Today marks the one month anniversary of the day I put on my uniform for the first time and stopped being a civilian. I'm sure my last post, just a short time before I said goodbye to Deborah and headed off to a complete unknown, expressed the fear and anxiety we were both feeling; I felt as though we were facing a giant grey wall, no idea what would be on the other side, where life would head, what would happen. A mix of excitement at reaching a stage I had been anticipating for years, and doubt caused by the myriad of stories and experiences our friends and the media prepared us for. From the pointless menial tasks (like sweeping a sandy floor before stacking sandbags on it), to the gruelling physical exercise, to the appalling food, the overall impression given to us was hardly a positive one. In addition, I was, on some level, distracted by doubts about the ethics of being in the army. Pro-Israel activists always stand by the army in every way; whenever there is a civilian casualty or death, they can always provide some justification or explanation, while on the other hand, the Anti-Israel activists will always lambast the IDF and everything associated with it – such as the UN report condemning Israel and Hamas jointly for war crimes during Operation Cast Lead in Gaza. It so happens that just this week, the writer of the UN report has retracted his condemnation (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-12949016), but for the past year, many people including myself, have wondered to ourselves, "Is this really bias against Israel, or is the IDF really committing atrocities?". In short, entering the army and seeing the truth, with my own eyes, without doubt about misinformation, could make me prouder than ever to be part of this country, or could shake me to my core.
My Tzav Hityatzvut, or call-up order, was for March 8th 2011. The letter told me a place, a time, and various things to bring, like running gear, while also requesting that I shave my head, bring a bank card, and take note of what the army would provide me with, so I can fill in the gaps (we get socks, but not underwear; they provide T shirts, but only two of them, which is hardly enough for living on base a week at a time). So, before 6am, Deborah and I set off for my 7am arrival at Givat Hatachmoshet. We were among the first arrivals, but it soon became apparent that I was the only guy – of the hundreds of people attending the centre that day to be shipped off to Bakum (see below), the average age was 19, and every single person was a girl. We were slowly processed, and I was pleased to find a single other male, who also appeared to be significantly older than the rest of the group. As it later turned out, we were the two Jerusalem doctors being drafted that day; the other guy, Ilia from Georgia, has ever since been a roommate (and I will fill in those stories as the blog progresses).
One long coach journey later, we arrived at Bakum, a massive army centre where every new recruit passes along a factory production line going through various tests and interviews, such as dental photos and X rays, DNA testing, vaccinations, financial interviews, finger and hand print recording, and basically every other imaginable test available in order to identify/incriminate us in case of need. We were assigned our uniform, including rigidly uncomfortable boots and unhemmed trousers (the secret is to use an elastic band at the bottom of each leg and tuck the end of the trousers in; so they will always be the correct length). Gradually, more and more older-looking men gravitated together, and by the end of the day, a small group of 6 immigrant doctors had formed, from UK, US, Australia, Russia, Georgia, and Ukraine. We were piled on to a bus with various other soldiers heading off to their various destinations, and eventually arrived at our new home; the headquarters of training for the medical corps. Straight off the bus, we were greeted by the commanders of our basic training.
Basic training in the IDF is a very broad term, covering everything from intensive courses lasting several months, with gruelling hikes and complex training at one end, and our basic training at the other. Consisting of a few weeks of mild-mannered lectures, teaching us that drugs are bad, sexual assault is bad, Syria is bad, and army food is good, combined with a few Dad's army style runs and push-up sessions, I didn't exactly find the training to be one of the most challenging eras of my life. But, the decision to give us a gentle intro was a conscious one, based on the relative old-age of our group (24 - 32 years old). However, there is one common feature throughout all basic training in the IDF. Distance.
Distance is the phrase used to describe the act of separation between the cadets and their commanders. It dictates that commanders are always treated with respect, are never referred to by name, and must always be addressed with 'yes commander', 'no commander' or 'three bags full commander'. They are never allowed to joke with us or smile, and can never chat informally with us, until the end of basic training, and the 'breaking of distance'. Sounds reasonable? It would be, except that our commanders were all 19 year old girls. They were, in fairness, very good at their jobs, knowledgeable and confident, and seemingly undaunted by the fact that they were disciplining people who weren't far off twice their age. Most of them were actually very sensible with their approach towards us, in essence explaining to us early on that they know we aren't 18 year old Israeli brats who need a kick us the arse to learn a little discipline, but mature adults who have clearly already learned how to work hard and who have some level of knowledge regarding Israeli culture, given that we have graduated, survived on-calls, and chosen to move to a foreign country. But, predictably, there were also those who played their role to the letter. The most significant example of this was during a lecture off-base. Having finished two hours in a lecture room, we were ordered to make our way to the waiting bus for the hour-long journey home. Using our grown-up initiative, we decided that a quick visit to the bathroom en-route would be prudent, and arrived at the bus ready to go, perhaps 90 seconds later than they estimated. We were reprimanded and told that it was not our place to decide when to go to the bathroom. We should have reported to the bus, waited for our commander, requested approval to go to the bathroom, then, assuming approval would have been granted, headed back into the building, battling against the crowds of people leaving the lecture, to head back upstairs, to the now-fully-occupied toilets. The conclusion – basic training is simply not the place for independent thought or common sense.
After 3 weeks of such discipline, combined with exams checking that we knew which ends of our M16's to look down, we graduated from basic training. This normally very powerful ceremony, where we pledge our allegiance to the state and to the armed forces, to uphold democracy and the values of the IDF, is overseen by a high-ranking commander and normally takes place under the Israeli flag, attended by hundreds of soldiers, family and friends. But when your basic training is so specific as to cater only for new immigrant doctors, the power of hearing dozens of voices reciting the pledge of allegiance is replaced by the humour of hearing a tiny group of people each reciting the pledge in their own foreign accent twangs.
After the ceremony came the all-important breaking-of-distance moment, where our commanders suddenly become our friends, smile and chat, and flirt. That'd be great if we were the usual 18 year old guys passing out, but for most of us, the commanders simply metamorphosed from kids dressed up as commanders, to just... kids.
Six old men, six olim, six doctors, from six different countries, ready to move on once more, but this time with a greater understanding of the massive, sluggish, irrational machine that is the IDF.
Basic training has not been the most challenging time of my life; in fact it's felt like a nice, gentle introductory tour of the army, letting us get a taste of the things to come. It's completely eradicated some of the major fears that come with army service (although, of course, not all), and even after a month, seeing myself in uniform, wearing the tags of the medical corps, gives me a strong surge of pride. I am truly starting on a path that will make me an Israeli, and give me a chance to contribute to a cause I really believe in,
This time, I'm not heading into the unknown quite so much. Just moving forward.
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