג הזה) . מאז שעזבתי את הארץ חזרתי הבייתה להורים במרילנד. עכשיו אני  נמצא בניו יורק בלימודים במגמה של קולנוע. הולך לי די טוב בינתיים למרות שאני שונא מעברים בגלל שהייתי צריך לעבור כל כך הרבה בשנים האחרונות. אבל זה נגמר ואני פה. ..  המעבר שלי חזרה לארה"ב סך הכל היה מאוד בסדר ולא היו לי בעיות בלהסתגל חזרה לשגרה האמריקאית. אני חייב להודות שחסרה לי קצת ישראל. לא במיוחד משהו מהתרבות  אלא יותר מהצד של השפה והחוויות שעברתי. אין כאן מישהו שמכיר את המושג "תפירה בעמדת שמירה" או שאני יכול להסביר לו מה זה שביזות יום א'. בטוח יש ישראלים כאן אבל הם ישראלים שנמצאים בחו"ל ורוצים להיות כמה שפחות ישראלי. יש לי מרצה ישראלי באחד הקורסים שלי וכשניגשתי אליו אחרי הרצאה אחת ודיברתי אליו בעברית הוא סירב לדבר איתי ודרש שאעבור לאנגלית.  אני צובא את התמונה קצת יותר מידי חשוך. אני מאוד מרוצה מהמקום והסטאטוס שלי כסטודנט כרגע. אני לא אגיד שאני מתגעגע לארץ כי רק עבר חצי שנה אבל חלק גדול ממני כבוגר הוא ממה שעברתי בצבא ובארץ בכלל. לפעמים כשאני נוסע בסאב-וואי ועולה לי שיר ישראלי באייפוד בפלייליסט אני נזכר ברגעים שהיו לי בארץ. "כך או כך" של רוני דלומי מתחיל ואני חושב על הנוף שיש כשיוצאים ממנהרות הכרמל דרומה וממשיך לכביש החוף. הנוף הזה של הים הוא מדהים. "אורות" של אברהם טל -- מזכיר כשהייתי מקשיב למוזיקה בשעת ת"ש ומעשן סיגריה בפינת עישון בבא"ח צנחנים בטירונות. ואז חוזרים השירים האמריקאים ואני ממשיך כרגיל. מעניין מה יהיה כאן בהמשך. זה היה נחמד לכתוב בעברית. יוצא לי לדבר ולקרוא עברית אבל לכתוב בעברית זה כבר לא דבר שנוכח בשגרה היום-יומית שלי

להתראות ולהשתמע

בן

Waking Up

I feel that this post is necessary as a life update and informative message. About 2 months ago I decided what I want to do with my life. Well, at least what I think I want to do. I've experienced enough of life's fastballs over the past 5 years that I now know to hope for the best but at the same time to expect the bizarre. I want to make movies. Most of you who know me who are reading this are probably saying, "Wait, what?" It's okay, I'm used to it at this point. I think the only people who have given me positive feedback on this one so far are my family and my artsy friends. I'm not disturbed by this, however, because I feel so strongly about this declaration. I should clarify a little bit. I don't know quite yet in what capacity I would like to make movies. There are many faces of film-making and each has its own gems and treasures. First there is screenwriting. I believe that I could find my place in this domain because I love writing. I feel that there is no forum and no language that I can express myself in as well as on a piece of paper (or in this case, a digital piece of paper). When I was young I went to a speech therapist and was diagnosed with Dysarthria -- basically, I slurred my words a lot of the time when I would speak. People have commented throughout my life that sometimes I jumble my words or that I do not speak clearly. I don't think that's per say from any neural defects or speech impediments as may be implied through Dysarthria; rather, I put a lot of thought into my words. I always have and hopefully I always will. Sometimes when I start an idea, I may find it necessary to attach a supporting clause or a contributing side-thought. This makes my speech pattern unstable to a degree, whereas on paper my notions and diction flow more smoothly. Because of my somewhat OCD-like speech patterns I am most passionate about screenwriting. Writing is extraordinarily important to me and if others get a kick out of it as well -- fantastic. Part of being a good writer is also having something interesting to write about. As a 14-year-old my background probably wasn't too interesting. I was born and raised in a comfortable, loving home and went to great schools all my life. I played soccer, tennis, track, was good at Math and English, took AP courses, had girlfriends here and there, and took the SAT Prep Course which bumped my score up 250 points. While foreigners may love this story since it's something they see in the media about America constantly in their countries, to us (Americans) it's fairly ordinary. Promising, but ordinary. At 18 I split from the herd and became different. I guess shooting guns and crawling on thorns in the desert was the polar opposite of keg-stands at Jewish Frat parties. My life in the middle east has given me a different pair of glasses through which I see the world and I believe I have more to share as a result. Directing is another aspect of film-making that interests me. The director ultimately has the last say on a lot of things during film production -- actors, set, music, etc. While the story is oftentimes already there, it is the director that envisions the magic on screen and tries to, as accurately as possible, transfer it from paper to reality. I think directing pulls me for 2 reasons. One, I'm good with getting the best out of people. I discovered this while I was a commander in basic training. Yelling is rarely a good option. If somebody is way out of line then, by all means, ream him a new one. Outside of instances like this, however, it is better to let your subtleties speak. If you are encouraging toward your charges oftentimes they will respect you more than if you are abusive. This means that if they upset you and you inform them of their let-down, they will be motivated to do better not by screaming and fear but rather by their need to be viewed as "outstanding" in the eyes of the commander. The second reason directing interests me is because of the mastery required in all of the film-making disciplines and not just in directing. The director is "the" head honcho on-set and is the final say on almost everything. It's like being the conductor of a huge, technology and theater-oriented symphony. I'm not exactly sure about what I can do with my interest in music but I'm sure it can fit somewhere in the mix. I have always been a big music enthusiast since a very young age. I started taking piano lessons as soon as I was out of diapers (which in my case wasn't until I was 4...I was the third child, I could take my time). The blending of music and film has always caught my eye (and ear). The best shows on television and films in history typically have a fantastic score and soundtrack. I think a modern-day movie without music of any sort would be too boring. People don't want to go to the movies to watch their lives on screens. They want to be inspired...even if real life doesn't have a soundtrack. As I said earlier, I've changed a lot over the past 5 years. My adopted brother Dudi told me something smart before I had my Gibush (tryout) for special forces nearly 4 years ago. He drew a simple diagram of a man running toward a finish line. He said that if the man only looks at the finish line while running then he will surely trip on an obstacle. However, if he only looks at the obstacles, he won't know in which direction he's heading. It's simple enough but it's implications are concise and deep. Don't be too much of an idealist but don't be too much of a pragmatist either. Try to get by somewhere in the middle. I know that shit will hit the fan many times before I grow up (if that ever happens). I'm prepared for that. I want that to happen. So far, the worst things that have happened to me in my life have turned out to be fantastic catalysts for change. One thing that I do know is that this is the first time that I actually feel truly passionate about anything. I found that during my 30 months in the army it was best to think as little as possible and to smoke as many cigarettes as possible. It feels good to finally be interested in something again other than how to not get caught lighting

a Camel on guard duty.

120 Hours of Darkness

I had just finished the last sip in my Goldstar beer bottle and extinguished the night's final Winston blue cigarette. I entered my room and locked up. The clock read 22:55. Not bad for a Saturday night (with work the following day at 5:00). My phone rang and the number was blocked. I was pretty sure that when I would answer I would hear the voice of my friend at his grandma's house who has a blocked phone number. Instead there was an automated voice message informing me that I had been summoned in accordance with "Order 8" (Tzav 8). Israel was pretty tense the days before 60,000 reserve soldiers were called up (myself included). I knew there was a chance that I would be called up but I didn't think that it would actually happen. Whatever buzz I may have gotten from the 3 beers that evening was immediately washed away when the robot's sobering voice on the other side of the conversation told me to arrive at my Miluim (Reserves) base at 10:00 am the next morning. I felt like I was levitating and I had trouble focusing as I rounded up clothes and supplies that I would need. The thought that "these could be the last items that I see on earth" resonated with me several times that night as I filled up my bag to its fullest. I got to bed around 3:00 am and woke up at 5:45 am. The Ben as of late would have been perturbed by this lack of sleep but I was in army mode again and on my toes. I got to the base and braced myself for the bureaucratic bullshit bound to entangle me many times that day. I did not have an immediate placement when I arrived; however, that got straightened out after a few hours. I was placed in an Evac. platoon and I knew a few of the guys from my enlisted service. After several hours of waiting in line we signed on to our weapons and equipment. The rumors were already whistling around like bullets through the air. One guy had heard that a rocket had landed in an area with children and that a few were hurt. The guy's friend waved it off as nonsense and everyone seemed pleased with this since a direct hit on children would mean that the infantry would definitely be sent in. And that meant us. And that meant that death was possibly closer than we had anticipated. It was kind of funny how during the entire week no one would admit that he was scared or hesitant to enter Gaza. Everyone was hoping out loud that we would be sent home but no would openly say that he was scared. The caliber of the men I was with was impressive overall. A lot came from special forces and many were commanders. The ages in my platoon ranged from 22-55. I was talking with a friendly, religious guy in my platoon that Sunday night before bed and it suddenly occurred to me that he was 30 with a family and a full-time job with heaps of responsibility. For me it was a paid-vacation from the Avocados but for others this was really difficult. What would you say to your 4-year-old daughter before you leave the house for reserve duty? The entire week was exhausting. Not so much physically (although there were some refresher drills) but more mentally and emotionally. It seemed that every night before we went to bed things were looking up and there would be a cease-fire the next day. Then the next day arrived and, voile, no cease-fire. By Tuesday, most of the guys had grown tired of this stressful yo-yo game the media was playing with the public and stopped talking about the situation. The situation escalated on Wednesday and everyone was noticeably more skiddish. We were heading back from urban-warfare drills and my friend sitting next to me on the bus said to me, "You know how we just went over the Matador and LAW Rocket weapons?" I responded in the affirmative. "Well, I heard that they always go over those things right before they send you in. You know what that means." I knew it sounded like rubbish but that's not something that you can shake so easily when your life may be on the line. My iPod battery died in the middle of "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns n' Roses and I slept the rest of the way back to base. The rumor started as a one-sided cease-fire. Guys were saying that apparently the IDF would stop firing and Hamas would continue. People were cursing and pissed off. I didn't really know what to think at this point. I very badly wanted to go home and chill for a few days and watch movies in the solace and comfort of my humble apartment on Kibbutz

but at the same time what does that mean for the future of the South of Israel? While the damage the IAF inflicted was gargantuan and crippling it was not even close to what would have happened had the ground forces moved in. I was talking with Elisha (my boss in the avocados) before the whole ordeal and he explained things to me this way: The IDF's advantage over its enemies is its technology and weapons and training. Hamas and Hezbollah's advantage over the IDF is their "absorption" capability. Hamas and Hezbollah can endure many more casualties than the IDF. If the IDF were to incur such losses on its side there would be mass public outcry and protests. Martyrdom is considered an honorable option in their societies. I think ultimately the solution to this whole ordeal lies not in more ground operations. If a more open-minded curriculum were introduced into these Martyr breeding grounds' systems then things may change. I recognize that Israel has to be on edge since madmen like Khaled Mashaal and Ismail Haniyeh still rule in Gaza. Especially when Mashaal yesterday was quoted as saying that, "We will not give up one inch of the land of Palestine. Palestine from the river to the sea, from the north to the south, is our land and we will never give up one inch or any part of it. Jihad and armed resistance are the right and real way to liberate Palestine and restore our rights." Well, at least we know what Hamas really brings to the negotiating table. My week of reserve duty was another stepping stone for me. I learned an important skill that is integral in Israeli society with men (and some women) after the army. It taught me that even as a citizen with an earring and long hair and a bit more of a belly, you are still only a few hours away from war at any given time. The Saturday night I was called up I logged onto Facebook several times. People's statuses seemed so shallow and inconsequential. Who cares about how bad Justin Bieber is? Is this research paper actually going to kill you? Then I realized that I'm exactly the same way. Getting called up was kind of like coming to a moral stoplight -- as Tom Waits once put it. You hit a red light and you're forced to stop and look around you. When the light turns green and you keep driving you might have a different perspective.

Waiting 1000 Sunsets for 1 Perfect Sunrise

It's hard to believe the day has come where I can call myself a "civilian" once again. It's been a distant dream, a platonic ideal, for two and a half years and it's finally here. I was honorably discharged (freed) from the army on August 8, 2012. The past six months (since the last time I've blogged) will be the topic of this entry. I had an extremely tough time being a commander of new recruits. It started in July 2011 and ended in March 2012. I completed the dreaded beret march for the second time with my soldiers toward the end of February 2012. As challenging as the journey was I remember feeling deep satisfaction when I glanced back at my soldiers during their beret ceremony as they each swapped their depressingly ordinary green berets for maroon-red ones. I imagine that it is the feeling that parents have when they finally see their children making decisions on their own and going out into the world. We finished the beret march and ceremony and the following week joined the rest of the 202nd battalion in the Golan Heights for training. At the time I was desperately trying to go to Course Nativ, a course for the "enrichment of Jewish Identity and Zionism". In short, I was looking for a break from the stresses of being a commander. As expected, my acceptance to the course was not being facilitated by anyone other than myself. Having learned this already through numerous trials and tribulations in the IDF, however, I knew what to do-- fight like hell at any cost to get in. I drove down to Jerusalem on the "absorbtion day" of the course and politely asked to get in, though I was not enlisted in the course's roster. The 20-year-old at the reception table told me that my name did not appear on the list and that I would not be able to take part in this course...I've heard this one before. These situations in the army remind me of a quote I once heard: "There are no rules...just guidelines." At this point I proceeded to make my way inside to speak with the "troubleshooting" officers. I was told to wait for an undisclosed period amount of time. After about 5 hours of inquiring and waiting, the powers that be called me over and asked for my information. I was written on "the list" and told to proceed to the stations on the other side of the campus. I guess that officer at the reception table was wrong. I distinctly remember sighing a deep sign of relief after I found out that I would be accepted to the course for the simple reason that if I had to return to battalion training, I would endure more carrying, sleepless nights, and other army treasures that I had grown so accustomed to over the past 2 years. Course Nativ was nice, to say the least, with benefits such as good meals 3 times a day, at least 7 hours of sleep, and regular weekend leaves. The ironic part is that I managed to get into shape while I was in the course due to the extensive free time, food, and sleep. It was a great opportunity to brush up on Judaism, the ultimate reason for my being here in the first place, and to make use of my cranial region once again. When the course ended I was once again left with the unsettling feeling of, "what will the IDF do with me now?" With only approximately 2 months until my discharge vacation and having just finished a relaxing course with excellent conditions, I wasn't exactly in the mindset of sleeping 2 hours a night, eating crap, and dealing with unruly soldiers whose main goal in life is presently to NOT do guard duty. When I got back to the battalion I put in my request to return home to the States for my allotted 1-month vacation abroad as is granted to every lone soldier. I was in my car on my way to get allergy shots when one of the social workers of the battalion called me to deliver the good news that my request had been approved. Typically I'm not an overly emotional person and my responses are usually thought-out and relatively tame. I started shrieking in the car - yelling like a crazed banshee. For the first time in my service I felt as if things were going my way. I was "falling in between the chairs" in all the right situations and nobody really needed me. Being obsolete had never felt so good - Catch 22? I returned to the States for a respite of television, movies, sleep, food and literally nothing else. It was heavenly. My parents even honored my request to turn down the air conditioning to 55 degrees so that I could light a fire in the fireplace (unnecessary in Maryland during the month of May but nonetheless soothing). After my month in paradise, I came back in mid-June to the army to finish out my last month. I came back to my soldiers' platoon where I would spend my last few weeks as a "plant" or a fill-in job that doesn't bear too much importance. When my soldiers had their sof maslul ceremony (end of training) in Beit Lid near Netanya I had positive butterflies in my stomach. I could feel the last days, hours, minutes of my service sliding away from me. My last Tuesday, My last weekend, my last dinner, my last breakfast, my last time holding a gun (until reserve duty). The feeling was euphoric. When it came time at the end of the ceremony the Brigade's Master Sargeant signaled the soldiers to count down: 10, 9, 8...3, 2, 1. My soldiers threw their berets in the air. When they caught their red berets, they were officially members of the Paratroopers' brigade and I was officially making my way out. I spent the following weeks mainly sleeping, watching TV, and sleeping some more at my kibbutz. I went to "Civilians' Course" in Ramat Gan in order to more or less learn how to be a human being again and to learn about the benefits I would be receiving as a discharged combat soldier. On August 8 I drove up to my battalion's main base in the North in order to fill out my last "Tofes Tiulim" or entrance/exit form. I'm happy to say I was not afflicted by the slightest feeling of nostalgia. Lots of people start to wonder about their future, consider signing on extra time, and seem confused by the notion of being free. Not me. I was licking my lips in anticipation of being free of my soldier status -- a free man not bound by any system and able to come and go as he pleases. To celebrate my discharge I attended numerous parties and consumed a hefty amount of alcohol. I've also been making up my significant sleep debt that I have acquired over the past 30 months. I am surprised every morning when I wake up between 10:30 am and 12:00 pm and am still exhausted. In about 2 weeks I will be heading back to the States for approximately 6 weeks for the holidays and to look at potential schools for next year. I made the decision to return to States for school about a week ago. I'm really not sure what will happen afterwards vis-a-vis returning to Israel or staying in the States but I'm not too concerned as everyone else seems to be. There's a million ways to say "one step at a time" in Hebrew and that's one of the best lessons that I've learned and I believe have taken to heart. So, to conclude, for the time being, "I'm taking things one step at a time."

Wilderness

It's hard to accurately describe a challenging situation to the point where the listener can feel the hardships that the storyteller is trying to convey. This can oftentimes be frustrating, isolating, and nerve-wracking -- like trying to describe what the color turquoise looks like to a blind person. In this entry I will do my best to pinpoint the difficulties of Shetach, or wilderness, and why it is so many soldiers' nightmare.

The tension usually starts several hours or even a day before going down to the wilderness. Last minute preparations, equipment checks, and fixing malfunctioning weapons or sights. We know the approximate hour that we are supposed to leave the comfortable confines of the base but things never seem to go according to plan. The Tiyullit, or makeshift bus that can endure the rugged terrain of the wilderness, slowly backs up into the company barracks' parking lot. Everybody remains seated but blood pressures rise and a feeling of dread overtakes you. The doors in the passenger compartment in the back slide open and emit the familiar horrid sound similar to a space shuttle getting ready to take off. The soldiers form a chain and pile up all the equipment onto the back of the bus -- green bags with lots of pockets, green vests, slick black machine guns, ammunition, worn-out stretchers and jerrycans of water, AN/PRC-77 radios from the Vietnam era, and other treasures. It's cold outside and you think how it will be significantly more frigid at night time. This doesn't comfort you. You dive further down the rabbit hole of the thought and think about the 6 km walk that awaits you starting at 23:20 (11:15 pm). You'll be carrying somewhere between 80-100 pounds of equipment and your bag will favor your right side causing you to pause every 70 or so meters to adjust the heavy pack on your back. You reach your objective and start digging a foxhole to sleep in for the night. Just minutes before during the walk you were sweating profusely and very hot and sticky. Now your bag is set down next to where you are burrowing and although you still have your combat vest and weapon on you, just below the nape of your neck you feel ice. Your whole back is freezing cold and the terrifying thought strikes you that during the night your shirt will not dry. You'll be forced to sleep with a sheet of ice (your shirt) pressed against your back. When your foxhole is finished, you spread out your paltziv, or sleeping mat, and lie down. You throw the diseased-looking scratchy blanket on top of yourself and try to figure out how to cover your entire self. If you rotate the blanket 45 degrees so that it forms a diamond shape on top of you and then crawl up into a ball you might succeed. This is difficult however because your knees knock into your magazines in the front pouch of your vest and your weapon obstructs your thigh. You reach down to move your weapon forgetting that metal is a very effective cold conductor. As you grip the barrel of your gun you're not sure if the sensation is hot or cold. Giving up on this idea you try countless of other positions before passing out. Over the course of the night you wake up several times, unable to overcome the desert's cold. You have nothing in your reach to comfort or warm you. In the morning when the last man on guard duty wakes everyone up, it is still pitch black outside. Everyone is woken up and assembled for orders. 10 minutes to shave and polish your shoes. Much to your dismay the contents (water) of your 1.5 liter Nestea bottle is freezing cold. Being faced with no other option you splash the frigid liquid onto your face and proceed to shave. You have a horrible taste in your mouth, somewhere between liver and cigarettes, from not brushing your teeth for nearly a day and a half. You've been awake for nearly a half-hour completing your morning tasks, switching to day scopes, shaving, cleaning your weapon, and it's still pitch black and freezing outside. The thought strikes you that you won't go back to sleep for at least 19 or 20 hours. Your feet are still freezing cold and you start to think that maybe you got frostbite but there's no time to take off your boots and check. Keep moving. You take off your gloves to shave and clean your weapon and you wonder if you would have more mobility in your fingers with or without the gloves. An hour and a half pass and you have already eaten and arrived at your next objective. The sun should be shining brightly by now but there is inclement weather in the area. It should be self-explanatory by now why soldiers around the world despise winter. Your company conquers a set of hills in the company drill. The first drill without shooting and the second one with live rounds. At 16:40 (4:40 pm) you are walking and it starts to drizzle. 100 people are thinking the same thing -- NO NO NO! On the third "no" to yourself you hear thunder. It starts raining harder and you look at your dirty sleeve. It has dark spots on it from the rain. A drop hits your index finger and your neck simultaneously and they are cold. You grip your gun, once again forgetting that it is comprised primarily of metal, and once again it feels very hot or cold. By the end of the walk you are quite wet and everybody sits down on the muddy ground. It is still raining and you peek around. Every body is hunched over and squinting their eyes so that the rain doesn't get in their eyes or nose. 8 people out of the platoon must guard while the rest eat so you all take turns. You open up your field rations and take out the canned preserves. As you sink the can-opener into the tuna the oil spurt onto your vest and your pants. The process does not get any neater. 30 minutes is allotted for meal time, which includes opening all the canned goods at the beginning and stomping on them at the end so that the trash takes up less room in your bag. The hour is now 18:45 (6:45 pm). It is pitch black once again and freezing. The rain has let up but it is still drizzling. Approximately 5-6 hours until sleep. You toss the bag over your head and onto your back once again and you feel the damage it's done to your spine. The way you imagine it is like crushing the can of tuna. One blow from your foot causes an indentation, another blow a deeper indentation, and so on until the can implodes on itself. You leave the thought alone and start walking once again adjusting the bag to the left every 70 meters or so. You have been in the Shetach for about 48 hours. You have 120 hours left. Welcome to War Week.

I distinctly remember during my advanced training as a new recruit thinking to myself, "Thank God I won't ever have to do wilderness training in the training base again." Little did I know that a year and a half later I would be doing the same thing (and even a little more) with my soldiers. The things I described above have a different effect on different people. Some miss their bed, some miss their girlfriend, some miss Mom's cooking, some just want to smoke a cigarette with a coke, and some just plain want to get the hell out of the wilderness. I think the best way to go about all this wilderness business is to simply maintain an attitude of indifference. I spoke about this in my blog when I was a new recruit and I'm happy to say that I agree with everything I said back then. Everything is a mission; everything is a fact. It's cold outside. I'm hungry. My legs hurt. They are all facts and nothing more. If you don't assign to them a connotation they can't hurt you. With this attitude, the rain being wet and cold has no more significance than the sky being blue or the hill being steep. There is no question that the shetach is a humbling place -- some would even say holy. It's not a place for glory or for fun, but rather a place for learning about yourself and how you stand in the face of adversity.

Human APC -- Basic and Advanced Training for the second time

An Armored Personnel Carrier (APC) is a large armored vehicle that is used often by the IDF to transport infantry forces in battle. It is incredibly sturdy, like the soldiers it carries, and can hold up to 10 soldiers (8 soldiers, the driver, and the commander). While its durability and capability to endure gunfire are impressive, if the APC flips over the result can be catastrophic. If an APC flips with soldiers inside the soldier is instructed to do nothing but grab on for dear life to the strongest place within reach (preferably close to him). The symbolism of this event is profound.

I have not blogged for a while and much has happened since the last time I've written. I went home in June for a little over 2 weeks and very much enjoyed my time with family and friends. When I came back I went directly into staff preparations for my next job. Being a commander of new recruits turned out to be a much tougher position than I had ever expected and in hindsight I believe it has been the most difficult period of my service for numerous reasons. Being responsible for 15 adolescent, Israeli males acclimating to their new military surrounding is something like being a cross between a prison guard, a teacher, and a babysitter (in other words, a parent). Probably the biggest challenge of the job is the constant pressure being applied from both directions -- from the soldiers below and from the commanding officer above. On the one hand I am in direct contact with soldiers so I must take care of all their needs but on the other hand I have a mission to complete which is making sure that these new recruits become disciplined warriors fit to guarantee the safety of the Jewish State and its citizens. On one side of the balance is my humanity and attending to my soldiers requests and needs and on the other is my commitment to raising the next generation of the IDF's warriors in the proper manner. As a commander in basic training I enjoyed the pleasantries of between 3-4.5 hours of sleep on average, virtually 0 free time due to constant meetings and supervision of my soldiers, and the obligation to make sure that I sound and look professional at all times (leading by personal example is an important value of the Israeli Army). The difficulties of the job were a given and although stressful I managed. What really started to push me into trouble was the fact that I was not using my rights as a lone-soldier to take days off, get off early in order to get home before the supermarket closes, and many other things that are imperative for lone soldiers to do in order to stay sane. I talked with my family about once every 2 weeks and basically severed all my ties with friends from back home (as well as here). When I say there is no time, I mean to the point where if I had the choice of calling home or sleeping in an arm chair in the commanders' quarters for 10 minutes before I had to go out to the soldiers again, sleep won out every time due to over-exhaustion and stress. When I got home on weekends I would mostly sleep or go out to the pub to get drunk beyond what was necessary. Something I have not shared on this blog because of its taboo nature is that about a year-and-a-half ago (around the time of my advanced training) I started smoking cigarettes on a regular basis. At the beginning of this job, as a result of the overwhelming pressure, my nicotine intake skyrocketed to nearly a half-a-pack a day. I said in the beginning of this blog that I would be brutally honest about my reality here and so there it is -- honesty. My time off at home was no longer a luxury but rather an extended period of time away from my soldiers and officer that simply made Sundays dreadful. In short, the stress was mounting and I was headed for a breakdown. About a month ago, right before we went down for a difficult week in the wilderness, I got to the point where I smoked a pack in a few hours. I was becoming more depressed by the day and couldn't remember the last time I was happy. I would go days on end without smiling or laughing. My point is -- the APC was starting to tip and with not too many strongholds to reach out to I grabbed for the one place that no matter what has always been stable -- family. My Dad came to Israel for a few days and while I was getting things sorted out with myself after the trip, the following week I hit rock bottom. We had a tough week in the wilderness and I was nearly despondent that entire week. I had anticipated that the break would hold me over for a period and that things would get better. That week was one of the worst in my life. I couldn't bring myself to even fake a smile, I wasn't talking with the other commanders, I wanted nothing to do with my unit anymore, and more importantly, I just wanted to get out of this job and into somewhere else. I started to calm down toward the end of the week and since then I have returned to my old self. I've been analyzing what happened that caused this near breakdown and I've come to the conclusion that it's nothing too specific but rather accumulated wear-and-tear and I wasn't taking care of myself like I should have. The soldier is issued solutions to many problems: you have a cold -- take a sick day and these pills, your gun is dirty -- oil it and clean it, your equipment is faulty -- you'll be issued new equipment. The one thing the army does not have a solution for is Shvizut or what can be translated as Broken-Dick Syndrome. The unbearable Sundays when you have to fight hordes of soldiers with elbows and fists just to get on the bus, the incessant and cruel ringing of the alarm clock at 04:45 am that instructs you to get up and shave and polish your shoes even though you set the alarm only 3 hours before at 01:38 am, the soldier that refuses your order and says he hates you and doesn't care about this stupid army anyway, being chewed out by your officer for not remembering to send 2 soldiers to the kitchen for kitchen duty, the missed call from an old friend that you know you don't have time to return. In June 2010 I had the energy to not talk to friends and family all week, to do kitchen duty for 15 hours straight, to walk so many kilometers with 60 pounds on me that my feet would bleed and my shins would quiver and crack, to generally internalize everything no matter how bad it got. My mistake was that I did not recognize that this is not a lifestyle -- it's a method that when used for too long starts to take its toll. Jarhead is an excellent portrayal of the burnout of the average infantry soldier so if you've seen it you'll know what I'm talking about. My soldiers are now in advanced training and I only have another 2 months left until they finish. When they finish, I only have about 4 months left in teh army and what I have planned should not be too challenging. I think a lot about what I want to do after the army but I don't really have any concrete ideas yet. For the most part I'm doing a lot better than I have been for the past several months. Like the old saying goes, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

To be or not to be (an officer)

(Pictures of me with my Sargeant's Stripes!)
Good evening, world! Since the last time I wrote I finished commanders' course, moved back to my battalion, entered and finished my first job as a squad commander (or NCO), and am now going home (US) for a 2-week vacation. Commanders' course, as much as everyone complained, turned out to be a good course in my opinion. The course deals with weapons, different kinds of warfare tactics including jungle, urban, and open warfare, and leadership skills. As in most things in the army most of the graduates of the course will tell you that it's all bullshit and you don't really learn anything. Those of you who have been following this blog long enough will know how I feel about the genius and well-thought out opinions of the regular infantry soldier and how much I value their pessimism toward life (I'm being sarcastic). Commanders' Course endowed me with a sense of confidence that I could successfully command a squad of soldiers and handle the tasks thrown at me as part of the job. After the course, which ended on May 12, I went back to 202 (my battalion) which was then stationed in the Golan Heights at the base El Fouran. When all of us graduates of the course arrived at the base on Sunday morning, we found almost nobody there. It turned out that the entire battalion had been summoned as back-up to the Syrian border to deal with protests coming from Palestinian refugees from across the border. Eventually we each had our conversations with the Battalion Commander. I took three things away from that conversation. The Battalion Commander is a very serious guy, I would be going into the Maslul as a commander (the Maslul is the company of soldiers who just finished their training and entered the battalion recently), and that the CO (battalion commander) wanted me to go out to Officers' course in August.
The subject of officers' school is one I have been pondering for about 6 months now. On the one hand, I was honored that the CO wanted to send me out so early to officers' school but on the other I wasn't sure I really wanted it. At the time I was so taken aback that they were willing to send me out so early that I responded enthusiastically toward the idea. My company commander asked me a few weeks ago whether I want to go out to officers' school in August or November to which I told him I would prefer the later date in order to think about officers' some more. Presently I am placed as a Commander with the new recruits. I will be receiving a squad under my command a few weeks after I come back from the States. This will be completely different than the last job I had since these are not experienced soldiers -- they have virtually no military experience and I set the example for them and teach them everything. It's an extraordinary responsibility and I am very much looking forward to shaping part of the next generation of the IDF.
With regards to the subject of officers' school. I think the biggest problem I have with it is that I would have to sign on another 16 months of service. While relative to everything 16 months is not that much, when you analyze the little thorns that are twisted into that bundle of time things look different. All the Sundays when you have to deal with coming back to the army in the overcrowded train. All the weeks spent in the wilderness walking 15 kilometers then plopping down with your heavy bag trying to catch 20 minutes of sleep but freezing to death from your sweat that's turned to ice. All the friends you lose touch with and the isolation that the army thrusts upon you. These are only a few of the things that worry me about officers' course. Now the positives. I always wanted to get into a special forces unit and this could sort of be its replacement. Officers' course is extraordinarily difficult mentally and physically and you learn a tremendous amount about yourself and the army system. Also, many of my friends and family have told me they believe I would be a good officer and that it would be a great opportunity for me that would serve me well for the rest of my life. From the Zionist perspective, I think this would be the biggest donation of myself to the army. The army needs officers and while there are many lone soldiers in Israel, very few of them stick it out for an extra 16 months. The funny thing about my deliberation on the matter is that one day I will be absolutely 100% for signing on and feel very passionately about it and the next I just wanna finish my 30 months of mandatory service and throw in the towel. Either way, the next 2 weeks are for resting and getting in shape for my next job. The best advice I have for myself is to take it slow, don't get too excited in either direction, and keep thinking clearly.

1 Year in Service

So I'm just about half way through commanders' course and things are going swell. I was hoping to write this blog about a month ago but I've been pretty busy with everything in the course. Last month was my 1-year "anniversary" in the army. In Hebrew it's called a Pazamuledet. Pazam is an abbreviation for Perek Zman, or time in service, and the "uledet" part comes from Yom Huledet or birthday. I thought it would be appropriate to summarize and reflect on my army experiences until now.
I've gone through so much and learned heaps so it's difficult to summarize my service up until now. I came to the Paratroopers knowing virtually nothing about the army other than the bits and pieces of advice family friends had given me and the forums I read online. Before I was drafted I found it extraordinarily frustrating that whenever I would ask former or current soldiers for advice I would get broad and non-specific scraps of information that I couldn't grasp and would not help me in the slightest. I can now understand why they answered so vaguely...although it is still not excusable. Let me begin.
Most of the army is shit -- it's pain, it's suffering, it's not fair, and it doesn't take personal sob stories into consideration. This is where most soldiers become bitter and are therefore less willing to talk about their service. You can think of it as a sort of disillusionment. After dealing with all the difficulties of the army for so long, when someone young and inexperienced asks for advice about how to "go about the army", it's difficult to put into words and sentences the billions of scraps of wisdom that you've acquired. This is why I try to explain everything on this blog -- it's my opportunity to counter the cynicism that is carried like an anvil by most soldiers and causes them to simply shew away silly questions by younger soldiers.
During basic and advanced training, life was easy yet so hard. We were still fresh so we had the energy to run and jump and crawl and get beaten up. Also, our days were structured like an architectural masterpiece so we didn't have to worry about spare time -- there simply was none. Sure it was extraordinarily painful physically and exhausting mentally, but we had all found our own personal band of brothers and we were working through it together and becoming warriors. After training, we moved out to Kav, or border duty, and started the laborious and oftentimes unrewarding tasks that are included in protecting the border. It was a breath of fresh air to suddenly not have such a binding structure choking us every minute of everyday. I remember when we first got to Kav, one of my commanders pulled out a cigarette and lit up and said, "Well guys, it's official. We're on Kav." This is significant because during training the commanders would NEVER smoke any where near us. We were introduced to the older, more experienced soldiers in our battalion and unfortunately a lot of what many of them had to say was disheartening. The attitude in the battalion is that of something like a fraternity. The younger guys have all the hard tasks in addition to many restrictions such as: if an older soldier wants to watch TV, the younger soldier has to get up from the couch, or the younger soldiers are not supposed to ask the vatikim (older soldiers) what date they were drafted, etc. Kav is difficult because you don't get out as often as you did when you were in training. We did what was called 17/4 -- or 17 days on base and 4 at home. I actually liked it because the 4 days at home are heavenly after having showered just 4 times during the 17 and after having endured many sleepless nights. The next stop in my army journey was commanders' course. One of the most difficult aspects of going out to commanders' course is that after living without rigid structure for 3 months, I had to adjust back to the mentality of constant scheduled classes and activities and challenging weeks in the field. Also, and this comment won't be looked upon favorably by soldiers in other brigades, I find that as a whole the population in the paratroopers is more...how can I put this? Agreeable? As a whole, I have found that the guys with me in commanders' course tend to be a step down compared to the general population in my original brigade. This has made me somewhat socially isolated in the course but not because I don't interact with others but rather I choose not to. That might sound snobbish but at this stage in the game, I would rather invest my energy in the course and not in dealing with the bullshit that's thrown at me from the other soldiers.

During the stages of the army that I have just listed, soldiers undergo many changes. Some become quieter while others become more extroverted. Some get restless while others become calmer. In analyzing myself I have realized several things. I have become less attached to what others think. As a result I am quieter, more introspective, more serious, and have gained confidence. As a whole I believe the changes are positive and have made me a much stronger person although people have mentioned the army has made me a bit darker, more withdrawn. Maybe it's just me but I have found that in order to go through the army and truly become the soldier that the IDF attempts to mold you into, you have to turn to stone at times. There are so many disappointments in the army whether it be related to people, poor facilities, lack of food and sleep. In order to overcome these obstacles you have to turn off your emotions and become a robot that doesn't feel. The problem I have seen with some soldiers is that they have turned off their emotions for too long and have forgotten how to turn them back on -- how to feel, how to relate to others, how to empathize. They have forgotten how to empathize in the sense that when a younger soldier, scared out of his wits and not knowing how to tie his shoes, asks them a seemingly sophomoric question they retort with a blunt, sarcastic remark that leaves the new recruit bewildered and disheartened. This treatment of younger soldiers seems cruel but it's actually just a result of the stress of the army on the average 19-year-old Israeli teenager who would rather be intoxicated beyond comprehension at a frat party at Penn State than in dirty army fatigues with a sore lower back and calloused callouses on his feet.
My time in the army has taught me not to blame or hate these soldiers, but at the same time not to excuse their lack of passion and empathy. The army is difficult but I have gained immense knowledge and wisdom from it and have gained tools to help me deal with any obstacle life may throw at me. It's funny how much duality there is in the army. It has damaged me yet made me stronger. It has made me duller in someways and sharp as a blade in others. The most puzzling aspect of the army for me is its almost drug-like affect it has on soldiers. We want to be discharged tomorrow and never have to speak of the military again yet at the same time we need the structure and the challenges that it provides us with. The army is a beast that if you try to hunt it and kill it it will tear you into pieces but if you understand it and abide by its codes and rules, it will take you places.

Lessons from Gaza and Navigations

Since the last time I blogged I returned home for a 3-week furlough, came back to Israel (or more specifically to the Gaza border), and now am finishing up the preparation course for commanders' course. Let's dissect.

The vacation at home was truly wonderful and I valued every second that I had with my family. I especially valued my time sitting in front of the fireplace in our warm living room watching the embers crackle and enjoying the serenity of "Bayit" (home in Hebrew). While I was home I got to fulfill many of the things I'd been dreaming about during frigid 2-hour guard duties at the most ungodly hours of the night such as: watching one-and-a-half seasons of 24 and dozens of movies I'd missed over the last year, eating my Mom's cooking and spending time with everyone during Thanksgiving, seeing a lot of my friends and talking about where life has taken us over the past few years since we last saw each other in high school, and above all simply enjoying the tranquility and predictability of what is life in Potomac, Maryland.

Before I went home I had been doing border duty with the rest of my brigade on the Gaza Border for about a month and a half. When I came back I dove right back into the tiring schedule of protecting this country's borders but not before being welcomed back warmly by all my buddies. Warm embraces, kisses on the cheek and playful ridicule for "leaving them to rot on the border while I was living in the lap of luxury" were abundant when I returned. Everybody was very happy to see the bags of M&Ms and Reese's and other sweets that I unloaded from my duffel as well as the army supplies (army tape, para-cord, and other things) I had managed to squeeze into my suitcases. After only a few hours of being back on my outpost I was already back in the swing of monotonous guard duty, exhausting patrols, and never-ending kitchen duty. While Gaza is not as dangerous and turbulent as it was at the end of 2008 before Operation Cast Lead it is by no means just another quiet Arab village where you can fall asleep on patrols. More often than not we were under some sort of awareness level for mortar shellings, kidnappings, or other pleasantries that the Hamas had in store of us. Once you're in an environment like that for an extended period of time it changes you. It didn't have a profound effect on my core personality but I am different, even if only slightly, as a result of it. Loud sounds coming from the factory next to where I live on my Kibbutz in the North raise my blood pressure and keep me alert while others may just ignore it or not even notice it. Once you have had to wear a ceramic flak jacket while chopping onions or washing dishes in kitchen duty because of a mortar warning followed by the announcement on the loud speaker that there are mortars falling in the area, you seem to be more wary of the staccatos that occur in normal, everyday situations. Another hardship endured on the border is the lack of hygiene. Due to the need for there to be teams on standby to jump to the fence or neighboring Kibbutzes and settlements at all times, soldiers are prevented from taking their shoes off or taking a shower for up to a week at a time. You heard me -- one week without seeing your feet or your belly button. You not only feel the stress border duty brings when you hear someone yelling from a guard post on the radio, "Who's coming to switch me?!?! They're late a half-hour and I haven't slept in 2 days!!" but you also see the physical evidence of the tension. The outpost is riddled with thousands of cigarette butts that have been inhaled down to the last granule of tobacco right before the filter, the long and tired expressions on almost every soldiers' face resulting from not sleeping more than 3 hours at a time in more than 5 days is overwhelming, and the stuffiness of the rooms where 10 soldiers (who, as may be inferred from above, do not smell like roses) inhabit a space of approximately 6 by 5 meters is oppressive and nerve-wrecking. But having stated all of the facts of why border duty is unpleasant I feel obliged to counter with the fact that it is common knowledge throughout my company and most other combat companies and battalions and brigades that if we were not there doing this then the team of terrorists living in Khirbet-Akhzea, right across the border about 2 km from us, that has tried numerous times to plant large bombs next to the fence would surely cross the border and kill dozens of innocent civilians in the area. To paint the picture a little clearer, these civilians would include the ordinary people living on the kibbutz that is located right next to my outpost where we often use their supermarket to buy morale-raisers such as Bamba, or cookies, or tea and coffee. One of the victims would be the elderly Argentinian lady who moved to Israel about 30 years ago but still speaks with an accent who keeps the supermarket open when she sees me coming even though it closed 10 minutes before because she knows that because of us they are safe. Another victim would be the old man with his walker making his way to the Chadar Ochel (dining hall) for lunch who can't hear very well but smiles very warmly as if he were your grandpa every time he sees you. The final victim who is hard to think about would be the little girl of about 7 years of age with short pigtails and olive skin who dawns a devilish yet really cute grin that says in a chipper and slightly embarrassed squeak, "Todah Raba Chayal!" when I pass by on one of my runs.

Border duty can be very mind-numbing and as a result many soldiers feel neglected and broken after too long on the border but remembering what we are guarding and what is at stake, as corny as that might sound, is critical. Getting a grip of yourself and remembering why I am doing this always refocuses the picture and humbles me into continuing my service as best as I can without focusing on the difficulties of doing what I believe in.

The last topic I want to write about is commanders' course. I am now finishing up the preparation course engineered to help us pass the entrance exams into the commanders' course itself. The preparation lasts a month while the overall course (including the preparation) is 4 months. The first week of preparation we had about 13 hours of classes a day in which we went over all the material we learned from basic and advanced training as well as some new material. The second week was navigations, or orienteering. This was one of the most interesting weeks because you start to feel more comfortable with "getting around" in the wilderness although there is still a long way to go. Many people without military experience don't know this but going out into nature and feeling like you have some sort of idea of how the landscape flows is an incredibly empowering and calming experience. I am now finishing up my 1-week vacation and next week we have what's called the "Marathon Week" where we go over all the last minute things to prepare for the course.

I think I was chosen to go out to commanders' course mostly for my work ethic. While my fitness level is respectable it is by no means overpowering or intimidating. I was blessed with a healthy and well-functioning brain but there are definitely other guys in my unit who are naturally smarter than I am. What I have which I think is a quality the army appreciates is that I make the hard decisions based on rationality and what needs to be done rather than what will be easiest and what will hurt the least. This is an important trait in the army because there is no small amount of hardship in day-to-day life but somebody has to bite the bullet and do it. This means that at the end of a hard forced march where everybody is exhausted and you have shooting pains in your muscles in your upper-back, you offer to put the radio and the stretcher back in the storage closet. It also means that when someone has a family event on Shabbat but can't leave the outpost unless somebody else stays, you volunteer to stay even though you also had commitments. In order to be a good soldier I have had to sacrifice a lot and it has been very challenging at times. Some of those sacrifices have been relationships (with girlfriends and just friends in general), free time on weekends, my body (I've sustained numerous injuries that I doubt I will every fully recover from), and many other things. As I said earlier in this post and in several other blogs, my determination and love for Israel have made it all worth it. Every thorn lodged into my thigh and neck, every blister turned green, every freezing night I spent sleeping with my combat vest on me and my gun across my chest in the wilderness -- I wouldn't take any of it back because I know that I'm still doing what I believe in and what I love. I'll end the post with a metaphor from navigations. You have a starting point, an ending point, and several points in between that you must pass through. The trouble hits you between each of these point or even at the points themselves. You lose your orientation and you all of a sudden have no idea where you are. The best things you can do are the following: don't panic, find the north, go to the place where you last knew where you were located, and most importantly maintain a clear idea of where you came from and where you are trying to end up.

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!