6:30 AM
Valerie is smoking a Marlboro red. I find it funny a guy from Kazakhstan likes the taste of an American cigarette. On the side of the courtyard, men wrap themselves in Tefillan and chant silently as the sun begins to rise on the Michve Alon Base.
I wish the Men in my tsevet a good morning as I get into formation. We are twelve men in our team for our three month course here. We report to our מפקד who is our commanding officer. We stand in a ח formation as he gives us the morning instructions.
After arranging ourselves with the correct uniform, shaving our faces and polishing our shoes we are sent to the dining hall. We march to in two columns and enter the dining hall where our entire מחלקה awaits.
An Ethiopian woman serves me a questionable pourage-like substance; plunging a large ladle deep into a vat of the sticky glue. I try not to stare at the large cross tattooed on her forehead, an indicator that she is a member of beta Israel and likely grew up in the rural villages of Ethiopia.
I spot my tsevet from across the room because of Ivan, a 6’5’’ giant from Russia. I sit down with the boys where Shir, a fellow Garin Tzabar and American Oleh is teaching the art of egg blowing. A truly remarkable kitchen hack where you blow an egg out of its shell from a hole on one side through a hole on its other side. In no time at all, the entire dining hall is full of these high pitched squeaks and egg shells fly everywhere.
At Michve Alon, after every meal, we receive a break. We leave the dining hall like giddy school children and congregate in the courtyard outside.
“are we sacking?” Sasha, a fellow lone soldier from paris asks me? “Of course!” I remark and pull the sack from my uniform. I toss it to him…
Hacky sack has become our official pass time. On base, it is forbidden for soldiers to play with sport balls in free time. But a hacky sack is not a ball, it is a hacky sack! <- which is what I say when a commander stops our game. The sack is a crazy pastime. For anyone who has attempted to play, they know it is fucking HARD. Now try playing in heavy combat boots! Anyways, the boys were sacking and it was beautiful. Men from all over the world joining together to kick a small little hacky sack around! I have made a lot of friends this way. (An observation: anyone coming from South America can jump into a game and automatically be a pro.)
Free time ends and my team stands in a formation and awaits the instructions from our commander. The time is 8:30 am. We are told we are going to be interviewed one-by-one, what does this mean? More time for sack! While Desalo from Ethiopia is being interviewed by our commander I sack with the some guys from Argentina and the Russians teach swear words: Sukka…meaning whore, a funny coincidence that they get a kick out of every year on Sukkot.
I leave the sacking circle, which has grown to twelve men, and head to my interview with our commander. Basic enough questions: information on your background, family and current life-status. My commander pauses for a moment when I tell him I’m turning 23 this weekend, he nods and writes this down. Then he asks me about education and he is surprised when I tell him I have a degree and that I had even studied in Israel before. He tries to hide his surprise but I catch the interest in his eye so I provide greater detail. Our relationship is formal: we are not friends and he is my superior in the army. But in life it is clear we are at totally different stages. He ends the interview with a question I have been asked over a hundred times in the last year: why are you here.
My answer to this question is fundamentally different than any answer an Israeli could give. Whether they are happy to be in the army or not, Israelis are required to serve and grow up through childhood and adolescence knowing at age 18 they will be conscripted. Some love the army and some hate it. Some think its important others think it is evil. But bottom line, to be Israeli means to not have a choice about the matter. I wonder where my commander sits on this spectrum; I wonder if he wants to be here or not.
I explain to him that Israel is my country, and that it is only possible through great sacrifice. I tell him about being the descendant of holocaust survivors and about growing up in the diaspora and observing antisemitism, anti-zionism and the frailness of the Jewish world. I talk to him about Jewish history and how I feel right in the middle of it. I end the interview by saying that I am here to defend my people, and that I have no other people. He takes my hand and shakes it. I go back to playing hackysack.
The day proceeds with its usual fashion: standing in ח formation, cleaning the barracks and having lectures on different ranks in the army. Between class sessions, boys join me outside for a push up pyramid. We hold push up position on the ground in a circle and go one by one: 1! 1! 1! Each of us shout as we do our push up. We then go around and do two push ups and three all the way to 10… 55 in total while holding a plank in between. After the first set we do a second. I stand up, chest throbbing with pain and praise the others. In the distance I see the holy city of tzfat, on the other side of the horizon I make out the Kineret. “איזה נוף” my brother says between panting, “תודה אחי” I laugh as I explain my family name is in fact נוף Hebrew for view. The fun continues with squatting intervals…
Week one is in the books. The smoke and mirrors of the IDF are beginning to be blown away and the raw truth is all that is left. I have an infinite amount more to learn but already have been struck with some realizations. You are not comfortable in the army and your situation won’t ever be perfect. But under great pressure a stone can turn into a diamond: and that is what the army will do for me.
As my friend Eric and I left base and started the trek down to our kibbutz, a journey of 169 Km that we will make twice a week for the next three months, he shared with me an inspiring message his cousin wrote that I will now share with you:
“Before you become a combat solider there are some things you should know…
You will bleed. You will cry yourself to sleep. You will cry in the shower. You will hate yourself. You will be lonely. You will starve. You will bruise. You will burn. You will bleed. You will crawl on sharp rocks. You will clean countless dishes. You will hate Israel. You will hate yourself. You will bleed. You will march all night. You will march all night again. And again. You will want to quit. You might quit. You will see death. You will bleed. You will be scared. You will carry heavy loads. You will sleep in wet clothes. You will freeze. You will burn. You will bleed. You will be embarrassed. You will miss opportunities. You will have nightmares. You will bleed. You will get blisters. You will get punished. You will be judged. You will regret. You will miss your family. You will bleed. You will sleep in bushes. You will get stronger. You will get faster. You will learn. You will feel proud. You will love Israel. You will make brothers. You will become a solider. You will run. You will shoot. You will BLOW THINGS UP. You will live… And you will bleed. And your blood will stain the same soil where your ancestors bled and future soldiers will bleed. You blood will tattoo the earth and you will be remembered.” -Jeff Lubian
From here, the railroad tracks of this roller coast only head up on a long and presumably painful journey I have ahead. Everyday a new adventure, everyday a new challenge. The honeymoon phase of Aliyah is definitely in my rearview but I am filled with an eagerness about what I have awaiting me.
I am in shock about the reach of my words, for I never thought of myself as a writer. If anything I have to say resonates with you, please reach out, it means a lot!
Thanks for reading,
Shabbat Shalom,
David
David's Blog 