A day of rest

May 29

Shabbat Shalom. This is a phrase that almost every Jew and several non-Jews say in Israel before the Sabbath starts on Friday evening, wishing people a peaceful and restful day. But when I think of how I’ve spent Shabbat in the past, I think of glamorous meals or visiting other homes or Mom’s matzah ball soup. I don’t think I ever imagined spending Shabbat the way I am right now, two weekends in a row.

As I write this in the middle of the night, I am gazing at a picturesque sky filled with stars that seem to be brighter than usual. They can be seen over a horizon line that has multiple armored vehicles of which I am guarding this weekend, while the previous weekend was the tanks. Although it’s really dirty here and extremely hot and there are enough flies to make you go psycho, it is also really peaceful to do Shabbat camping in the desert, the shetach as we call it, and that is what Shabbat is all about. It’s not like this is my first time guarding out here or certainly not spending a night either – trust me, I’ve done that a-plenty. But it’s different on Shabbat because I guess I have time to enjoy it.

The last two weeks were supposed to be a lot of tank training but they turned into a lot of waiting around for our turn. As I previously stated, being in the highest-rated tank isn’t always a good thing. We were far advanced so we had to let others practice to catch up, not to mention we received many new (and great) soldiers from other units that had to start from scratch. This gave me feelings of angst and impatience because I wanted to do the training (it’s much better than the kitchen, my least favorite thing that exists in the army). We waited our turn. And waited. Sometimes they would tease with us it seemed by bringing us to the shetach to the tanks but then wake up only to work on them mechanically rather than have fun and train on them. Let’s just say this is annoying, plain and simple. The first Shabbat through all of this I didn’t want to stay in the shetach. Wouldn’t you rather have air conditioning all day on base instead of 90 degree weather by the time 8 AM rolls around with a swarm of flies on the side? If you answered no, we can talk about that later. But it just felt so free to be lying there with only three other people overlooking a whole world that sounded silent, peaceful.

The second week of (non) training was even hotter – we had to stop because of the heat multiple times. Finally, at the end of the week, it was our turn to do a drill with the tank. I was ecstatic and we told ourselves we had to show everyone, especially the generals, how good we really were and that they were wasting our time, so to speak. This exercise was really fun – we did all sorts of situational firing and attacking, not to mention our first shell, with which our gunner, Mickey, hit the target. We were proud of ourselves and also relieved like all soldiers all – we had made it to Shabbat.

This time, I wanted to be here with my friends in the middle of nowhere making Shabbat rather than still having timed meals or checks that everyone is present. Of course I’d rather be home in the kibbutz, but this place is a good way to feel some freedom after a week of taking commands. I still have to guard, but it isn’t so bad. Shabbat is the day of rest and here, at 4:30 in the morning, I feel free and like I’m putting the hard work from the week behind me. I am a mere three and a half weeks from finishing all of the tank training, being called an official “tankist,” being comat ready, and from finishing something I never thought I’d do or remotely want to do. But it is something I want because even when I stare out and see nothing, I know the land is much more than that and depends on me and my fellow soldiers.

Do you believe in heroes?

May 22

I have no idea what a hero is. I have no clue what it means to be a positive role model either, and I don’t think there are many people that actually do. Those who do would be hard-pressed for words to describe their opinions as well. Yet there are some things about some people that just get us wrapped up in their stories, their lives. Some make instant impacts, others last a lifetime.

I can put my findger on plenty of people who I considered heroes, even if it was short lived or someone I’ll never meet. For example, any athlete who made me feel bliss and help me smile when I think back to the moment he helped my favorite team win. Or camp counselors who taught me things I didn’t realize were important until much later on. And of course there is always family. But at this point in my life, I find inspiration and heroism from someone who is no longer wih us yet would just be about my age today. I also know I’m not alone in this thought. They call him the Hero in Heaven. They call him Michael Levin.

Here’s a man who dared to risk it all just to fulfill his dreams, as he so famously said. That’s understandably respectable and an amazing attribute. But to take it even one step further and come back to fight in a war while on vacation (which I now know don’t happen too often in the army) knowing he was putting his life in danger, words can’t describe this. He ended up being killed in battle in Lebanon, but his legacy will always live on.

As I walked through Har Hertzl, the most famous military ceremony in Israel, in January as a newly sworn in soldier, I felt many new emotions that I hadn’t ever felt when visiting there. Proud to be a soldier, part of the everlasting family that is the Israel Defense Forces. Yet, I also felt fear and angst hoping (G-d forbid) nothing like this could ever happen to me. Thankfully, I don’t know anyone who has personally died in a batlle nor did I ever know the names of most of the people there (besides the likes of Hertzl and Rabin). Then towards the end of our tour through the cemetery, I saw the grave of Michael and stopped.

A Birthright trip was also standing there and being told the story of Michael. Although I had already heard this story, I was glued to it once again. As I stood there in uniform with my M-16 by my side, tears began to roll down my eyes. “What is happening?” I thought to myself. I didn’t even know the guy and there are plenty of other brave people who have also died for our country, but this one hit me, hard. Who knows what Michael might be doing today if he were still around. But what matters most is what he did then.

Moving here and doing this crazy army stint is a personal choice and only that. People can motivate you to do things or drive you to make decisions, but in the end you’re the final judge. Michael showed something that is important to every human being and that is you have to be willing to go all the way and put yourself out there for people as much as possible. The world doesn’t work on one person’s actions. It is a chain reaction of acts of kindness that make this world spin in a positive manner.

Would I do the same thing and leave my American family and friends in a time of war knowing what I’m getting myself into? Of course it’s hard to say since situations can differ, but at this point absolutely. Michael was willing to give his life for millions he never will know. Forget that, he was and we are doing this for Jewish generations to come. The least I can do is try to honor his beliefs and carry them out so this country and this people can thrive even further. I still don’t know what exactly defines a hero. But I can tell you that in any thought or conversation I have about heroism, I’ll think of Michael – we all should. They say you learn a lot from the past and those who have come before. Let us not forget the great message and values Michael taught us, or that he still teaches us atop Har Hertzl today.

(In)dependence

May 12

In every person’s army service here, at least once, the point comes where it’s that “make or break” moment. There is really nothing easy about what we do here. When we are training, for example, we eat a can of corn, sardines, three cans of tuna, a bar of halva, and a can of sliced peaches…for a whole day…for four people. Also when we are training these days, it’s always around 100 degrees without much shade, and it’s much hotter inside the tank with a lot of gear on. I am not even mentioning how little we get to see our homes, or in my case, my room. These are what cause these moments to happen where people just have had enough and start feeling depression. Thankfully, I had mine much earlier in my service (up until now at least), and now I can look back on it for minor motivation in passing hard moments. But for many others here, that not-so-good time has come.

Four weeks ago we were sitting in the shetach (the desert where we train) and were having a heated conversation about the people in the platoon, how to help the atmosphere, and things of that nature. It was really pissing me off what was taking place (in general). I stood up and spoke my mind. I explained that before I came I dreamed of seeing young men and women proud and motivated to defend their country. Not only was I embarrassed, but somewhat saddened. But you know what? It doesn’t matter…we are all eating it hard together, so we might as well do it and do it in a somewhat fun manner.

We’ve started working hard on attacking methods in the tank. It requires a lot of focus and, on my part, leg power on the brake. Even if it hurts at the end of the day, it’s still more fun than other things we sometimes do in between. For example, because of being in the top tank, just like I explained in a prior entry, means filling in the empty gaps. These include kitchen duty (which I despise) and more guarding (which gets annoying). But in between it all, there are still moments which stand out that will always be in my mind when I think back to my service. In this case, it was what I experienced leading up from Yom Ha’shoah to Yom Ha’zikaron finishing with Yom Ha’atzmaut.

As many know, a siren is sounded to commemorate a moment of silence for those who were murdered in the Holocaust and soldiers who fell in Israel’s battles throughout history. My view was picturesque as the clock was about to strike 10 on Yom Ha’shoah. All I saw was miles and miles of desert. And I, along with my friends and fellow tank staff members Mickey and Matan and my commander, stood on our tank waiting for the sound. I actually didn’t expect to hear anything. Then it started ringing. I can’t say that this was the most proper place to commemorate, but I felt something special. I always try that positive spin thing, and if those people who unrightfully lost their lives could see the land they dreamed of, and how strong she is, they would be more than proud. That made the rest of the week simply good.

Next, a week later, came the day to remember the soldiers and I was living it from the other side this time. I was going to be a soldier in a ceremony instead of taking in the day as a citizen or an American Jew. I felt very honored to be helping the families of fallen fellow tank brigade soldiers, but it didn’t feel like the day I remembered when I was here four years ago. I’ve never personally known someone who died in battle, nor do I ever want to encounter that. I know of heroes that I could only dream of meeting to show them what I’m doing for them and their country. I don’t even care if those people would remember my name, just that they saw that people still have the drive to keep this country alive.

Next we moved on to celebrate Israel’s independence, but it didn’t feel so independent in the army. We had a barbeque the night of the holiday which made us feel like a million bucks. Any time the army gives you something you don’t normally get (extra sleep, amazing food, time to talk on your cell phone), it causes you to feel like you won the lottery. However, the day after, instead of partying with the rest of the country, I was assigned to sit next to a gate at Latrun near nothing and nobody, being ready to open it if there was an emergency. Not exactly my idea of how I wanted to celebrate my first independence day as a new citizen. Unfortunately, that’s the way the cookie crumbles sometimes in the army. At least what I was doing was letting others have a good time on the outside, or that’s how I tried to think of it at least.

There are still times when people feel that depression. It’s something that’s hard to combat in times of hard work, lack of sleep, and hot weather. But I think, or hope at least, that in the end, the guys and I will see what we worked so hard for and it will all be very worthwhile. We’ll celebrate those independence days and think that without the hardships we do, the country might not exist, and for that we must stay strong and keep on doing what we do.

Always Drive Responsibly

April 10

They say good things come to those who wait and are patient and that everything happens for a reason. When my name was called as one of 14 people who would be moving out of the 75 in the platoon to a new one, of course I received that instant feeling of “new start” again. Even people who always seem confident would be lying if they don’t think about possible obstacles that come with new chapters in lives or journeys. After catching my breath, I told myself it was no big deal and to just wait.

In the end, I was moved with 13 others, many of whom are my best friends in the army up until now, and landed in a tank with two great people who I felt comfortable with and trusted and vice versa, not to mention the friendship thing. Already, I was feeling better. Next, another pleasant surprise – my tank and I were chosen as the number one rated tank in the new platoon, a very high honor and one that comes with large responsibility; however, it also comes with a psychological edge, always thinking, “Hey, I was chosen as the best so I have to be the best.” An extra motivational mechanism in my back pocket.

After getting again lucky and being able to come home to the kibbutz for Purim, an experience that trumps any Purim celebration I had ever partaken in, everyone was supposed to have a fun week of educational touring capped off with a hike up Masada for an addition to our uniform (which may not seem like a big deal, but au contraire…). As stated earlier, being in the tank I arrived to brings on more responsibility, so our staff was chosen to stay on base all week to guard. In addition, we also prepared our tank and moved many heavy objects to their respective tanks and I was (un)fortunate enough to clean the inside of a tank with the engine taken out for 3 ½ hours which was filled with mud up to one’s knees. Mostly sounds bad, but in the end it may have been the most helpful week of my service until now. I was able to work with my staff without other distractions and meet my new commander – a fellow lone soldier from the U.S.A. Not only did he instill confidence because of simply being in a similar situation, but also he had a great way of educating while at the same time giving us independent learning and self-discovery. I finally felt like I was receiving some adult treatment while also being taken under someone’s wings, a great combination. It was a very difficult week, but more than that it was satisfying.

Next, we had a shortened Shabbat coming back to the army Saturday night and were about to enter our first 3-week stint in the army without going home, usually the longest one stays in the army unless of a punishment or war (or elite units). It was filled with guarding, practicing emergency exercises in the tank, more guarding, but overall a lot of fun. As hard as it is, being in the tank with your friends makes it all worth it at the end of the tunnel. It’s called advanced training for a reason – it’s supposed to be more demanding. Every night essentially from now until July is either going to be out with the tanks or doing guarding somewhere. Harder, but becoming more practical and that’s also a nice feeling.

We are now celebrating Pesach, commemorating when the Jewish people became a free people from Egyptian rule and made this land, the land of Israel, their land. I can’t help but think of the connection between Pesach and what I’m doing now – I’m helping protect the same land and keep the Jewish people free. “Wow,” is one word that comes to my mind. Another is, “Pride.” Responsibility. Patience. Pride. Some lessons I’ve re-learned in the past month. All of these keep the experience at an enjoyable level. But most of all, we are free and I hope to make sure it stays that way. As we say at each Pesach, “Next year in Jerusalem. Amen.”