Time doesn't ever seem to get any slower, and it's truly scary to realise just how much time I've let slip since my last blog update. Each day flies by, even the ones where I look back and ask myself 'What did I achieve today', and don't answer because I know the reply will make me more frustrated.
Little wonder then, that the blog has fallen behind. In truth, there's a lot to tell, although I'm not sure how much is blog-worthy; but as the ultimate intention of writing the blog was not to make a sensational novel, rather to make a record of the trials and tribulations of aliyah, both for ourselves, and for those who may one day follow in our footsteps, I suppose I'll endeavour to plod on.
I'm writing this on a plane, on the way back to Israel after an impromptu visit to the UK for the unexpected funeral of my uncle Leon z"l. I truly stand at a turning point in life, and the emotions and feelings that course through me are profound. In five days' time, I will commence my 18 months of service in the Israel Defence Force.
This is a moment I have dreamed of for a decade; to be part of something I believe in; to live and work and fight for something bigger and greater than me or my future; to contribute to freedom, democracy and Zionism. To feel part of the pioneers who re-created the Jewish state; to protect my people and proudly proclaim 'Never Again'. For ten years, I have seen pictures, heard testimonies, read stories of life in the army, and I wouldn't let anything stand in the way of that.
Gradually, reality can creep up on you. I was under no illusions of the difficulties of life in Israel or the army, and I knew what I was letting myself in for. But what neither I nor Deborah anticipated is that our goodwill and devotion to our country may not necessarily be reciprocated, or at least may not be clearly shown.
It's several months since I turned up for my first meeting with the army - back in about November I was called into the recruitment office in Jerusalem, where a very friendly and polite child (well, perhaps 18) interviewed me on every aspect of my life, from my religious views, to my hobbies, to my kindergarten, before sending me on for a physical where a large Russian lady criticised my hairy naevi, and finally on to a psychometric exam where I had to match up the funny shapes. Some weeks later, I was summoned to the medical corps HQ near Tel Aviv; the 3 hour journey each way for a ten minute meeting in which I was told very little was somewhat frustrating, but at least I found out that I would start army service in April, giving me a chance to notify work, family and friends, and create a plan for the next few years of my life; that said, I was advised to call 2 days later to get the exact date.
2 months later, much nagging, and wasted phone calls, I was still not informed of a start date; with just 12 weeks until Passover (one of the main Jewish festivals, this year in late April), and various friends and family planning to visit, it became clear that I should cut my losses, and assume for the worst - so all flights and holidays were booked up until the end of March, just to play it safe.
When I was resummoned to the base, with a few days notice in late January, I finally got some info; a salary, details of the appalling terms of my annual leave and home leave, and a start date of March the 8th, because the stupid woman who coordinates all army doctors forgot that there was a special doctors course I needed to do first, before the normal call up date. Without apology, regret for the inconvenience and waste of money to my friends and family due to be visiting in March, I was informed that this was unchangeable. In addition, I was advised that I can expect to see Deborah every other weekend, and one evening a week for the week I don't get home at the weekend, assuming I'm close enough to Jerusalem to get home in time. Oh, and that I'm entitled to 15 days of leave each year.
In one day, it became clear to me how much life had changed; all the decisions and plans I had made before marrying Deborah, which were panning out beautifully, were no longer what I wanted in life. Feeling for the first time like a machine owned by the army, with no consideration for my personal life, let alone that of my wife, I was drained and powerless. The goodwill on my side, to do my bit for the country, was irrelevant, because at the end of the day, one still approaches the army with the resentment and anger of someone forced into compulsory service, unsure of what the future holds, hearing horror stories from ex-soldiers of hygiene, food, corruption and battle.
And for what? It's a rhetorical question, as I know precisely what it's all about. But why me, and why now? As my friends around us become more established, pop out babies left, right and centre (though mainly centre), do we have the patience to put life on hold for all this extra time?
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