Infantry Insignia

A sword and an olive branch. In one hand strength, in the other peace. The Israeli Army offers both to our enemies - some have accepted the second (Jordan, Egypt), with great results, and others have accepted the first, to their detriment (Lebanon, Syria, Hamas). The beret badge of every Israeli infantryman reminds him of his mission: to fight if necessary, to lay down arms when possible.

Since I got into Golani I've wanted to make a post describing the journey of a soldier in training. You see, you don't just get all the pretty stuff on your uniform right away. Every single thing you receive, from the strap for your gun to the beret of your brigade, the pin on the beret, the red base for the pin on your beret, the shoulder badge of your brigade, the warrior pin for your chest, special courses pins (sniper, medic, parachutist), and so on, are earned through the course of your training generally from the masaot, or very long hikes. Not for a year is your uniform complete. Not for a year can you walk in public without being known as a "tzair," or greenhorn.

So, what have I received so far, being about two months into basic training? Well, I got the strap for the gun pretty quickly. I received the beret insignia (a pin that goes on your beret) for infantry soldiers. I finally got the shoulder patch earlier this month at the same time as the beret insignia. For a month and a half I was dying for the Golani tree on my shoulder, just to know that I was finally an official Golanchik. Do you know how goofy you feel walking in public with nothing on your uniform, no pins or special beret or anything, no badge for anyone to know where you are, but yet having a next-generation assault rifle slung around your back?

But I'm slowly making my way. Slowly.

Another thing I meant to do but forgot in my post-Shabbat haste was to take a picture of the above pin before I fixed it up. I wanted to make another post like the one I did about my beret, which people really seemed to enjoy. Unfortunately, I was halfway through the process when I realized my mistake.

So, quite anticlimactically, I can just tell you the process. First of all, the pin is given to you without any shine to it. It's jet black, and you can barely make out the design without it being close up. So, you take a Brillo pad ("scotch," in Hebrew, for some reason) and some water and just start scrubbing. You only want the raised layer to become golden, with the black base remaining. Some guys scrub this thing so much that it blinds with the slightest glint of light.

Like my beret, I could scrub some more until all the raised bits are perfectly coppered, until I have the perfect compliment to my dress uniform, but eh... I'd rather get another 11 hour night of sleep before going back to base tomorrow morning.

I'll post a picture of the Golan tree sometime too.

Crawling In The Mud

Being that I'm still in basic training, which isn't all that basic, by the way, the commanders like to jerk us around quite a bit. For example, the army gave us immigrants an entire week of Hebrew classes last month where we sat in a room and studied for 10 hours straight. It was an easy week where all we did was eat, sleep, and learn. We listened to music and even watched a couple movies and TV programs in Hebrew. I was loving it. I can do classrooms. I've done that my whole life.

All of the basic training rules and b.s. was pretty much on hold. We walked in formation from the barracks to the classroom instead of running. We only did krav maga once and a couple jogs. We didn't have all the standing still in formation for hours. Before we ate we didn't do many pushups, which we do before every meal regularly. It was raining cats and dogs all week, but we were cozy inside. We just had it easy.

Too easy, at least for one commander. Our week ended on Thursday, so Wednesday night right before TASH (a free hour before lights out) this commander had us get into our combat vest and stand behind the barracks and practice the shooting positions.

"On my yell, you're in the standing shooting position! ... AAHHPP!"

I threw my left foot forward and firmly planted it in front of my body, proper firing position. STOMP. "FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE," we shouted. I could feel my foot sink inches into the thick, rain slicked mud.

"ENOUGH! On my yell, you're in the kneeling shooting position!"

I groaned, just waiting to feel the cold, squishy ground beneath my clean uniform.

"AAHHPP!"

SQUISH. "FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE!" The wet, cold earth quickly penetrated the double layered knee bit of the uniform, creating a less than comfortable shock to a recently pampered body.

"Enough! Now, on my yell, you're in the prone shooting position!"

"Really," I asked. "Are we really about to do this?"

And then we crawled in the mud for 15 minutes.

I wish I could have gotten my sleeves and upper body in that picture.

Bedtime. I actually kinda enjoyed it...

Tekes Hashbaah - Swearing In Ceremony

At the beginning of January, a little over a month into basic training, we had our swearing in ceremony. We swear our allegiance to the Israel Defense Forces, and in effect we become official members of the army. Without a declaration of intent, there is no promise of giving our entire self during our service. Anyone want to translate the full pledge from the Hebrew? A proper translation is the last thing I want to concentrate on right now, even though it is a powerful and beautiful pronouncement.

הנני נשבע(ת) ומתחייב(ת) בהן צדקי לשמור אמונים למדינת ישראל, לחוקיה ולשלטונותיה המוסמכים, לקבל על עצמי ללא תנאי וללא סייג עול משמעתו של צבא הגנה לישראל, לציית לכל הפקודות וההוראות הניתנות על ידי המפקדים המוסמכים ולהקדיש כל כוחותיי ואף להקריב את חיי להגנת המולדת ולחירות ישראל.

The actual swearing is something I should mention. Company by company, one after another, yells at the top of their voices "אני נשבע", meaning "I swear." I swear to uphold the expectations of my country and army. I swear to give myself without condition to the protection of the State of Israel. I swear to be the best soldier I can be.

Yes, I yelled at the top of my lungs as well. And I meant it.

I wish I had the energy to write up a big thing about how I felt, about how Zionistic I was at the moment, about how I looked at the Israeli flag and felt goosebumps and pride and a surge of courage. I wish I could express myself, but I'm just plain exhausted. So, I'll let the pictures that someone took speak for me. Sorry some of them aren't too clear - what can you do.

All the visitors around our barracks

You go around individually according to an order based on the formation
to receive your gun (ceremonially) and a Tanach (Bible). First step, stand and salute your
platoon commander. This picture is of stepping in to receive your gun

Stepping back

Saluting with your gun

The base's rabbi, our induction class commander, and the commander of
one of Golani's battalions (future politician level commander)

I snuck this one with a camera in my pocket. I wanted more, but I risked
my Shabbat by taking this one. The things I do for my readers!

I can say just a word about how weird it was before the ceremony. All the Israelis had their families and friends and girlfriends on base and around the barracks, and there I was, alone. I was just plain alone. Everyone had their moms and brothers snapping pictures and being shown around the areas that we spend our days, wondering what in the world we must do here, being so proud of them and hugging them and kisses and smiles and joking around with the commanders - and I was just there.

But really, I was happy to be there too. I know that if my parents were around, if my big bro was visiting the Golani training base, they'd be the exact same people. They'd also be asking all the immigrants questions, inviting them to our house every 10 seconds. They'd also give them more food than they could ever hope to eat.

If my family was around they'd too be giving me hugs and kisses and all that gushy stuff. My mom also would be looking at her son wondering when he got to be so tall and handsome (couldn't resist). My dad would look at his son and wonder when the hell he changed from a lanky 13 year old to a broad shouldered young man. My bro would look at me and say, "This soldier is my brother."

I knew this, and as alone as I felt, I could still feel the pride of my family from 7,000 miles away. I felt strong as a lone soldier. I felt strength as I talked to everyone's moms and saw what could only be respect in their smiles. I felt a certain distinction as I shook the dads' hands and saw what could only be admiration on their faces. I saw my mother and father in those faces, even though I have no relationship with any of those people. That is what it means when they say "Golani is a family." In truth, the army is a family for everyone, immigrants especially.

To any non-Israeli looking to serve in the army but is fearing the 'alone' factor, don't even worry about it. You're like a hero here.

And besides, you'll get tons of free food out of it.

Talk Of The War, Or Lack Thereof

In a previous post I pondered what this Gaza conflict, Operation Cast Lead, would mean for my army service and training. I wondered whether or not the atmosphere on base would be different, if the commanders would be uberserious and scary, dark and terrible. I wondered if we would get an inside briefing on the situation. I wondered if they'd even tell us what the hell was going to happen to us.

Despite all my wondering, none of the above have turned out to be even remotely necessary. The operation began on a Saturday and we returned from Shabbat off on Sunday. I figured it'd be an odd day, but it turned out to be just like any other day. We got into our work uniforms, ran around a little like chickens with our heads cut off (read: basic training), ate lunch, learned about some weapon or something, did a lot of pushups, etc etc etc, went to sleep.

Not a word about the war was said. I was waiting all day for one of the commanders to say something like, "How are you goofing off when we're at war?!" But no, that guilt trip was never used. They never said, "Stop complaining! My friends from basic training are all in hell right now, literally!" It never happened.

In fact, Sunday was a normal day filled with kicking our butts, plenty of smiles and laughter from all parties, commanders and us greenhorns alike, and an average level of training. That normal Sunday, the first Sunday of the Operation Cast Lead, has turned into a normal three weeks.

The commanders have discussed the war three times, exactly. I'll list them here:

1) The company commander (the officer in charge of my entire group) mentioned the operation, saying something or other about what could happen. I didn't understand what he was saying, so I figured it was a language issue. We got back to the room, however, and all the guys, Israelis, bursted into confused exasperation. They had no idea what he said either, and when they asked our squad commander, he also had no idea. So, the first mention of the situation was worthless.

3) The platoon commander said in passing that Gaza, and I quote verbatim, "May affect our training."

Ah.... you notice I skipped number two, right? Well, I skipped it because our platoon actually had a meaningful conversation about the 'war,' the way the world sees Israel and our treatment in the media, and about Israel's enemies in general. While in the field two weeks ago for a week of learning battle tactics, a normal part of basic, the squad commanders had us sit in a semi-circle. They pulled out a day-old newspaper and began reading the headlines.

It's been too long for me to really recall all the details of what was said, but essentially we had a very open, very fair discussion about the conflict. Echoing the mass of the Israeli public, it seems that the guys are widely in favor of the operation seeking to end the rain of rockets into Israel from Gaza. Similar to me, they also feel no small amount of vexation over Israel's unfair treatment in the media. Most importantly, I heard a genuinely united voice calling for peace.

We read the entire stories of each of the soldiers who by that point had been killed, and though no one knew those boys, I could see real grief in my friends' faces. Good, young kids have been killed, and us Israelis want none of that. But for all of our desire for peace and quiet, our respect for all life, we just can't endure the threat and danger of rockets any longer. Though we all talked about peace, it is (was) a time for war.

So, there has been very little discussion if any about this war. There has been no information given that wasn't read by the commanders ten minutes earlier in the newspaper, if they give that. We don't even know what it would mean for our training to be suspended or modified in some way. We just don't know what's happening, at least to any degree more than you do. Nothing.

But it seems the operation is coming to an end any second now...

And I ask one question that is a poll on the upper right hand corner above the Google Search field here... Should Israel have a cease-fire without the return of Gilad Shalit?

A Gun In Public

Last month we took our guns home for the first time. I had been waiting nearly a month in the army for this point, since we didn't take them home during Michve Alon, so by the time I finally found myself on the train down to Tel Aviv, I was giddy with pride. For the past few years I had spent so much time in Israel just wondering what it must be like for those young Israeli boys to so tangibly represent our country, to be known as a public defender at every moment. I was jealous of them. I wanted to feel like I was also helping. I wanted to be seen as a soldier, someone giving it all for the continuance of the state.

I wanted to feel the honor of slinging an IDF gun around my back. What I didn't expect, however, was how nervous I would be. I didn't expect to feel the pressure of now having no excuse to not speak Hebrew fluently. I didn't expect to feel as awkward as I did as it seemed that everyone was staring at me. I didn't expect to feel as shy as I do when people ask which unit I am in, and having to answer Golani, the most highly respected infantry unit in the IDF, I have to respond to the inevitable response of "Oh wow, that's great!"

Thanks? I just don't know what to say, so I generally just smile and nod. Despite my reticence in conversation with Israelis about the new Tavor assault rifle that I carry, which is still a novelty here, and my place in the army, I admit that I can't help but feel like a badass in public. I'm a big guy, I've got an impressive looking weapon, and I'm in a great unit - when I'm finally in the civilian world, it's like I've stepped into a movie. Am I actually walking around these streets like this? Is this legal? Is this reality? Are these real bullets in this magazine? It's all so otherworldly.

And yet, I am not a badass. I'm in basic training. We've shot our guns a handful of times (soon to change as we begin serious weapons training, but still...). I've been in the army for a couple months, not years. The scariest thing I've done was lift really heavy and really hot trays of food while on kitchen duty. The closest I've come to combat is Call Of Duty 4 on the Xbox 360. How unbadass am I? In krav maga we just started learning how to throw a proper punch. And it wasn't pretty...

But don't tell the civilians giving me smiles and nods of the head any of this. For all they know, I'm on my weekend off from Gaza. As strange as all of this is, to walk around with this gun in public, I feel an immense amount of pride and self-respect. I may not be a battle-ready soldier, but I am a soldier all the same. I may be at the beginning of my service, but my service is in Golani, in the IDF.

The sense of achievement I get when I'm home with this weapon recharges my spirit and lifts my morale. It's the proof that I'm doing it, fulfilling my dreams and ideologies. The recognition I receive from my fellow Israelis, the physical and emotional connection between an immigrant and natives that only the army can form, well... all the crap of basic training doesn't matter when I get that feedback from Israelis.

Without it, I don't know if I could continue.