Dreaming

    The turquoise water splashes leisurely at my ankles while soft powdery sand mushes between toes. The ocean’s air is salty on my lips as I stare into the setting sun which illuminates the calm waters beneath a crimson sky. As dusk welcomes night, I continue to stare out into the vastness. One star becomes several as I make my way into the surf. The tide remains calm, the water is soothing. I move forward with an unsettling eagerness and as I do the currents pick up. The peaceful ocean transforms into a raging tide which sweeps me far far away. Thrashing in the undercurrent, I bob for breaths. The stars have left me, as to has the shore. I am alone at sea, on a moonless night. From these depths, there comes a melody. Something sweet and soft, reminding me of the sand in between my toes and how the sun felt on my face.

              I gasp awake from my dream-turned-nightmare while my Jack Johson alarm continues to play to an unappreciative audience of half-awake soldiers. In my half-conscious state I bang my head on the bunk as I fumble in the darkness to eliminate the alarm. I find my phone and put an end to Jack Johnson, thanking him for lulling me from the dark water. My phone reads: 5 am. I wipe the slumber from my eyes and instinctually reach for my gun. There, under my pillow now moistened with a cold sweat, lays my m-16 micro assault rifle. American made with a collapsible stock, the micro version is light weight and a staple in an Israeli arsenal. Before yawning, before stretching, before brushing my teeth I dawn my rifle from where it rests beneath my pillow, as if it were a gift from a psychotic tooth fairy.

I stumble over kitbags and combat boots as I make my way to the bathroom. I throw my rifle over the faucet as it’s hot water sooths me awake. Standing naked in the water and steam, I look at myself and then look at my rifle. It has been with me all week. A soldier’s rifle is an extension of a soldier, and it accompanies a soldier everywhere. As the steam finally begins to lull me from my drowsy state, I take a closer look at the assault rifle I am showering with. It is old, beaten and scratched. I look at my own pale flesh, void of any such battle scars; appearing innocent juxtaposed to the seasoned rifle. I take a closer look at it, I wonder what it has done, or who perhaps it has done in. I shutter at the thought and push it to the periphery as I once more dawn it and grab my towel. As I leave the comfort of the steamy water, I sulk in the realization the rest of my day will be spent chilly and bitter, this too I acknowledge before pushing to the edge of my mind. In the early morning, with tasks to accomplish and a schedule to keep, I have no patience for unproductive thought.

The monotonous day-to-day activities of basic training have been revitalized by the unwavering force of nature, which for two days has cast never-ending rains the likes of which have flooded our army base and converted our roads and paths into rivers and streams. A thick fog has overtaken the base, soldiers march in columns without seeing the soldiers neither in front nor behind them all the while murky water splashes at our boots. The day passes without ever being graced by the sun. The twilight zone haze and gushing rainclouds dampen our bodies to the bone. As we stand in formation awaiting entrance into the dining hall for dinner, soldiers wheeze and cough from bronchitis filled lunges.

Somewhat shaken, wet and cold I take my seat with the platoon. The better half of the week is now in the past. Cups of warm tea and hot soup restore life to my inert limbs. The mood lightens as smiles return to the faces of tired soldiers.

In the corner of the dining hall, men lock arms chanting prayers and singing songs as candlelight dances from the menorah in a rhythmic and beautiful fashion. Tonight, is the fourth night of Chanukah. Despite being without a rabbi or spiritual teacher, the significance and elegance of the moment is not lost on me. Melodies are hummed and whistled and battered dampened spirits of the wet soldiers are elevated.

As I hum melodies and partake in the lighting of the menorah, two thousand years of history flashes before me. Whether I continued to be cold and wet in that moment no longer was apparent to me. From within came a strong awareness, allowing me to see past my uncomfortableness.

Traditions like lighting the menorah on Chanukah have been the adhesive keeping the Jewish spirit alive throughout time. Forever, Jews have experienced antisemitism. Sitting now at dinner, Parisians tell tales of the rise of modern hate and discrimination in their once loved home. Many soldier’s share the reality of asylum-seeking, chosing to come to Israel to escape hate. While bigotry has always tested the will and spirit of the Jewish people, it is my understanding that the bigger threat stems from within the Jewish community.

Assimilation, inter-marriage, secularization, self-loathing complexes and an overall disdain for Jewish culture and history are rampant within the modern diaspora. This comes at a pivotal moment in Jewish and human history. Those who believe the Jewish story stopped in the biblical era or when the Jewish state was declared, are to be surprised when it becomes evident the Jewish people still have the better part of their history and challenges ahead of them.

The Jewish people are plagued with disunification and a betrayal of peoplehood. The world is forever changing. Soon, the world of the Jewish people will monumentally transform, with an unprecedented act. The majority of the worlds Jewry will soon live together in Israel, outnumbering the Jews living in the diaspora. It is unpredictable how this will affect the Jewish community. But soon the complicated nuances of being Jewish in the modern world will be more straightforward. While dispersed across the globe, Jews always have prayed toward Jerusalem. Soon, a dispersed people will unify in their homeland, forever changing the course of their history. I do what I do because when all is said and done, I need to know I did not stand idly by. The Jewish story and the Israeli story is beautiful, but it has an infinite amount more chapters to go before resting on the bookshelf of time. I am so lucky to play my role.

As the candles burn bright, melting there wax down to nubs, the soldiers of platoon Karmiel returned into the storming fog. As freezing water absorbed in my socks like a kitchen sponge, I march proudly through the grimy flooded paths of our base. While the life of a soldier is not ‘fun,’ this experience is riddled with meaning and deeper purpose.

When it is time to go to bed, I curl up with my assault rifle in my sleeping bag. As I flutter in and out of consciousness, my feet return to the warm sandy beaches and sleepy salty ocean air. The ocean slaps playfully at my ankles as I walk the coastline, enticing me in. A strong awareness takes me from the surf further inland and settles me on a patch of grass, safe from the waters grasp. It is here I find a deep and deserving rest while I soak in the sun and meditate on the challenges and accomplishments I have awaiting me.