What it means to be a Chayal Boded

Family and Friends,
I hope that you and your families are well and enjoying the beginning of summer.

I have constructed a slightly different update than my past ones. Thanks to army regulations, I can't explain too much of I am doing right now, but here's a quick overview of my past two months:

• After my 29 km + 9 km (with stretchers), 9 hour Massa (march)--up and down mountains and finishing on top of Masada--I was awarded with my unit's (Nachal) distinctive light green beret. My mother made the trip to celebrate with me, and we spent the week traveling all over the country visiting family, friends, drinking beer, and enjoying tasty BBQ's.
  
• I am thoroughly enjoying my return to Orev (Special Forces unit), but it is significantly harder than the regular units. After a week of unrelenting 2 hour, mile-long-mountain-range-conquering exercises with live fire, we had a three hour march back to base, arriving at 4:30 AM. With a smile on their faces, our commanders gave us the famous "7-MOVE!" phrase (giving us 7 minutes to change into sports gear and sprint across the base) for a sunrise Krav Maga session (IDF hand-to-hand combat). Over the following 40 hours, we had several 3 hour marches and live fire drills, sleeping a generous 1.5 hours. Regardless, I haven't been happier in the army than I am now!
• We have begun orienteering, the most interesting part of our training thus far. We are given starting and ending point and "destination points" in between that we have get to. In pairs, we create our own path (we're up to 11 kms now) and memorize every step of the way. Trick is, you can't use your map the entire time and it's all at night! Quite fun until you're lost for an hour and a half and have NO IDEA where you are. In recent news, everything looks EXACTLY the same in the desert!

What it means to be a Chayal Boded

Inspired by an article by two Chayalim Bodedim (Lonely Soldiers; soldiers who serve in the IDF without family in Israel), I have put together a list of experiences that detail what it means to be a Chayal Boded in the Israel Defense Forces. These are brief stories and feelings that I have experienced over the past 7 months of army service. As usual I have not sugar-coated my words; as you will read, the last 7 months have been the most demanding, depressing, and rewarding moments of my life.

- On your first day of army service, you do 30 push ups when your commander tells you to run to the wall and back to formation in 30 seconds. You quickly learn the word for wall in Hebrew. It’s “kir.”

- Living on a Kibbutz 8 hours each way from your army base. Calling your friends to buy you food from the supermarket because it will be closed for the weekend by the time you get home. Arriving at 3 PM and knowing that you’ll be headed back to base for more training in less than 36 hours.

- When the bus driver says “10 minute break” you automatically start your stopwatch (thank you for the auto programming, IDF). You laugh for a minute, but are sitting in your seat promptly at the 9:50 mark.

- Enjoying your one night to sleep-in without heating in 30 degree weather. You wake up automatically after 6 hours because your body no longer knows how to sleep any longer.

- Having one home-cooked meal a week (or every other week) from your host family.

- Making the trip home once a week if you’re lucky, but usually once every 2-3 long weeks of training.

- Making the 12 hour trip halfway around the world HOME to Cleveland, Ohio, once a year for less than 4 weeks. You relish every moment in YOUR bed, with your friends and family, and eating Chipotle burritos—double meat, extra guacamole, please!

- Spending holidays on base and guarding settlements in the West Bank. Enjoying 5 minutes of Hanukkah songs and half a Passover meal before returning to training and guard duty.

- Learning to live life 5 seconds at a time. To tie your shoes, switch uniforms, and run from formation to formation in seconds at a time.

- Learning to endure unrelinquishing pain and permanent bruises from head to toe.

- Showering once a week after returning from the field and praying the entire trip back to base that you’ll have hot water for those three glorious minutes.

- To spend every minute of every day missing your family, friends, and home in the US.

- To be on guard duty from 3-6 AM, staring at a pitch black desert and reminiscing about past girl friends. Seconds will never pass by as slowly.

- To experience the death of a dear childhood friend (Kambili Moukwa, 22) through emails, a week after his death. To spend the next two weeks in complete shock and depression, crying on guard duty at 3 AM since you have had no time to grieve. At that exact moment you realize that you are truly halfway around the world from your friends, family, and the life you once had.

- To wake up freezing (at 4 AM in the field), run while freezing, and to go to bed freezing with only a thin jacket to keep you warm. In short, to be colder than you’ve ever been in your life—and yes, that includes Cleveland’s 3-foot snow winters.

- To wake up burning up (at 4 AM in the field), run while burning up, and to attempt to sleep in a tent of 12 near-naked guys but wake up every 15 minutes because it’s just that hot! In short, to be hotter than you’ve ever been in your life—and yes, that includes Cleveland’s 100+ humid summers.

- To learn to live on 6 hours of sleep. To be so tired that you fall asleep eating, running, and shooting a large machine gun (all true stories!). To have a personal best record of 32 seconds from boarding a bus to head-back, mouth open, snoring bliss. In short, to be more tired than you’ve ever been—and yes, that includes all-nighters before finals at Case Western Reserve University.

- In short, to HATE the Negev (desert) and Basic Training more than anything you’ve ever hated in your life—and yes, that includes Cleveland’s winters and summers and college finals!

- After falling asleep shooting your Negev (large machine gun) at 2 AM, going back to your two-man tent, searching for your phone, and checking ESPN to see if the Cavs won—and falling asleep while typing the “V” in Cavs.

- To have your iPod preset to play Travis Tritt’s “Great Day to be Alive” as soon as you leave base. Why? Because it truly is a GREAT day to be alive!

- To be 23 years old and live in a tent for seven months. To feel that your 15-man tent is a Four Seasons Hotel after a week of squeezing the three largest soldiers of your unit into a two man tent and sleeping on rocks.

- To spend half of your 40 hour weekend talking to friends and family on Skype and telling the SAME stories over and over again. Honestly, you only want to know what’s new with your friends and family—and talk about something that’s NOT the army!

- To see your best friends once or twice a month because they serve in other units and don’t leave base when you do. When you see them everyone agrees to not mention the army for the next 10 minutes. Everyone sits in silence.

- To want to serve with and be the best of the best. To serve more time to be a part of a Sayeret (Special Forces Commando unit) because you know you will only get one chance to serve and had better make it the best you can—and that if you’re crazy enough to leave your life in the US to serve in the IDF, you’re sure crazy enough to be in a Special Forces unit!

- To crave a NokOut chocolate and vanilla ice cream bar for seven hours during a Massa (march) back to base. To bolt to the nearest kiosk to buy the ice cream bar the first minute you leave base.

- Being “awarded” top soldier with 70 lbs of massive machine gun and ammunition and (attempt) to crawl, run, and best first to attack the enemy.

- To risk your life everyday with live fire drills, patrols, and missions in Arab territories.

- To struggle everyday with Hebrew; to not be yourself because you simply can’t express your feelings in Hebrew. To think about every word you want to say before you say it, and right as you begin to speak, your commander is yelling at you about something else you don’t understand. To sit in a classroom learning about chemical weapons, orienteering, and mortars and not understanding a single word.

- To talk to your friends at home and stop in the middle of your sentence, forgetting the words: field, building, and water bottle.

- Having trouble connecting with friends back home because no one can relate to or understand what you’ve been going through.

- Never connecting 100% with your fellow soldiers because you don’t follow Hapoel Tel Aviv (a soccer club), listen to Ayal Golan, or went to anyone’s high school. To sit quietly in the corner listening to Kenny Chesney while everyone else sings Mizrachi music.

- Not having anyone to celebrate the recent Washington Redskin’s victories with because no one is a football fan—let alone know how to throw a football.

- Joining a baseball league so you can lace up your cleats, chew sunflower seeds, and not care that you’re 0-2 with 2 K’s. You’re just damn happy to smell the freshly cut grass, hop over the first base line on your way to left field, and talk about the Cleveland Indians—in English!

- Being told repeatedly that you’re not Israeli. Others criticize you asking why you are serving with them.

- For four months of ego shattering Basic Training, you never once receive a “good job” from your commanders. A “that wasn’t terrible” brings a grin to your face.

- To be turned down over and over and over by Israeli girls, hearing the same line “…if you weren’t in the army….” Who knew the oath of duty to the IDF what an oath of bachelorism?

- To be yelled at for seven months by a 19 year old who on several occasions has told you that you cannot use the restroom when you are sheer seconds from exploding.

- To miss Saturday college football games, 5 PM Winking Lizard Happy Hours, not asking permission to use the restroom, waking up next to your loving girlfriend, Shabbat family dinners, the births of cousins, and family milestones. To be lonelier than you have ever been.

- Being asked by EVERY Israeli if your life and fraternity resemble American Pie.

- When telling Israeli’s you’re from Cleveland, Ohio, EVERYONE responds with “Ohio!” They say they’ve never heard of Cleveland, but then ask if you know some song about Drew Carry and a city that “Rocks.” This still makes you laugh every time. You now tell people that Drew is a close family friend. They buy you a beer and love you.

- To stay up until 6 AM to watch Ohio State football games (you won’t mention which games they were because they didn’t win either of them).

- To spend your first birthday in Israel with an Akpatza (emergency wake-up) in the field. While carrying 120 lbs of gear and marching in formation, you realize that you have wandered two kilometers in the wrong direction. This is all at 3 AM. Happy Birthday to you.

- To experience extreme fluctuations in emotion; being ecstatic one minute to homesick the next—literally in the snap of a finger—and have no idea why.

- To have religious-settler children bring you cookies and tea while on a stakeout around their settlement in the West Bank. The children are all smiles until they see you’re not wearing a Yamika and rush back to their house to get you spares.

- To spend Shabbat on base and sing Shabbat prayers around the table with your Tzevet (unit), feeling the pride of serving in the only Jewish Army in the world. After the “newest,” hardest week of your life, you and your Tzevet are just happy to sit down and eat ONE meal together that week without constantly looking at your stopwatch.

- Random people yell good luck to you as you walk around in uniform. One second before falling asleep on the bus, a little girl pops her head up from the seat in front of you and let’s out the purest giggle, shyly yelling “thank you, soldier!” before jumping back down. You have never been so proud in your life.

- To be reminded that your friends are making $8,000 per month while you are raking in a prosperous $300 per month.

- But despite all this, you are a part of something that defines your identity and religion. You’re richer than your friends because you know that “the core of man’s spirit comes from new experiences.” You rise from your tent in the field to a sunrise so perfect Steinbeck can’t find words to describe its beauty. As you prepare for another exhausting 18-hour day, and know that because of what you’re doing everyone reading this can visit Israel, the little girl from the bus can go to school without rocket attacks, and our Jewish people will always have a home.

I hope that this lets you into my world a little bit more. It is not an easy life that I, and every other Chayal Boded, live in Israel, but a necessary one to ensure that there will ALWAYS be an Israel. Not to mention that it's the most rewarding experience of my life. As always, I have to propose the question: what have you done to support Israel recently? It doesn't require service in the IDF: a thank you card to soldiers, donations, visits to Israel, and lobbying for Israel's right to exist are all ways to support this amazing country.

I wish you all a very happy and healthy weekend and Shabbat Shalom!

With love and VDBL,

Nadav E. Weinberg

Return to Orev, April Fools' in the field, and experiences guarding in the West Bank

Family and Friends,
I hope you are enjoying the Spring and the snow is finally subsiding!
Here are the main experiences detailed in the email:

• Return to Orev: reasons, explanations, what it means
  
• Great friend, Jeremy's visit to Israel
• Guarding and patrolling in the West Bank
• April Fools' in the field
• Recent luck with scorpions and wisdom teeth
  

Before I explain the story about my return to Orev, I ask for those of you who know my grandparents to make sure that you DO NOT share with them the news that I am returning to Orev. At their respective ages, they have enough to worry about with me serving in the IDF, let alone to know that I am serving in a special forces unit. They are aware that I am serving in a combat unit, and let's keep it at that.

As detailed in one of my recent blog entries, after passing a 4 day intensive tryout (gibbush) for Nachal's Special Forces Units, I began my service in the Orev (Anti-Tank) Unit. However, I was asked to sign an extra year--a total of 3 years of service--and after long family discussions, decided to serve in the 50th Airborne Battalion. Having transferred from Tzanchanim (Paratroopers) in 1982, the 50th Battalion is Nachal's most famous unit with a rich history and famous alumni. Having talked to current and past members of the 50th Battalion, I was excited to serve in the historical unit and alongside top notch soldiers. However, despite the 50th's historical greatness, it has declined greatly over the past two years, largely due to the elimination of a tryout (gibbush) to enter the battalion. As such, it has become a regular battalion with soldiers from all aspects of society.

From day one, I did not fit in with my fellow soldiers. The dramatic drop in discipline from the Special Forces to the general "gdudim" (battalions) is astounding, and contrary to all logic, I missed the strict discipline and impossible 5-second time increments that we were given. I constantly got into verbal fights with fellow soldiers, frustrated why they simply did not care about those around them and had no pride in their service. My fellow soldiers resented my desire to make our training harder, more disciplined; they resented my American background and lack of Hebrew. I had one person in my unit tell me that, "you're not Israeli, you'll never be Israeli. I don't know why you're serving with me." I spent the last 4 months walking around my tent in silence; I am a ghost without friends. When returning from weekends off, while soldiers hugged each other and asked about the other's weekend, I sat in the corner; no one cared what I did or embraced me with a hug. When I received the honor of the Negev (my light machine gun that is given to a top soldier in each unit), others looked on in disdain, disgusted that I, an American, was chosen to lead the unit into battle. I was constantly cursed behind my back and at times to my face. When my good friend Kambili passed away, I was a complete wreck for 2 straight weeks, and my commander, seeing how upset I was, promised to help me through the grieving. Never once did he so much as ask me how I was doing. As you can imagine, without close friends, estranged from my fellow soldiers, and with my heart and head still in the Special Forces, I fell into depression, hating every waking moment of my service. I lost my pride in my service.

Constantly in contact with my commanders in Orev, I began to pursue a way to return. I realized very quickly that the freezing 20 hour days in the field, of incomparable physical and mental pain, are bearable--potentially even fun--if spent with friends. While treated as an outcast in 50, I was welcomed with open arms each time I saw my unit in Orev. They would walk by and sing songs with lyrics
asking when I would return. In my short tenure on this planet, I have rarely met such loving and motivated people. This is where I belong.

I was staring a very simple decision in the face: 2 years of depression and disgust for my service, or 3 years of pride and life-long friendships. For those of you who know me well, I am a very prideful person. I wear fraternity letters more than one should and I graduated college with a large Jewish Star on my mortarboard. My service in the IDF has been fueled with fierce ideologies and a love for this country. With both waining, I realized my decision was already made for me: I would return to Orev.

I made this decision a month and a half ago. I have spent the last 6 weeks battling the army's bureaucracy, each week being told, "only a little bit longer." As a top soldier in 50, my commanders and officers did everything they could to fight my departure, but following a meeting with the Magad (the high officer in charge of Nachal's Basic Training and Advanced Training bases), I was finally and officially cleared to return. Sunday, April 19th, will mark my return to Orev and an extra year of service in the IDF.

When I received the official word that I would return to Orev, a genuine smile swept across my face for the first time in over 3 months. I realize that for many of you (and those that I have already talked to about my decision have made it quite clear) an extra year of me serving in the IDF, another year away from home, another year in harm's way, is frustrating and upsetting. I realize that a decision like this affects you all as well, but I hope that you understand that this is a choice that needed to be made, for me to enjoy and take pride in my service. It comes with a sacrifice, another year away from you, but a much richer and happier service. I apologize for putting an extra burden on some of you, but know that I will stay safe and come home as soon as possible.

I found a video of Orev (this is of the paratrooper's Orev, but essentially the same as Nachal's) so you can get a little understanding of what this unit is, what our training is like, and what we do. I mentioned in my last entry that on the Negev is an invisible laser that can only be seen with a special night vision that I wear on one eye (making me resemble RoboCop). You can see a soldier with all of the equipment on a mission at around the 43 second mark of the movie. At the 2:35 minute mark you see the training with the massive Orev anti-tank missile. Other highlights include intensive Krav Maga training (IDF hand-to-hand combat), urban warfare training, CRAWLING!, and parachuting--my biggest fear of my entire service (still have that fear of heights!).

About a month and a half ago, one of my best friends, Jeremy Stone, came to visit from Cleveland. Although it was his last spring break of college, Jeremy decided to partake in a comparative women's health care course through CWRU's social work school. Lucky to get a few days off from the army, I surprised Jeremy at the airport and spent the next two nights touring Jerusalem, drinking beers, and catching up on nearly a year of stories. Getting the following weekend off from the army, Jeremy finished the course and joined me at the kibbutz. Another two nights of Purim partying and a trip down to Tel Aviv with yet one last night of partying left both of us completely wiped out. The highlight for me was showing Jeremy around the kibbutz, the apple orchards, and climbing old guard towers around the kibbutz's perimeter. It was a mournful good bye, and seeing him made me realize how greatly I miss all of you, but we planned for trips after my service and his med school to South America, Australia, and a Safari in Africa--many, many years of great trips to be had. You can see pictures here, in my website's photo gallery, of our time together.

Since my last installment, I have spent two short tours patrolling and guarding in the West Bank. The first tour was for three days in Hevron where we helped guard a Jewish settlement and a Yeshiva (a very religious school). Not only was it my first time in the West Bank, it was my first time guarding something other than our training base. For up to 6 hours at a time (I would soon learn that this was a rather short time), we would stand and watch the surrounding streets and civilians (both Israeli and Palestinian) from guard towers. Of course, I spent my 6 hours with my 15 lbs Negev and half of the 50 lbs of accompanying ammo. To say the least, it was an exhausting and painful 6 hours, to which I came back for a rest and return for another 3 hour session shortly thereafter.

As it just so happened to be, we arrived at this base on Purim and were greeted warmly by religious settlers with "Mishloach Manot" (bags of cookies and candy). A film crew joined the settlers and filmed our ecstatic reactions for a high school in England who had sponsored our gifts. When they discovered that I was a Chayal Boded from the U.S., they interviewed me, asking why I came to serve and what my experiences have been. After some sweets, I headed for a second shift of guarding, watching hundreds of Palestinians walk past a main square. Guarding with my massive Negev, I was a popular sight for many of the Palestinian children, most of whom oogeled and ogled at the gun. However, there was one child, about 8 years old, who stopped and stared at me. At first I thought he was taken back by my gun, but after 10 seconds I realized he was staring directly at me, not blinking. Gazing back at him, I needed only a second to read his face: pure hatred. For this child I was nothing more than someone occupying his land. He had no idea who I am, where I come from, what my story is, my political beliefs, or most likely much of the history of the West Bank. For him, I was an unwanted soldier. I was greatly taken back by this child's face who continued to stare at me for another 10 seconds before his mother drug him away. In those 20 seconds, I had instantly become entwined in the bloody battle over the "occupied territories"; I was the face of occupation for this child and many of the Palestinians walking by. I spent the rest of my guarding session with this child's solemn face engraved in my mind. I could feel his pain, I could understand that at such a young age he does not understand the history of the situation or what I am doing there. After another two hours of guarding and contemplating, I came to a certain conclusion that I think we all need to practice: don't judge a book by its cover. Yes, I realize that this is idealistic, potentially even naive, but it is the epitome of truth in our society. Yes, this child had obvious reasons to hate me and what I stand for, but he had no idea who I am. I think this story is the thread that weaves the levels of bloodshed in the Middle East together. In so many ways both sides have lost track of what they stand for and how they want their grandchildren to grow up. The blanket of hatred is so thick that some don't even consider the other person a human being. And yes, despite my conservative stances, I think the underlying message we can all take from this is to not judge people too quickly. Do you really know where he comes from? How he grew up? What he was taught from a young age? The answer is usually a definite no. Have the decency to ask his name and what his story is. You never know what you might have in common.

My second guarding tour was less "exciting," if you will. I spent an 8 hour session guarding in a tower with another soldier, and then two patrol shifts. A patrol is very much what it sounds like: you walk around and "patrol" an area (usually an Israeli settlement) to make sure that the settlers are safe. I was "lucky" enough to do two patrols (I was the only Negevist there, and each patrol requires a Negev), one of 12 hours and one of 17 hours. With my Negev and 25 lbs of gear (40 lbs total), for 12 and 17 hours, I walked up and down mountains on the settlements' perimeter. Not allowed to remove any part of our gear for the entire patrol, we guarded over night, allowed to sleep in pairs for two shifts of one hour (two hours of sleep for the night). The only highlight of the experience was the settlers. There is plenty of negative press about radical Israeli settlers, so I expected nothing less than for settlers to look at me in the same light as the 8 year old Palestinian boy. Much to the contrary, we were greeted with cookies and tea and a myriad of "Shabbat Shalom's" and thank yous. The funniest part for me was when a few children were walking by and stopped to ask us where our "kipot" (yamika) were. A very religious settlement, every male wore a kipa, and these 7 year olds could not figure out why we were not wearing any. They insisted that we needed to wear kipot and ran away with promises of returning with two for each soldier. I laughed, realizing that these children were not too different from the Palestinian boy in Hevron, raised in a secluded area with a one-track mind.

On a side note, much of this occurred during Passover. It was my first Passover in Israel and by far the easiest Passover of my life. In Israel every bakery literally shuts down for Passover, and almost every restaurant is kosher for Passover (no wheat, flour, etc). When I asked a waitress if their menu was kosher for Passover, she laughed and replied with, "of course! where do you think you are?!" Without the temptation of my friends eating pizza and bread in the US, Passover flew by.

After Passover we headed back to the Shetach (field) for training in our "Kita" (a unit of 15 soldiers and a commander). The distance between the commanders and us soldiers was lifted and we were allowed to call our commanders for the first time by their first name. In the middle of the first night in the Shetach, we had an "akpatza" (an emergency wake up to simulate that we were under attack). After a few minutes everyone was in their gear, in formation and ready for the order from our commanders. One of our commanders, called a Samal (his designation is to toughen us up with brutal training), told us, through a radio in the middle of our formation, that we had 7 minutes to prepare our "Mizdar Conenut" (a representation of a war time situation where you have to have all of the unit's gear organized and checked). After 7 minutes, we stood back in formation, and the Samal continued to yell at us through the radio in the middle of the formation. Keep in mind that this is at 3 am and pitch black in the Shetach where you can barely see 10 feet in front of you. Everyone is completely confused, trying to locate our Samal. Each time we would glance around, the radio would yell back at us, our Samal telling us to look forward. Then he called out five people's names (all five of them in a row), and told them to "pull petzuah" (drop injured on the ground) and the five people next to them to lift them up. Completely baffled how he knew who everyone was, we all stood around in shock. He continued to yell at us through the radio for another 20 minutes, each time knowing exactly who everyone was and what each person had done incorrectly. We continued to look at each part of our encampment, thoroughly confused where our Samal was and how he could see us. Back in formation, the Samal asked us how we thought we had done and why we hadn't finished the task on time. After 15 seconds of silence and all of us utterly confused, he asked us if we knew what day it was. One person replied April 1st, and without thinking, yours truly piped up in English, "You've got to be shitting me!" At this point we found out where the Samal was when he and the other commanders burst into laughter from their tent, the Samal sitting in his sleeping bag, radio and night vision in hand. Barely controlling his laughter, he gave us 2 minutes to get back to sleep.

As usual, my luck has run its course rather beautifully. I had my wisdom teeth pulled in the army base (for the record, laughing gas is not permitted on army bases), and despite shots to numb the general area, not sleeping through a tooth extraction is a very painful experience. I believe the quote of the week was the dentist, after 15 minutes of prodding and pulling my bottom wisdom tooth, finally pulled it out and yelped, "whoa! that's huge!" I have a feeling there is a direct correlation between the size of the tooth and the amount of pain that comes with its removal. For my pain, I was granted 3 days of "gimmelim," or leave from the army, a fair trade off.

My second run in with gimmelim was the following week. While charging up a hill during a training exercise, I dropped to the shooting position on the ground. During exercises, one is required to wear knee pads but they serve as a formality as they fall down to one's ankles as soon as one runs. As such, I dropped down on my knees, crawled forward a few meters, popped back up and continued to charge the hill. Again I dropped down to laying position, but this time, after two seconds, I felt an agonizing pain shoot through my knee. Jumping up, I ran forward, glancing down to see something black shuffle away. At the end of the exercise, I lifted my pants, expecting to see blood gushing from my knee. Quite to the contrary, my knee had ballooned up, and my first step on my right knee led me straight to the ground. With help from another soldier, I reached the bottom of the hill. Our medic came over, asking me what happened, and when I mentioned a small black insect, he called immediately for a ride to the hospital, questioning me over and over if I was positive it was black. I explained that it was happened quickly but was 95% sure, and then asked why. He said that I had been stung by a scorpion, and if it was yellow, I could be dead soon. Driven to the hospital, EKG and blood tests confirmed that it was a black scorpion, also poisonous, but not deadly. In unbelievable amounts of pain, I was granted another 5 days of gimmelim. Ironically, my reports of gimmelim to family and friends here was responded with "mazel tovs." It's apparently quite the treat to get gimmelim, even if it is a painful experience.

I hope that you continue to enjoy the warming weather, and for those of you in Texas, Arizona, and desert regions, keep an extra eye out for scorpions!

Scorpion venom free and happier than ever in Orev,
Much love and VDBL,

Nadav E. Weinberg

Basic Training down, Advanced Training on deck, and the loss of a dear friend

Family and Friends,
I hope that you have managed to keep warm and safe from what I hear has been a harsh winter. With Spring around the corner, I bring you another update on my army service. By popular request, I will now include an outline at the beginning of each update to give you a brief update on my activities.

• Losing a dear friend, Kambili Moukwa; feeling trapped and detach from my life in the US
  
• Experiencing war in a country where I live; friends serving in Gaza and hearing about rockets falling near my house
  
• Stories from my 4 months of Basic Training
  
• Battling mental and physical exhaustion; finding the few bright spots to keep you going
  
• Becoming the world's best dishwasher and weeder
  
• Spending a week with my parents and family friends
  

I want to start this entry with a fond farewell to one of my dearest childhood friends, Kambili Moukwa. Moving to Shaker Heights from Seattle before middle school was a rough transition for me. I had few friends. I played cello, not quarterback. I focused on geometry, not the latest fashion trends. I ended middle school with a handful of friends, one being Kambili (Kam) Moukwa. Kam was one of my first friends and loved by everyone in our grade. With a radiant smile and contagious laugh, it was impossible not to love him.

On New Years, I texted friends back home, "Hope it's a great year! Drink one for me, I'm on guard duty and it's 3 AM." As I found out one week later, New Years was the final day of Kam's life. A student at the University of Pennsylvania, Kam was found dead outside of a Philadelphia club the following morning. No foul play was reported, the autopsy ruled out substance abuse.

With a war waging in Gaza, I was worried for my friends serving in war. As I scrolled through my email a week later, I came across several emails from family and friends informing me of Kam's untimely passing. With tears in my eyes, I read each email, staring at the computer screen in complete shock. While I was actively asking others for updates on friends in Gaza, I didn't dare fear the safety of my friends at home. Regardless, I was required to return to the army on Sunday morning and for the entire week barely spoke a word. One night on guard duty I stared at the clear skies and began to cry. Although I knew these were the same stars that my friends saw in the US, I felt completely trapped halfway around the world. While my friends sent cards and flowers to the Moukwa's, and negotiated trips to the funeral, I was stuck in the field learning how to shoot a M-16. This is a feeling that will never leave me. We often talk about the sacrifices that we make for what we believe in, but nothing compares to holding the cold metal of a M-16 and simultaneously feeling defenseless. I have never missed each of you as much as I did at that moment.

Kam was a dear friend, and a true "neshama," a truly good soul. His smile will never fade; each time I look at the bright stars, I think of his radiant smile. Kam, know that you are loved and missed and when I get the opportunity, I will visit your resting place.

As each of you saw on the news, in an attempt to protect its civilians, Israel launched an attack on Hamas in Gaza. As usual, the world wagged its finger at Israel's decision; the usual anti-Israel, ignorant reports came from Europe, Asia, and America. Muslim nations spoke out, demonstrators lashed out across the world. Israel, as usual, was the "bad occupier." Somehow all of these vocal, eager to condemn voices were silent over the past 8 years as rocket after rocket fell on southern Israel, each targeted at civilians. Israel had no choice, its people rose up and said enough is enough, we will not sit idly by while our civilians are attacked. While I was lucky enough to be in basic training, my friends answered the called as their units were sent into Gaza. For weeks I did not hear a word from them; for weeks I prayed for their safety and each of my fellow soldiers.

The feeling of war in a country is a frightening thing. The terminals of the bus station were eerily silent; the vibrant Mizrachi music was muted, soldiers did not celebrate their release for the weekend. The numbness of the entire country reminded me of America on September 11th. When I heard that rockets fell on cities in the North, I grabbed my friend and shook him for the exact location of impact. My home is in the North. Was my home, my adopted family, my friends harmed? This is a feeling that I hope none of you ever have to experience. It is one thing to watch CNN and cringe at the news, it is another to wonder if your home is still standing. I have started a list of websites, articles, and movies on the right side of my blog that defend Israel's actions and correct common lies of media reporting with Israel. I highly recommend that you read a very moving letter by an IDF soldier to the owner of a Gaza house where he was living for a few days; it is the first link on the website.

Unfortunately due to army classification, I am unable share most of my experiences from Basic Training, but I have put together a few humorous and entertaining stories to give you a taste of the last 4 months of my life.

In the middle of Basic Training we had an intensive week of learning to shoot the M-16 from all positions and times of day. I had been asking for "yom sedorim" (a day for lone soldiers to take care of problems with banks, cell phones, etc) for a month and was finally granted it on a Sunday. While everyone returned to base Sunday morning, I returned Monday morning. When I arrived on base, I called my commander, who was sleeping somewhere, and told me that I would receive a call from another commander on what to do. One hour later, I received a call from this commander who told me to take all of my gear into the field. I explain that all of my army gear was locked up on base, to which he told me the classic Israeli phrase, "al-tidag," don't worry, we'll get it later. With only my personal gear, I hustled down to the field to meet up with my unit.

The next day and a half were filled with shooting from day to night, night to day. Fearful of the forceful bang of the M-16, I make sure my earplugs were correctly nestled in my ears each time. Regardless, I lost hearing in my left ear, but after an hour it returned. Since I'm a lefty, I was instructed to shoot at the right end of the shooting range, laying next to a wall. Unless you have shot an M-16, you cannot fully comprehend the sheer force of the sound waves that come out of this killing machine. The reverberation off the wall literally hit me on the right side of my face with each shot. I felt a force stun my right ear, but figured that it was no different from what happened to my left ear before. However, after 4 hours I still could not hear anything from my right ear save a very annoying high-pitched ringing in my head. When I told my commanders that I hadn't heard for 4 hours, and they informed me that there was no doctor on base and I would have to wait until the following morning. Five minutes later, I was told that we have a few minutes to change into our workout clothes. I reminded my commanders that all of my equipment was locked up on base, to which I was told to, "borrow someones." Asking around, only one person had an extra pair of shoes, 3 sizes too small for me. Unfortunately in the army you can't say no, so I was forced to take these shoes and run the 2 km workout in my vest, helmet, and far too small shoes. After a few minutes, the shoes became vices on my feet, and I finish the run barely able to walk.

With my feet in agonizing pain, I return to the shooting range, where my commanders told me that they didn't want to chance my hearing and put me on guard duty for the next day and a half. The following night, I visit the hospital on base. After taking my vitals they asked me to wait outside. One hour later, they told me to eat dinner since the doctor would not be back for a while. Three hours later, I finally entered the doctor's office. At the exact second that I sat down in his office, the entire base lost power. Half an hour later, power up and running, he informed me that I need to go to the ER. The commanding officer told me to sleep on base for the night so I could be up at 5 am for the first bus into the city. When I got to the tent, the officer asked me where my personal gear was, and I informed him that it was in the field. He replied with "al-tidag" (don't worry, we'll get it in the morning), and told me to bed so I'd be ready to leave at 5 am. The morning came and everyone forgot about me. Waking up at 7:30, I ran outside and asked what I need to do. Someone asked where my gear was, I replied in the field. He told that there were no cars going there, and that I'd need to get it myself. Three miles later, I had my gear and was back on base. Just missing the bus to the city, I waited 2.5 hours for the next one. Finally in the city, I asked around for 30 minutes until someone knew how I could get to the hospital.

At Saroka Hospital in Be'er Sheva, I checked-in and headed to the ear specialist. Waiting outside her office, I sat across from a soldier dressed in a tank jump suit, unshaven and filthy, an IV in his right arm. Talking to him, he informed me that he had been in Gaza and was brought here for hearing trouble. Immediately, I felt insignificant having suffered hearing loss in a shooting range. Staring at his tired eyes, I began to put my training in perspective. Sure training is rough, but it's not war. Days are long and tiring, but I am not in Gaza, I don't fear my safety. Looking at the soldier, I felt small, and when my name was call, I insisted the soldier take my place in line.

The doctor ran a few tests and after 10 minutes told me that I have "trauma and temporary deafness" to the ear. I returned to base and over the course of several days, my hearing returned. After spending the weekend on base, we prepared for a week living in the field. It was a rough week where we had 4 minutes to eat each meal and were woken up each morning to our commanders screaming "attack! attack!" In the darkest of winter nights, we had to dress, tie our shoes, and run to our defense positions around our campsite in mere seconds.

Our commanders instructed us to collapse the entire site, and get ready to march to another location. With my 20 lbs vest and M-16 on me already, I was given a 60 lbs bag to carry. Our officer walked by me and questioned why I didn't have anything in my arms. He slammed a 30 lbs tent in my arms, posts and all. A soldier to my right suffered from carrying 3 sleeping bags and put one on my shoulders. Marching in the cold, darkness, I tripped over 2 wool blankets that someone had dropped. Bending down, I threw one over each shoulder, on top of the sleeping bag that's on top of the large bag, that's on top of my vest. At this point I couldn't raise my head and was forced to find my way by following the footsteps of a soldier in front of me.

I continued to walk for 20...30...40 minutes. Not hearing a sound, I managed to look up and realized that there was no longer anyone around me. Getting to the top of a hill, I looked around but saw nothing in the pitch-black desert. I dropped my gear and ran north. Nothing. I ran South and saw a faint red light a half mile away. Putting all of the gear back on, I made my way back to my unit. As I collapsed on the ground under 120 lbs of gear, I was cursed at by my commanders for getting lost. I asked one of the commanders what day it was. He said January 20th. I laughed. He looked at me with a puzzled look. Smiling, I told him, "not a bad way to wake up on your birthday." Smiling, he informed me that they had a birthday surprise for me. That night we crawled 100 meters over rocks and boulders, up a mountain. When I reached the top he smiled and said, "Happy Birthday, Weinberg!"

About a month ago we received our specialties. There are sub-commanders (Mefaked Hulia), large machine gunners (Maggist), rocket launchers (Louwist), and grenade launchers (Matolist). However, the most respected and desired specialty is to be a Negevist. The Negev is a 15 lbs "light machine gun" that is awarded to the soldier with the most "rabak" (determination, energy) and is usually given to the most talented soldier (it is considered "kavod" or an honor, to be given the Negev). Having run the army obstacle course (Bochan Maslul) in one of the best times in the platoon, I was rewarded with the Negev and its 40 lbs of ammo. You can read more about the Negev here.

We spent a week living with the Negev, learning to unjam the gun in under 15 seconds, crawl with it, and shoot in a variety of positions. We even had to name our Negev. A Negevist is supposed to be the toughest soldier in his unit and our commanders made sure that we would not only be talented shooters, but brutally tough soldiers. For hours everyday we crawled, sprinted, and became one with our Negev. Waiting outside of the dining hall, we would stand in 2 lines, holding the Negev at shoulder's length for minutes at a time. The Negev comes with an invisible laser that can only be seen with a special night vision scope that I wear on one eye. This allows me to shoot accurately at night and similarly resemble RoboCop. Since the night vision only covers one eye, you see a double vision of green and black, night vision and normal darkness. At first this is very confusing and we spent an hour marching in darkness with soldiers falling over, tripping left and right.

The final night included written and physical tests on the Negev. After a week of brutality, we expect to be done until our commander instructed us to put all of our gear on and stand in a straight line in the middle of our platoon. For the next hour and a half we put on a show for the entire platoon. With every officer and commander yelling at us, we crawled, unjammed the Negev, sprinted, shot from all positions, spun left and right on the ground, jumped up and then dropped on our stomachs. Our fellow comrades, dressed in pajamas rooted us on.

When the highest ranking officer of our platoon asked me what my Negev's name was, I smiled and said, Kam.

Our "Massot" (marches) have increased greatly. Starting with a 2 km Massa at the beginning of Basic Training, we just completed a 18 + 3 km Massa that spanned 4.5 hours. We marched 18 km with vests and M-16s--me with my 15 lbs Negev. When we reached the top of a mountain, we expected to be done, only to finish the march with 3 km of "alumkot" (3 stretchers with one soldier on each stretcher). I rotated between stretchers, our officer yelling at me to get under a lagging stretcher and run it forward to the rest of the pack.

As you can see, exhaustion is commonplace in the army. With your body battered and bruised, it's all too easy to enter depression and hate your service. Soldiers are always tired, hungry, and lonely. However, there are a few times that get you through these rough patches and make you remember why you're here.

Dressed in uniform and walking in Tel Aviv with my friend Zach, a woman in a car kept staring at us. A little skeptical, we tried to ignore her. When the light turned green, she rolled her window down, smiled, and yelled "behatzlacha!" (good luck!). Although she thought that we were headed to Gaza, her smile and warm regards lifted both of our spirits.

We discovered a breakfast diner in Tel Aviv called Benedict's. Sitting next to my friends Ethan and Aaron, we each ordered a table's worth of food. Having just gotten off base, we were dressed in uniform, and of course, starving. The server laughed at the mountains of food in front of us. 15 minutes later, using the bread to drench up the remaining syrup, our server returned, stunned to see 17 empty plates in front of us. She smiled and returned with 3 shots of whisky on the house and removed 3 of the pancake orders from our bill.

Another plus of the army has been my weeding and dish washing skills. I am on the brink of becoming a professional weeder, and can wash 30 20-gallon tubs in under half and hour. My ability to serve pasta and chicken nuggets with a ladle in each hand also ranks in the top of my unit.

Two weeks ago my parents and dear family friends, the Gonick's, Sadler's, and Bradfield's, came to Israel on a "Green Technology" trip. I had the pleasure of returning to normal life: sleeping, eating, drinking, and eating some more. We visited 3 wineries, hiked Masada, ate steak and seafood, learned about the environmental problems Israel faces, and my personal favorite, slept in hotels, in real beds, with fresh sheets. I had an amazing time reconnecting with family friends and establishing new ties with the Sadler's. I was able to spend quality time with each of my parent's personally and share stories about the army with my father.

At the end of everyday, it's hard to keep smiling through mental and physical exhaustion, but there's one quote that I keep saying over and over. As my dear friend Bill Bradfield says, sure things can be shitty, but at the end of the day, "Life is Good!"

With a glass of Woodford Reserve in my hand and a full stomach of my aunt's homemade pot roast,
Much love and VDBL,
Nadav E. Weinberg

Into the Wild: The IDF

Family and Friends,
I hope that all of you are well and are enjoying a plentiful holiday season.
This is by far my most compelling and entertaining update and carries with it great significance. As such, it is quite lengthy, but details my first month and a half in the IDF.

Firstly, since many don't have a visual understanding of where I live, here is a Google map of my Kibbutz, its relationship to the rest of the country, and just how far I have to travel each weekend to and from my kibbutz to my base (located outside of Be'er Sheva). Click HERE to see the map.

Secondly, I have unlocked my international calling and as incoming calls are free in Israel, I can talk to all of you from my base when I have rare moments of free time. You are able to call from your phone or from Skype by buying credit (13 cents/minute). My international phone number is 011-972-54-9005721. I have already talked to many of you, but please keep in touch and if my phone is off, please leave a message and when I get a chance, I'll make sure to call you back.

On November 19th, 2008, I reported to Tel-Hashomer at 9 am for my draft into the Nachal Brigade of the IDF. My draft was for Nachal and Tzanchanim (paratroopers) and all members of Garin Tzabar heading to one of the two units reported together. As you can see from the pictures, it is a coming of age moment for Israelis to send their son's and daughter's off to the army. My family said their goodbyes and wished me good luck as I walked through the gate with my Garin to begin the next two years of my life.
Regardless of where you are reporting to serve, everyone is required to report to Tel-Hashomer (aka Bakum) and then be sorted into his/her unit. As such, Tel-Hashomer is a massive base and in Israeli tradition, completely confusing with few signs. No one told us where Garin Tzabar had to go specifically, so we asked directions from several people working on the base, and again in Israeli tradition, each gave us completely different directions. After 1 hour of walking back and forth on the base and carrying 70 lbs of army gear, we finally found the rest of Garin Tzabar. When we finally arrived, we were greeted by Nissan, our Garin leader, and many of my Garin members, all there to wish us the best of luck.
Following joyful goodbyes, we were filtered into our units, and ended up sitting around for 8 hours until our names were called and then boarded buses to Bach Nachal (Nachal's Base). When I finally arrived at the base at 7 pm, we ate dinner immediately and began what is known as Tromp Tironut (Pre-Basic Training).

Before I begin explaining my last month and a half in Nachal, I want to elaborate on two points. Firstly, this is my second time writing much of this update as we had a very explicit presentation on what you can and cannot write in emails and post on the internet. Having suffered numerous security breaches, it is now illegal to elaborate on most of one's army experience. Therefore, many of my vivid portrayals of the army have to been rewritten to generic explanations.
Secondly, I have labeled this post, Into the Wild: The IDF, for two reasons. For those who have not seen the movie Into the Wild, I highly recommend a trip to Blockbuster tonight and watching a true masterpiece. Although the movie was riveting, I was quite upset with the ending (it is, however, based on a true story) and cannot understand how someone can give up on life. With these thoughts in mind, I wanted to title this entry after the movie in a symbolic correlation of Christopher McCandless's (the main character) journey to experience what he considered was his calling while surviving on his own--away from family and friends--to my ideologies in serving in the IDF, thousands of miles away from my family and friends.
That being said, I want to begin with a quote from Mr. McCandless that I believe summarizes my time thus far in the army and hopefully the rest of my service:

"The core of mans' spirit comes from new experiences."
Looking back on my Tromp Tirunut experience, I didn't realize how easy I had it. The purpose of Tromp Tirunut is to ease new recruits into the army's rigid structure of "Ken Hamefaked!" (Yes, Commander). For half a week we learned how to form a "Chet" (like the Hebrew letter, it's a formation in the shape of a open staple) and "Snay Torim" (two lines of soldiers). Both are done in a matter of seconds and for many, after a month in the army, people still don't fully understand how to go from formation to formation while standing at attention (one hand on your gun handle, other hand behind your back, head up, and feet together in a "V").
As you can see from the map, I live 500 meters from Lebanon, about as far north as you can get. Leaving at 8 am the first weekend, I arrived at my kibbutz 4:30 pm, 8.5 hours later! To get back and forth, I have to catch a bus from my base to Be'er Sheva central station, another bus from Be'er Sheva to Tel Aviv central station, and a 3rd bus from Tel Aviv to Koah Intersection, the intersection at the bottom of my mountain. Another 10 minute ride from Koah to Yiftach and I am finally home. Regardless, after getting out of the army and getting away from strict discipline, living minute to minute on your stopwatch, and living in a tent, a long bus ride is a welcomed change.

The second week was my first true "Into the Wild" experience: a four day tryout known as a "Gibush." I have spoken to many of you about the opportunity to serve in a Special Forces Unit in Nachal. In each brigade (Nachal, Tzanchanim, etc) there are general units known as a Gdud, and special, smaller units known as Gadsar or Sayeret Units. The Gadsar units are broken down into Parsal (a reconnaissance unit), Parchan (a tactical bomb squad), and Parnat or Orev (an anti-tank unit whose missile is called the Orev).
Talking with members of Garin Tzabar from past years, some of which are in the Gdud units and others in the Gadsar units, I was informed that if you have the opportunity to serve in a commando unit, it is a superior experience. The people are extremely driven and constantly push not only themselves but those around them to be the best he can be; Gadsar does an extra 6 months of training which includes a parachuting course and extensive Krav Maga training (hand to hand combat); the accommodations are equivalent for both Gdud and Gadsar units for training, but afterwards, the Gadsar units receive better food and sleeping quarters. As a commando unit, Gadsar is used in tactical missions around Israel, often involved in raids and arrests in Arab villages. The catch to serving in a Gadsar unit is that I would have to serve and extra half year, something that I debated about, but after some thought realized that if the opportunity presented itself, I would willing do an extra six months.
As you know, I am a person who has always pushed myself to be the best in everything from cello to a leader in my fraternity and university. Faced with the opportunity to serve with the best of the best and serve in one of the top units in the top military in the world, I eagerly jumped at the opportunity to try out for Gadsar.

The "Gibush" (try out) was four days of non-stop crawling, running, marching, sit-ups, push-ups, running up 50 ft, 70 degree sand dunes with a 40 lbs sandbag on your shoulders, and mentally tiring exercises. Again, I am not allowed to detail the Gibush day by day, but I want to emphasize that this experience was literally NON-STOP. When you crawl, you crawl in full army gear over desert rocks, cacti, and thorns for hours at a time, then jump up and sprint from place to place. Mix in rotations of sit-ups and push-ups, and doing several miles of marches with a 200 lbs "alumka" (stretcher) or a 40 lbs sandbag on your back, and we're just getting warmed up. Sleeping for stretches of only 2 hours you are beyond physically and mentally exhausted; my Hebrew suffered significantly after a day. Every 20 minutes you are required to drink half of a large water bottle (quite possibly the toughest part of the experience), and the only free time you get is 30 minutes to eat each meal. My lips were so chapped that it hurt to open my mouth to eat. I was so full of water that combined with the pain of blistered lips, I ate no more than 1,000 calories a day while burning upwards of 5,000 calories a day. Keep in mind that the entire time you are trying to impress the commanders who are writing down every little movement that you make. You want to be first in every exercise despite the fact that you have nothing left inside of you. The purpose of the Gibush is to push every person to his limit and beyond. The army is looking for the mentally strongest soldiers they can trust to remain calm under pressure.

Here's a summary by numbers:

400 soldiers started
120 soldiers finished
70 soldiers were chosen (35 for Parsal (recon unit) and 35 for Orev (anti-tank))
8 lbs that I lost over 4 days
5 lbs that I gained over the next 3 days of nonstop eating
1 of 35 soldiers chosen to be a commando in Orev

The walk back from the Gibush to my base was one of the most best feelings of my life. Everyone who had tried out but didn't finish came out to greet us, clapping and cheering, a true hero's welcome. As I put my gear back in my tent, one of the soldiers in my unit came up to me, looked me in the eye, and told me the following:
"Nadav, we had no idea what to think of you. You're an American who came to serve, and everyone thinks you're crazy. But you don't understand what you've done; in Israeli society to finish a Gibush says everything about a man's character and who he is. You have my utmost respect. Congratulations."
I had barely talked to this soldier before. I was so taken back that for a minute I forgot about the tremendous pain I was in, and smiled. The most amazing feeling swept over my body, and my eyes began to water. I had done it, I was in Israel, serving in the IDF, and had completed one of the toughest try outs of any army in the world. My commander came up to me next, with an ear to ear grin, he shook my hand and slapped me on my back. Not bad for a 22 year old Clevelander.

The next day with the whole platoon of 120 soldiers at attention, they called out a list of 10 names, one of which was mine. I had been chosen to serve in Gadsar. Leaving base, I have rarely been happier. I was bruised from my ribs to below my knees, my hands were cut and bleeding, I hadn't slept in a week, but I couldn't stop smiling. I had done it. Despite being far from fluent in Hebrew, I had done it. I spent the weekend at my family's at Moshav Ein Habsor, exchanging army stories with all members of the family. I felt more a part of Israeli society than ever.

The following week I reported to Gadsar where I was told that I had been placed in Orev, the anti-tank unit. The week was unbelievably challenging. Long gone was the relaxed pace of Tromp Tirunut. We had half the time to do the same tasks, and if anyone dared to move or talk in formation, everyone was in "matzav sti'im" (push-up position), holding the position for several minutes or doing push ups. The purpose of Tirunut (Basic Training) is to take 18 year olds, break them down, and build them up as disciplined soldiers. Trust is key in the army; your commanders need to know that no matter the situation, you will obey orders in a matter of seconds. Although I struggled from time to time with being older than those around me, I was rarely frustrated as those around me were quite mature and unbelievably generous people. I felt right at home. My 3 commanders were extremely strict, but some of the most amazing people I have ever met.
At the beginning of the next week, I was pulled aside and told to speak with the commander of my platoon. He presented me with a piece of paper and a pen and told me that to stay in Orev, I would have to sign for an extra year. We discussed the opportunities that lay ahead if I stayed and he informed me that although in past years Nachal had made exceptions to older soldiers with 2.5 years instead of 3 years, this was the first year that they were instituting a no tolerance policy of less than 3 years. I spent the next two days talking with my 3 commanders, asking for their advice, listening to their experiences, and trying to sort my life out. I wanted so badly to sign; I was privileged to be one of a select group of people in the world to serve in an special forces unit of the IDF. My decision was made after a very emotional conversation my parents and hearing my father's stories about his service in the IDF. After hanging up the phone, the commander of the platoon approached me. With tears rolling down my cheeks, I reached into my pocket, looked at the folded contract, and handed it to the commander without my signature. I apologized and thanked him for his time and support. I thanked each of my 3 commanders for their wisdom and support, and said goodbye to each of my new friends in my unit. This is a decision that I will reminisce about for the rest of my life and a part of me will always regret my decision. Carrying all of my gear, I stopped at the top of the Gadsar barracks, kissed the Gadsar sign, and prepared to begin my service in the 50th Airborne Battalion.

My transition was rough. I am surrounded by quality soldiers, but I feel older, I feel 22. Discipline is not as strict, and in some sick-twisted way, I missed getting yelled for every little mistake. The roughest part of the transition was like my unit in Orev, everyone in my new unit had already bonded, and now came along a 22 year old, American, ex-Orev soldier. People looked at me differently, not knowing what to think. Breaking into a new group of friends, I have struggled to find my niche in the unit. However, as time passes and we bond through the trials and tribulations of Basic Training, I feel more at home with the group of guys that I am serving with. My commanders are tough and I have many more American friends in the platoon. I can't explain how nice it is to run into some friends and speak English for 20 minutes a day.

For 3 days two weeks ago, Nachal had Hebrew classes for all of its international soldiers. It was both a blessing and a curse. It was great to spend some time just learning Hebrew (and a nice break from the army) and spending time with Americans, but it made me more homesick than ever. Everyone talked about Chipotle, Bud Lite, IHOP pancakes, bacon, and all the little things that you cannot get in Israel. I started reminiscing about all you: family, friends, relationships and all the things I have left behind. The most amazing thing about the army is that since you have virtually NO personal time, all the little things are exponentially magnified. Reading a newspaper, checking my email, listening to music, drinking a beer, and not having to look at my watch to see if my 5 minutes are up while taking a shower or going to the bathroom mean more now than ever. I appreciate life and freedom in a completely new way.

The last two weeks have been an introduction to the M-16, how to take it apart, fire it, and take care of it. We have done several "Masot" (marches), each increasing by 2 km (4, 6, and 8 km) and had a couple classes in Krav Maga. The last Masa we did was 8 km at 4 am in the freezing cold desert wind. With the entire sky shining above us, we walked through the sunrise and up to the Tel Arad fortress where we were given our Nachal tags in a moving ceremony. The following day we packed up and boarded buses to Jerusalem for our "Tekes Hashbah" (soldier swearing in ceremony).

The Tekes Hashbah for Nachal takes place at the Kotel (Western Wall). With the entire new Nachal unit standing in formation, each soldier receives his M-16 and a Torah. The head of the base read the Oath:

"Here I am swearing and committing myself, upon my word to remain loyal to the state of Israel,
To her rules and her authoritative government and to take upon myself unconditionally and without any limit the discipline burden of the Israeli Defense Forces,
To obey all orders and instructions which are given by the qualified commanders and to devote all of my strength and even to sacrifice my life in order to protect the homeland and the liberty of Israel."

Standing in front of the Kotel with the Israeli flag waving in the wind, holding one's M-16 and the Torah, each unit screams "Ani Ashbah, Ani Ashbah, Ani Ashbah!" (I swear, I swear, I swear). With family and friends surrounding me, I realized in that moment that all of the little things that we spend so much time worrying about don't matter. There is only one Jewish homeland, one Jewish army in the entire world. We are surrounded by enemies on all boarders and fight for our existence each and everyday. As a Jew, each of us has an obligation to support and defend the most important piece of land on this earth. I proudly screamed at the top of my lungs "Ani Ashbah, Ani Ashbah, Ani Ashbah." I have taken an oath to defend this country and help it however I can. If I don't do that, who will? Ask yourself what you've done recently to help Israel. You don't need to serve in the IDF to swear an oath to defend the only Jewish homeland; I challenge you to donate time, energy, and money to Israel. If you don't, who will?

For all of us, fear is ever present. We always catch ourselves saying,I don't have enough time, enough energy. Having served in the army for only a month and a half, I have a new respect for the larger things in life. We spend too much time complaining, too much time blaming others. Stop putting off your fears and dive in already because on the other side of fear is freedom.

I have never been more proud to be Jewish, an American, and an Israeli.
I hope each of you take on your fears and duties this new year.
With much love, VDBL and h**,

Nadav E. Weinberg

T-minus 4 Days...

Family and Friends,
I hope that all of you and your families are well.
I have tried to load pictures from my phone to my computer, but have had some problems. Pictures will hopefully be up on the website (nadavweinberg.blogspot.com) in due time.

In just 4 days (November 19th), I report for my service in the IDF. Currently, I will be reporting to the 50th Airborne Battalion of the Nachal Brigade. I was informed a few weeks ago that my Hebrew has reached a level of fluency that I am not required to attend Mcvayalon (the army Ulpan--Hebrew immersion course). I am thrilled to have bypassed Mkvayalon, but realize that my Hebrew is far from fluent and my frustrations and confusions with language alone in the IDF will occur hourly. Speaking with members of last year's Garin, they said the drawback of not knowing Hebrew is clear and is accompanied by hundreds of push-ups, but the benefit is that after making a mistake, you WILL learn that word or phrase and you WILL NOT make that mistake again. I laugh just thinking how difficult everyone says the army is who already speaks Hebrew, and knowing that I face a whole new set of challenges.

Two weeks ago I obtained a cello from a local Kibbutz. Although the cello has not been played in several years and after spending an hour readjusting all the different facets of the cello, I was able to play for the first time in over half a year (the longest span in my 13 year tenure). Frustrated with boredom, Kibbutz life, girls, and the anticipation of the IDF, the only release that I have had is running and working out. Cello gives me a completely different high, a different stress relief, an ability to put everything else in the world aside and just concentrate on a note, a bar, a phrase. I am able to separate myself from the frustrations of my daily life and move into a world that only exists in the four feet of wood and metal between my legs. Slowly by slowly, my form has come back and I am able to move from scales to etudes to concertos once again. When my life seems lost and confusing--especially when I struggle with a new language, culture, and people)--I am able to take an hour and escape everything and enter a world that is mathematical, flowing, and familiar; I know what comes next, I understand this language. Cello is truly a constant in my life when everything else is new and formidable.

Our Garin has had several tours of Israel over the past two weeks. Yesterday, I returned from a week-long visit to Eilat. On our way down, we stopped at a Moshav that has one of the largest herds of cows in the country. We pet the new calves, fed them through large baby bottles, and even had the opportunity to milk a few of the adult cows. It is truly amazing how the Moshav has each step of the cow's life down to a science. There is a secluded area for all of the pregnant cows, a separate pen for each calf, and computer chips strapped to each cow's leg so that it automatically registers where each cow is, how many times it has been milked that day, and when the next milking is. The cows are milked 3 times a day, and produce a tremendous amount of milk despite the fact that no hormones or steroids are used to enhance the output. After milking and petting the calves we walked through the grapefruit and orange orchards where I had the richest orange in my life. Walking to a creek, we ate an ironic yet unbelievably tasty lunch of fresh steaks.

Other stops along the path to Eilat included the Dead Sea, Ein Getti (one of Israel's wildlife preserves), and another night in a Bedouin tent. The trip in Eilat was more enjoyable than my first in August. The weather was more temperate and the 15-17 year olds were replaced with elderly couples. We enjoyed a day kayaking, boating, and tubing on the Gulf. With 3-4 people on each tube and 2 tubes attached to the boat, we were whipped around the Gulf at 20 MPH, holding on for dear life as we jumped from tube to tube and held on in different positions: one handed, upside down, hanging onto each other, and trying to pull others off all while making sure you still had a hand on the tube. The next day was a cruise on a yacht with back flips and slides off the boat with beer and music. The rest of the time we hung out on the beach and went out to clubs at night. Pictures from all of our adventures will be up as soon as I get them from others.

In other news, my cousin Dror returned from Australia and I have had a great time going out with him in Tel Aviv and spending time with the rest of my family before going to the army. Last week was the 13th memorial since Yitzhak Rabin's assassination. I attended the memorial at Rabin Square along with thousands of young and elderly peace activists waiving "Peace Now" signs. It was amazing to be apart of history, to see how strong the youth of this country are, and how badly peace is desired, even to this day.

I love hearing from so many of you and hope we continue our correspondences.
This will be my last update before joining the IDF and as so, I cannot promise when my next post will be. No matter what, know that you are all loved and missed and I appreciate your prayers.
With great anticipation, excitement, and angst,
Love and VDBL,

Nadav E. Weinberg

A visit home and becoming a soldier

Family and Friends,
I hope that all of you are well, enjoying the Fall, and a beginning to a successful year.
As always, a reminder to check out new pictures and past posts on my blog: nadavweinberg.blogspot.com (Pictures will be posted in the next few days).

My most recent post described many of my recent experiences in Israel, but all along I was tempted to mention that I would be visiting Cleveland in just a few days. With a week long vacation from Rosh Hashana to Yom Kippur, and with the next opportunity to visit home a year away, I impulsively decided to purchase a ticket home (thank you Grandma and Grandpa for the ticket). I decided to surprise friends by showing up at their doorsteps unannounced, a shock that led many without words and in sheer elation. With two days of long travel, my 10 day trip was condensed to 8 days. Picked up at the airport by my parents and Meg, we went straight to Jack's Diner where I was able to order my craving, BACON (yes, yes, I know, I am a bad Jew). My time home was celebrated with best friend Kabir's 21st birthday, my fraternity big brother, Rick's 25th birthday, and in perfect proportion, my father's 29th birthday! In good ol' American tradition, Kabir's 21st was celebrated by bars and clubs in downtown Cleveland, and Rick and Kabir's birthdays were celebrated at my house in Shaker by a perfect Sunday Argentinean Asado: 27 lbs of chimichuria marinated meat, delicious microbrew beers, countless friends, cornhole, and my beloved Redskins dominating division rival Philadelphia Eagles. This truly was the Sunday that I had been craving: steak, beer, friends, and FOOTBALL (and not having to stay up until 2 AM to watch the games). I was just as equally enthralled to spend Yom Kippur with my parents in the comforts of my synagogue, B'nai Jeshurun. To say the least, this Yom Kippur was vastly different than any previous High Holiday, with prayers for my safety, help, and direction, as well as those for my family and Meg. The sojourn home was refreshing but exhausting trying to catch up with so many great friends one-on-one.

In just a few days home, I realized quickly how much my life has already changed. I am living two vastly different lives: one in the US, and one in Israel. I have a comfortable and much beloved life in Cleveland and a simultaneously new, exciting, and scary life in Israel. What will the army bring me? Where will it take me? Who will I be at the end of my service? How much will I have changed? These are all questions that continuously play in my head, and questions that were front and foremost while home. I will not lie, for about 2 seconds I said to myself, "let's be smart about this, let's stay home, have a cushy life, no fear, no danger." I spent much of Yom Kippur dwelling on my decisions and asking G-d for the strength to continue and complete the path that I have started. I know deep down that there is no choice in the matter, no choice for me as a person with my ideologies. No matter how badly the next few years will hurt, no matter how many times I will cry and feel that I have nothing left, no matter how many times I will curse myself that I could be drinking a beer and watching a football game at a bar, I will never regret this decision. Of course it is hard, I left a perfect girl friend, a golden job opportunity, and bright future to get yelled at by an 18 year old. But these are the experiences that define life, the experiences that shape the person one will be. It is unfair of me to sit back while the rest of my countrymen serve their country; what type of a person would that make me? I want to look my children in the face (many, many years down the road, mind you), and be able to say proudly that I defended the home of our ancestors and Jewish people. Time and time again I come back to this quote, but it truly defines me as a person and my decision to take the road less traveled:

"It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."
-President Teddy Roosevelt

That being said, there's one other way that I look at my decision: this is the luckiest decision I have ever made. Few predicted the credit crisis to be this widespread and shake Wall Street to its core. Had I chosen to go the financial route in New York, I would almost certainly be without a job (let's be honest, May college graduate, Junior Analyst, and job cutting across the board, I would be first out the door). Furthermore, the expected turnaround is around 3 years, right in time for my return to financial markets. Even an atheist has to agree that someone up there is looking out for me!

My return home to Israel included a 12 hour layover in Brussels. Despite being sleep deprived, I toured the city, enjoying a traditional Belgium breakfast (Belgium waffles, Belgium hot chocolate, croissants, and cheeses). The city is gorgeous: a quaint, ancient European city that has kept its charm and mystique. I took a bus tour of the city and learned about the Belgium Royalty, the UN, and the famous "Pee-pee Boy" who is much smaller than I expected, only about a foot and a half tall. (There are several legends about the boy, but the one I was told is that in 14th Century the city of Brussels was under siege and the enemies had rigged the walls of the city with explosives. A little boy walked by and peed on the fuse, saving the city). Despite being 3 AM on my internal clock and having not slept for 30 hours, I attempted to find a local pub to try some Belgium beers, but frustrated by the service at several pubs (I speak about 3 words of French and German combined), I called it quits and headed for the airport. You can see many pictures of my experience on the blog.

My return to kibbutz life was immediately turned upside down when I found out that my roommate, Ilan, did not plan to return to Israel and continue the IDF process. Ilan was not only my roommate, but best friend. It has been rough to continue on without him, but I wish him the best in restarting his life in Boston.
Kibbutz life is a little different than usual as we have been given a project called "Hachraza Garin," translated literally as "Announcement of the Garin." We have to compile movies, skits, and songs that make fun of Garin members and explain who we are as a group. We are entering the third week of filming, editing, and singing, with the presentation this weekend. It is a great way for the Garin to become a better part of Kibbutz Yiftach. On a side note, filming was rough for a few days as Ethan, a great friend, and I stayed up for two consecutive nights until 6:30 AM to watch game 6 and 7 of the ALCS. I refuse to give up my American sports habits.

Just before I left for Cleveland, we were informed of our "Mishpacha Miametzet," or host families. Along with Hadas, a girl in my Garin, we are members of the Barak family. It is a nice break to celebrate holidays and Shabbat at the Barak home while eating delicious home cooked food. As with so many Israelis, we are told profusely to stop by at any and all times and to treat their home as my own. It is comforting to become more connected to the Kibbutz and have not only a host family but home cooked food once a week.

In a group announcement, we were informed of our destinations in the IDF. As expected, I will be going to Gdud 50 in Nachal (Gdud is a Battalion) on November 19th. Although I drafted until the 19th, this past Wednesday, I reported to Bakum, every soldier's first destination when being drafted. We received our madim (uniforms), vaccinations, army identification cards, and dog tags (called diskot). Carrying my bag of army gear and showing my IDF ID, my bags were not checked and was able to ride buses for free (or a small fee). This is the second to final step of becoming an Israeli soldier. On November 19th, I will take my final step, but for now I am immediately treated as an Israeli citizen when I show my ID, a comforting feeling.

If you read the articles on my decision to make Aliyah and join the IDF (links in first installment on the blog), you know that I have a great interest in meeting family members on my father's side that I have not be in touch with. One family member, David Shamban, is a renown cellist who currently resides in Germany. I was able to find him on the web, and sent him an email. Quickly responding to my email, David informed me of a local violin maker who I may be able to rent a cello from. Calling the violin maker, he was quite happy to hear from me and promised me that he would find me a cello. Having not touched a cello since March, I am aching to get my hands on one! I may not have only found a cello, but now have started a dialogue with someone that I have grown up hearing so much about, and one of the reasons that I chose to play cello.

It was truly amazing to see so many of you recently. Know that no matter where I am, what is going on in my life, or where we stand, you are all loved and missed greatly.
Please be in touch and tell me about your life. I want to hear from you!
Love and VDBL,

Nadav Weinberg

Bootcamp, Exams, Military Exercises, and much more, IDF style

Family and Friends,
I hope that all of you are well and enjoying a return to school and work. I wish you a very happy, healthy, and productive Shana Tova (New Year)!
My apologizes on the delay of another installment, but as you'll read, I've been quite busy.

A few reminders/updates:
- Many new pictures and past updates on my blog nadavweinberg.blogspot.com. I have added pictures from "bootcamp," a tour of Kibbutz Yiftach, and more.
- Please note a slight change in my address. Also, shipping in Israel, please use Hebrew, otherwise use English (I don't think the USPS is up on their Hebrew):

Nadav Weinberg
Kibbutz Yiftach
Garin Tzabar 2008
D.N. Marom Galel
Israel 13840

I ended my last entry by saying that I was on my way to Gadna, Israel's mini pre-IDF bootcamp for High Schoolers. The intent of Gadna, is as simple as previously stated, a week-long course that has participants assimilate the army by waking up at 6 am, marching, being yelled at, given orders to do in unrealistic time periods, eating out of cans, and being introduced to the standard issue M-16. I was expecting a much more rigorous week that pushed our bodies physically with runs and calisthenics, but most of the time we were told to run 10 meters at a time, and then yelled at for 2 minutes on how we did it incorrectly. Another 10 meter run and one person would not be in perfect attention form and we would get yelled at again. Repeat this over and over, and over the course of 5 days and you begin to laugh at the shear ridiculous nature of Gadna. When we were not being yelled at, we were picking up trash around the base and learning about the M-16.

There are two stories that I remember with great detail. The first day we were told to fill our individual canteens, called a meymiah, paint our faces, and one lucky person (it is always the largest kid in each group; I'll let you guess who that one was...me) got to carry a 5 gallon Jerrycan on his back. After an extensive march, we went over a few other aspects of a neshek (gun) as well as crawling tactics. This was followed by fake grenade throwing and diving around like idiots while hiding in the shetach (field). The light at the end of the tunnel was lunch: a splendid feast of tuna fish, olives, peppers (all canned) and bread. The only course missing was Luf, the Kosher IDF Spam, which I'll take a pass on for as long as possible. The catch to eating our food was two-fold: we were 19 men and were given the equivalent rations of 12 girls, and the four inch can opener we were given (yes, that is singular), was broken. To say that mayhem ensued is an understatement. I have a vivid image in my mind that mirrors our primitive ancestors of 19 men screaming and ripping bread from each other while smashing cans with blunt rocks. With blood pouring from fingers, the sweet victory of opening a can of red peppers was relished for only seconds before a swarm of 5 men overtook the can, pouring its contents directly into their mouths. The goal was to allocate the resources as equally as possible, taking care of each member, a task we failed miserably at. No worries, we'll have 2+ years to figure that one out.
The second story occurred that same night as we went on another march at night and told that we would have a game of capture the flag. We were given 2 minutes to disguise ourselves while the soldiers scattered around the hill, and placed our flag, a glowstick, on the top tree. Still carrying the Jerrycan, I crawled up the hill before being tagged out halfway up (quite impossible to crawl with 5 gallons of water splashing around on your back). I took off the Jerrycan for the second attempt and got within 10 feet of the glowstick before someone in front of me moved and we were spotted. The next day we were marching past the same hill and looking at it, we were delighted to see that we had been crawling in tons of cow manure in every direction.

The two major points that I draw from Gadna are that the IDF takes a very meticulous approach to teaching every soldier to respect the power and danger of weapons and at times, taking orders from an 18 year old girl are harder than I thought. Regardless, our mefakedit (commander) was the best at the base and treated us with great respect.

On a side note, going back to the M-16, each group was required to carry 2 M-16s and we had several classes explaining in detail what each part of the weapon is, does, and how to respect the nature of the weapon. At the end of the week we got to shoot 11 rounds under strict supervision. Although it was only for a short time, I came away with a great fear and respect for the M-16. While so many 18 year olds around me were ecstatic with getting to shoot an assault rifle, I took a minute to consider the sheer force and danger that the weapon has and the realization that at the pull of the trigger I can end someone's life. For so many 18 year olds it is clear that they are living their Halo dream, I only hope that they also respect the weapon, because they are the future of the world's most ethical military.

It seems almost every week that we have another meeting with someone from the IDF, but we recently had our two most important meetings, Sav Rishon and Yaionot Shirutz. Sav Rishon is literally translated as "first calling" where to-be-soldiers take a series of tests that include an extensive hour and a half interview, a physical exam, and a psychometric exam. The interview was conducted exclusively in Hebrew and was an at-ease dialogue about my family, background, and reasons for making Aliyah and joining the IDF. The trickiest part was when I was given two sentences and asked to read them and define random words in each sentence while explaining the meaning of the sentence in whole. The best analogy I can surmise is the following: imagine that you have just come to America with a basic understanding of English, and are given two lines of Shakespeare to read. Most of us struggle to understand Shakespeare despite reading several of his works (I know I'm one of them), but try reading a paragraph without being fluent in English and you'll be firmly in my shoes. Similarly, most of the words I was given are very high Hebrew that very few Israeli's use or know. This was followed by my interviewer reading me two sentences very quickly and repeating them while I was told to write out each sentence to check my writing and spelling abilities.
The physical exam is similar to any physical you take for work or a sport's team. My blood was tested for a variety of diseases, as well as blood pressure, eye, height and weight, and a myriad of other exams. I'm happy to say that despite my very poor eyes (-4.75 in each eye), I still scored a perfect 97 which allows me to do just about any unit in the military. The psychometric exam was conducted on a computer and was a 25 minute exam testing one's visual and spacial reasoning. We were given two different exams similar to SAT word analogies (apple:carrot fruit:???) except with 2- and 3-dimensional objects. Everyone looks like a fool sitting at a computer and twisting his hands around in the air imagining what a certain object looks like rotated 90 degrees to the left, introverted, and adding a square in the middle.

Yaionot Shirutz is the "placement interview" day where we were given a 20 page questionnaire to fill out that includes every question you could ever imagine and a 40 question section with open ended sentences that you have to finish in under 20 minutes. The IDF loves the kinds of questions that force you to respond with your first instinct, it shows your true colors without having time to think. During the questionnaire we had two different interviews: the first was with a woman who asked us straightforward questions on why we came, what we want to do in the IDF, and why, and the second with a man who wanted the same information but said simply, "tell me about yourself." Again, all interviews were done in Hebrew, and the two played good cop, bad cop with the woman being very friendly and the man scouring over my answers and nodding in a slightly disapproving manner. However at the end of my interview when he asked where I wanted to go, I kept insisting Nachal (which happened to be his unit as well) and after giving my reasons, he nodded and said, "well, looks like that's where you'll go then." Although I don't have it in writing, it's looking pretty positive on me going to Nachal!

The last big activity that I have been a part of was watching a massive military exercise in the southern tip of Israel by Eilat. Led by Shirion, the tank unit, we were able to see an exercise on a makeshift terrorist village that included Merkava tanks shooting from all directions, engineers looking for mines, snipes taking out select targets, and ground troops sprinting to different spots while neutralizing terrorist targets (all with live fire). All in all it was quite the feat to watch, but frightening at the same time. Until you have stood 50 yards from a Merkava 4 tank shooting at full range, you can never really understand the brutal force of these killing machines. Again I find myself learning to respect all of these weapons in many different ways. It is quite the scary thought to think that I will be one of those soldiers in less than a month! (You can see a few pictures on the blog, but I was only able to take a couple of pictures before the IDF forced us to turn our cameras off for security purposes).

All in all not too much else is new. Days tend to blend together with a cycle of Hebrew Ulpan, running/swimming, tutoring, and group activities. I had my first breakthrough in Hebrew where things are starting to come together. Still far from fluent, I have gained the ability to speak on most subjects with some ease and words are starting to come to my tongue quicker and quicker. It's exciting, but I am all too cognizant of how much further I still have to go!

From the land of Milk and Honey, I wish you a sweet and successful New Year!
Love and VDBL,

Nadav Weinberg