The Returning Stranger

What Happened

2011-08-15T14:22:00.000+03:00

When I started writing this blog all that time ago in the middle of the night in my room in New Jersey I never thought it would turn out like this. I was laying in bed, unable to sleep, thinking about all the fucked up things that had happened to me over the past 18-years of my life. All the shit I had to put up with and how I had this little fantasy that maybe joining the IDF would somehow rescue me from the horror and despair I felt inside of myself. I didn't know how to sort out the wave of new emotions I was feeling. Suddenly, I start thinking up a narrative in my head and furiously typed out the first draft of my the first post I ever put up that's linked to on the right hand side. After drafting it and revising it I figured it would be a great way to set the mood for a blog that tried to take a different angle from all the other "foreigner in the IDF" blogs. They all seemed sort of the same, detailing what it was like before and during the army in dry detail with descriptions of how great it feels, it's hard but fun at the same time, dreams really can come true. Eh, boring, let's hear about pain and suffering and how not everything has a happy ending.

I didn't make Aliyah to live the dream, I made Aliyah to get the as far away from New Jersey as possible. If the moon was a country and it had an army, I would have enlisted there. I wanted to put as much space, physical and mental, between me and the place where I was raised. The people as well, I didn't want to have to deal with them their selfishness and dysfunction anymore. I knew that if I stayed with them, I would end up being like them whether I liked it or not.

When I got to Israel I wasn't happy or excited, I was in a daze. As time went on, I started to relish my freedom. The general feeling was one of relief. I struggled a lot with the Hebrew and because I couldn't learn it and pull of an authentic Israeli accent, to this day it still prevents me from really feeling like I've assimilated into Israeli society.

My draft dates kept getting put off for various reasons and I was scared that I was never really going to do it and that one day I would go back to America with my tail between my legs all my family members who that I was crazy would point and laugh and say "toldyaso."

When I moved onto my kibbutz with garin tzabar, that's when I started to get serious. I started to really learn about the units, started training really hard, and had my eyes set on shayetet, the navy seals. I went to the try out and didn't make it. Didn't even come close. So then I kept training with hopes of doing the gibush for tzanchanim. They didn't even let me do it. "Request denied." I didn't even get a chance to try out. This already started to devastate me a little, but there's still Golani and maybe Givati or Nachal. But nope, the army decided that wasn't for me either. They decided that "field intelligence" is for me (and by the way, the official name of this unit as per posters made by the IDF is actually "field collecting" but I'll be god damned if I go around for the rest of my life telling people I was in the prestigious "field collecting" unit, what is this, a fucking scavenger hunt?)

I requested to transfer right away before I drafted, but was told to wait until I get to the bakum and try to transfer there. During the time before I drafted I looked into FI and spoke with people from the unit, and thought it sounded kind of cool. As such, I got very confused and started second guessing the dream I'd had for a year-and-half already, which was being in the infantry. The katzin miun actually gave us a chance to change, but I didn't take it. I thought that I'd never forgive myself if I hated the infantry and one day found out that field intelligence was actually a great opportunity that I missed out on.

Within a month of being in my new unit I already started filing my transfer papers. With all due respect, this is not what I came for. I sat down and explained it to my M"P, and he said he would support me. All the officers from him on up recommended the transfer but in spite of all that it was eventually denied. I remember that day and how my spirits were crushed. I didn't sign up to suffer for three years thinking about what a big mistake I made, how the army fucked me and I'm also partially responsible for ruining my own dream. All that training, all that dreaming, all the shit I went through in this country, for nothing.

That was nine months ago. I finished all the brutal training they put us through, earned my position as a "negevist," and the respect of my commanders. In spite of this, I still like I'm doing something that I wasn't meant to do. It consumes my thoughts on a daily basis. On the bad days, I wake up some mornings with a black hole in my chest. I can't stand telling people where I am in the army and hearing comments like "oh, you guys basically just walk a lot," or "tazpitanim b'shetach." I gave up everything to be in this army and been made to feel like a chump for it. That's essentially why I've stopped writing this blog, because after all that I went through, the day I got shipped to FI was the day that a small part of me died-- the part that would pump out these blog entries. I have nothing to say anymore.

I know that the army is the army and that I need to be where they need me, but still, I can't go on like this. I made a crucial mistake and am going to spend the next two years of my army service paying for it (almost one full year is done). I believe in the state of Israel, but everyday I think about how dumb I am for letting this happen to me. I don't know what to say, but I feel like I owe an explanation to my readers, who probably never come back here anymore, and with good reason. In addition to that, I also had to get this off my chest, which this blog has always been great for.

I don't know if I have the balls to call this a "farewell post." I have a lot more time in the army and I'm sure in that time I'll feel the need to write more entries, but for now, I want to at least let those who read my blog know what happened, and that for the time being I am incapable of coming out with things to write about on a regular basis, which has been pretty obvious anyway due to my lack of posting.

Building a Future

2010-11-10T10:38:00.000+02:00

When I was in high school I didn’t care about my grades. I always found flaws in the education system and used that as an excuse to not try. Oh, I’m not going to waste my time on something I don’t even believe in. I always knew in the back of my head that I was digging myself into a hole. I knew that my general apathy was going to continue to eat away slowly at me unless I flipped my world upside down.

So that’s exactly what I did over a year ago when I made aliyah, but I’m only now realizing how important hard work is, and how exceeding in one part of life sets up all the dominoes for you to succeed in the next part of your life as well. Unfortunately, up until now, I haven’t been setting up the dominoes properly. I didn’t exercise properly like I should have over the past year, and honestly, if I had, I probably would have gotten an invitation from yom sayerot. People always told me that it’s a strong mind they look for, because the army can whip anyone who has a healthy body into shape. But you know what, all my friends who got invitations to gibushim are in amazing shape, and everyone who wasn’t in shape didn’t get an invitation. So go figure.

It’s hit me that my poor grades mean that when I finish the army I’m going to have to work extra hard in order to exceed in college. It means that from the get go I’m going to be at a disadvantage during the application process. It means that I’ll have to spend years making up for the lethargy I embodied during high school. It means a lot of things, and if I had put in the work beforehand, I would be much better off right now. It means that I have to succeed in the army so that I can start building a future for myself in Israel.

All of this coupled with the news that I didn’t get into the infantry. I was almost completely certain I’d get Golani, Givati, or Nahal. That’s what I’ve been dreaming about for over a year, it’s what I listed as my number one choice, and I didn’t get any of them. Instead I got field intelligence. At first I was shocked and thought to myself that I’ll fight tooth and nail to get out, but now that I’ve spoken with people about it, it doesn’t sound that bad. The job is from what I hear important, not at all “jobnik," and uses lots of cutting edge interesting technology.

My decision is that I’m still going to do everything I can to get into infantry, because that’s what I’ve always wanted. On the other hand, I also don’t want to risk losing field intelligence because it sounds like it could be pretty amazing. There are no special forces within the unit which upsets me because I’d like to give that a shot and if I go to FI I’ll never get to experience a gibush. Also, FI doesn’t get as much basic training as the infantry. Other than that, the overall training is still from what I hear very intense and lasts 8.5 months.

Basically, it’s all going to come down to my attitude. I know that my future has a lot of opportunities in store for me if I play my cards right and put in the hard work.

Red Beret Not in My Future

2010-11-07T10:37:00.000+02:00

“I don’t regret the crossroads I’ve passed. Once past the crossing, I’m on my own way. And if there’s more beauty, more flowers along the road I didn’t take, I still don’t regret it, because it wasn’t my road. My path will pass through fertile fields and lovely gardens, and over mountains and rocks and even deserts, but in all its twists it will be on the one path--known and yet mysterious. Our life is a world unto itself within many others--planes that will never touch. And all the roads are traveled by people, and sometimes they meet at the crossroads, and sometimes continue together, and sometimes part again and sometimes not. And it isn’t just a matter of direction, but of time as well. And why be so interested in other planes, when we can hardly master our own?” - Yoni Netanyahu

I just found out recently that I didn’t get the tzanchanim gibush. I’m quite disappointed because with not getting an invitation at yom sayerot that’s two of my dreams shot down by the cold selection process of the IDF. I was given the vague answer that my file doesn’t fit with their criteria. Somethings just weren’t meant to be. I’m going to feel bad for a few days, probably like I did just after yom sayerot, but I have to look ahead and focus on the endless opportunities that are still within my grasp.

As I was walking back from the dining room, mulling over the bad news in my head, I thought to myself that all this training and exercise has been for nothing. But that’s not really true, I’ve been physically and mentally much stronger lately. That’s an achievement in itself, and I better not let myself down by giving up just because the paratroopers don’t want me.

In fact, what I should do is try even harder. The best revenge is forgetting about those who might have ignored you or kicked you while you were down. I’m going to carve my own path in whatever unit I end up in, and make it the loss of shayetet-13 and tzanchanim, not my loss.

I have a good friend from Germany that was extremely dedicated to his training and a natural leader. He’s one of the most influential people I’ve ever met. To make a long story short, he went to yom sayerot and didn’t get an invitation. Then his file got mishandled and he ended up in a very undesirable unit. He fought to get out, he went to gibushim within the unit (and finished), and pulled all the strings he could, but none of it worked out. He told me once while he was still in basic training that his plan was to become an officer in the unit, so as to start building a future for himself.

That’s what sets him apart from most people. Even though he utterly hated his situation, his response was still to give as much of an effort as possible. At the end of basic training, he was selected among a handful of other people as one of the best cadets. The honor won him a free ticket into the unit that he did a gibush for-- the unit that initially rejected him.

It’s people like him and Yoni Netanyhu that set the example I need to follow. To stop looking backward, and to just focus on the present. My biggest fear now is to not end up in infantry. I’ll be devastated if that happens. But even if that turns out to be the case, I’ll keep fighting and try to make my service time as meaningful as possible. The only thing it’s going to take is a strong and focused mind.

Other than that, I will almost definitely be going to the army in the next two to three weeks. I don't yet know to which brigade.

Becoming a Soldier

2010-11-02T11:43:00.000+02:00

Every IDF draftee has a similar first day-- he or she goes to the “Bakum” at Tel HaShomer in Ramat Gan, which is right outside of Tel Aviv. From there, the draftee is processed into the army and then shipped to his base where he will serve. If everything goes smoothly people can finish up at the Bakum in one day, but sometimes there are hiccups and it can take as long as a week (or so I’ve heard.)

For garin tzabar, it works differently. We all went to the Bakum, and went through most of the things that draftees go through on their first day, but instead of being shipped to our base, we were allowed to go home. We got our teeth photographed, fingerprints taken, x-rayed, given vaccinations, had a few interviews about where we want to go, and got our dog tags and soldier ID cards (hogerim). This means that we are officially considered soldiers of the IDF, even though we live completely civilian lives. It also means that our army service has officially begun, so the countdown until I get discharged has begun. It’s amazing to me to think how dramatically my life is going to change in a few weeks or so when I really get drafted. As far as I know, the only things we didn’t get were our uniforms. By the way, don't sweat it if you are afraid of getting shots. There were lots of people that day who were quite nervous, and afterwards all of them had the same thing to say, "It wasn't that bad."

The ID card we have is great, it allows us to travel for free or at a reduced price on most public transportation. We’re technically not supposed to be allowed to travel for free, but a lot of the bus drivers never say anything to me, or to my friends. Lately I’ve been getting more serious, have been exercising more, reading more, and in general have been more focused. The tzanchanim gibush is coming up in a couple of weeks, and although I haven’t been invited yet, I assume that I will.

It's similar to the situation I was in with yom sayerot. They only let me know the day before that I was invited. Yom sayerot was an interesting experience, I finished the day, but unfortunately didn’t get an invitation to any of the gibushim. I’ll write about it my next post. I’m happy that I did it though, because it was interesting and gives me a better idea of what to expect at the tzanchanim gibush.

After the day was over we were told to give our "regular" hogerim back and they were replaced with different ones that stay we are soldiers in "shalat" which is a Hebrew acronym "service without payment." It took almost two hours and we had to sit outside and do nothing while we waited. People started to get restless so some of the mefakdim started threatening that "you're soldiers now and can go to a court martial for misconduct." Of course it was an empty threat but they managed to get people to quiet down, which didn't bother me because I was trying to sleep.

"Self-Portrait of a Hero"

2010-10-12T16:11:00.000+02:00

I’ve been reading Self-Portrait of a Hero. It’s letters that Jonathan Netanyahu wrote to friends and family from from 1963-1976. If you don’t know, “Yoni” Netanyahu was our current prime minister’s older brother who was killed in action in 1976. He fell leading Sayeret Matkal’s raid on the Entebbe airport in Uganda. He ranks among one of the greatest soldiers that Israel has ever had.

It’s amazing reading his philosophy on life. I’m humbled by the thoughtfulness and maturity he had from such a young age. I also admire his strength of character. When he had free time in the army, he would read literature and write letters. Most people go to sleep or socialize. He truly never wasted a second. On weekends after training of nightmarish intensity he would go for long distance and describe it as a pleasure. I only wish that when I’m in the army I’ll have one fraction of the strength of mind that he had.

I also observed what a strong family unit he had supporting him. His father was a writer on Jewish topics (who is actually alive today and still sharp as a tack despite being 100), and always encouraged him to learn. His mother and brothers all had unconditional love for him, and him to them. If everything in the army is mental, then a lot of his success must have come form knowing at all times that he had a supportive family behind him. He is ready to tell them everything, and never feels like he is being judged. It’s a great blessing to have people in your life who are willing to listen to anything you have to say to them, knowing that they will be nonjudgemental.

As for me, I’m getting ready for my draft. When I came to Israel over a year ago I thought I would wait at most six months before my draft, and now look how long it’s been. I want to get started already. Only as of a few days ago did the IDF officially recognize me as a combat soldier. That’s because for my father I’m an only child. I had to go through an enormous bureaucratic process that took several months, but it’s finally been settled. It was especially complicated for me because I am not in touch with my mother, while at the same time she has another son, further complicating the only child rule in Israel. The IDF has no regular procedure for a situation like mine.

Also, even though I’m still living a completely civilian life, as of last Sunday, October 3rd, I officially became a soldier, along with the rest of garin tzabar. I will write more about this soon in a new post.

A Week in "Gadna"

2010-09-03T20:19:00.000+03:00

Gadna is a week long program that is meant to prepare people for the army and give them a taste of army life. Usually regular Israelis who are sixteen or seventeen participate in it, but this past week I did it with my garin. All the other garins from the whole country participated as well, which made it unique for gadna. We were on average older and also often needed translations for the orders we were given. When we arrived the garinim were split up and only one other person in my tzevet (group) of thirteen was from my garin.

Some highlights were being in the field for a night, learning how to maneuver both in the field and in an urban environment, and shooting on the firing range. Also, we got to wear a uniform the whole week which added to the experience. Other than that, while I enjoyed the week, there isn't much to write about. There was a lot of downtime where we weren't allowed to do anything but wait. That's not a complaint because it's in its own way a good preparation for army life. On the other hand, I was disappointed that the week wasn't physically challenging in the slightest. We only had one exercise session. I also would have liked to shoot the rifle more. As it was, we got only eleven bullets.

As for what the experience meant to me, I'm happy that I got a small taste of army life. I can say that now I have a slightly more concrete idea of what to expect. Since the entire gadna we were only with people from other garinim, I got to see what they were like. I have to say, I'm pretty pleased with my garin, because some other people were obnoxious and immature.

For example, a lot of guys look at joining the army as a video game (yeah you know if I don't get into flight school then I guess I'll just go to sayeret matkal or whatever), and don't get me started on the people who both come from very Israeli backgrounds and then use that as a means to get op on their high horse and act better than others. Hey, why aren't you guys speaking Hebrew to each other? Don't you know this is Israel? We're not in America anymore. You need to practice. Well excuse the fuck out of me that my parents didn't speak Hebrew to me during my whole childhood. I apologize that I had to start learning the language from scratch at seventeen. It isn't the same for me as it is for you to speak Hebrew. I actually have to work for it whereas you didn't have to work for it all. Don't act like you understand what a struggle it is to pick up the language, because you don't.

It was also interesting to see the roles that people fell into in an army environment. Even though gadna isn't particularly challenging, it was still revealing of people's personalities. There were the type of people that didn't care, were always getting in trouble, and had to be constantly to reminded to do things. This type of person doesn't put in even one extra ounce of energy if he doesn't have to. There were the natural leaders who always took charge during group activities. There was the average person who always did what he was supposed to be but also took every opportunity to not work if the commander wasn't watching. This person also tended to complain about every little thing. This bed is uncomfortable, we didn't get enough food, we don't have enough free time, blah blah blah... Their were also the douche bag clowns who were always trying to antagonize the mefakdim, usually in a way that wasn't even funny, and who think that somehow they're going to be able to radically change once the "real" army starts. A lot of these people fall under the category of not taking the army seriously and thinking that they will be able to get into whatever unit they want, as if they could give the army orders. It doesn't surprise me that they always need to be the center of attention.

Now that I'm back on my kibbutz it feels great to relax a little bit. I understand how rejuvenating it must be for a combat soldier to get to come home once or twice a month for the weekend. Coming home to a normal shower with hot water, my own bed which isn't filled with dust, and an air-conditioned room, was incredibly refreshing. I also can't wait to go to the real army, because I feel like I could flourish in that environment. It didn't exhaust me like it did for a lot of people, but of course I recognize that gadna is a lot easier than the real army, and it was only one week. Whether the future holds good things or bad things, I feel a lot more excited about the start of my service, and am growing even more impatient because I want to start already.

The Grind

2010-08-28T23:39:00.005+03:00

There is something about me that pushes away people who are close to me. My step father never calls or writes me. I haven't spoken with my mom in almost two years. My family out in Oregon won't respond to my e-mails or requests to Skype. Most of the family that I came to Israel for I hardly ever see or speak with. I don't keep in touch at all with any old friends from the States, and rarely any from Israel. My Facebook and Gmail are always sparse and empty. Never any updates, never any new e-mail. I feel like there's something wrong with me. When I want to reach out to people I feel like I'm a hindrance, and therefore almost always decide not to. Most people that I've liked or loved in my life have rejected and left me. Nothing and no one stays in my life permanently.

I've been on my new kibbutz with my garin for almost a month now, and I feel like nothing has changed. I have a personality that forces me to be lonely all the time. The cliques that have formed don't include me-- it's like high school all over again. The "in" crowd has made it quite clear that they don't want anything to do with me, probably because I've unintentionally made it quite clear what I want nothing to do with them. Almost all the women on this small kibbutz are not that interesting, and the few interesting ones don't have that much interest in me. It's depressing.

It reveals a part of why I wanted to join the army in first place. Maybe it's because the only way I can form bonds with people is through hardship. The only people I ever manage to relate to are antisocial in some way. I can't sit down and have a fluid conversation with most people, unless I'm feeling in a particularly good mood, in which case I just put on a show that never lasts. I can't find common ground to talk about with most people. It's hard for me to feign interest and most things bore me. I only have the energy to contribute myself to something when I feel like I'm being pushed to my limits. I feel like I'm smothered by a thick carapace I developed when I was a kid. It grows like a weed and only on the extreme ends of my personality does it weaken and allow me to breathe a little bit. Only when I'm dog tired and heavily challenged do I feel like I've been able to breathe the air of life a little bit, but I rarely have the drive to do that to myself. I hope the army will push me to those limits.

I'm worried that I'm going to spend the rest of my life alone. I'll never be able to settle down with a girl and get married and start a family. Besides, a normal family goes beyond the immediate members. It means spending holidays at the grandparent's houses or having your sister babysit the kids every Sunday. I have none of that. My parents both live with their parents, are single, and will likely never be able to support themselves or make their own living arrangements. What does that say about me? What does that suggest about my future? I've tried so hard for this past year in Israel to make myself independent that I've pushed everyone away.

Where is my life going? It's always in transition. I want to be able to open myself up to people and let them know what I have on the inside, but I think that it's so fucked up that they'll head for the hills the second they see it. A girl on my garin walked into my room the other day and saw an Eminem poster that I have.

"You're an Eminem fan?"

"Yeah, a huge one."

"That's like the first thing that I've really learned about you."

When I talk to people I hide behind a shield of humor and make jokes and make fun of anyone who I feel threatened by, or just outright ignore them. I almost never let anyone in.

I like to listen to music that makes me feel like I have even the slightest clue of what's going on around me. Shit that puts things into perspective and sums it up nicely with a witty line. I just want to put on that music, tilt my head back, and float away forever.

On the other hand, there's a part of me that keeps telling me to push. It says that I have to live in the real world because there's a lot of good in it that can help me. That part of me tells me that slowly but surely I'm shedding away the things that I needed to protect me when I was a kid but are now unwieldy and isolating. One day I think I'll create a static situation for myself that makes me happy. For now, the grind continues. To my family and friends that will never read this: I love you. To all the people I've ignored and never given a second thought about, to all the people who think I'm a quiet and boring person and make not even the slightest fucking effort to understand me, to all the mother fuckers that thought I was weak and used that as an opportunity to make me the object of your humor, to all the people who I've hurt and belittled, to all the people I could have helped but didn't: I wish things had worked out differently. I'm probably hurting more than you are. I'm sorry that I can't be there for you now, and I'm sorry that you weren't there for me. Either way, as we all try to make sense of our lives, every clock in the world ticks on with a ravenous and insatiable hunger.

Back Home

2010-07-25T04:46:00.000+03:00

I just got back to Israel two days ago, and I feel refreshed from my trip to the States. I especially enjoyed my trip up to Massachusetts. A week of swimming, bike-riding, reading, swimming, and relaxing, was long overdue. It was also great being with the family. For example, I think the moment when I bonded most with my uncle was when he was saying goodbye to me.

"Eli, good luck to you, take care of yourself, and don't do anything stupid. Oh wait it's too late, you already joined the Israeli army."

Tsss, ouch. That burns.

Or when I was in the car with my grandparents and my grandmother said, "You know Eli, you're a real mensch."

"And yet..." my grandfather said.

"And yet what?" My grandmother asked innocently.

"And yet he's a shmuck."

Nothing beats positive reinforcement.

I'm being a little unfair. It really was a good trip, and the topic of me moving to Israel and volunteering for the army was hardly brought up. However, it was clear that they still don't get why I'm doing this, even though I've done everything I can to explain it to them. My uncle is a lawyer, and it's like he explained to me. Most lawyers work such crazy hours that by the time they are successful enough to be able to work less, they often don't want to because they're not used to doing anything else. I feel like the same is true in most middle to middle-upper-class jobs. Whereas for my uncle it was a casual observation, for me it reinforced my decision. It's that type of typical, run-of-the-mill "McCareer" and "McLife" that I was trying to escape by doing something different.

Also, after being in a non-Israeli environment for two weeks, by contrast, I came to a few observations about Israelis. I've basically concluded that Israelis adhere to rules, and will go to great lengths to make others adhere to the rules, and how indignant they can get should they see a transgression. The "rules" of course aren't written anywhere, but rather each Israeli has his own set of guidelines defined in his head. They span from all aspects of life, from religion, to to social norms, to crossing the street. If you want to see what I mean, try crossing the street in Israel when the crosswalk light is red. God help if you hold up traffic. There will be so many horns blaring at you that you'll think that there's a raid siren going off.

That's what's great about Israelis, how they fly off the handle about the smallest things, on principal more than anything, and are totally dumbfounded when they see someone behaving in a way that isn't, to their definition, normal. Of course, I'm making a sweeping generalization here, but I think you'll find that it's a good rule of thumb.

As for what I said about not missing NJ, well I can't say that by the end of the trip I was so resolute. It's sad seeing the life that you left behind, even if that life was dysfunctional. However, now that I'm back in Israel, struggling to communicate through my broken Hebrew, in touch with friends (and I have a lot more here than I do in the States), I'm happy to be back. It also seems to me that that just now my American family is coming around to the idea that I'm serious about this-- that I didn't come to Israel on an impulse that wasn't thought out, and also that I'm going to be a soldier. My aunt and uncle are planning to come out to visit me, here in Israel, and my grandparents are as well. They likely weren't ready to even think about something like that a year ago or even six-months ago.

Speaking of which, the 27th of this month will mark the official one-year anniversary of my aliyah. It doesn't feel like it's been this long. It's amazing how fast time flies by now that I don't have high school artificially blocking out my time. At this rate, I feel like tomorrow I'm going to be seventy-five.

This Just In: Still Don't Miss NJ At All

2010-07-08T04:08:00.000+03:00

This is the second time I've visited New Jersey since I've moved to Israel. I still say that this is a notably unwelcoming place. It's a mental prison. On my way back from the airport I didn't see The Garden State, all I could see were endless cracked highways giving people transportation to their life-draining jobs. There were rows and rows of identical buildings housing grey interiors; the walls, the floors, the people, everything is grey covered by a polluted smoke cloud coming out of a factory's decrepit chimney.

I got home and saw my step-dad. I was happy to see him but I see that he hasn't changed either. He was watching the morning news, which I'm not surprised to see still spits the same stories in your face that you've heard a million times before. Superficial stories that are there only to capture and hold your attention at the cost of giving you useful information. They bring on experts who don't know shit and cover things that make you xenophobic and afraid of your neighbor. I hate it. It's like reality t.v. only less honest.

Everything is so familiar. As if time has come to a standstill since I've been here. Faceless memories come rushing back to me and combine into a single feeling of discomfort. It's haunting being here. The things that I do remember are for the most part unhappy or miserable. I feel like a prisoner revisiting his old cell.

There was a curveball this time: my mom came back to New Jersey a few days before me, but not for a visit, she plans to stay here. I haven't spoken to her since she left for Israel almost two years ago. From what I understand, there is a warrant out for her arrest here in my hometown, and also that the municipality is paying for her to live in a hotel temporarily. It doesn't make sense to me either. According to my grandparents, she arranged this through a friend of hers that is a detective. I have no idea what is true and false, all I know is that a vortex of contradictions, impossibilities, and broken lives follow her wherever she goes. My step-father says she called him at work and told him that he's going "to pay for what he did." I also heard that she left an ominous and vague message on her Facebook status about how she is going to "get her son back" (referring to my six-year-old brother who lives in here NJ with my step-father.) I'm still not ready to delve back into her world of lunacy. I don't know if I ever will be.

I've only been here for a couple of days. My itinerary while I'm here includes a week of rest and relaxation up at my grandparent's summer house in Massachusetts. I think I'll have a good time, and it's not that I don't want to be here in the States, but after living for almost a year in Israel, I no longer have a life here. I have some friends and family to visit, but other than that there's nothing. There's no future.

I watched two documentaries about Israel today, and I found my self fired up. I could barely sit still in my chair. I can't stand not being in my homeland. I need to get there and don the uniform and fight for my country. It's nice to know that after all this time I still feel as motivated as ever.

My plan is as follows:

July 23: Back home.
August 5th: Move to the kibbutz with Garin Tzabar.
October 3rd: Draft.

Recovery

2010-07-01T01:19:00.005+03:00

This is the album that Eminem fans have been waiting for for eight years. He fucked up with Encore and Relapse was also a bust. He finally got it right with his most recent effort, Recovery. I don't know if it's obvious how many Eminem references I drop in my writing whenever I get the chance, but I feel like I do it all the time, too much even. He's my biggest influence as a writer and even as a person. It's not that I take his shit literally, if I did I'd be crazy, but when you look beneath the surface, there's a sensitive human being worthy of praise. Someone who was original and kept fighting no matter what the odds, who, despite his mistakes and imperfections, always tried to do the right thing. That's what made me a fan of him originally. I used to hate myself so much, every aspect of my personality was a flaw to me, and figured that everyone saw things the same way. I blamed myself for everything. My negativity affected everything in my life and I was so blinded by my own self-loathing that I didn't realize how much it was suffocating me. When I listened to the Marshall Mathers LP it was the first time I ever heard someone who, instead of shying away from what was wrong with him, would embrace it. If people said he was a pathetic drug loser/alcoholic, he would write a song like "Drug Ballad" and say shit like:

"Then in a couple of minutes that bottle of Guinness is finished
You are now allowed to officially slap bitches
You have the right to remain violent and start wildin'
Start a fight with the same guy that was smart eyein' you
Get in the car and start it and start drivin
Over the island and cause a 42 car pile up "

And the whole point is to say "Fuck you, blow me. I am whatever you say I am." It was so liberating, and though I didn't understand it at the time, I was learning what it was like to accept who I am. Eminem does it in such a fierce way. He takes what you say about him and shoves it in your face, and exposes your own shortcomings and hypocrisies. It was a slow process that took a few years, with influence from other people as well, and the courage to live life on my own terms, and I haven't even realized it until recently, but I've reached a point where I no longer despise myself. I can finally breathe.

I also recognize that I'm maladjusted in a lot of ways, but I don't feel so bad about it. I also accept that not everyone will understand that, and they need not concern me. I recognize that it was inevitable I'd come out scarred on the other side, considering the way that I grew up. Anyone would if they walked a mile in my shoes. I'm even happy about it, because I matured much faster than most people, and I take a unique perspective on most things. I don't feel like I spout out ideas that are spoon fed to me.

So listen, I'm going to tie this into Israel. There are lots of reasons to come to Israel, and not everyone will identify with what I'm about to say. This is for those of you who got dealt a shitty hand in life. If you hate yourself and are stuck in college or high school, and are afraid to be yourself, if you have something to prove and aren't finding the proper outlets, if you can't fit in, if you want to finally be a part of something that isn't dysfunctional and oppressive to your spirit. If you want to feel like you belong somewhere, then it's up to you to get your shit together. I promise that almost no matter what, it'll pay off. You'll realize that you have something to offer the world. Even if you decide in the end you made a mistake, it's time to start discovering who you are while you're young and have the opportunity.

If you're reading this from your home country and are hesitating about pulling the trigger, the odds are that you should finally grab the reins and take control of things. If you read this blog, you'll probably find the fulfillment you desire here in Israel, but I can't say for sure. All I can tell you is that I found that fulfillment here, and for the past year (well, almost a year) it's been working out much better and also much differently than I imagined. There are lots of highs and lows, but don't sweat it, it's all a part of the package.

Stop apologizing for who you are. The people and entities that are supposed to take care of us and turn us into functional adults suppress us and beat us to the ground all the time. You need to adopt a different, more healthy attitude. Eminem puts it a lot better than I do:

"If I ever gave a fuck, I'd shave my nuts

tuck my dick in between my legs and cluck
You mother fucking chickens ain't brave enough
to say the stuff I say, so just tape it shut
Shit, half the shit I say, I just make it up
To make you mad so kiss my white naked ass
And if it's not a rapper that I make it as

I'ma be a fucking rapist in a Jason mask,"

Sick of Work, and a Conversation With a Navy SEAL

2010-06-22T11:15:00.001+03:00

Soon after I wrote my last entry about tenacity and always working hard towards something, I hit a breaking point. It's so hard to balance my job and working on the things that I actually care about. I have to get up at 4:45 for work. Before I hit my breaking point I would wake up, do three or four sets of push-ups and sit-ups, go to work, sometimes for 17-hours, come home, do more sets, go straight to sleep, wake up four hours later, and do the same thing again. On the bus I would take out a book about Israeli history or my Hebrew flash cards (which was the only time I had to sit down for a few minutes and read) and study them until I passed out from exhaustion. A few times on four hours sleep I would work eight hours in the morning then go to ulpan at night, and load myself with coffee so that I wouldn't fall asleep in class. When I made it home I'd opt to go for a run instead of going to sleep immediately and maybe sneaking in six-hours. I've been averaging less than one day off a week. Getting in writing was harder because I need to set aside a big block of time for that, and I simply had no time between work and chores and other shit like that.

So I pushed my body and mind to a point where I could no longer keep up such a high output of energy, and it infuriates me. The past week or so I've just been complaining and whining all the time and not being dedicated like I should be, but I think I'm back now. A lot of it probably had to do with the sleep; I was almost never sleeping a reasonable amount. And once I hit the breaking point, I started to despise work. I didn't come to this country to be a waiter, and to be treated like I'm not worth anything at work. In the past month I can guarantee that very few people or no one at all put in more hours than I did at the hotel, and I can't take it when a manager is clearly nothing but displeased with me.

My patience is running thin, but I can hold out until this Thursday, my last day of work. The time passes so slowly, the second hand is like the minute hand. I'm not the type to work in the service industry, it's very difficult for me to be upbeat with someone I don't know. Polite and courteous yes, but that's it. I can't smile unless I'm genuinely laughing, and it makes me a very uninviting waiter from what I understand. I guess I need to scratch a career in waiting off my list of dreams.

There are a lot of good aspects of work though. Two of my managers are great, including one with a son in Shayetet-13, the Israeli Navy SEALs, which is the unit that raided the flotillas from Turkey*. I got to meet him one day and I asked him tons of questions, although nothing related the recent crisis, because that was clearly out of bounds and they can't talk about stuff like that. I don't even know if he was on one of the boats, although he probably was considering how small the unit is. I asked him tons of questions that I've been wondering about for almost a year now, I'll recount some of the most informative answers he gave me:

I asked him if it was important to know how to swim really well before the gibush. I assumed the answer would be something like "you don't have be as good as a life guard but you need to know what you're doing." He surprised me when he told me that he had a friend in the gibush (who got admitted to the unit) who was given floaty devices to put on his arm during the swimming portion of the gibush. You know, the things that they give to five-year-olds when they go into kiddy pools. It just reinforces what I love about the IDF, that a strong mind is so much more valuable than a strong body. It's what makes this country's army pound-for-pound the best in the world.

I asked him to give me some advice on the gibush. He explain to me that, for example, if there is someone who runs faster than you, and you have to race, what they will do is exhaust you both until you are even, and then see how hard you try. Again, a much bigger test of your mind and not of your body.

I also asked him about a rumor I'd heard, which is that there's a portion of the training where they drown and resuscitate to "see what your limit is." He said they don't do anything like that. Lesson learned, potential soldiers: there's no shortage of rumors surrounding the IDF and what it's like in unit x and brigade y-- take all of them with a grain of salt.

I told him that my step-father and father of my brother is from Beirut, although not a Muslim, and if this would make it difficult for me to get security clearance. He said it shouldn't be problem and told me something reassuring: "They're receiving you into the unit, not your parents or family. Remember that."

I had also heard there are so few slots available in the unit that in a gibush they're might be twenty or more perfect candidates, and the mefakdim in essence have to close their eyes and pick one person randomly to admit to the unit. He told me that's not true at all, and that they are always out for good soldiers that fit the unit, but it is possible that you show great potential as a soldier but not specifically for Shayetet-13. He said that if there are twenty great candidates for the unit, that they accept twenty in to the training. They don't turn people down because of a lack of room.

My favorite thing that he said to me was when I asked if they ever beat you during the training. He smiled in a friendly manner but with a hint of "c'mon man, are you kidding me?" in his eyes and told me, "Hey, you get into the unit, and you tell me if they hit you." He said, "wait until 'Captivity Week,' when you learn what it's like to be a hostage."

*I'm not going to go into the politics of this, at least not now, I'll just briefly say that I support the Israeli troops and Israel's actions.

Rock Bottom, Conclusion

2010-05-18T11:02:00.000+03:00

There is also a third type of "rock bottom" that I won't use any outside source to explain. I've felt this several times in my life, including during my time in Israel. The feeling of utter desperation and that the painful moment you are in will never pass. It happens when the excuses and rationalizations you use to ignore what makes you unhappy stop being sufficient, or go on vacation for a little while, and you have to mentally stare your demons right in the face, and let them torment and whisper things to you. It happens when you let feelings like envy, anger, or sadness, take over and go into overdrive. It is different than the past two definitions, because unlike the past two definitions, this type of "bottom" can be both temporary and long-lasting, and can happen even if your situation in life is by most measures not so bad.

For example, a few months after I made Aliyah, I remember that I was having trouble making friends on my kibbutz, I felt like I was losing touch with my family, my Hebrew seemed like it was going nowhere, and I the army was so far off in the distance I couldn't use it as consolation. The truth is that I was living my dream, had every reason to be happy, and was crying over spilt milk.

For a couple weeks I was in a funk, and felt like I wasn't fully there. I was trying to completely desensitize myself from the world. After all, if I just ignored everything and retreated as far as possible into my comfort zone, until I couldn't even see the light of day, then I'd stop being so sad, right?

Of course, the answer is no. Hiding from your problems makes you weaker and also gives them time to grow. I stopped talking to people as much as I could, I ignored my Hebrew studies, and I didn't reach out to anyone, neither friends nor family. If they interacted with me either by visiting or calling I would be as brief as possible and try to shoo them away. It was a cowardly way to act and a pathetic way to deal with my issues. I embodied with my own personal actions all the things that I hate about modern society, which includes narcissism, not taking responsibility for my own life, and the worst thing, which is expecting someone or something to come in and solve all my problems for me so that I don't have to.

As for Eminem's version of "bottom," I haven't gotten anywhere near to the point described in the song, but I've had a few experiences that made me relate to his anger. Getting fired from a minimum wage job after I had been there for two months, always showed up on time, never complained, and did what I was told, all because the management didn't want to be mildly inconvenienced, was rattling. The punch-line is that I wouldn't have gotten fired if I hadn't tried to do them a favor.

Growing up in a wealthy area where everyone is given personal attention and everyone has his problems considered on an individual basis, I'm not used to dealing with people that have no concern about how and when I'll eat, or how I'll pay my rent. It's chilling really. I feel jaded, because for the rest of my life whenever I'm staying in a hotel or some other place of business and someone in a managerial position smiles at me and tries to make small talk, I know that it's almost certainly my wallet that he or she'll be smiling at. I now know what it is to stripped of your humanity and objectified.

It's taught me to cherish those friends and family that are really there for you because they care about you as a person, not about something they're getting from you. If love or friendship is conditional, it's infectious waste and should be cut out of your life immediately. I've also come to appreciate what a difficult thing it is to find a job in a world that values professions and trade skills if you have none. At work the other day, a guest asked for a cup of coffee. I pointed out to him where the coffee cups are, since I was busy and he was closer to them than I was. I want to add that I am a waiter in a self-service buffet, not in a restaurant, so it’s not like I was being lazy.

He goes to get his cup and says to me, "You know, I'm not used to doing these things myself. At home my wife brings me the coffee, and here at the hotel, I expect that the waiter will bring me the coffee." He said it in a smug voice like he was talking to a five-year-old, and stuck his chin out at me while speaking. Then he poured his cup, like everyone else has to, turned around, and walked righteously back to his table, content that he had made right some of the evils that are plaguing the world.

My blood boiled. Only someone who grew up in privilege would say something like this-- someone who's never had to worry about where he's going to sleep tonight. Here I am, struggling with money, with a foreign language, and with figuring out where I'm going to live while I'm in the army, away from my home country, without anyone supporting me, and earning minimum wage without tips at a job where I get bossed around all the time. It’s hard to not take comment like that personally. On the upside, I think I’ve finally arrived to a goal of mine: experience working as the crap of society, as the people that bring you your food, fix your cars, clean your houses. I’ve always had respect for labor workers that sweat more than anyone else but end up earning the least, and now because of my own personal experience I can relate to people stuck in similar situations.

I've also started to admire the "rock bottom" in Fight Club. The idea that the more we take away the things that aren't absolutely essential in our lives, the more personal autonomy we have, and the less other people can influence where we go with our lives. The philosophy that, if we take away the bullshit, we can focus on what's important, and truly accomplish something. It takes an immense amount of effort, but everyday I try to do only what's worthwhile. I try to produce instead of consume.

I’ve also come to despise excess material possessions. I don’t like my wardrobe that consists of clothes I bought back in the States from designer labels with my step-father’s money. It’s not that I’m ungrateful, but rather, that I’ve seen how dumb it is to define yourself by what you own. Now that I can’t afford these types of things and have been forced to spend only on what is most important, I’ve come to learn what’s essential and what isn’t. Plus, if a lot of what I own is unnecessary and only a sad attempt to fit into society, what does that say about me as a person?

The more I personally adopt this style of life, the less that I want to waste my time and the more I want to work towards something. I can feel my life ending one second at a time, and I’ll be damned if I’ll live vicariously through media outlets. If I can at least write a little, exercise a little, read a little, and study a little, I feel like I'm working towards something greater than myself. Lethargy has always been my personal demon, and it probably always will be. If I’m not careful, I can waste entire months doing nothing useful.

All of these thoughts were sparked when I almost drafted this passing Tuesday, and I truly felt like I was hitting rock bottom. Several things struck me. First of all, I wasn't ready to go to the army at all. I had nothing arranged in terms of a long-term place to live, but more importantly, I hadn't studied Hebrew like I should have, I hadn't updated like this blog I should have, and I hadn't exercised enough. Five days before I supposed to go, the draft got extended. I think what I felt was a less intense version of what someone who's terminally ill feels after being miraculously cured. All your rationalizations go out the window and you only look at your life in terms if what you got done, and what you didn’t get done. The excuses are finally treated as the useless things that they are, and you are left in a sea of regret. Then suddenly your cancer goes into recession and a fire burns inside you that makes you more motivated than ever because you've been given a second chance.

As such, I'm more determined to make the most of my time. It took ten-months, but I finally am starting to feel the pressure to work and perform. The gravity of the fact that I'll go into the army at almost twenty and come out at twenty-three hit me with force for the first time. The youngest days of my youth are homing in on the closing stretch, and I’m not happy with my accomplishments thus far.

Thinking closely about these three types of "rock bottom," that is, Eminem's version, Fight Club's version, and the emotional version, have helped me find meaning in life. I believe that everyone finds meaning in his own way, and I'm certainly not saying this what everyone should do, but what follows are my personal thoughts.

The goal is to hit “rock bottom” and to turn into the powerful free spirit expressed in Fight Club, not the inhumane criminal of Eminem’s song. If I ever hit an “emotional” bottom, I need to stay focused and move through it fast as possible. I need to discover what's important to me, and dedicate every ounce of my energy to accomplishing those things, and to know that exhaustion is rarely a legitimate reason to stop working. Maybe this way, I can create and contribute something valuable to the world, make meaning for my own life, and not just waste air all the time.

Rock Bottom, Pt. 2

2010-05-13T20:48:00.002+03:00

Sorry this took so long to put up, I've been swamped with work (I found a new job) and trying to learn this damned language.

***

In Fight Club, “rock bottom” is a goal to aspire to, and once reached, gives absolute freedom. The conditions of "rock bottom" in both the book and song are at least closely related if not exactly the same:

"'I am trash,' Tyler said. ''I am trash and shit and crazy to you and this whole fucking world," Tyler said to the union president. "You don't care where I live or how I feel, or what I eat or how I feed my kids or how I pay the doctor if I get sick..."

Eminem expresses anger in his song because he doesn’t have a job, and because of that can’t provide for himself or for his family. The attitude echoed in Fight Club is quite the opposite:

"Getting fired [...] is the best thing that could happen to any of us. That way, we'd quit treading water and do something with our lives."

In Eminem's song, the rapper says (as quoted in the previous entry) that because of his horrible situation, he is forced to do terrible things, and he is angry because of that. In Fight Club, the circumstances are the same, but the narrator/protagonist feels opposite from Eminem; he feels strong and empowered.

"What Tyler says about the crap and the slaves of history, that's how I felt. I wanted to destroy something beautiful I'd never have. Burn the Amazon rain forests. Pump chlorofluorocarbons straight up to gobble the ozone. Open the dump valves on supertankers and uncap offshore oil wells. I wanted to kill all the fish I couldn't afford to eat, and smother the French beaches I'd never see. I wanted the whole world to hit [rock] bottom. Pounding that kid, I really wanted to put a bullet between the eyes of every endangered panda that wouldn't screw to save its species and every whale or dolphin that gave up and ran itself aground."

The malicious things that the narrator feels inclined to do in Fight Club are accepted and spoken of with cool understanding, they’re even a sign that he’s moving in the right direction. The narrator is put down and ignored by society, he is cared about by no one and as a result has started to rebel in his own way. Whereas Eminem seems to hate his situation and what he's become, in FC, the characters are accepting the role that society has given, and are even diving deeper into it.

"If you could either be God's worst enemy or nothing, which would you choose?"

"What's worse? Hell or nothing?"

The point-of-view expressed in the book is much more liberating and makes one feel unrestricted. Whereas Eminem seems as if he would do anything that he can in order to break free and live a life of normalcy, the characters in Fight Club treat hitting bottom as a difficult process, something that needs to be worked for, and that takes strength of character in order to achieve.

"Tyler says I'm nowhere near hitting the bottom, yet. And if I don't fall all the way, I can't be saved. Jesus did it with his crucifixion thing. I shouldn't just abandon money and property and knowledge. This isn't just a weekend retreat. I should run from self-improvement, and I should be running toward disaster. I can't play it safe anymore.

...

'If you lose your nerve before you hit the bottom,' Tyler says, 'you'll never really succeed.'

...

'It's only after you've lost everything,' Tyler says, 'that you're free to do anything.'"

Final installment coming soon...

Rock Bottom, Pt. 1

2010-05-08T23:26:00.002+03:00

"Rock bottom" is a broad concept that means different things to different people and since I've been living in Israel I've come close to hitting it. In fact, "rock bottom" isn't even necessarily a bad thing. In one sense the expression conveys descent into a monster, as in the Eminem song, "Rock Bottom." In another sense, it means absolute freedom, as in the book/movie, Fight Club. It also means feeling emotionally bankrupt and devoid of any hope. As an oleh hadash that has been struggling to assimilate in a country wherein the residents speak a different language than I do, I've come within arm's reach of some combination of the three types of "rock bottom." In three installments, I'll explore the definition of the term using outside sources, and then I'll write about my personal experiences.

In Eminem's song "Rock Bottom," the rapper laments about the various troubles in his life that are driving him to do things such as steal and murder, because his situation is desperate and has no easy solution. Some of his problems involve his employment, or lack thereof:

"My life is full of empty promises

And broken dreams

I'm hoping things will look up

But there ain't no job openings."

He also voices his frustration with not being able to provide for his family:

"And my daughter's down to her last diaper

That's got my ass hyper

I pray that god answers,

maybe I'll ask nicer"

There are many desperate elements of the song that seem to be the driving force of the descent to "rock bottom." In Eminem's version of "rock bottom," nothing good comes out of the situation. It seems more like a vicious cycle that perpetuates itself and forces one to become a social deviant that disregards all consequences and laws in order to survive.

"I want the money, the women, the fortune, and the fame

That Means I'll end up burning in hell scorching in flames

That means I'm stealing your checkbook and forging your name

Lifetime of bliss for eternal torture and pain"

Throughout the whole song there's an underlying implication that, while a person who's hit "rock bottom" might become a monster, it doesn't mean the person himself is bad. Rather, he was driven to this point and is aware that he is wrong but has no choice but to continue.

"There's people that love me and people that hate me

But it's the evil that made me this backstabbing, deceitful, and shady."

Finally, there is the chorus that sums up the song and tells the listener in a direct way what "rock bottom" is.

"That's Rock Bottom

When this life makes you mad enough to kill

That's Rock Bottom

When you want something bad enough to steal

That's Rock Bottom

When you feel you have had it up to here

Cause you mad enough to scream but you sad enough to tear"

According to Eminem, "rock bottom" is a sad, lonely, and restricting place, that no one in his right mind would ever want to experience. There is nothing good that comes from it and it only hurts those who are victim of this state of being, plus anyone that person might choose to rob or kill in order to provide for himself. This version is vastly different from the Fight Club version.

Part 2 coming soon...

Balagan

2010-04-30T09:09:00.000+03:00

This whole mess with Garin Tzabar and my May 4th draft date has been utter balagan,* and it still isn't over but at least I have some time now to breathe, relax, and write an update. I've talked very highly of garin tzabar, and I would still recommend the program in a heart beat, but just to give a complete picture, I'll outline what I've had to go through since deciding to do garin tzabar. I've: moved to Tel Aviv, started working a shit job as a waiter in a hotel, subsequently got fired from said job, and I'm now forced to find employment elsewhere. I'll explain from the beginning and try to put it into context.

When I came to Israel I had a simple plan. I wanted to leave America as a boy, and return as a man. I figured that this would be a three-step process.

Go to kibbutz ulpan for five months, at the end of which I'll speak fantastic Hebrew.
Go to a sayeret for three years.
Return to America exactly as the person that I want to be and then succeed in all endeavors that I pursue.

It hasn't exactly gone that way, and I've been forced to do a lot of growing up here in the past ten-months. At the end of my five-months on kibbutz ulpan in December it became clear that the army wouldn't take me until May at the earliest, and my Hebrew was shit, so I needed to figure out what to do in the meanwhile. If I'm going to be honest with myself, then I have to admit that most of my problems have been, at least in part, my fault. That is, it's my fault that I didn't have a realistic plan when I came here, and hadn't done sufficient research back in the States. It's my fault for thinking that a red carpet would be rolled out for me leading me to wherever I decided. By the end of my ulpan I saw things a little more clearly, and after explaining my situation, the director of the program strongly suggested that I do garin tzabar. It seemed like a good idea because the army was giving me a headache about my "chayal boded" status, and according to the director of my ulpan whom I have immense respect for, garin tzabar can take care of things like that easily, so I took his advice.

I started going to the garin tzabar seminars, and as I've outlined in other posts, I became surprisingly attached to the group and to the program. From the beginning I explained to them that my draft date is in May and therefore I can't do the program unless they switch it for me. Don't worry about it, it's no problem, we'll handle it. They were so confident that I felt bad that I kept bringing it up, like I was bothering them about a sure thing. However, as the months started passing by and it became clear that garin tzabar was struggling to switch my draft date, I started to get worried. After I'd come home from a seminar I'd be both in a great mood and also scared of losing all the friendships I'd made. After a lot of phone calls and false promises of "we'll have an answer today or tomorrow," garin tzabr finally came through. Five days before my proposed draft date, they managed to switch it. That's a wild roller coaster to go through. It got to the point where I was mentally preparing myself to draft on Tuesday and was about to do some last minute emergency shopping for things that I need. If only they had managed to switch it even a day earlier, then I'd still have a job.

That's right, I got fired from work because the management at my hotel didn't want to deal with the inconvenience of not having an extra waiter on hand for a few days, which would have been the case if they waited any longer for an answer and it ended up being that I did have to go to the army on Tuesday. I pleaded with them to wait and see what the army will tell me, I explained to them that I need money to pay for my rent and to eat, and that the date will most likely be switched, but they had no compassion. Such is the life of an oleh hadash. People only admire you, your courage, and your zionism, when you're not fucking with their money. Of course, the next morning I got the call from the draft center and was informed that my draft date has officially been changed, which officially makes me unemployed. Of all the possible outcomes to this situation, I never imagined that it would go like this. I doesn't matter though, I technically got what I wanted, and now I just have to suck it up, quit my whining, and roll with the punches.

However, the story doesn't end there. My draft date has been changed to August, but in order to participate in garin tzabar I need to draft in November. The reason that garin tzabar settled on only moving the date to August is because the army was outright refusing to let me draft in November but for a reason I don't fully understand, August was okay with them. Whatever the reasoning may be, this turn of events is good for me because now garin tzabar has almost four-months to continue to plead my case. The hard part is over, and it seems more than likely that I'll get to do the program, but that's not final.

I learned a lot from this whole ordeal. I learned how important it is to stand up for yourself in this country, and that you can't get what you want until you speak up, call on all of your resources and contacts, drive people crazy, and refuse to be ignored. Otherwise, the only person who won't have a say in what direction your life is headed in is yourself. The biggest irony is that I got fired at work because I mentioned, under no obligation, that I have an impending draft date which will probably get switched. I tried to do them a favor by giving them a heads up, and I got fucked because of it. I still don't know what to make of that. My whole family said to me that telling the people at the hotel about the situation with my draft date would be a bad idea, but I didn't listen. Had I not tried to go out of my way to help the hotel management, then I wouldn't have gotten fired. Yeah.

As of this writing, I'm living in an apartment and city that's too expensive for me, unemployed, and still a half-a-year away from putting on the uniform. I don't really have anything to complain about though, this is the path I chose and it's my responsibility to stand by it no matter what happens. My story isn't so unique and in comparison to the problems that are plaguing the average oleh hadash, my issues fall somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, maybe even towards the easier side. For example, no matter how tough it's been at times, I can't imagine what it would be like to not have a family here to give me advice and support whenever I might need it.

I look forward to (probably) participating in garin tzabar and then eventually doing what I set out to do, which is join the IDF. No matter what happens, there's nothing to do but to keep on pushing, and I know that things will eventually work themselves out, but exactly how they'll do that still remains a mystery. I've made some mistakes and have had some setbacks, but I've learned a lot about Israel and also about how shit works in general and I wouldn't trade that type of experience for anything.

* "Balagan" is Hebrew slang for chaos/disorder.

Portrait of a Beast (And a Survival Guide)

2010-04-26T21:27:00.011+03:00

Ideologically I am behind Israel in every possible sense. I love this country, I love its inhabitants, and just the general atmosphere alone for me is so incredible that I could live here for the rest of my life (and just might do that.) However, there are some darker parts of this country that, for the sake of scientific documentation, I won't ignore. I have had many encounters with this formidable predator, and have walked away many times sans money or dignity. That is right my dear friends, I am speaking of the "Monit-Beast," or what is colloquially known as a "taxi driver." I kid you not; the Israeli taxis are not like what you are used to back home and you should be prepared for an undeclared tax on your accent that you won't be able to find written anywhere on your receipt. Even native Israelis must proceed with caution in the presence of a Monit-Beast. Most of them are like Travis Bickle, except more ruthless and less willing to negotiate.

This brutal and cunning creature will assess you before you even begin speaking. It will look you up and down-- at your clothes, the way that you walk, what kind of hair cut you have. It will do this quickly and if you don't pay attention, you might not notice it. It navigates through the streets of every major city and is available on call all over the country. All Monit-Beasts are legally registered with the government for environmental purposes.

The wretched creatures that inhabit the white carapace of the Monit-Beast are humanoids that are so convincing in appearance, you might mistake it for a person. They are actually hell spawns from the center of the Earth that have escaped to the surface. It will use its incredible sense of awareness to detect if you are a foreigner, and it will immediately offer you a fixed price if it thinks that you are weak. It will assure you that the meter will be more expensive, and that it is looking out for your best interest. It will start to drive before you even have chance to respond. There is a good chance it is lying and if you are unsure of what a fair price is to your destination then I strongly recommend you inform the fiend that you are only willing to use to the meter.

A wild flock of Monit-Beasts searching for prey.

At this point the Monit-Beast might try to persuade you to take his offer. If he does this then remind him that you are not requesting he turn on the meter, but rather that you are telling him to. It is the law of Israel and as such he has no choice. If the Monit-Beast tells you that he can't turn it on because it's broken then get out and go find another taxi because he's probably lying. If the hell spawn tells you that he can't turn it on because it's nighttime, that's bullshit, and the MB in question is beyond all doubt a filthy liar. However, beware the most horrific type of all the Monit-Beasts: the one that will take a longer route so as to run up the meter. Only the most daring ones will do this, and you are encouraged to ask why the driver is going in the direction that he's going, so that at least he will know that you are keen to his wicked methods of trickery, and therefore he may think twice before attempting such a contemptible maneuver.

On the subject of running up the meter, be careful of one of the Monit-Beast's must insidious rouses. The meter in an Israeli taxi has two settings, the first is for the day, and the second is for nighttime, Shabbat, and holidays. The second one is more expensive. Make sure that if one of those conditions isn't present that the meter is on the FIRST setting. This number is clearly displayed on the meter's screen. The Monit-Beast might suspect that you are easy prey, and you must be on your guard lest you fall victim like so many of our new immigrant brothers have in the past. We mourn for them.

The only surefire way to avoid being the victim of a Monit-Beast is never travel with one. Learn the buses and trains and save yourself a ton of money, and become more acclimated to your new city and country. Admittedly, there are times when there is no choice except to turn to a despicable Monit-Beast. I hope that I have given you at least a few useful tips that may make sure you don't get unfairly stripped of more money than necessary.

Also, to be fair, not all of them are like I have described. In fact, I have met quite a few taxi drivers that were great people. For the most part, however, I have only come into contact with the type described above. Especially the ones that patrol outside bus stations, train stations, and other hot spots. They are usually the most treacherous. B'hatzlacha.

And lastly, beware the Monit-Beast's favorite words of duplicity when you try to argue the price with him: "But it's right before Shabbat," as if that mattered. You are entitled to regular prices until Shabbat actually arrives.

Final Garin Seminar

2010-04-19T16:13:00.001+03:00

Have you had something that you want dangled in front of you only to have it snatched away at the last second? I don't mean something tangible, but rather something that you've invested time and energy and emotion into? I never have, but I'm scared I'm going to find out what it's like pretty soon. The garin tzabar seminars have been fantastic, I've become surprisingly close with everyone in my group, and the part of the program that takes place three months before we draft sounds amazing. There's only one problem: my draft date is about two weeks away. Of course, if I go to the army in two weeks, there's no way I can participate in the program, and the hardest thing about that is it means I'll have to separate from all the close friends I've made.

It's really a test of my character at this point. Can I keep a stiff upper lip in the face of tough circumstances? Will I sulk about something that's beyond my control, or will I cut my losses and move on? I'm trying hard to do the latter.

My garin has had four seminars, the final one was only a few days ago. During this one we had several high ranking army officials come and speak to us, including a face-to-face interview with an entire panel where we got to speak about ourselves and what our goals are. One of the people from the army was a former mefaked in Shayetet-13, Matkal, and Duvdevan. Not too shabby. He was also incredibly friendly and warm with us. It was motivating to be in the company of such accomplished people that told us they have immense respect for what we're doing. I'm so motivated that I even went for a run today!

During the second day we spent a few hours learning about which kibbutz we will be staying on, and wow, the kibbutz that they have picked for us looks amazing. It's on the smaller side, there's only 25 members and 120 people or so living there. The landscape is gorgeous, it's lush with plant life and looks like a nature reserve. Our leader on the kibbutz came and spoke with us and she seemed like a friendly and genuine person, someone that will look out for our best interest for no other reason than she cares about us. The gardener also came, a 25-year-old, he was great and explained to us what it's like to be a part of his kibbutz. In my experience, the most important aspect of a kibbutz isn't how rich it is, where it is, or what amenities it has, but rather the quality of the people that live there. On our kibbutz, it looks like the people are receptive, willing to help, and true zionists. I couldn't ask for more.

We also wrote letters to ourselves and to each other that we are going to open at different times, for example one we'll open when the program starts and another we'll open during Pesach 2011. Even though all the seminars have consisted of a lot of "childish" activities, it's amazing what strong bonds we've formed. I mean really, the first thing we did at the first seminar was play that game where we stand in a circle and everyone has to go one at time, saying his name and do some sort of motion, like clapping and standing on one foot, and everyone has to remember all the people that went before him before he can say his own name and do his own motion. In the days leading up to the first seminar I had pretty low expectations, and even recall saying to someone something stupid like, "this group is going to be filled with people that I've never had any success getting along with: American Jews," but I forced myself to be open minded. By the third seminar, for the first time in my life, I felt like I was part of a group that I cared about and actually wanted to be included in. After this last seminar, my feelings became certainties. I don't think there's anything in my life that I've ever wanted to do more, except for maybe joining the IDF. The only con is that I have to wait a little bit longer before I draft. Everything else about the program falls firmly under the the "pro" category. Garin Tzabar is the best way to join the IDF as a foreigner, unless you have lots of family here, and even then it might still be worth it.

I'm trying to be stoic about my sticky situation, and odds are that the army will let me switch my draft date, but for now my character is being tested. Can I keep a good attitude even if I don't get everything that I want? Can I still make my army service about the State of Israel and her people, instead of about me and what I want? I believe that I can, but only time will tell.

Oh, and Yom Ha'atzmaut sameach l'kulam!!

A Day of Remembrance

2010-04-13T00:45:00.003+03:00

There aren't a lot of historical events that can stir up emotion in me like the Holocaust can. If I'm left to wallow in my own thoughts about it then I'll start to become teary-eyed, especially on a day like yesterday. If you don't know, yesterday was the Holocaust Remembrance Day or "Yom HaShoah." At approximately 10:00 in the morning, a siren could be heard throughout all of Israel for two-minutes, so that people may stand in silence and reflect on those that were lost.

It was really quite incredible. I watched Schindler's List last week, and with the the movie's powerful imagery still fresh in my mind, yesterday had a strong impact on me. I happened to be standing near a window when the siren began wailing, and I looked out at the road and noticed that all the traffic had stopped and people had gotten out of their cars. Thinking back on it now, I'm not surprised, but at the time I was extremely moved. It is things like this that make Israel a country with such a strong sense of community.

Reflecting on the Holocaust also gives me vigor and reminds me of one the biggest reasons I came here to join the army-- to make sure that something like that won't ever happen again. For whatever reason, the Jews have historically been the world's scapegoat more so than other ethnicities and religions, and therefore it's of the utmost importance that we have a state of our own. If you ever feel your zionist passion dwindling, you need look no further than the tragedies that have befallen the the Jews time and time again. What an amazing thing it is that we have made so much progress as a people despite so many setbacks and such heavy-handed resistance. By living our lives freely and in peace, we carry on the dreams of freedom that were originally held by people hoarded like cattle into the gas chambers.

There are six million Jews who would tragically never get to see the what success our people would ultimately have. On Yom HaShoah, we remember them, so that we will never forget, and so that we we will always know that even though they are no longer with us, they are still a part of us and always will be.

"... in spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can’t build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquillity will return again." - Anne Frank

Are Israelis Rude?

2010-04-09T16:52:00.005+03:00

Israelis get an undeserved wrap for being rude. Lots of tourists are appalled at the type of confrontations Israelis can get into over seemingly trivial matters. To label Israelis in general as bad-mannered is simplistic and shows no depth of understanding. I first grasped this one weekend when I rented a room at a hostel in Yafo with a friend when we went to see Saul Williams do live recitations at a club tucked away into the ghetto of Tel Aviv. We were sitting in the hostel and drinking beers before we got on our way, and we got to having a deep conversation about various topics that don't usually come up for most people in everyday chitchat. The direction of the conversation was steered by an unlikely contributor.

We were out on the balcony and an old conservative looking lady was sitting there and she gave my friend Ty this judgmental look that sort of implied, "You shouldn't even be here." It's probably because of Ty's unconventional appearance-- his dreadlocks and Bob Marley hoodie were enough for this woman to pass judgement. She didn't need to say anything, the look was enough. We started talking about how people waste too much time judging others, and the implications and consequences of that on the people that do it and on society in general.

As if the walls themselves wanted to contribute to the conversation, we found a framed article on the topic of Israelis and manners hanging in the corner. I don't remember what it was called or who wrote it, and I kind of like it that way. It's almost like it's become a symbol in my thoughts, and I always bring it up when the topic of the general Israeli disposition comes up in conversation. It was one of the most well reasoned arguments I have ever seen in the confines of only two-thousand or so word. Given that I've only read it once the burden is always on me to remember and recreate the author's iron grip on logic in an attempt to persuade the person or group that I'm speaking with.

One of the most memorable segments of the article was when it discussed what the purpose of manners is to begin with. Why do we have them, why do we as a society value them? In short, to keep us from getting into conflicts with strangers. Think about it, when someone bumps into you in the street, your natural reaction is to interpret that as aggression. It's instinct. When the person says, "I'm sorry, excuse me," it calms your nerves. When someone asks you for something and then says, "please" at the end of his request, it appeases you, because otherwise you'd feel like the person's attempting to boss you around. However, you'll notice that you hold your friends and loved ones to a lower standard of manners than you do most people. It probably doesn't bother you if your best friend asks you to get him something without saying please every time. If your at a family members house, you probably don't ask before you take something from the refrigerator. If your brother is driving you somewhere in his car, you don't ask permission to roll down your window. Get the picture?

As you can see, there is an inverse proportion between how polite you are with someone, and how close you are with someone. So why don't Israelis show as much manners upfront as in most Western countries? Because Israelis are inherently more bonded with each other. The emotional gap between strangers is on average smaller. If I had to pick one reason, I'd say it's because of all the wars and Intifadas they've gone through together. If I had to pick a second reason, I'd say it's because they have all been in the army and have that shared experience. As a result, Israelis are close breed, and as a result they feel comfortable eating from each other's plates without asking, and they usually have no problem telling a person how they feel about a sensitive issues directly and with no sugar coating, even if the person is a stranger they've never met.

And as such the author of the article hanging on the wall made his point. It remains one of the most well executed illustrations of Israeli culture that I've ever read. It is also an aspect of this country that appeals to me immensely because I love knowing where I stand with people. I am loathe to manners if they are forced and clearly not genuine. So remember the next time that you see two Israelis screaming at each other in the street over some menial thing that is based on principle more than practicality, that it's a pretty everyday thing here and that despite all appearance it's likely that no one is taking anything personally. It's hard to think along these lines as an American because if a similar shouting match was taking place back in the States it'd be much more likely to end in fisticuffs. Here, the thought of it coming to blows wouldn't even cross my mind. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if at the end, the two people were smiling and cracking jokes with each other once an agreement was reached. Why? Because Israelis like each other on average more than the denizens of most Western countries. Such is why Israelis seem rude on the surface but are really exceptionally genuine and sensitive people.

Settled In

2010-04-07T22:30:00.006+03:00

It just occurred to me, just this moment. I've been thinking for weeks about topics I could blog about, and have been drawing consistent blanks. And now I've got it, the reason I have perpetual writer's block. Ready? My life, my grand scheme to turn everything upside down in an attempt to become a better person, has actually become routine for me. As in, my life in Israel is no longer novel, fresh, and exciting for me, like it was when I first arrived. It only took nine months. I've become settled in my rebellion. Why? Because no matter what situation a person is in, as long as the fundamentals don't change, after a few months nothing will really seem all that special. I was reading some of my posts from when I first arrived here, and it's incredible what a different mindset I'm in.

I mean, I still have all the same goals, but none of the same feelings. I haven't fallen into mundane apathy like I had back in the U.S, but I've been in Israel too long waiting to go to the army. I'm a zionist and I came here to contribute something. As of right now I'm living right out side of Tel Aviv and working as a waiter at a hotel. I'm earning minimum wage and living with my cousin in an apartment that I can't afford for much longer. I barely know anyone here and don't do anything except work.

I just want to fucking go already. So far it looks like I'm going to draft in November. Fucking November. Shit. And the thing is, my plans probably couldn't be much better, the only downside is all this waiting. I get to do Garin Tzabar. I'm not going to bother explaining what it is, but if you are thinking about coming to join the army in Israel, it is not just recommended, it is mandatory that you check the program out. Maybe it's not for you, but you'd be crazy not to at least consider it.

Back in the old days, I would have written something like, "Boredom sucks the life force out of you like some hellish vortex and the scariest thing is that the only thing bonding it to you is yourself" and then went on some emotionally fueled writing spree, but I don't feel comfortable doing that anymore. The fact is, I don't have that much to complain about, and because of that, as a fault of my own, I don't have all that much to write about. I have no emotional gap that I need to fill with creative self-expression. I have escaped the fucked-in-half dysfunction of my childhood, and started to grow up and mature, which is all that I really wanted. It's selfish to ask for much more than that. I keep thinking that while I'm in the army, I'll probably regret my decision and start writing some cynical blog about how horrific the life of a soldier is, how it's driving me insane, and how it represents the folly of society and mankind in general. I might just be one of those people that can't be content with the the situation he's in, and will always focus on the faults.

But I don't think so. I know that I'm going to struggle a lot in the army, but I also think that I'll succeed and in the end be happy with what I've done. I might even die, and even that doesn't scare me so much anymore. I've sort of come to respect and even embrace the fact. If death weren't a reality, my whole adventure would lose several layers of meaning. Am I afraid of death? Hell yeah I'm afraid of death. I don't wanna die yet. But I don't wake up sweating in the morning like I used to because of pure fear. I've mulled over my decision to join the IDF endlessly for the nine months I've been in Israel, and still haven't come up with a concrete reason why this isn't the best thing for me to do at this point in my life. And because of that, being afraid of the army and any bad things that might happen to me seems sort of pointless.

It's my observation that the people who succeed in the army are the ones who try the best that they can but don't really care where they end up, not because they have no direction or motivation, but because they believe in something greater than their own personal desires and know that the army will put them where they are most needed. I'm not trying to aim at a target anymore, I'm just trying to be a fired arrow with a sharp tip, so that when I finally do hit a target, I'll crush it.

Other than that, all is quiet on the western front. I definitely haven't given up on this blog, I think about it all the time, but it's going to be a challenge for me to churn out posts that I think are worthy of being read, at least for right now. When I start garin tzabar and especially when I start the army, it'll be a different story.

Yom Sayerot

2010-02-23T16:00:00.003+02:00

There is a lot of uncertainty surrounding what is "yom sayerot," and since I have friends who have gone through it and told me first hand what it's like, I'll explain exactly what it is. "Yom Sayerot" literally means "Special Forces Day." It is the first try-out to get into two elite units, Sayeret Matkal (Operation Entebbe) and Shayetet-13 (Navy SEALs). A third possibility is to become a captain in the Navy. I think that Wikipedia says the third possibility is Shaldag. Wikipedia is wrong. Admittedly, I'm not entirely sure about what exactly that means to be a captain in the Navy, what kind of job it is, and why it's so elite that you need to go to yom sayerot for it. If I find out, I'll post about it here.

[So, just to be extra clear, because I know some people are confused about this: There are only three (3) possibile invitations you can earn at yom sayerot. If, for example, you want to go to Sayerot Golani, then first you need to get into the Golani brigade and after that you will be asked if you want to go to the gibush for SG, or any of the other sayerot in that brigade. It has NOTHING to do with yom sayerot. It works the same for Tzanchanim, Givati, etc.]

I'll give a rundown of not only what the day is like, but also the process of being invited to yom sayerot. Of course, things can and will change, and I haven't done this personally yet, so keep that in mind. However, I wouldn't post this if I didn't feel like I was giving accurate, useful information.

First you have to ask to be invited. You can speak with the draft board (Liskat HaGius) or with one of the contacts for chayalim bodedim. Before you can request to go you must have a high enough physical health profile, as determined by the army doctor. This number determines if you are eligible for a combat unit or not. Should you be eligible, you can request to go to yom sayerot. NB: I'm pretty sure that the minimum eligible score for an elite combat unit is higher than the minimum eligible score for a regular combat brigade; which means that it's possible you will be fit for combat but NOT for one of these elite units.

Beyond being physically able, there is other criteria for getting accepted or not, but unfortunately no one knows what the criteria is. I would venture a guess that a lot of it has to do with security. People get accepted and rejected seemingly at random. Everyone who's job it is to help new immigrants will tell you that once you are rejected, the decision will never be overturned. This is not that case; my friend initially got rejected but managed to come up with six letters of recommendation, plus a personal essay, and ended up getting an acceptance letter. He told me that all six of his refrences said this is the first time they heard of a rejection getting overturned. It's hard people, but if you throw enough dedication at anything, magic things happens.

Should you get accepted, you'll receive a letter in the mail with a date to be examined by the army doctor a second time, and of course a date to go to the yom sayerot. Twice a year, around November and January, for one month there is a yom sayerot every day. You will be invited to one of these days.

Finally, on the day of yom sayerot, you'll be required to have a white shirt, the doctor's approval, and your invitation. You need a white shirt so that you can write a number on it in order to be easily identified by the commanders. The people over there don't play games, so should you forget one of these things, you can rest assured that you won't receive any sympathy. Yom sayerot is always held at the Wingate Institute, and the day starts at 7:00 a.m. Most or all of the people that will be with on your yom sayerot, numbering about 400, will be Israelis still in high-school. Yom sayerot is strictly for civilians only, once you are in the army you are no longer eligible.

I'm not completely sure about the exact order things happen in, but this is it, more or less. First, you'll be given something small to eat, my friends got bread and chocolate. Then you'll be asked to fill out a form, which asks you to select a favorite from the three possible things you can be invited to. Then you'll do a two-kilometer run, in groups of about sixty, and be timed. My advice here, and don't hold me accountable if this doesn't work, is to actually try to not do so well on this run. Don't make it obvious, but try to be slightly below average. I'll explain why later.

After the run there will be a break for the commanders to get together and put all of you in groups. They put people who got similar scores in the same group. One of my friends who went to the yom sayerot finished eleventh out of sixty, and said that everyone in the group he was put in (of about ten people) was fast as lightning. He didn't get any invitation, despite finishing the day.

Another friend of mine, who got invited to the gibush for Shayetet-13, was put into an average group after the 2k run. For this reason you might not want to go all out on the 2k run-- so you don't end up in a group where it will be difficult for you to stand out.

After you are put into your new group, you will all go with a mefaked (commander) to the sand dune... and start sprinting up and down it. My friends emphasized to me how soft the sand was, and how steep the dunes were. Each sprint up hill last between 20-30 seconds, depending on how fast you are. You will do this all day. At times they'll have four of you carry stretchers and one of you carry a jerry-can on your back during the sprints.

IMPORTANT: Yom sayerot isn't to test if you are physically the faster or strongest, it is to test your character and determination. The same is true for the gibushim as well. I can't emphasize this enough. Be in shape, but know that being in shape is like showing up to a math test with your calculator; required, but you don't get any points for it. You get points for showing the will to succeed. They will play games with you in order to test how much you really want to be there. For example, at one point while the stretcher and jerry-can is out, your mefaked will say that the first four people to finish will have to carry the stretcher on the next sprint, and the fifth will get the water. Then he'll say something like he isn't timing you on this next sprint, go as fast as you want. You are being tested here. You are being tested to see if you will still go as hard as you can, if you know that putting in more effort will result in more work (i.e. carrying the stretchers.) You must try as hard as you can during these sprints if you want to get invited to a gibush.

Another test that they did to my two friends (who went on separate days) is, after say the first ten sprints, asking everyone, "Who thinks they can beat the time on his first sprint?" Raise your hand, and try damn hard to beat your first time (the mefakedim have timers), even though you probably won't. Whether or not you beat your first time isn't really important, what's important is that you express confidence and determination in yourself by raising your hand, and character by really giving everything you have in the sprint.

My friend explained to me that most people quit within the first hour, and what's difficult isn't the physical aspects, but the shock of being in a military environment for a few hours; how cold and uncaring the commanders are.

At one point during my friend's yom sayerot, everyone was given a small shovel and told to dig a hole in the sand. The mefaked went around to everyone and asked, "Why did you dig your hole here?" You have to make something up like, "I dug my hole here so I'd have a good vantage to point to see the approaching enemy troops" (if that makes sense given your location) or something like that. Like El Al security interviews, it's probably more important how you answer rather than what your answer is.

During the whole day you'll never get more than ten-fifteen seconds between each sprint, save for three ten-minute breaks, and these three breaks will be the only time you'll be allowed to drink water*. This will go on for five-seven hours. No matter what kind of shape you are in, you will become utterly exhausted, and at that point your will-power will kick in, and that's all the mefakedim are really interested in. Really, it's not important if you finish first every time. Some people finished last or almost last every time and still earned an invitation. Why? Because even though they weren't in the best shape they were trying just as hard if not harder than everyone else there.

Finally, at the end of the day, the mefakedim will get together and decide who gets to be invited to the gibushim (which last like five days). They take about two hours to delibirate. Of all the 400 people who arrived at the beginning of the day, probably only between 80-150 won't have quit by the end of the day. Of those who are left, about fifty will earn invitations to something. The rest will leave with nothing and never even be told why.

Good luck, it's really not as hard as it sounds, and not getting invited isn't the end of the world.

*NEVER get water unless you are TOLD to get water. They'll tell you during the day things like
"if anyone's thirsty they can go get some water if they like." The people that fall for this are like the people in a horror movie that say they're going into the basement to look for their cell phone, and then mysteriously never come back. They'll also say things like "if anyone is dizzy and wants to go see the doctor, that's no problem. You can come back in two weeks and try again if you'd like." Lies. All lies.

Things I Wish I Had Known Before Making Aliyah

2010-01-10T19:52:00.002+02:00

I came to Israel to join the army. I wanted to serve my people, my country, to dedicate myself to a higher cause, and above all to carve my own path in the world. I knew it was going to be hard, but not in a way that was tangible to me at the time. It was more just like a concept floating around in my head. I knew this would be extremely challenging only as a concept, but I couldn’t feel it viscerally in my emotions. Here are a few things that I wish I knew before hand that might help any prospective olim hadashim out there:

The Language Won’t Just “Come”

Everyone told me before I made Aliyah that picking up Hebrew would be a synch. They told me that even if I didn’t want to learn Hebrew, I would anyway. Such has not been in the case even in the slightest. In five of intensive months of Hebrew study (ulpan) I’ve barely been able to get to a level where I can express myself.

It’s not for a lack of effort though. I try to speak Hebrew all the time, any chance I get. That’s the key. In actuality, I probably made more progress than most or all of the people in my ulpan class. It’s so frustrating though not understanding what someone says to you or when you try to speak Hebrew to someone and out of impatience he just switches to English and goes “What are you trying to say?”

What I Would Have Done Differently?

I would have studied a lot more Hebrew back at home. That’s about it, there’s no short-cut. It’s a shame because you can’t really connect with this country until you speak the language. A woman I spoke with at the health clinic here said that when she made Aliyah, it took her a year before she could understand everything, and 1.5 years before she could say anything she wanted, which means that the pace I’m picking up the language is average by my estimation (now I’ve been here five months). So if you want to go to a sayerot, where pretty good Hebrew is required, start hitting the books now and know that consistency in studying everyday is what will help you the most, NOT occasionally cramming yourself with all the Hebrew you can.

It Will Probably Take Longer To Go To The Army Than You Think*

Plan on roughly a year, but I’ve seen it take people as long as 1.5 years and as short as 6-7 months. It mostly depends on your Hebrew. I’ll explain why. First of all, since Israel is a country of, in theory, 100% conscription, the army can take its sweet time with drafting people since they have such a large pool of people to draw from.

Secondly, there are three draft seasons all year for kravi (combat): March, August, and November. The exact dates change every year. If you don’t speak sufficient Hebrew you will have to go to the three month ulpan on Michve Alon, which is an army base in the nortern town of “Safed” or in Hebrew “Tsfat.” There are three ulpans every year that are timed to finish as a draft season begins. So for example if you want to go to the March draft but don’t speak Hebrew well enough you’ll need to get into the MA that starts three months (more or less) before March. The March draft ulpan already began a few weeks ago as of this writing.

Finally, you’ll never, in my experience, be notified of a draft date that isn’t at least 2-3 months away. Before you can get a draft date you need to get profiled by the army (see the “tsav rishon” post) which will take at least two-three months from after when you land in Israel. Again, that’s if you’re lucky.

Why does it take so long? Like I said, the army here can take its sweet time. Firstly, when you make Aliyah, you have the right to not even start the draft process for one year. You have to sign away this right, which takes time to get processed. Maybe you have a medical condition, no matter how minor, that will require you to come in for a second examination by the army doctor. Maybe you have a special family situation. Every time the army needs you to come back for more interviews and what not, they send you a letter in the mail a few weeks after your last appointment with them, and the new appointment is always at least a few weeks away.

As you can see, getting inducted to the IDF is mind-boggilingly slow. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Think hard if you’re prepared to do all this waiting.

What I Would Have Done Differently?

I would have either done Garin Tzabar or have made living/working arrangements that extended for more than five months. When I was talking to my shlicha for Aliyah at the Jewish Agency in Manhattan, she told me that I’d need something to do until the army took me. I told her not a problem, and showed her my acceptance into my five-month kibbutz-ulpan program. She seemed satisfied and since she was satisifed and it was her job to put new immigrants like me in the right direction, I was satisfied. Now at the end of my five month program I still don’t have a draft date or any plans for after this month. In fact, my program is now finished and I’m simply working on the same kibbutz for a month until the next ulpan class arrives. My only options are to either go work like a dog at a hotel in Eilat, or find a kibbutz to volunteer on, which I hear is nearly impossible because all the kibbutzim are full. I’m not the only person stuck in this situation either. No one who doesn’t have an upcoming draft date is really sure what they’re going to be doing. Now I have to figure out how to keep my head above the water without blowing through my savings.

You Are Giving Up Three-Four Years of Your Life, Minimum

If you are coming to Israel to join the army, consider the consequences of the time you’re losing. I didn’t do this adequately enough. Luckily, I still think I would have made the same decision. I guess as an eighteen-year-old it didn’t occur to me how long three or four years are, especially now during my youth.

What are the consequences of this lost time? First of all, if you want to go to college back in your home country, you will be three-four years older than everyone. I, for example, will be a senior when I’m twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old. I’m not looking forward to that. You could instead spend these three (or two if you’re a girl) ridiculously hard years in the army: travelling, learning, partying, making friends, and building a future for yourself.

The only useful things you’ll get out of the army so far as I can tell are tools like independence or calmness in a rough situation. While these things are great, they don’t open doors like a B.A. does. The only useful future career you are building is becoming an officer in the army, but how can you know that you’ll want to do that, even if you loved your service?

What I Would Have Done Differently?

Nothing.

* * *

If anyone has any questions, please ask.

*The only exception is if you do “Garin Tzabar,” or “Mahal” (Mahal doesn’t involve making Aliyah), with these two programs you’ll have a pretty good idea of when you’ll go to the army, and won’t have to worry about living arrangements for your entire service.

It Takes More Than You Think

2009-12-31T02:24:00.009+02:00

I've read all the blogs of these fucking foreigners that come here to make Aliyah. Much respect to them because I'm seeing first hand that this isn't easy. But let me tell you something about what it's like to make Aliyah. You get here and you're excited, you feel like you're fulfilling your dream. Fantastic. Good for you. The blogs that you read are by the people who decide to snub the happy and padded life they have set out for them in order to be brave and sacrifice and serve in an army that they're not obligated to serve in. Most of the people I've seen making Aliyah are running from something. They're not here to join the military or get the most out of life, they're here to get an easy way out and try to leave the fuck ups in their home country behind them. The others are trying to escape the poverty and crime of where they're from. There's the occasional person who seems to be making Aliyah out of choice and not because they'd be crazy not to, and occasionally there's someone like me who just wants to go to the army. I assume that most of the people that read this blog feel more or less like that.

You are not special. Thousands upon thousands of people make Aliyah every year. Even though you're the only person in your group of friends who has decided to undertake this crazy mission to join a foreign army, a decision that no one understands, you are not special. Your friends that you make in Israel are going to be mostly other olim (especially if you don't speak Hebrew) and they are going to be more commendable than you because they are coming here as a last ditch resort to escape whatever living conditions they left behind. You will be respected in the army; Israelis will respect what you're doing. But you aren't unique or the first of your kind or one in a million.

I wish I had known before I made Aliyah how slow the drafting process would be. Unless you are doing garin tzabar or Machal, prepare to jump through a lot of hoops and sit on your ass for a long time (1 year on average) before you go to the army. After the first few months the energy and motivation that you had will dissipate. You will be left with nothing but your true and unshakable beliefs about your decision, and they might not be as strong as you think. You might still want to go to the army, but all of a sudden your dreams about Sayeret Matkal vanish and you just want to get your part over with and go to college already.

You think that you'll pick up Hebrew without even trying because you are in Israel but you'll realize after several months that you haven't been giving the learning process its due attention, and if you're the least bit mature you should at least take responsibility for your lack of dedication.

I'm not going to sit here and be one of those blogs that goes on and on about how fulfilling making Aliyah is when you are fucking EIGHTEEN-YEARS-OLD. I had college before me, a future, the approval of both sides of my family, but I decided to take the road the less traveled that is supposedly more rewarding. I do believe that it's more rewarding but I also believe that the pay-off is a long way from here, and these five months on my kibbutz ulpan have been both the slowest and fastest of my entire life.

Don't get me wrong--I made the right decision for myself. I have no doubts about that. Consider this post a warning for what happens when the novelty wears off--when it dawns on you that the next three years of your life are going to be spent without freedom and at the whim of the government of Israel, NOT the people. You join the army here for the people, no doubt, the but the army is ran by the fucking politicians. I've had a soldier tell me personally that illegal weapons were used in Gaza. We're moral out here, and Israel receives a lot of false accusations in the media, but not everything Israel says to defend itself is true. Sometimes Israel does, in my opinion, things that are justified, but they won't be honest about in the NY Times. Are you still prepared to fight? Does getting a job or going to college with the rest of your friends sound better? If it does, I don't blame you.

If you still think that deep in your heart you want to do this, then come over here and I'll buy you a drink. I mean that. But if you don't have what it takes and if you make Aliyah without 100% certainty, it'll really screw things up for you. You might not ever be able to come back to Israel, for starters. Maybe you'll have missed the college application season or that job that you could take has been filled.

This is a dream come true, but unlike dreams, there's a prices to pay and sacrifices to be made. Are you prepared? You better ask yourself before you do something stupid; I've seen how pathetic the people that make Aliyah without thinking about it are. And I have nothing but the utmost contempt for people that decide that making Aliyah was a mistake and then never pay the money back that the government gave them. As far as I'm concerned, they're petty thieves stealing from a country with very limited resources that is being more than generous. Don't be one of those people. There are too few Jews out there for us to just sit back and not defend our one little state that's the size of a postage stamp. It's not just the army here that is hard-- it's the lifestyle. You have to work very hard to make ends meet in Israel, at least harder than what I observed living right outside New York City.

Tsav Rishon

2009-12-01T17:59:00.013+02:00

The beginning of an Israeli's conscription starts with the “tsav rishon” which means “first order.” It's not when you start your service but rather when the IDF starts to profile you. I just had mine the other day. I received a letter in the mail with free public transportation tickets that said when I needed to come to the “lishkat gius” or “draft center.” For anyone who's volunteering for the IDF, you will go through this.

All in all, it was pretty boring being there because of the ridiculous wait times but as a whole it excited me because I felt like I was that much closer to donning the uniform. I had been looking forward to this for a month, and when I got the call-up in the mail I was thrilled. When I arrived to the draft center I was sent upstairs to do a quick interview in English where I signed away my rights that made me exempt from conscription and stated that I wanted to be drafted as soon as possible.

After that I went back to the first floor where I received a scannable card and was told to go to upstairs to a different floor from before. Whereas there was hardly anyone in the last waiting area, I couldn’t believe how many people were waiting on this new floor, especially since I had arrived before eight o’clock, right as the damn place opened! My recommendation for people who are going to do this is to arrive at the draft center as soon as possible. Our waiting area was a thin, cramped, bland hallway with stock photos of smiling soldiers. The whole thing was lined with chairs and doors into several offices, the most of which I'll probably never know about. There was about thirty or forty people and it quickly filled up to two or three times that. There wasn’t even room to display my name on the list on the computer screen at first because so many people were signed in before me.

I was finally called in and did an interview entirely in Hebrew. The room was filled with several long desks each with isolated booths to conduct a face-to-face interview, with barriers separating each interview area. Every single desk was filled as I walked in, and even though it seemed so chaotic at the same time it felt like everything was going exactly the way it was supposed to. The system has been doing this for many years and everyone working there knew what they were doing. During the interview I had to answer questions about my life, what it was like for me back home, how I’m coming along in Israel, and things of that nature. While I struggled, it was a big confidence boost to see that I could do everything in Hebrew albeit with some patience from the other side of the table.

The most important thing to understand about the tsav rishon is that anything you want from the army like chayal boded status or to have a certain job is almost completely irrelevant here. The tsav rishon is solely for putting together a profile of you and your potential as a soldier.

After that interview I scanned my card at the next station, which was for a psychometric exam. The exam is available in several different languages. At the draft center I went to in Haifa, there is a little place right next to the entrance to go eat. I recommend you take advantage of it before you take the test because they don’t mind waiting for people to take their time to go eat, smoke, or use the bathroom before hand, in fact it was encouraged. You can only take the test once and it’s an important part of your profile so give yourself every advantage you can.

Next I had to go pee in a cup, but for the life of me I couldn’t so I bought a bottle of water from the aforementioned store and chugged it. After half an hour I still couldn’t go. It came to my attention that there were free vending machines for us so I got another water and chugged that too. In due time I had to piss, and to my dismay after that I had to piss every ten minutes. I finally arrived to the last station which involves getting checked by a doctor, but unfortunately there wasn’t enough time for him to see me. I couldn’t believe it. I was one of the first to arrive, yet somehow ended up dead last on the waiting list. It might of had something to do with the fact that I wasted half-an-hour checking into the computer for the girls only doctor. Don’t fault me, everything was labeled in Hebrew. Between that and taking so long to pee, I can see how I ended up last, and now I have to wait until I get invited to the draft center for my second order to see the doctor. It’s frustrating because until I get checked I can’t recieve a score for my physical health profile, which is critical for determining if I’m fit for a combat unit and also for signing up for "yom sayerot," which is another post entirely.

Overall it was an interesting experience interspersed with a LOT of waiting time. I spent a lot of time studying the finer aspects of my teudat zehut (ID card) and playing games on my phone. Also, it was hard not speaking Hebrew. Sometimes a soldier would walk out and explain something to us and I'd have to ask for an explanation in English. I wouldn't say it was embarrassing but I certainly felt like my tail was between my legs, as they say. The most important parts of the day were the interview in Hebrew and the psychometric exam. If you are going to be a future Israeli soldier, don't sweat the tsav rishon, and try to enjoy it and take it all in while you're there, because it's a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and also you are that much closer to putting on the uniform.

Getting the Most From Life

2009-11-19T20:30:00.013+02:00

We all have a list of things that if we had would make our lives so much better. They're the things standing between you and serenity. Maybe if you had gotten into a certain college, if you had gotten a certain job, if you were a little more athletic. It's all a fucking crock of shit. Odds are that you're in a situation where opportunities are everywhere to accomplish your dreams, or at least get you significantly closer, but you're the one who's too fucking lazy or scared or whatever to step-up and grab it. I'm certainly no exception.

I know that I bitch a lot on this blog, but that's because I think emotional artwork is powerful, can speak to the reader, and it comes naturally to me. It's not that I hate my life. If you read my personal journal you'd have a different opinion of me. I'd seem like a happy kid with basic concerns and frustrations for my future. It's here where I lay out the parts of my consciousness that are harder to swallow. The type of shit that I can't talk about with people during everyday bullshit chit chat because the subject matter is too heavy and serious and reserved for first tier friends and family, but I don't have a lot of those. Sometimes I want to scream and let the whole world see the pain I'm in, but I can't. So instead I try post it here in semi-coherent thoughts for strangers to read, because I need to be noticed. Herein lies the parts of myself that don't bubble to the surface during the day.

To the handful of friends I showed this blog to, I asked, "would you read this if you didn't know me?" I wonder what someone would think of me if they didn't see the lighter side of me, the side that jokes or chills back and relaxes. The deeper I dig into my psyche and write about this personal and self-indulgent shit for people to read, the more I'm daring the world to make my worst fear come true and tell me that I'm inherently and irrecoverably fucked up. The paradox is that the more I write, the more normal I feel. The more I see that people appreciate honesty and can relate to hardship, because we're all in this together and we're all going through the same shit, more or less. But the more I step on the gas and blog about progressively intimate shit the more I feel the car that I'm driving is shaking and about to explode, like all good things are inevitable stepping stones to some catastrophe. It's like the state of being happy is some infatuating mistress that I won't divorce my misery for because I'm afraid she'll leave me. And then where will I be?

But that hasn't happened yet. I'm gripping on to a life raft but I'm not even drowning. I'm too preoccupied with problems that for most part either don't even exist or are created by me, that I can't see all the opportunities around me. That's why I never update this blog, that's why I'd rather listen to songs I've heard a thousands times before for hours on end instead of reading a new book, exercising, or going out and socializing. I consistently need to retreat to a comfort zone to alleviate my emotions from my imaginary problems.

What does this have to do with Israel? Because the kibbutz ulpan program that I'm on is ending in a month and, while it's been a great experience, I've realized that I didn't take full advantage of being here like I could have. I wake up every morning and I feel great, and I'm sad that this is ending. I'll likely never see some of my friends from the ulpan ever again.

But really, I shouldn't be unhappy. I'm living my dream, for Christ's sake. I'm in Israel, I can see my family anytime I like, Hebrew is everywhere, I'm surrounded by interesting people, and I'm in the driver's seat. It's fucked up to think about that I'm actually LIVING MY DREAM but I still feel dissatisfied. It says a lot about the human condition because I know there are lots of people in similar situations. If I could appreciate it for what it is I'd truly be on the path to where I want to be. I'm not going to end with some campy "now that I've seen the truth everything is going to be sunshine and kittens" bullshit. I know that I'll be more or less the same tomorrow because people don't change overnight.

What I will say is this: I recognize a problem that I have. I think most people have this problem to some degree, maybe even everyone. I am going to work hard to get the most out of life and the situation I'm in, but it's not going to happen magically. I wish I could pull a rabbit out of a hat, but I can't. I'm still going to fuck up and get bogged down by irrelevant bullshit, but as my life goes on I'm going to try to learn to put things in perspective and hopefully end up where I want to be. The journey is more important than the destination.

Change

2009-11-16T20:15:00.005+02:00

I've lost focus. I can't get in the proper mindset anymore. I set out here with the stars in my eyes and I figured that all my problems would vanish, like they were physical things that I would leave behind in New Jersey. I still have all the same problems and I still try to solve them in all the wrong ways. I still go back to my old habits and stress myself out in the same manners. I want to punch myself in the face when I think back to my childhood and think I was happy then. I want to puke my guts out when I see myself coming full circle, subconsciously recreating the conditions of my childhood.

I look around and I see that so many people are devoid of anything of value. Full of potential, yes, but with no desire to tap into it. The only thing valued anymore is who can force their personality on to other people the most. Who can knock other people off the stage and embrace the spotlight full on, by themselves. Do these people feel the companionship that I long for? Do they feel just as lonely as I do, or does having the attention of others inflate their ego enough to make them forget about how insignificant they are? I take a look around and see people trying on new identities all the time, throwing out the old ones like empty food wrappers.

Me, the biggest narcissist of all, with this fucked up blog and with these fucked up thoughts is left middling around and shunning anything that could possibly resemble an identity because I always feel like it's forced and unnatural, that it feels like a mask. But then why, if I'm the one who sees all the problems, do I feel like I'm always the victim? The one that suffers? Maybe it's because I'm not so special like I think I am. Maybe it's because when we're criticizing others we're really criticizing ourselves. Maybe, even though I see things about the world that I don't like, I don't have the balls to step up and do something about it. I don't even have the balls to fucking deviate from it. Instead I just crawl into dark corners and hope that no one will notice, waiting for this hellish carnival of self-indulgence that I'm witnessing to finally come to a halt.

Look, it's not that I'm unhappy here. I can see that if I was in college I wouldn't take it seriously and I'd always wonder "what if?" I couldn't imagine a better path for myself than the one I'm on. But it's become clear to me that being the person who I want to be is so far from where I am, it's not even visible on the horizon. Also, some of the things that I want to do are going to be insanely difficult. I used to write about how I was drooling at the mouth for challenge and hardship, so as to grow and see what I'm made of. I still want that, but now that I have its taste in my mouth a little bit I'm not so enthusiastic. It's not like I don't want to do this, it's just that romantic aspects of it are disappearing. Working eighteen to twenty hours a day with only two or three hours of sleep a night doesn't seem quite so awesome anymore. Whatever, what kind of person would I be if I didn't follow my dreams? I'm still very determined, but I lament what I want but do not yet have.

Is Israel a Moral Country? Pt. 2

2009-10-21T16:22:00.002+02:00

Here is the response I got from "rafi", an administrator of Mahal IDF Volunteers.com's forum.

My original question:

Rafi,

You seem like an intelligent and wise person, and I wanted to ask you something that I don't think fits anywhere in the forum. I've already decided to go to Israel this summer and join the IDF, I've told my family already and am in the middle of applying for Aliyah. However, I'm having serious moral conflicts about what the IDF does. I've only been to Israel a few times, but feel a strong connection to the country, mainly because my entire father's side of the family is Israeli and lives there as well. After hearing about the 'humanitarian crisis' that was going on in Gaza I strongly defended Israel, saying that the militants in Gaza were dressing like civilian on purpose to draw fire into them, and essentially using the civilian population as a human shield. How else do you explain that their largest bunker of operations was underneath the area's largest hospital? Still, I was conflicted. I didn't want to, in 20, 30, or 40 years look back on my service and think to myself that I supported a murderous regime, dare I say Nazi-esque.

I'm not that smart, but my few working synapses tell me that there is no military that has a perfect humanitarian record, and that America, my native country, is certainly no exception. That soldiers have to sometimes, unfortunately, sacrifice part of their humanity to defend their country. I've seen compelling arguments that say that this sacrifice soldiers make is by no means pretty, but not reprehensible either, simply because there's often no other way to defend your country, and that those who are willing and able to make that sacrifice are commendable. But still, after reading an article like this, I feel a little disheartened. I still don't think that Israel is necessarily at fault, but I was wondering if you could offer your own opinion on the matter. It's difficult seeing the morality of Israel constantly attacked in the global media and not feel that my own morality is being attacked as well since in less than a year I am going to be part of that military. My Lebanese step-father here in America was hurt when he found out that I was thinking of joining the IDF, and asked me, "Why do you want to kill Arabs?" I didn't know how to answer.

To summarize, my basic question is this: How would you defend Israel against articles like the one I just mentioned, if at all, and the other arguments that barrage Israel in the global media? On what grounds would you defend Israel, not just in the recent Gaza conflict but in any conflict? I'm sorry if this question is too open-ended and I would understand if you didn't have the time to answer it. Still though, thanks a lot for reading.

-Eli

His response:

hi Eli,
Thank you for writing a very eloquent question. I hope I can answer. Not everything you hear will be what you hoped for though.

First, I do believe the IDF is a moral army. Our polocies and training emphasise the value of life - all life. ut that is the 50,000 foot view. Now some realities.

I don't know were you go to High School. But Israel is a country, in theory, of 100% conscrition. Now think of every kid you ran across in the hall, in the lunchroom, on the bus. Now think of everysingle one ofthem in uniform, with an automatic weapon, having life and death power over others. I always start there. If you are like me, I grew up in New Jersey, the mere thought of some of my classmates in uniform scares the bee jeebers out of me. So soldiers come in all colors flavors and dispositions, even in Israel.

Now lets think about the other side. The good ones, if you will. You are in a firefight, you on one corner, the Palestinians on the next corner. Shooting at each other. Suddenly a woman and her 4 kids turn down the block and start walking between the two groups. Insane? By our standards. She might stop to tie a kids shoelace, look in a shop window, and you are in a firefight. The blood is pounding in your ears, you a re scared, and here is this woman!

I have seen ambulances with rifles, kids smuggling bullets, mothers with knives, there is no "safe" anymore. I have been woth a group of five or six soldiers, and suddenly we are surrounded by 100 to 120 males. If they are willing to die, or get whipped up into a frenzy, six M16s are worthless.

I realize my mind is jumping around, but it is all part of a big picture.

Now a bit from my heart. I made aliyah because I wantedto fight for Am Yisrael. Very hard nuanced concept, but there is Am Yisrael (the people) Eretz Yisrael, (the Land) and Medinat Yisrael, the State of Israel. You make aliyah for the Land and for the people. But the reality is, you are a member of the army of the government of Israel - whoever that is. I had Begin, so for me it was easy.

I never crossed the line, and I never hesitatedto challenge others for crossing the line. I have seem guys harrass women at checkpoints. Never touch, never abuse, but if it were my sister, I would have slapped the soldier silly. I have seen many soldiers pick up theor hands. When I felt it was wrong, I soke up, and even put myself between them. The only way I couldreach them was to put it this way: I don't care about the person you are hitting, I care about the person, you, who you are killing. It is a quick slope form some people deserve to be hit to some people deserve to be abused. I never compromised my morals.

So I guess I have rambled, but I am speaking from the heart. do understand your question, and hope i have goven you some food for more thought. You have to become the person you want to be. There will the the "discovery" moment when, as I said, you realize that you are a soldier of a government, not a people. But it is the closest you can get. Look. Dozens of generations of jews, wha would they have goven to be in an army of the jewish people. You are a link, a fulfillment pf a dream.

You are going to be a great soldier.

Please feel free to reach out to me any time.

My next miluim, by the way, is July 13. And though I am 54, my 18 year old heart can't waitto put on the uniform one more time.

Rafi

Is Israel a Moral Country? Pt. 1

2009-10-08T11:30:00.011+02:00

For me, one of the hardest things about deciding to join the IDF was coming to terms with the question, "Is Israel a morally justifiable country?" Obviously, this is one of the most controversial topics in modern politics, and it is pretty much impossible to remain unbiased on the matter. Even if you think to yourself "Ok, I'm [Jewish or Arab], but I'm going to research this topic with a sympathetic eye towards the [Palestinians/Arabs or the Jews]," you will almost definitely either not do that at all or you will end up swinging like a pendulum to an equal and opposite height on the opposite side of the argument, rendering you just as ineffective at being levelheaded.

It is also an especially poignant topic when you are considering being a soldier for Israel. It's easy to say, "Of course Israel is moral," while not actually doing anything to support the country, but now that I will actually be enforcing, with a gun I might add, the Homeland's policies and upholding its laws and practices, any blood on Israel's hands will be on my hands as well. I will no longer be observing from the sidelines, I will be an active participant. For better or for worse, I will be responsible, up until the day that I die.

Back in America, before I moved, here, I started to researching this controversial issue and did my best to be impartial. However, now that I've been living in Israel for a few months I can feel the bias creeping up on me like a patient assassin waiting for the right moment to go in for the kill and move me beyond the point of no-return, forever to be a staunch Zionist and defender of the Jewish State. I already get instinctively hot-headed the second I hear anything even remotely anti-Israel, even before I take the time to consider what was said -- something I never did before. My heels are balancing on slippery gravel and my toes are hanging over an endless chasm, and I'd be a fool to think that something isn't going to push me over the edge at some point during my next three years in Israel. Maybe it will be the next major update with regards to Gilad Schalit, perhaps the next time Mahmoud Ahmadinejad denies the Holocaust, or maybe it will be the next time there is a barrage of Qassam rockets launched by Hamas or Hezbollah into Israel, but I know that by the time I'm done with my service I will be staunch supporter of Israel and for the rest of my life it is unlikely that anyone or anything will every sway me, no matter how reasoned and sound the arguments are; no matter how overwhelming the evidence.

And the big joke is that all the while there's this little voice in the back of my head who keeps whispering the words "Nazi regime" into my ears, no matter how much information I find to support Israel. I think it's good to have that voice there, because without it whatever sliver of ability I have to look at this topic with an unbiased eye would be lost forever.

For anyone who is considering volunteering for the IDF from abroad, this question is unavoidable. You may choose to ignore it, but it will rear its ugly head eventually and my recommendation is that you deal with it as soon as possible before it sneaks up on you before it's too late.

I won't go any deeper into my personal opinion on the matter except to say that right now I do believe Israel is a moral country with moral intentions, and my hope is only to get anyone interested in joining the IDF some food for thought, so as to come to your own conclusions. In the upcoming days I will post conversations I had on the internet about Israel's morals. Emphasis on the words "internet" and "conversations." They are only meant to give perspective, not be cited in your master's thesis. It is up to you to do the research.

גלעד עדיין חי

2009-09-23T17:47:00.004+03:00

גלעד עדיין חי or "Gilad is Still Alive."

If you don't know who I'm talking about, it's Gilad Schalit, the abducted Israeli soldier who has been held captive for over three years (as of this writing) somewhere in Gaza. Leave politics on the side. If you want to argue that capturing a soldier in his own country and then illegally denying him his human right as a POW to barter for the exchange of over 1000 convicted terrorists, then go right ahead. The fact is, it's disgusting what's been done to him. It's not just Hamas, it's several other people as well. Celebrities use him as a way to gain popularity, organizations drop his name just to get recognition, and Egypt just loves to be the "mediator" so that the world's eye turns on them. Countries have given him honorary citizenship as a "sign of good faith" to "symbolize peace" and whatever-the-fuck. Not just that, but the Hamas officials as well who are now able to receive an audience with world leaders because of Schalit. It makes me lose faith in humanity.

It's impossible to know how much Schalit knows about current events from wherever he is in captivity, but everything about the situations represents the worst in people. Gilad Schalit isn't special. He was brave like thousands of other Israelis and he volunteered for a combat job in the IDF's tank division. Heroic, commendable, and brave, but not unique. Unfortunately, he happened to be the one that got captured. Now his whole life and existence is being exploited at the ends of people all over the world. It's just what the terrorists want. They want us to promote his name, have "fundraisers" for him, and stupid shit like that, because it gives Hamas legitimacy as a threat and raises the value of Schalit as a bargaining chip. You want to help Gilad Schalit? Shut the fuck up and go join the IDF, or try to stop people from using his name for their own benefit. He should be kept out of the media. His name shouldn't even be known, for the sake of Gilad. The more anonymous he is, the better. Now, I know what you might be thinking. "So why are you putting all this up on your blog if you're telling everyone else not to talk about Schalit?"

Because no matter what I do, I'll never be able to even come within a thousand miles of being able to raise the awareness of Gilad Schalit more than it already is, with this shitty little blog that no one reads. His situation is too famous already because Hamas did a great job making a public spectacle of him, but there's plenty of blame to go around. Leave politics and personal opinions aside and stop signing petitions and using his name to promote yourself, at Gilad's expense. For every iota of fame that he gains, it gives more power to Hamas. Instead, if you're Jewish, come here and join the IDF.

If you're not or you're unwilling, that's okay too, but at least keep him in your thoughts and prayers. He's a human being and his purpose for existing is now totally at the whim of other people, a truly horrible thing when you think about. This whole scenario goes beyond religion–– it's a humanitarian crisis that magnifies the atrocities of human nature.

www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-3774786,00.html

Fear and Desire

2009-09-15T11:50:00.005+03:00

That line from Coach Carter where Samuel L. Jackson goes on about how we're not afraid of failure, we're afraid of success, has always intrigued me ever since I've heard it. I'm always left wondering if it's hogwash or if it's a legitimate estimation of human nature. I'd have to say that I think it's true. I think that everyone has the potential to be great at something they love, but they're too afraid of success. Why? Because in school and social circles and maybe by their families and bosses and boyfriends and girlfriends, they get spiritually beaten down. There's this underlying attitude of, "who are you to be someone special? who are you to accomplish your dreams?" When we want to do something that we truly care about, and feel deeply about, a lot of us get insecure. We're afraid to show who we really are, because again, who are we to fulfill our own personal destiny when so many other people have not?

Yesterday I was at the Western Wall or the "kotel" and I thought back to the first time that I was there. How my cousin told me to write something that I want on a piece of paper and slip it into the wall. I did it, but I don't even remember what I wrote because I felt so damn embarrassed I didn't write anything meaningful. I don't even know why. Maybe because it's hard to admit what you want when you know that deep down, you aren't even working towards getting it. Maybe it's this narcissistic paranoia that if you admit to desiring something and that you don't get it, everyone will know and everyone will be secretly guffawing at you behind your back.

Yesterday, I took a piece of paper, and instead of writing anything long or drawn out, I simply wrote, in Hebrew, two words:

strength

will.

If I knew more Hebrew I would have written more things like perhaps "honesty" or "humility," but I think those two things are enough. Writing it in Hebrew was important to me as well, because I'm in Israel and thousands of years ago my ancestors walked these streets and built this wall and they spoke the same language that I was writing in. Sure, Hebrew is now modernized and whatever but what it symbolizes is important to me. Something about it makes me feel connected to the world around me, and that's one of the best feelings to have.

I had also taken a yamaka, a shitty disposable one made out of paper and stapled together, and was hearing it under my hat. For the first time in my life I actually wanted to wear a yamaka, up until now I've always been embarrassed by them, thought that they looked ridiculous. I mean, let's be honest here, the Jews have their traditions and those traditions are fucking weird. The dreadlocks, the wearing-black-suits-in-the-blistering-hot-sun that the orthodox practice, not "working" on the shabbos, etc, it's not any more crazy than any other religion, but in modern society it comes off as weird and I was always embarrassed by that, because my family was practicing some or all of those things. I wanted to separate myself from it as much as possible. Now, I wanted to wear a yamaka because I wanted to show respect to this wall, to this monument, and the point is that I overcame my fear of embarrassment, if only for a moment, and didn't care if anyone was watching me or laughing at me (of course, no one was, because what I was doing couldn't have been more typical, but it's an irrational fear I have when I want to do something important to me.)

Follies at Work

2009-09-11T16:39:00.002+03:00

I've become the utility man at work. I have two bosses, and they're always competing over what bull shit menial task they can make me do. That, or maybe one of the Israelis will have me buy them cigarettes. I got a job to do here, but that certainly isn't it, asshole. My one boss will leave for a few minutes then the other one will show up and tell me to transfer like two-hundred eggs from the things they were delivered in into metal baskets. My other boss showed up and told me, referring to my other boss, "you don't work for him, come with me." Then my other boss gets pissed at me for not finishing with the eggs.

My "main" boss was having me transfer empty boxes from point A to point B, and I asked if I could use the club car (golf cart). He said yes, and asked if I knew how to use it. I said to him "Don't worry, I used to be a caddy," and confidently hopped into the car. It quickly dawned on me that I had no idea what to do. Obviously club cars aren't the most complicated contraptions ever built, but still I had trouble getting the brake off, and once I did I stepped on the gas and went straight... backwards into the wall behind me. Oops. My boss ran over to me.

"Out, out, out!" he said.

Luckily nothing was broken. Another Ethiopian, a nice 22-year-old guy that barely speaks English, started laughing his ass off. I'll be god damned if I wasn't laughing a little bit myself.

There's another thing I have to do at work constantly: moving boxes on these stupid impossible to fucking use carts. I swear to god, there should be a class teaching how to use these things. They're so fucking frustrating I want to tear my hair out. Trying to navigate them in tight spaces is a skill that I can't seem to pick up. It always ends up like that scene from the first Austin Powers where he's driving that little vehicle through the halls and some how ends up perfectly perpendicular to both walls, completely immobilized. That's what happens to me with the cart ALL THE TIME. Maybe not perpendicular to two walls in specifically but one way or another the fucking thing gets stuck and I end up feeling like a shmuck when my boss comes along and effortlessly weaves the cart through whatever space I got it stuck in with the grace of a painter and his brush. Seriously, fuck him and his skills with moving carts. We're not all born perfect.

Oh, and that 22-year-old I mentioned before has managed to convey to me in his English that he thinks I'm a gangster, like Al Pacino, because of the way I walk. Me and him can't help but laugh every time we walk by each other, mainly at the last thing he made fun of me for.

Ah, the life of a worker.

My Kibbutz and the Army

2009-09-07T20:45:00.002+03:00

I got onto the best ulpan kibbutz program in Israel. If anyone reading this has tried to get onto a kibbutz ulpan program through Masa or the Jewish Agency, it really won't be difficult to figure out which kibbutz I'm on, because I'm on the kibbutz that will almost definitely be your first choice barring exceptional circumstances. Nearly everyone has a story, including myself, about how they had to fight to get a spot here. How spots got taken away and they had to ascend the chain of command and tell someone "look, idiot, you promised me a spot months ago, and now it got taken away." The registration closes the day that it opens. When I told the IDF representative at the consulate in Manhattan what kibbutz I'd got on, he went wide-eyed for a brief second and I actually felt like for a second there he didn't consider an object of his profession but he actually looked at me and said, "It's one of the most beautiful kibbutz in all of Israel. If you go on this kibbutz, your Hebrew will be fine when it's time to go to the army."

One of the great things about our program is that the people who work in our ulpan office, notably the director, has a lot of friends and contacts that come in and help the olim hadashim making Aliyah. Today someone came in to speak to us about the army. What it'll be like to serve, factually speaking, I have committed to memory. I can recite it back to you like the ABCs. The subjective aspects of it, however, are always new and fresh and never entirely the same from person to person. So here is this seasoned IDF veteran, a commander in the paratroopers, telling us what to expect. He gave the type of insight that the officials can't tell you when you call them cause it'd be unprofessional. He was there as a friend, he told us that if we ever have problems we can call him. He has adopted several "lone soldiers" and gave off an aura of genuineness that cannot be faked. His advice and information was invaluable.

For example, there's the "motivation test." How the hell do you measure someone's motivation in a standardized test? Well, he explained it today. First they exhaust you for four or five hours. I missed the specifics of how they do this, whether it's through physical exercise or non-stop tests or what, but you can be sure that the IDF knows how to exhaust people. Plus, those first five hours are bull shit. After that, you sit down for an interview, probably with some cute girl, and she'll just start asking you stupid questions.

"What club did you go to on Friday? What did you drink? What are the names of your drinking buddies?"

This guy emphasized that all you have to do is be polite, sit with good posture, enunciate your words, and he repeated over and over that you NEVER tell the person interviewing you "none of your business." Fail.

The interview lasts for all of ten minutes. Another thing is the "gibush." Gibushim are tryouts and there's a different one for each unit. They are basically meant to break you and test you not physically, but mentally. Being in unbelievable physical shape, "C-Kosher," is basically a check-off. Like a person applying to Harvard having a 4.0 GPA. It's simply expected. Now what are your extra-curricular activities? In a gibush, no matter how fit you are, they WILL drain of every last ounce of energy in your body until you are aching and begging for death. Then they will give everyone a sandbag, say hold this over your head, and have you run up and sand dunes for thirty minutes in the blistering August heat. It last for about seventy-two hours and in those seventy-two hours you might sleep six hours, if that. Fifty-percent drop out in the first few hours. The people who can use their mind to continue to function after their body has totally shut down, those are the people they want.

Or another example that someone I spoke to at the kibbutz coffee house regaled to me. At one point the commanders in his gibush had everyone get into formation. Then one of the commanders took out a can of Coca-Cola. "Anyone want this?" he asked insidiously. "Seriously, is anyone thirsty, they can have this coke if they like." And some poor shmuck accepted. He was called to the front of the formation. At this point in the story I was expecting how he was told to do one-hundred push-ups with a weight on his back, or how everyone had to run sprints while he drank the coke and watched. Nope. He drank the coke and then the commander just told him to leave. He was finished. No arguments or yelling or punishments. They just told him to take his shit and get out. Special forces weren't for him.

And also, there's moral integrity. That is the other major aspect. If you are told to do seventy-five push-ups and you do seventy-four and try to cheat, that's all it takes. It doesn't matter if you can run two kilometers in eight minutes. You're done. To use an example from a great book called Brotherhood of Warriors, if you are asked to carry a bucket of water back and forth sixteen times, no matter how ridiculous and inane that sounds, will you do it even if the commanders aren't watching (or so you think)? That's what they want more than physical ability. To know if you're honest.

Fuck

2009-09-06T05:01:00.000+03:00

Disclaimer: I was clearly in a bad mood when I wrote this but I'll put it up anyway even though I don't feel so shitty anymore. For anyone who's thinking about making a long term move to Israel, or any foreign country for that matter I suppose, expect lots of highs and lows on the extreme ends of the emotional spectrum with little in-between.

During the week the nights are kind of boring but that doesn't mean that they're bad. I study my Hebrew (which I'm getting really frustrated with), write, read, or exercise. Those four things, plus socializing, are things that I do on a daily basis. I literally set time aside each day for each. Except for the socializing part-- it gets really lame during the week. On the weekend (which starts on Thursday) I head to the pub which is literally right outside my room. It's the same people there all the time, but it's a good time to exit reality for a little while and shoot the shit with people. I love talking to the Israelis here who were in combat units-- people that have done what I'm going to do and have come out okay on the other side. It makes me all excited to head to the army. I know that I made the right choice. I'd be miserable at college right now, especially since I'd have to return to my train wreck of a family during the breaks which take up like half of the year. Here I get to visit my much more normal family on the weekends. It's really depressing sometimes, because I'll look at their photo albums and see pictures from holidays, family trips, or regular Friday night dinners, and I'll think to myself that I totally missed out on this. Being the American in the family is kind of lonely. I don't speak Hebrew and I often can't relate to them. At dinner everyone speaks Hebrew and I don't know enough to follow or figure out what's going on. I kind of just sit there hanging my head.

I'm trying to figure out what happiness is, where you can find it, and how you can get it. I feel lonely all the time, like there's never going to be someone I can relate to. Now that I've exited the microcosm of high school I have experiences with which to juxtapose, and I can see something that all normal people have that I don't. It's so fundamental and basic I didn't even realize it until now. I had to circle the sun eighteen god damn just to OBSERVE this. I feel like I just figured out where babies come from. I don't know how to put a name to what I'm describing, it's too basic for that. It's just this elementary, fundamental, rudimentary ability people have to relate to others. I can't explain it. It allows people to connect. I don't mean on any deep level, I mean just with people you'd be comfortable hanging out with alone. Remember that scene from Pulp Fiction where Uma Thurman says that two people know they're comfortable with each other only when they can be content in each other's silence. They don't have to make bull shit small talk. Whatever THAT thing is that allows people to be comfortable in someone else's silence, I don't have it and I can only seldom get it. I've seen it here, and just to be clear, you don't have to actually see two people sitting next to each other not speaking to witness what I'm talking about. Even when people are conversing or playing basketball or doing whatever, it's there, unnoticed by the people who have it, in their eyes or body language.

I'm aiming the ball all the time instead of just shooting it, over thinking everything until there's steam coming out of my ears my head is doing 360s.

Pocket Rocket

2009-08-29T15:53:00.006+03:00

Naivety mixed immaturity can have disastrous results and is one of the few things I can say I don't like about the ulpan I'm on. This ulpan kibbutz program so far has been great, like I've been saying, but some of the people here are fucking retarded. They're not here to learn, they're not here to study, and as a result they kind of end up sticking together and pissing off everyone else. There's one kid here in particular, let's call him Rocket Man, who on the surface seems like a nice enough guy, but really has his head on back backwards. He got alcohol poisoning the first weekend and the director of the ulpan almost threw him off, then a couple weeks later almost got alcohol poisoning AGAIN, and just recently threw a knife at my face because I hurt his feelings.

This is the type of kid who has had his maturity stunted by successful adults who don't know or don't care how to turn kids into successful grown ups. I saw this all too much at the private high school I went to. All the time this kid is going on about how his grandfather is the commander of the Navy SEALS, or his uncle is a general in the IDF, or some other shit, and then he'll continue by saying that said relative has opened up a channel for him to also be a Navy SEAL or get into Sayeret Matkal or something. Normally people just tolerate this shit and let him spew his bull shit because, honestly, who cares? It hits a chord with me though because he's talking about doing things that I dream of doing with a sense of entitlement. I mean honestly, I understand that having family members who can pull strings will open doors, but if you have such an entitled attitude, there is absolutely no way you can be cut out to join a SpecOps unit. No. Fucking. Way. In the IDF, it's much more important to have the right mentality than to be in tip top physical shape. He either needs to have a serious wake up call and start mentally and physically preparing himself, otherwise when he has an opportunity to go to gibush he's going to get kicked straight in the teeth with a steel-toed boot by military life.

Two nights ago my friend, I'll call him German, and I, were bored so we headed into RocketMan's room and start bullshitting. RocketMan starts saying that he's going to make aliyah because his cousin or something has opened up a door for him to get into Sayeret. After he gets into sayeret and finishes his service, his other cousin or uncle or whatever who is has some pull in the American military will open the doors for him to become a SEAL. German and I, having heard this song and dance before, decided it would be more fun to mess with him. We started saying that making Aliyah in Israel takes at least two years, and it admittedly wasn't all that funny because he wasn't buying what we were saying. Instead, he was just getting extremely pissed off.

Then the conversation turned to how RocketMan and his friend have designed a ballistic missile that's “more accurate but less explosive than anything the IDF already has.”

Me and German were floored. We could deal with the “my [insert relative] can [insert something ridiculously hard to do handed on a sliver platter] for me,” but for him to seriously suggest that he could design a ballistic missile that is good enough to earn a spot in the IDF's repertoire was simply too fucking much. Me and German shot each other a glance and started to explain to him how ridiculous that was. That, while we don't understand the intricacies of how the IDF gets ballistic missiles, to suggest that him and his friend could come up with something better in their own spare time was beyond ludicrous.

RocketMan “No dude, my friend went to fucking MIT. He majored in engineering. This is what he wants to do.”

Me “Ok fine, but has he actually started doing it yet?”

RocketMan “No he hasn't, but it doesn't fucking matter. We got all the information we needed from the internet and books and drew up the design and everything. The only thing we haven't actually done is built and tested it yet.”

German “Doesn't that seem like a pretty big oversight?”

RocketMan “Yeah, but between that and one other thing we've done everything we need to do. We've been working on this since 6^th grade.”

German “Ok, so you're engaging in extremely complicated science and at the same time building off of work from when you were twelve. Bravo.”

German and I started chuckling at this point.

Me “What's the other the thing you need to do?”

With no sense of irony RocketMan says, “We haven't checked the formula yet.”

At this point German totally loses it and had to turn around and start walking towards the back of the room to fully let his laugh out. He came back.

German “So you basically have done nothing?”

RocketMan “Fuck you, do you know much fucking money we spent putting these plans together?”

German “We haven't spent any money. You're the one who has spent the money.”

RocketMan “YOU KNOW WHAT I FUCKING MEAN.”

This is the point where things took a turn for the worse.

German “Ok, so how much did you and your friend spend?”

RocketMan “Ok you know what, you both need to get the fuck out of my room.”

German and I start backing towards the door but German was persistent.

German “Ok, we're leaving, but we want to know how much you guys spent.”

RocketMan is still laying on his bed. “I'm going to fucking count to five.”

German is half-way out of the door now and I'm standing next to him, still inside.

German “Dude, we're leaving, just tell us how much you spent.”

RocketMan ignores him and continues to count to five. When he gets to five, instead of doing anything he just stands up. At this point, I was convinced that he was either joking or full of shit because he made a threat that he didn't carry out. People have always told me that when it comes to people getting violent they never say stupid shit like “I'm going to count to five.” They simply start attacking you.

He upped the ante this time, however, when he pulled out a knife and took a couple steps closer.

RocketMan “I'm fucking counting to five again and then you two need to get the fuck out of my room.”

He folds open his pocket knife and holds it by his side. Still thinking he was joking, I picked up a broom that was next to me.

Me “Hey man, my broom has got a lot more reach than your fucking knife so you better back off.” Me and German started laughing.

Rocket Man “3...4...” His voice is getting louder and more authoritative.

I turn to German to say something when suddenly I see something whizz by my face, missing by only a couple of feet, followed by a loud thud.

Me “Jesus fucking Christ. Did you just throw a fucking knife at me?”

I look at the counter and see the pocket knife laying there, shaking, with part of the the handle broken.

Rocket Man “I am dead fucking serious. You two need to get the fuck out of my room. NOW.”

German and I look at each other for a minute and then sprint out of the room and down the stairs which landed directly outside of the kibbutz pub. Me and German were cracking up but also genuinely scared and trying to process what just happened. The Israelis and kibbutznikim all go quiet and start staring at us because we're being so loud. As soon as we realize this is going on we try to stifle out laughter and walk away. We walked directly by one crowded table, and while I tried to keep my cool and not make myself look like more of a jackass, German starts asking them, in Hebrew, how they're doing in a really sarcastic voice.

German “Hey guys, ma nishma? Ma kore? Hakol beseder?”

This is why a lot of the kibbutznikim don't like the ulpanists.

The night kind of went downhill from there. Later RocketMan came out and started defending himself, somehow rationalizing that being insulted verbally is an excuse for violence. He was drunk when he threw the knife and drunk when he started arguing with us later that night, but eventually he sobered up and apologized. This is kind of an extreme example, but it's people like this who make an otherwise great program pretty unenjoyable at times.

Life on the Kibbutz

2009-08-29T14:20:00.002+03:00

Sorry for the lack of updates, life on the kibbutz is great but kind of repetitive which leaves me without things to write about, but I’ll do my best here to put you in my shoes. I work in the back of the dining room, basically moving crates around. It’s kind of difficult but at only four hours a day I can’t really complain. My old job in the dining room was stacking the dishes. It was easy, but miserably fucking boring. Even Marx would have been shocked. A plate would come through, and I’d put the plate with the other plates. A cup would come through and I’d put the cups with the other cups. The tray for the cups got full so I’d take down a new one. The cart for the cups was full of trays, so I’d take the cart outside to the main room. Ad nauseam.

My new job is pretty enjoyable though, even if it’s not the epitome of exciting either, because of my boss. He’s a tall Ethiopian that used to be a Hebrew teacher. It’s great because he can not only help me build a vocabulary, he can help me understand confusing concepts with Hebrew grammar and such. All the Ethiopians that I’ve worked with so far have been very friendly, confident, and damn good workers. I say that with admiration. Sometimes when I’m working next to them I feel like I’m shooting free throws next to Steve Nash.

Life on the kibbutz, as an ulpanist, is hard but not too hard. It’s simple and laid back. There’s a few stores to buy food and basic necessities, a post office, the dining room, and a pub. What else do you need? The only complaint is that I don’t feel like I’m learning enough Hebrew, especially with four hours of class a day. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I feel like I’m learning, but the problem is that I’m usually around people who speak English, and who, like me, can’t yet hold a conversation in Hebrew, which leaves us in a stalemate. What’s worse, there are some people here who just want to party and could give a fuck about their jobs or their studying. If you want to do that, fine, but why the fuck do you come in to class hungover and with your eyes bloodshot everyday, and then give the teacher attitude when she wakes you up? Why did you spend thousands of dollars to come to an ulpan if you don’t want to learn Hebrew? I really don’t get it.

My experiences speaking Hebrew have been varied. Sometimes I get it right and can communicate something, often times I screw up and have to ask “do you speak English?” with my tail between my legs. I had a bus driver a few weeks ago think I was on drugs because my Hebrew was so bad. When I do get it right though, even if it’s just saying the most simple of things, (“Give me a bag, please?”) I feel really good after. In general though, I have to learn how to laugh off saying something very awkwardly or in a way that’s completely indecipherable. Whatever, everyone starts somewhere. I feel good in class when I can follow and contribute to the lesson, I feel down when I get lost. My emotions have been going up and down without enough middle ground. I was so apathetic back in NJ that now my mind has trouble keep its emotions in check; the good and bad ones. I knew this was going to hard but I at least thought I’d get a little bit of a vacation before the army started.

2009-08-16T23:22:00.006+03:00

I had a really good run on the beach tonight. The view there is spectacular, on one side you have the lights of Haifa and on the other the all-encompassing Mediterranean. I went with another ulpanist and if it wasn't for him or another experienced runner I'd probably never do any physical exercise. I ran thirty minutes two days ago and thirty minutes tonight also. I played football and baseball in high school but somehow I've never ran that long in my whole life. Now that I have, it's a really big confidence boost and made army life seem a little bit less daunting.

Me and the kid I ran with had a really good talk, the kind of conversation could only take place in that ethereal environment. In short, we exchanged life stories and for the first time in my life I divulged my entire history with barely any feelings of embarrassment.

He told me about going to high school and the strong displacement that he felt. Like he didn't belong. He could see through everyone's bullshit and didn't want any part of it. I don't think that eighteen-year-olds can "see through people's bullshit" because we're not mature enough yet but I do think it's possible to realize it's there. I related to that. He has two older brothers that according to him are losers, and he didn't want to go down that same path. Other than that, it sounded like his parents kind of phoned it in when it came to raising him. He said that, and being overweight when he was younger, made him a very motivated person. I could relate, at least tangentially, to pretty much everything he said.

Also, it was interesting that we are both love Israel but are coming for almost poetically opposite reasons: whereas he's extremely motivated, I want to find something to be motivated about. My general mood for the past eighteen years of my life has been mundane apathy. I told him I had about two months between the end of the ulpan and the beginning of the army, more or less, and that I'd probably try to get a spot living on the kibbutz. He said he was going to be traveling around Israel during that time and that I should come with him. Doesn't sound half bad. Looks like my life is really shaping up into something interesting, at least in the short term. I'm learning Hebrew, making friends, not being so embarrassed to exist, and starting to exercise and write on a regular basis. If I keep this up I think that my life will start to turn into something that I can truly be proud of.

2009-08-14T16:34:00.009+03:00

I'm here on my own. Out on the kibbutz it's weird that I don't feel much different than I felt in high school. Don't get me wrong, that vacuum of a summer vacation I was having was one of the worst things of my life my life but I'm here now and shockingly the world isn't slowing down to say congratulations to me for taking the road less traveled which really puts things into perspective. This is kind of a cliche occurrence, the protagonist imagines doing something so outlandish he can't even imagine it and when he finally does it he realizes that the stars in the night sky are equally distant as from where he was before. It's not depressing or anything, just humbling. I like to drink the "salvation lies within" KoolAid, but not in a religious sense-- just that life is what we make of it for ourselves, not that there's something waiting for us that we're supposed to find.

As a kid you grow up watching movies where grand adventures fall on the hero's lap, and you get older thinking that your own personal adventure is going to present itself any minute. There's no epiphany when you realize that's not going to happen, there's just the grind of a 9-5 that slowly silences your soul. When you finally figure it out, it's much too late. Not to say that your life gets wasted, just that it could have gone in a much different way. Human beings are creatures of passion, most people get their fixes watching soap operas and movies, others choose to live it themselves. I'm still a seven-year-old kid awestruck by movies like Jurassic Park and E.T., and I want to have an adventure of my own.

All that bullshit aside, I made it to the kibbutz and am doing okay. Lots of interesting people from all over the world, some annoying people, basically what's to be expected. I wouldn't actually say there's anyone I straight up dislike except for this one nineteen-year-old South American immature attention whoring little bitch. Luckily, this place is big enough where I can avoid him. One highlight from the last couple weeks was a when a bus driver thought I was on drugs because my Hebrew was so bad, but I take it as a sign of progress because he didn't realize I was a tourist. I've moved up in Israel from being perceived as a tourist to being perceived as a drug addled Israeli. I guess everyone starts somewhere.

Another time I was taking a 2 1/2+ hour bus ride back to my kibbutz and had a big bottle of water with me. I put on my iPod and started sipping the bottle and twenty minutes later, to my horror, it was empty. I ended up getting off at some stop still an hour away and pissing on the side of the highway for a good minute and a half. Then I waited at the same stop but no more busses were running because it was too late at night. I took out my cellphone to call my dad but for some reason Orange (my Israeli cellphone company) thought I was making an international call. I got on the phone with an operator who didn't speak English and had to argue with her for ten minutes in my shitty Hebrew to just let me make my fucking call please. I ended up going to a gas station down the road, ordering a taxi for 220 shekels. That's a little under sixty dollars for an hour drive which in America is a steal so I guess it could have been worse. As an Israeli woman put it to me, the busses here aren't used, they're dealt with. I couldn't agree more.

Here's a tip for practicing your language skills on native speakers. Don't smile like a little school girl every time you say something because you're excited you got it right. To them, it just sounds like normal speaking, and when you start smiling and laughing, wanting to get validation or something, you look like a baby that's grinning because it just shit in its diaper. Also, if you can find an English speaker who's serious about learning Hebrew that can be helpful, but in general try to speak as much as possible with people who ONLY speak Hebrew or whatever your target language is. It forces you to not cheat when you don't know how to say something. You'll be surprised about what you manage to communicate through your limited vocabulary and ridiculous gesticulations. Over all, be confident and persistent. You'll feel good when you work hard and see genuine improvement in yourself. I can't wait until I start dreaming and thinking in Hebrew.

Other than that, I've had to deal with a kid getting alcohol poisoning, and idiots in class that aren't there to learn Hebrew and want to talk the whole time. I also have a boss and coworkers who don't speak any English which is obviously good practice. I ran for thirty minutes yesterday for the first time in my life (fuck you, I'm out of shape) which was a big confidence for boost for me. Admittedly, I had to take brakes here and there but I finished none-the-less. What I'm worried about now is if I'll have the discipline to get myself into army shape in the next seven months or so and pass the gibush (tryout) for whatever unit I decide I want to be in. I'm also worried about how fucking difficult the army is going to be and if I'll speak god enough Hebrew by the time I get drafted.

My family back at home isn't helping. My step-dad has only called twice and my grandfather just put me through a guilt trip about how I'm making him unhappy and depressed. You only speak with me about three times a week and instead of having a conversation you want to just speak at me the whole time about how miserable you are? Really?Whatever, he's halfway around the world, his negativity can only do so much now. I have enough on my plate already to continue to emotionally invest myself in his bad attitude. Of course I sympathize with him also, I'm leaving him for a couple years and he hasn't seen his daughter (my mom) in a very long time but I need to keep myself focused on my own life, and he's not helping me do that. Worst of all, I haven't even spoken to my brother.

All in all, I'm happy with my decision and just continuing the grind. At this point, it's not so different than being college I suppose in the sense that it's parties at night and class/work in the morning. Being here and trying to balance work, study, and play, makes my life interesting if nothing else. I have a job stacking dishes which actually makes me happy because I desperately want to know what it's like to do the shit jobs no one else likes because I never experienced any of that going to a private school where everyone drives brand new cars that some people work their whole lives to get.

I'm on a vacation right now, for sure. A seven month calm before the storm. I'll update again soon, with pictures if I can.

I'm Back

2009-07-31T10:07:00.005+03:00

I didn’t have one of those cliche sleepless nights the night before I left for Israel. Three Tylenol PMs took care of that. It was strange that in a little more than twenty-four hours I was both approved as a “katin chozer” (returning minor) from the Ministry of Immigrant Absorption in Israel, booked my flight, and then actually flew to Israel. It all happened so fast I barely had time to process it. Even though I was sitting in a plane at 40,000 feet, on the inside the closest thing to a "feeling" I had was slight, distant displacement. I’d already gone to Israel before so in a sense nothing novel was happening. My mind was being so overloaded in such a short period of time that it was like nothing interesting was taking place at all. Oh, okay, I’m leaving home to go be independent for the first time in my life, halfway around the world, in a country with a language I don’t speak, to join the army, and I guess what I’m trying to say is that I can’t go to the movies tonight guys. Sorry.

On the other hand, I had some moments of powerful emotions. My unconscious really opened the floodgates a few times. I cried my eyes out saying goodbye to my five-year-old brother. His mother has already abandoned him, and while I know that leaving him isn’t wrong because eighteen-year-olds are supposed to leave the nest and start building theirs lives, I also know that in a very real sense I am just another figure in his life that has now up and vanished for no reason that he can understand. He’s the best thing I’ve ever had in my life up to this point and now I won’t get to see him for probably three years.

Also, my wrecking ball of second thoughts and doubts was knocking down the pillars of my sanity while I was on the plane. Who the fuck snubs a readily available college education to go volunteer for a foreign army? No matter how much I reminded myself that I’m not ready for college and should experience as many walks of life as possible while I’m young, the Energizer Bunny in my head just kept going and going. Flying over the Atlantic, even on a fully booked 747, is one of the most lonely places in the world. The loud and incessant churning of the engine mixed with negative emotions can really do a number on your mental state. There's people only a few feet from you in all directions, but they might as well be a mile away. To combat this, I did what any normal person would have done: took some sleeping pills, cranked up “Back in Black,” and let the bad times roll. Soon I was asleep and after I woke up that feeling of displacement I was talking about before doused most of my fears, and I was like a zombie for a good twelve hours. My dad and aunt were waiting for me at the airport. I smiled, laughed at their jokes, and even felt some genuine excitement, but I was only operating on four, maybe six, out of eight cylinders. I wasn’t fully there. It wasn’t until that night when I started to become excited and happy again, like anyone making Aliyah should be. I’m returning home! What isn’t there to be thrilled about?

And that’s how I feel now, on my third day in my new home. I’m still scared, I’m still apprehensive, but I know I’ve made the right decision. The next three years are going to be hard, and hell, they’re supposed to be hard. I didn’t come to Israel to be in a day camp. I came here to grow up and become a man, and you don’t become a man (or woman) unless you follow your heart and surmount any obstacles in the way of where it’s taking you. That’s the only way, in my estimation, that someone can grow up. I’m a little jealous of my classmates that are going to college, but I feel confident when I say that we’re both getting a higher education, just in much different ways. The abuse I’ll have to take in “tironut” (basic training), the terror of being in a combat situation, having to make it on my own, I welcome it all but am doing my best to not romanticize it; I know this might be the hardest thing I'll ever do. It could also very well be the best thing that I ever do, and I’ll be god damned if I’m not a little stoked about it.

Everyone here has been more than friendly. And as I’ve learned, friendliness needs no translation. Only about half my family here has conversational English but I have a connection with all of them. It’s amazing. I’m e-mailing back and forth with my family in the States, and in a way, becoming closer with them than I was in America. With most of them, I only saw them on special occasions, but now there’s an active back-and-forth where we update each other on what’s going on in our lives. I never had that before. Most news I heard only secondhand.

The way I’ve felt in the past few days have been some of the most unique emotions of my life. The bottom line is that I’m right in that sweet spot of happiness and enjoyment; in the way that you get the most enjoyment out of something right before it happens. I’m looking now over a broad and unfamiliar landscape, but have only begun my journey. I hope it's a good one.

Waltz With Bashir

2009-07-19T07:20:00.007+03:00

I'd been staying away from this movie I was so scared of it. That movie where the Israelis turned a blind eye to a genocide. In case you live under a rock, Waltz With Bashir is an Israeli movie about filmmaker Ari Folman's struggle with PTSD and the resultant lapses in his memory. He was a nineteen-year-old soldier in the First Lebanese War, and points out, he wasn't even old enough to shave when the Sabra and Shatila massacre took place. That was when Israel turned a blind eye while the Phalangist army slaughtered the unarmed inhabitants of refugee camps in Beirut that were under Israeli control.

I'd been scared of this movie because I thought it would show exactly what I fear the most. That all the negative press on Israel and the IDF is true, they're an oppressive regime that gets the green light from Uncle Sam to carry out whatever atrocities they deem fit; that the IDF is no better than the Nazis, the party that executed ten million minorities including six million Jews in WW2 and, politically speaking, are perhaps the only reason why Jews have a country of their own at all. I'm afraid that at some point during my IDF service I'll follow orders to do something equally reprehensible as things the Nazis. Or even if I don't, I'll have been part of an army that did. How could I live with myself if that happened?

That's why I was scared to see this movie, but decided it's better to be informed than ignorant. Maybe it would open my eyes to the brutalities of the IDF, I figured. I just finished watching it twenty minutes ago. Here are my initial reactions to the film. In the future, I'll watch the movie again and write another reaction to it, after I've done some more thorough research on the historical events in the movie and can understand the Hebrew better instead of just reading the subtitles. I think that there's an important insight to be gained from a gut reaction to something and then comparing it to a more levelheaded one. For now, this is how I feel about the movie as a prospective IDF soldier concerned about the army's morality:

Like always seems to be the case in life, it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought. I don't mean as a film, because as a film I thought it was great, but rather in regards to the IDF behaved morally. Some fucked up stuff definitely happened, but my worst fear wasn't realized, which was IDF foot soldiers casually executing unarmed civilians and having no second thoughts. Rather, it seemed like an error in Israel's leadership. Like I said, that's fucked up, but the foot soldiers, the fighters, the KIDS actually on the scene seeing everything brought what they saw to the attention of their superiors.

It was chilling in the movie when the Defense Minister or someone of important stature was informed by an IDF soldier in Lebanon of what was happening. "Did you witness it yourself?" he asked over the telephone.

"No, but several of my men have."

"Thanks for bringing it to my attention. Happy New Year."

It's terrible, but what's important I think is that something like that wouldn't happen today; such blatant disregard for human life for innocent, unarmed people. The movie was more about Folman and struggling with his personal demons, and not a factual documentary of the war, so I guess it's not the best source to use as an accurate depiction of the events in question.

What put me at east was to see that the soldiers, the actual people there, didn't know what was happening at first. There was a little willful ignorance, I think, but from the movie it seemed that they truly were unaware that Phalangists were going to execute the refugees. And once they did become aware, they reported what they saw and were far from OK with what was going on around them, as evidenced by several of them, not just Folman, erasing the event from their memories. I think what the movie did that was great was not only depict the horrors of war in a physical way (like the scene where Folman's friend recounts how, during an ambush, him and about five of his friends ran away, and all of them except him got picked off by militants) but also in a mental way; people do what they're ordered. This has been documented famously in the Milgram experiemnt. In Waltz With Bashir, the soldiers didn't do the executing, but they handed over the refugees on a silver platter. They fired flares into the air at night to help the Phalangists see while they executed the refugees.

At this point, the soldiers knew what going on, or at least had a pretty good idea, and still fired the flares. I guess that's the only part of the movie that really gave me something to think about. Would I have fired those flares if I had been ordered to? Probably, because I'm not special. I'm just as much a victim of human psychology as anyone else. I also think that armies are in the business of killing people, supposedly in the name of peace, and that the IDF's humanitarian record isn't much better or worse than any other country's, not the least of which is America's. As is the nature of being in the business of killing people, mistakes tend to be more pronounced and terrible than other less serious pursuits. If you fuck up building a chair, then you might hurt yourself when it collapses from under you, when you fuck up being a nation's army, innocent people die. That's not an excuse, it's just a fact. I think that Israel has learned from its mistakes and does everything it can to be an extremely moral army, which is a pretty notable thing considering that trying to be moral and effective in war is like trying to play organized football with no pads on; you are at a serious disadvantage to people who do have the pads. This is especially true for Israel, when you consider that its enemies are people who by and large don't follow the rules of the war, they only want to see Israel and all Jews wiped off the map.

Like I said, these are my initial reactions. I'm a young, ignorant kid who is always trying to learn about Israel and other things pertinent to my life, and I apologize if there is something blatantly offensive about what I've written. These are my reactions to the movie, unadulterated. When I have done some more serious research on the events depicted in this movie, I will write a more detailed response. For now, the movie hasn't shown me anything to reveal the IDF as the Nazi regiment the press sometimes accuses it of being. It's just an army, and it made horrible, irreversible mistakes, like many other armies have. As an American, I need look no further than my home country's military history to prove that.

2009-07-18T06:22:00.003+03:00

Sorry for the lack of updates. The only goal that I hope to achieve with my posts now is relieving stress and giving some necessary background on myself so later when I actually do get to Israel people will be able to frame my experience in a more personal context. As for when my next post will be, I should have an update on Monday regarding what the Ministry of Absorption has decided to do with my Aliyah application. In the meantime, here is the essay I used with my college applications. It's actually the second college essay I wrote; the first was some "what they wanted to hear" type thing about how I Huckleberry Finn has influenced my life. I read it over one day and was almost embarrassed by how much of it was bullshit, and decided to write a more genuine essay instead. It has to do with my visit to Israel in August of 2008; at the time it was my first trip to Israel in sixteen years:

My Trip to Israel

I’ve always been perplexed by the fact that often times knowing something on a conscious level is not the same as knowing something on an emotional level. Experience may be the only way to turn those conscious thoughts into something that you truly feel. This summer I spent two short weeks in Israel, but the person who got on the flight to Israel on August 14th was not the same person who got off the airplane August 28th. Some background information on myself: my parents divorced when I was too young to remember. Growing up I had several father figures in addition to my elusive biological father. At one point or another I felt abandoned by all of them.

Natural to someone of my history, I grew up feeling out of place and rejected. I rejected everyone before they had a chance to reject me. As I grew up, I crawled out of my shell a little bit, but not on any significant level, I was a prisoner digging with a spoon. At one point last summer I identified my problem and actively worked to restore myself. I became ecstatic one night because I felt like I was making real progress. With the intentions of continuing my personal progress, I decided to make a decision that I knew could only make riding this wave of happiness from the previous night. The next morning I called my father and told him I wanted to take him up on his offer for a trip to Israel. In the interest of self protection I insisted on only two weeks, incase I found the trip unbearable, a decision I ended up regretting.

August 14th was a long way off from late June, when I made the decision to go to Israel. In retrospect the exact thing happened that I thought would happen: as the summer continued I became more and more my old self, withdrawn and self-conscious, incapable of making a decision this emotionally frightening. When the trip finally came it was better than I could have imagined. Not only did I spend more than a few hours with my father for the first time in my life, I was introduced to a great family, and I was actually a part of it. For the first time ever I had family members that were my age. I never felt like I was being judged; I was a member of the family and that was that.

How was I changed when I got back? For the first time I truly felt like there was not something inherently wrong with me that I constantly needed to correct. I no longer stop myself from saying something because I feel like it’s an opinion not held by others, I no longer have to ask myself before buying an album what would my friends/parents/peers think if they found out that I bought this, I no longer had to ask myself what these people would think if they found out what book I was reading, or that I was reading at all. The point is my old self knew that living and experiencing life was the single best way to make myself grow as a person, I only lacked the courage. For the first time ever I identified something about myself that I wanted to fix, made a decision, and ended up exceeding my own expectations. What I learned is that life is the ultimate teacher; having someone tell you that you need to live life for yourself or that you need to not worry what others think of you is never the same as going out and experiencing those truths on your own.

Red Tape

2009-07-16T04:39:00.005+03:00

If you went to Israel on vacation, depending on your age and personality you'd get different things out of your trip. You don't even have to be Jewish, religious, or Arab; Israel is just a great place to visit. Of course, I'm biased, but if you go there to party or to sight see or to get in touch with God or just hang out on the beach, you will likely be very satisfied. That being said, you would probably be pretty oblivious to what it's like to live in Israel, on a day-to-day basis. Things are simply done differently there. A family friend of mine here in America put it well: she would hold up one finger on each hand, and hold her hands apart from each other. She would say that when Israelis want to get from one point to another, instead of going like this she'd say, moving one hand in a straight line to the other hand, they would go like this and then she would let her hand spasm and zig zag out of control for a few seconds until it reached the other hand. She's right, too.

Obviously, there aren't nearly as many Israelis as there are Americans, but if you put every single Israeli into, let's say, New York City, the entire city would collapse. The American bureaucracy system is probably better and more efficient than Israel's, but that's because Israel's bureaucracy has a serious handicap: it has to deal with Israelis. If you put all the Israelis in NYC, applying for citizenship and drivers licenses and jobs, NYC would crumble. I have no doubt it my mind. Israelis look at paper work and other such trifles as just that-trifles. Things that they do because they have to but they are a principled people and if they think they are getting jerked around, they won't go silently into the night. Americans are like this too, but they generally resort to yelling and being obnoxious. Israelis get like this too, but they get sneaky and scrappy, they will bend the truth as much as possible and plead their case until you meet them at least halfway. And God help if you are actually in the wrong. They will go through endless paperwork and hassle just on principal to get exactly what they want, to the point where it's not even worth it anymore.

Let me give you two examples from when my dad was living in the US. I use my dad as an example because he typifies Israelis. Go watch You Don't Mess With The Zohan. He fits into almost every joke about Israelis in that movie.

The first story was when my dad got pulled over by a cop on the highway. The cop informs him that was clocked doing 85 in a 65. "Really?" my dad says innocently, "because my speedometer only goes up to 80." The cop, confused, looked at the dashboard and saw that the speedometer, did, indeed, only go up to 80 MPH.

"Fine," the cop said. "I'll write a ticket for 80 MPH instead." Now, here it is. The crucial moment where Israelis are different --not better or worse, just different -- from Americans.

"No, that's fine, write a ticket for 85," my dad said.

Now the cop was baffled. "What? No I'll just write a ticket for 80."

"No," my did insisted, "write it for 85." The cop gave in and wrote a ticket for 85.

On the court date, my dad plead not guilty. The judge asked him if he had any evidence to prove his case. He calmly pulls out a photograph of his car's speedometer and whatever else he needs to prove that the picture is of his car. The judge looked at everything and quickly came to a ruling.

Not guilty.

Another time he was doing 120 MPH on the freeway, late to the airport. In his defense, he says this is the only time he ever did something that reckless. Anyway, a cop sees him whipping it down the highway and pulls him over. My dad explains this next part confusingly, but he says that he saw the cop and knew that there was no way the cop could have clocked him because of the angle the cop was at. Basically, the cop hadn't set up a speed trap or anything and because of the direction he was facing when my dad passed him, couldn't have pointed his gun at the car before my dad slowed down.

The cop pulled him over, understandably furious. "Do you know how fast you were going??" he asked.

"Of course I know how fast I was going," my dad said calmly. "I was going 65."

The cop gets even more angry and a back in forth goes on for a few minutes and my dad does let up one inch. Eventually the cop writes him a ticket for going 120 MPH.

My dad, once again, pleaded not guilty in court. The judge asks on what grounds. "Simple," he replies. "I was only going 65 MPH."

The judge asks the officer, "do you have any proof he was going 120 MPH?"

My dad had guessed right, the cop wasn't able to clock him. His entire case was basically that he saw my dad going so fast that he should be lucky to get a ticket for 120.

"Not guilty," the judge announces, and that was that.

Afterwards, the cop goes up to my dad in the courtroom. "Where you from?" he asks him.

"Israel," my dad replied.

The cop stuck his nose up and scoffed. "Figures," he said, and then he walked away.

That poor cop. He didn't know what he was up against.

I'll Show You From Where the Fish Pisses!

2009-07-15T09:01:00.006+03:00

This blog is getting way too depressing, and since I'm trying to keep busy while I wait until Monday to hear the decision on my Aliyah application, I decided to write this post that is much more light hearted than has been the norm around here.

* * *

Most sayings and idiomatic phrases in English have obvious meanings. When you hear someone say "snowball's chance in Hell" for the first time it's not hard to figure out that it means "highly unlikely." Not the case, so far as I can tell, with Hebrew. For example, there's a common Hebrew idiom that's literally translated as "from the face" but actually means crude or unlikable. No matter how much I think about it, I don't know why "from the face" should have a negative connotation, but alas, it does. I think the reason Hebrew doesn't carry over to English well is because Hebrew is a more simple language with a more limited vocabulary. I'm by no means impugning the language, but for the sake of entertainment it's worthwhile to explore the disastrous results of mixing Hebrew and English.

For example, there's another phrase in Hebrew that is literally translated as "from where the fish pisses". It simply means, "how it's done." You think you can beat me at [whatever activity]?? I'll show you from where the fish pisses! That's more or less how the phrase is used. If you said that to someone in English, however, not only would people not get what you were trying to say, they would probably think you've lost your marbles. On the opposite side of that coin, it's not so easy explaining English sayings to a native Hebrew speaker. At least, such is the case with my dad whose English is good but not great. The other day I unsuccessfully tried to explain to him for ten minutes what "other than that Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the show?" meant. He knew who Abraham Lincoln was, he knew that he was assassinated, but I couldn't get the point of that expression across to him. My dad has told me jokes in English that he heard originally in Hebrew that make no sense at all. That's one of the most interesting thing about learning a second language; you realize just how peculiar and imperfect languages really are, and that translating from one to another is a tricky business that shouldn't be taken lightly. My dad, as fate would have it, had to learn this the hard way.

One of my mom's boyfriends that we moved in with when I was a kid was named Stewart. My dad visited me for a few hours one time when my mom and I were living with him, and for some reason I had a big scratch on my face. I don't remember how I got the scratch, but it certainly wasn't because Stewart or anyone else hit me.

Anyway, my dad said to Stewart in his decent but not fantastic English "I don't know if you did this to my son, but if I find out you did, I'm gonna show you where the fish is making pee pee!" and walked away without letting him respond. All the better to let the gravity of that sentence sink in so that Stewart would know he wasn't fucking around. I could imagine Stewart, staying up to the wee hours of the night, sweating, scared and wired on his twelfth cup of coffee, trying to figure it out. Where, exactly, is the fish making pee pee?

Fast forward to my mom, dad, and Stewart, ending up in court. The reason: threatening violence. My dad had to explain, in a public court, what he meant exactly when he told this man "I'm gonna show you from the where the fish is making pee pee." The charges ended up getting dropped. It's probably punishment enough to have to explain that in front of an audience. My dad had a lawyer who spoke Hebrew that never thought it prudent to explain to my dad, even after reading the charges, that this phrase in particular does not translate well. He didn't find out that no one had any idea what he was talking about until the middle of the proceedings. The moral: when translating languages, approach with extreme caution.

Where I Am

2009-07-14T06:57:00.016+03:00

Here it comes, a stream of consciousness. Where I'm at: I'm waiting to get my Aliyah application approved. Confusion be damned, I'm going to lay out my situation in full even though people never seem to be able to follow when I tell them.

I have been accepted a spot on a kibbutz in Israel to take "ulpan" (Hebrew class) for six months. Also, I will be working. If you don't know what a kibbutz is, it's a traditionally agrarian community of people that use whatever product(s) they specialize in to sustain themselves economically. Most of the kibbutznikim live on their kibbutzim for their entire lives, raise families there, etc. Most kibbutzim (note: whenever you see an "im" or "ot" on the end of a Hebrew word, it's plural) have programs for non-members (people that don't live there) to come and live on the kibbutz temporarily. In my case, a six month work-study program. There are lots of other programs if you're interested in going to Israel as a tourist for more than a few weeks pretty much free of charge.

My kibbutz starts August 1st. Whether or not my Aliyah application is approved will be revealed on July 28th, except my shlicha (Aliyah person in charge of my file) has requested the process to be rushed. Now, I can't actually be denied Aliyah. It is my right as, as it is for all Jews, to make Aliyah. It's simply a matter of, will they want more documents? Given the situation with my mother, I've had to supplement many documents that I'd normally need her to give me. Since the situation is such that both my parents live in Israel even though I grew up in the US with my mother as my custodian for my entire life... the board in Israel is a little confused to say the least, so the chance that they will request more documentation is significant but not one can say for sure just how likely. They've already done it once, and each time they do it, it takes three weeks to get reviewed again, from the first business day in Israel AFTER you've gotten in the documents they've requested.

Anyway, my slot on my kibbutz is only valid if I make Aliyah. So if the board in Israel decides to request more documentation, it will be impossible for me to get approved between then and when the kibbutz starts since it will take at least three more weeks.

To add more confusion to this shit storm, a meeting was held to discuss me and other applicants this Sunday. They had the meeting and... STILL DON'T KNOW WHAT TO FUCKING DO WITH ME. This meeting is with the THE board that reviews my application, they could have approved me in the god damn meeting and instead of even getting an explanation of what was discussed, the man simply told my father "call me back today." My father called him back later that day twice (which was yesterday, the 13th) and the guy didn't answer his phone. Welcome to Israel.

These people know my entire situation, with my mom and whatnot. They know I am yearning to be with my family in Israel and simply waiting on their signatures, but there's so much red tape in Israel it's fucking ridiculous. So everything is hinging on what the Jewish Agency representative tells my father tomorrow. If he even answers his phone, if he even gives a straight answer... call me tomorrow. I'll have an answer tomorrow.

To make things even more fucking confusing, I could sign up for a tourist program that costs $5000 through Masa. I'd prefer to go to the kibbutz since it has 20+ hours of ulpan a week and the Masa program has like 3 hours a week. But the problem, the deadline to sign up for Masa is this Thursday, in two days. I'm going down to the wire here between opting for plan B (Masa) before it's too late, or doing the much more desirable kibbutz program. My head is fucking spinning. If things go wrong with the kibbutz program, and I don't make it, and the deadline for Masa passes... I'm and unemployed American bum. Welcome to the suck.

So that's it, the situation in a nutshell. Not too confusing, right? Simple even.

UPDATE: My fucking application got deferred until another meeting that's happening this Monday. FML. Luckily, Masa has decided to extend the deadline for me until next week; they're being sympathetic to my situation. Still though, FML.

Anyway, how do I feel. I feel stressed the fuck out. I'm still having second thoughts even though I know this is what I want to do (yup, that makes sense). I'm getting really frustrated with my dad because he's so calm and nonchalant about all this. Not that he doesn't care, but he's so god damn certain everything will work out, and even though yes, things look good, nothing is official, there are no guarantees yet. His calmness pisses me off especially when he tells me to calm down and starts joking with me. I'm getting really frustrated with him, but I know he's probably right. I did some terrible things to him when I was growing up, like hanging up on him when he was trying to reach out to me, or taking the phone off the hook when he called. I remember once I started mocking him, telling him I was converting to Islam or Christianity and singing "I love Jesus this I know, for the Bible tells me so" to ridicule him. Stuff I'm ashamed to my core to think about. The reason I did it was because he was convinced Sal was a Muslim and was trying to convert me, both patently false. Sal is Lebansese, yes, but not a Muslim, he's a Maronite Christian and completely secular. I was really close with Sal at the time and didn't like this imposer trying to insult my real dad. God, it's awful to think about. I think I was maybe fourteen at the oldest when this happened.

In my defense, my ENTIRE family spoke illy of him, except Sal, ironically. Although, one time, I did hear Sal say to him on the phone "if you ever come next to me and my family, I'll break your fucking legs." At the time, I felt good about that, I felt safe. My dad was less than a person to me in a way, I had met him only a few times and my family was always reinforcing what a bad person he is.

If you ask them, they'll deny it, because they never outright said, "he's a bad person, don't talk to him" what they did was more subtle, and more insidious. They would always laugh at him and his antics, rant about how he never pays child support, misses visits with me, etc, all right in front of me. That's shit you just don't say in front the kid's son, even if it's true. When it comes down to is, I don't know the full story. Who was right, who was wrong. Like all conflicts, both parties were probably in the wrong. All that I've established as true since neither my mom or grandparents (her parents) or my dad have disputed that all my dad wanted to do was arrange time to see me.

He exhausted all his money, time, and resources, all on legal fees, and all he ever tried to get was visitation rights. He sometimes got them, but they were rarely enforced, mainly because I got to a point where I didn't want to see him. After hearing my family constantly impugn him, including telling me how he probably wanted to kidnap me and take me to Israel, I was pretty disinclined to establish communication with him. I don't remember the facts anymore, but I'm pretty sure he did miss some visits and sometimes he would spontaneously leave America and return to Israel.

I still don't know what to make of what happened to our relationship when I was a kid. All I know is that I like him now and trust him now. He's not a bad person, my grandparents, he's most fervent opposers, don't even deny that. He's not immoral or a bad person by nature. They just say he's unreliable. God, I have no fucking idea. I was looking for copies of my parents divorce papers because the board in Israel for Aliyah requested to see them the other day. I didn't find them, but I found copies of legal documents between my parents and their lawyers. Disturbing shit. If you read them, you'd probably get bored and think there's nothing particularly alarming or interesting about these, but for me, when it's my OWN parents, it's rattling to read. Claims that my father threatened to kidnap me, that my mom is playing "hardball" with him because she wants him to return to Israel and not discover her drug use. (He was completely oblivious to that until a few months ago.) Anyway, it's all shit I'd rather not think about. But there I was, stuck in the middle.

I grew up without any real dad, and now I'm giving the prospect of having one in my life one last shot. So far it's working out pretty well. My dad did stay in America for more or less eighteen years while his entire family except me was in Israel. The only reason he stayed was to try to be with me, and he pretty much failed mainly because he almost always lost in court. That was his fault, he never paid child support, but his defense was that why should he pay child support if he's not seeing me? That aspect of his argument is a little off. Although, to be fair, my mother almost certainly wouldn't have used that money towards my benefit.

He's not a bad guy. I'm way too wary of father figures at this point in my life to make a completely off-base judgement on him. He has my best interests in mind. That I know for sure. That's the only thing that matters I guess. Everything else is pretty much up in the air.

Putting Things Into Perspective

2009-07-05T06:22:00.009+03:00

Remember a couple posts ago how my step-dad said to me "big fucking deal" about my high school graduation? Well tonight he was having trouble getting pictures from his camera to upload to his computer. I fixed the problem and then was looking through the pictures with him. First were a couple pictures of me before my prom. I remember that day, how he disinterestedly said before I left that he should probably take a few photos of me in my suit. Next were a couple pictures of my graduation. Most of them were of Joseph, my brother and his son, except one, which was a picture of some kid in my grade. I don't know if he thought that was me.

He couldn't get any pictures of me at my graduation because he didn't stick around for the reception. Apparently, he had to go distribute the payroll at work. I was the only person there without an immediate family member.

Then next pictures were Joseph's pre-school graduation. Sal (my step-dad) started getting all excited and began laughing at the cute photographs. "Look at how cute he is!" he said in admiration. I let out a bitter laugh that to me meant "I should have guessed." Sal thought I was just laughing with him. My step-dad, who swore to me up and down five years ago that I'd never become #2 just because we weren't blood, didn't realize that pictures from my graduation were in the album until the second time we looked through them. He didn't really seem to care either.

Then I have a family in Israel. I'm my father's only son to him that has evidently remained a bond unbroken in the past eighteen-years of almost no contact. Without getting into the details, my family here tricked me into thinking he was evil during my childhood and I never gave him a fair chance. Now that I have, I can see what a great person he is, at least I think, because he's my dad and he truly acts like it. I wish that everyone in the world had someone like him as a parent. In addition to him, I have eight aunts and uncles (directly, not through marriage) that seemed to genuinely love me also. From them I have something like twenty-four first cousins. I got along really well with most of the ones that I got a chance to meet. Actually, I recently sent some of them messages on Facebook and they didn't respond, and I'm sensitive to rejection so I don't know what to make of that, but whatever, I'm going to assume they don't hate me.

All in all, I have immense respect for people that succeed in life without a healthy family for support. It seems like people are at such a disadvantage for being mentally healthy if they have a shitty family. This family of mine in Israel kind of magically appeared when I was 17 1/2 and now I'm going to do anything to be with them. If there ends up being serious dysfunction in the family that's slipped under my radar that will be painful for me but at the end of the day I'll just count my losses and move on with my life. I've lived eighteen years with a dysfunctional family, I can learn to do it again if I have to. For now, it's time be with the family I never had. I'm not going to the army only so I can be with them, the thought of being a soldier has interested me almost my whole life, but for now I feel like I have to join the IDF just so I can have the option of living in Israel later in life if I want to. So that I don't have to be with my family in New Jersey where I often feel like I'm an afterthought.

Except for my grandparents. They obviously care about me a lot, but their relationship with me is way too codependent to be healthy sometimes; as much as I love them I have to be honest. They freaked out when they found out I wanted to join the IDF and now my grandfather "can't deal with this shit." Thanks, I'm risking my life to defend OUR people and instead of at the very least being emotionally supportive, which isn't mutually exclusive with being happy with the decision, you've done everything you can to sweep what I'm going to do under the rug of your memory banks. They both think I'm throwing my life away, "wasting my potential." On the contrary, joining the army is one of the most important things a person can ever do. What other jobs can you get that have more people depending on you, that's for a more important cause than people's freedom and the right to exist? Just because it's not prestigious, just because you don't need a college degree to do it, my grandparents think it's a stupid waste of time.

Meanwhile my family in Israel thinks it's best for me to go be with them but because it's in my best interest. They said that if I come they'll be here for me, do everything they can to help me. They said I shouldn't listen to anyone, that I should make the decision between Israel and college (college in Israel wasn't an option) for myself and do what's best for me, and they'd support me no matter what. This is after having barely gotten to know me. Isn't a family that's in my corner like that worth fighting and sacrificing for, possibly even dying for? To me, the answer is as clear as day. I can't wait to get to Israel and be with them.

A Little Competition Never Hurt Anyone

2009-07-01T08:55:00.017+03:00

A blog parallel to mine has just come to my attention. It's called "Israeli by Day, American by Night". This guy's blog is a few years old already and apparently he's made it into the Golani (Israeli Special Forces Unit). Wow. Much respect. I went to his first few posts which are the only ones that talk about experiences I've been through already, and it was fucking bizarre reading them. Ultimately though, it's really fucking cool to read first hand what I'm going to more or less be going through.

There are a few key differences between my blog and his that I noticed. He made Aliyah (Hebrew for "ascension," it's when the government assists your immigration to Israel) after college. Even from his first posts back in 2007, he clearly has a maturity that comes with age that I don't have yet. His reasons for going to Israel are much more founded on ideology a lot more than mine are. As in, he's a Jew, Israel is home to the Jews, our land was taken away from us for 2000 years, I should do my part in defending it. Also, religion played a large part in his decision to make Aliyah. Don't get me wrong, I take immense pride in my Jewish heritage but for me, personally, God has nothing to do with it. It's just me and my people. If God is up there it would be nice if he sent a postcard every once in awhile.

However, we do share in the sense of adventure. He said that what it comes down to is he wants an adventure. I couldn't agree more. I see too many people with boring fucking lives who talk all day about the shit they could be doing, wish they were doing, and I get infuriated because I'm thinking WHAT THE FUCK IS STOPPING YOU?? YOURSELF, THAT'S IT! Seriously, I've had people tell me how cool what I'm doing is, how they wish they could do the same thing. These are people I graduated HS with. You CAN do this, or something like it, you fucking morons. The guidelines for doing it are simple: just have a set of balls. Courage isn't being unafraid, it's doing shit that you know you have to do or want to even though you're fucking terrified. If you read this blog then you know how fucking scared I am right now. Yeah, I bitch about it here because that's what this blog is for, to vent what I'm feeling. But do I have any regrets? Fuck no. If I could go back a few months and make an enrollment deposit to college, and take the safe route, there's no fucking way that I would. I want to go college, but not right now. I made my decision and I'm sticking by it. Period.

Danny Brothers, the author of the blog I linked to above, said this in his first post:

I just want an adventure. I want to say I followed something, no matter what. I followed a conviction around the world, away from my family, and hopefully, created for myself a second home. I like good stories, especially when adventures mix with ideology...

That's it. That's all it fucking is. I try to live my life asking myself, what would an interesting character in a good work of literature do now? I don't pretend I'm a character in a novel, that's called narcissism, but since I like to write I've read a few how-to guides, and there's a consensus that an interesting character is not a timid character. They grab the bull by the horns. From Han Solo to Don Corleone to Huckleberry Finn, they all were people of action. Even in times of paralysis, they took the road less traveled, and that's what counts. That is, if you don't want to be bored to tears with your life and probably miserable about it also. I understand if you have a wife and kids and you eat shit at a soulless job so you can be at home with them, that's a different story. In fact, it's commendable.

But to all my friends that are my age, who have no long-term responsibilities and commitments, I have to wonder, are you going to float through life like this forever? Ever heard that simile that if the Earth's history was condensed to 24 hours, human civilization would be only a couple seconds long. That's ten-THOUSAND years of history, barely more than the time it will take you to read this sentence. Now imagine where your life fits in on that same 24 hour clock. Do you realize how little time you have?* I spent the first 18 years of my life being ridiculously timid. I learned my lesson. It's a law of physics that when a pendulum swings it will swing an equal distance in the opposite direction. I guess if you're always treading water instead of drowning, life lessons don't sink in as quickly, and it's almost worse that way.

This guy Danny Brothers made Aliyah and he didn't have any family or anyone in Israel to support him. That's impressive. Neither did Aaron Cohen, author of a great book, about an American who went to Israel to serve in the IDF, called Brotherhood of Warriors. I can only hope to live up to them. Even though the bottom line is that I'm going to Israel to be with my family, I kind of envy Danny. He said in his blog that he wished he had someone to turn to when he got to Israel, but at the same time recognized the opportunity of immigrating to a foreign country without anyone's help except his own. That's right, I said "opportunity," an opportunity for adventure, to face your fears. That's a really brave thing to do, and something that, for better or for worse, I'll never get to do. I'm not hanging my head though, this is by no means going to be easy. That adventure that I'm craving will still be there.

I can't wait to get on my flight. It should be in a couple weeks. Sparing you all the red tape, basically my application is in review, I should hear an answer in the next 2 weeks. I think it'll be fine though, but God damn, I can't wait to finally go to Israel, and get my life started. All I'm worried about now is getting to Israel. Everything else in my life is taking a back seat, including any doubts, which have all but disappeared.

UPDATE (7/5/09): Here's an absolutely hysterical entry that Danny Brothers wrote.

Read it, it's definitely worth your time.

*Has it sunk in it yet how fucking vital it is for you to seize every second of your life? Take a look at this picture. Read the excerpt of Carl Sagan. If you don't feel like reading, watch this amazing video. If that doesn't start to put things in to perspective for you, you need to take some time to think deeply on where your life is at this point, and if you're happy with it.

Just Business as Usual

2009-06-06T07:16:00.007+03:00

Tonight I took an hour and a half drive that should've taken thirty minutes to my aunt and uncle's house to have dinner. I had to listen to my busted GPS reroute every five minutes even though I was doing exactly what it said and couldn't have taken a wrong turn considering I was sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic. I had a headache coming on an I was getting frustrated, and it didn't get much better when I actually did fuck up following the directions. Regardless, I can safely say going to eat there was the only way I would have wanted to spend my Friday night.

At their house all we did was have dinner and watch TV for a little before I went home, but it was great because their family is normal, functional. They have two kids, the oldest is in eighth grade, and I feel happy for them because they don't have to deal with parents who are morbidly depressed and on the verge of a mental breakdown. They don't have parents or parental figures that need to use kids as a trampoline to bounce their emotional problems off of. We just sat around the table, made small talk, watched television, and had some much needed good laughs. Sometimes I need to be reminded that adults can be normal and in touch with society. I see it with my friend's parents from time to time, I saw it in my own family members tonight.

I never had that, not even once, at least not until I went to Israel. The routine I'm talking about. I never got to sit down with members of my immediate family and just have a typical, Friday night dinner. Sure, I've had holidays and whatnot that have been enjoyable but what sticks with me is that the dinner I went to tonight is an everyday thing-- something they do because they want to not because of some arbitrary obligation to gather based on a fictitious story about how some people left Egypt two thousand years ago.

The other day I graduated from high school and my step-father, the only adult I'm living with right now, didn't stay for the reception or the lunch afterwards. Later I asked him why and he said, "You graduated. Big fucking deal, why should I have to go to lunch? I had work." This is the guy I've lived with for the past nine years. I'm not surprised that we never eat dinner together, in fact I eat 90% of my meals alone, and it depresses the shit out of me. He's extremely cold when he interacts with people, he takes everything personally, and I'm realizing now how much of that has rubbed of on me.

This is why I can't wait to go to Israel, because I'll have what my aunt and uncle and their kids have. I'm not trying to snub my family here for my family there, but I think I have the right to get to know them since I never did growing up. There's also the sense of adventure of going to a foreign country, and also hopefully breaking through the terrible habit of laziness that I have. I can't go to college with no work ethic, it's not worth my time or my grandparent's money. When I consider all this, and as I write it down now, it seems crazy for me to not take a hiatus from college to get my personal shit together and hopefully not feel for sorry for myself all the time and maybe even be truly, genuinely happy. How the fuck could someone say that's less important than going to college for four years so you can get a piece of paper written that has your name written on it in pretty calligraphy?

Second Thoughts?

2009-06-03T23:55:00.010+03:00

Something occurred to me yesterday that I should have focused my thoughts on a long time ago. This is the first time I've been scared to go to Israel. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing, though. I'm sitting at home all day, doing nothing, watching television shows on Hulu. I'm way too lazy to do anything and I don't know why. I have so much work to do, work that needs to be done NOW, and I get all tensed up whenever I think about doing it. I'm also turning into a ghost of my mother when she used to live here, doing absolutely nothing during the day and if she had anything she had to do, and I do mean ANYTHING(check if her purse was downstairs, for one "I meant to do that yesterday..."), there was as close to a 0% chance as is possible that she'd do it.

Usually when I speak to my dad on the phone, who lives in Israel, it helps me remember in a meaningful way what it was like for me to be in there. Right now, I feel like a brainwashed prisoner bound by chains that I have the keys to but I'm too cowardly to use. I'm sitting here, wishing that I could go to college next year, but that's because I've crossed a point of no return. It's too late now, all the deadlines have passed. If I could somehow choose, right now, at this moment, to either go to any of the colleges I was accepted into or continue on the plan that I have now, I'm pretty confident I'd continue on this same path.

We live in a world with infinite opportunities and paths to take, and I think we should be staggered by the sheer amount of choices presented to us, except it seems like everyone does what he's supposed to do. What the fuck for? You know when people use that cliche line "don't follow the beaten path, make your own"? I think the saying is fundamentally wrong. I don't think any two people can go down the same path, I think that no matter how typical and run-of-the-mill your life is, it's still your life and you're still going down a path that no one else has.

I'm not trying to sound preachy or like those asshole that publish those self-help books that I feel embarrassed buying because it just screams "I'm never going to do anything meaningful with my life." The stupid books with shit like The 4 Steps to Living Your Life, Now, or Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. It's not even to say that these books are all garbage, and that the advice in them is all stupid, it's just that you can't learn how to live your life from a book, and every time I see someone reading a self-help book I immediately think the person is the worst type of American narcissist, a wanteverythinghandedtomebutdon'twanttoworkforit, instant gratification seeking loser that thinks there's a formula to living his life. I know that's not always true, but I can't help but always think that. In my limited experience it seems that if you want to read a book to learn how to live your life, you need to read books that you can absorb life lessons from, like a good novel, not a book with the eight steps to achieving your dream, probably laid out in the same format as the memo that Peter from Office Space got telling him about the new cover on all TPS reports.

I remember Alonzo Mourning came to speak at my school to promote his book, I forget what it's called now because it was offensively boring. He too had his own list of things people should do to be successful or happy or whatever, and he said something like All the success in my life has come from these eight steps, if it wasn't for these eight keys to success I wouldn't be who or where I am-, then he paused, squinted his eyes and looked down at his notes, and said Oh, excuse me, seven steps. It was these seven steps that made me successful, which brings us to step one...

Asshole. How can he attach his name to something he so clearly hasn't invested his energy into? The absence of passion from his entire presentation was almost insulting, especially since he kept referring to his kidney disorder. It came off as him playing that card not cause he actually cared but because he wanted people to take him seriously so they'd buy his book. It reaffirmed my belief that no one and nothing, probably not even God if you drink that KoolAid, can tell you what to do with your life.

It makes it apparent that we're all on our own, there's no right answer and everything important in life requires sacrifice. I feel scared and alone right now. I'm too scared to put the wheels into motion but they already are, and now I feel paralyzed. I sent two cousins of mine in Israel a message on Facebook and neither answered me... did I mention how important the familial aspect of going to Israel is for me? I don't expect to be greeted with a throne atop Mt. Olympus when I get there, but acknowledgment would be nice.

Even still, when I reread parts of this blog or stumble on something inspiring on the internet, or talk to my Dad, I feel a little better. I've listed all my reasons already, but sometimes I need to be reminded. Every single time that I do get reminded, I feel like I found an oasis right before I was going to die of dehydration.

It's been getting worse lately. I wake up in the morning totally scared out of my mind and it takes me a few seconds to figure out why. Then I know, for no reason in particular than I just know that it's about joining the army. My subconscious brings it to the attention of my thoughts in an indescribable way. I know that it's about the army before I before I can form a coherent thought. And when I say scared I mean just a few shades short of full blown terror. Seriously, I'm planning to do something that's supposed to drastically change me for the better, and I'm scared out of my mind. I want to know what kind of dreams I'm having, because I certainly can't remember them, but that can't be too good considering how I feel in the morning. There's simply no way around it: The reason I'm half assing my effort in the planning process is 1% laziness and 99% fear.

Then I realize something. I just graduated high school, and I didn't enroll in any colleges. You know what that makes me? Unemployed. If it wasn't for me going to Israel, I'd be exactly like my mom was before she left. Sitting around all day, not eating, showering, or brushing my teeth. Not socializing and not reading and generally living days that are so devoid of any meaning there's no reason to think I'll have a concrete memory of it even three days later. There would be no significant difference between us except that maybe I'm not mainlining Vodka at 11:30 in the morning to wash down my medications. So the only thing that's separating me from my mom as far as I'm concerned is that I'm planning to do something with my life. My back is against a wall right now; either I go to Israel or I sit around and do nothing until I reapply to colleges. I actually think it's a good thing that I've gotten to point where it's go to Israel or bust. I actually planned on this happening because I want my life to stop being so fucking boring and in my opinion college is a boring thing to have said that you've done even if it's a lot of fun to be there. The two aren't mutually exclusive.

As fired up as I am right now to get everything in order, I almost certainly won't be when I wake up tomorrow morning in a cold sweat, so to my friends who read this, can you please make sure that I stop being such a little bitch about making these plans and force me to actually go about putting them in motion.

Relapse

2009-05-25T03:05:00.009+03:00

When I started writing this blog I figured that before I left for Israel if I had any second thoughts I could go read that woe-is-me diatribe called "Why I'm Doing This" and become reinvigorated. A fire would be reignited under my ass and the target would become clear, but it hasn't been working like that. I think the only thing that's given any true reinvigoration recently are these two quotations from Chuck Palahniuk's Survivor:

"You're that tree falling in the forest that nobody gives a rat's ass about.

It doesn't matter if you do anything. If nobody notices, your life will add up to a big zero. Nada. Cipher.

Fake or not, it's these kinds of big truths that swarm inside you.

You realize that our mistrust of the future makes it hard to give up the past. We can't give up our concept of who we were...

Our way of getting nostalgic for what we just threw in the trash, it's all because we're afraid to evolve. Grow, change, lose weight, reinvent ourselves. Adapt."

And also:

"To stand here and try to fix her life is just a big waste of time. People don't want their lives fixed. Nobody wants their problems solved. Their dramas. Their distractions. Their stories resolved. Their messes cleaned up. Because what would they have left? Just the big scary unknown. Most people who call me already know what they want."

Here's a book I barely remember reading but as soon as I saw these two quotations rehashed on the internet I got hit square between the eyes, that all I want is to give myself a change of scenery. Way back before my idea to join the army was little more than a lion floating in the vast unknown of my thoughts and dreams, it was passages like this that would make my stomach curl with excitement, and shame also, shame that I was only sitting here and thinking about following a dream of mine.

When I first wanted to join the IDF, I had these pathetic fantasies of me becoming revered by my classmates. It makes sense I guess, a big reason I went to Israel was because I was sick of belonging to nowhere in particular. How could I make everyone care? Make everyone realize that I was the super cool kid who's gone unnoticed for his whole life?

Of course in light of my classmates finding out, that didn't happen, not even close. Most of them think it's just a really cool idea with no concept of what it entails. Not to say I have such a good idea myself, but when I hear shit like yooooooooo man you need to be one of those dudes that stand around the cities with their motorcycles, those dudes are fucking BAD ASS, they probably get to kill SO MANY PEOPLE. or actually no, no, wait, you should be a PILOT man... yeah that's a good idea a fuckin' PILOT. you know why man? do...you...fuckin'....know...WHY? cause pilots FUCK. SHIT. UP.

I even laugh and humor people when they say stupid shit like this, but it disturbs me a little. I go to a rich college prep school and I'm going to make a statement I have no business making because I'm as dumb as they are, but still: these kids have no concept of anything outside of their world. How the fuck is that cool? I don't want to kill people. I mean I'm prepared to do it, obviously, and I believe in what Israel stands for in spite of all its negative press, but Jesus fucking Christ, I'm not looking forward to ending another person's life. Not in the least. That's not why I'm doing this.

Why is it that whenever I'm near sleep, whether I'm falling asleep or just waking up, I get these horrible second thoughts, things that radiate throughout me the whole day until they pick up momentum the following morning or night.

Things that make me shiver and feel like if you could zoom into that little pixel that contrasts against the abyss in the Pale Blue Dot, I wouldn’t even be there... not even a dot on a dot.

When I manage to find out about parties for an entire month, and find out that no one cares and that my Blackberry isn’t going to be ringing off the hook to invite to me the one’s this weekend, it puts shit into perspective. In the face of a big decision, I’m learning how little people give a fuck about anything I do. There’s no grand scheme to exclude me, and it's arrogant to even assume people care enough about you to do something like that. This isn't the end of the world, in fact it's liberating. It's something that allows, or perhaps forces you, to live for yourself.

So here I am, The Stranger, trying to be the one person in the world who really cares about what happens to me. Sometimes I get terrified by the fact that I could be dead in a couple years, sometimes I think... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Call it a blessing or a curse, I don’t have the inherent work ethic to buy into our bull shit system, I can’t dedicate myself to something unless I’m 100% behind it, and even then I need constant motivation. That’s why I need to have someone screaming over my shoulder and making my entire platoon do push ups when I fuck up, if nothing else to teach me what dedication is. If I can’t learn to become dedicated and focused, there’s no question about it, I will not make anything out of my life. Here's my attempt to prevent that. How else am I going to follow my other dreams such as being a writer if I'm a lazy fuck who always thinks to himself

Yeah I got this great idea for a story...

Yeah there's this book I've heard was really good...

There's a girl I like I'd really like to talk to...

...but it can wait until later.

I've been deluding myself, and I know it. I want to join the sayerot (Special Forces in the IDF) I'll think. I haven't done any type of physical exercise in MONTHS. Every night I always say that I'll go running... I'll go running... tomorrow. I imagine myself running around a track, no one else is there, and the movie camera that is following me is edited flawlessly to change angles in tandem with the music and in a way that reveals to the audience (that doesn't exist) what a dedicated and admirable soul I am. Then I put down my bag of Doritoes to grab a soda and go play Fifa '09 (great game).

FUCK. THAT. All it tells me is that I'm still too self-centered to look at accomplishing any type of goal from a realistic perspective. That people simply won't care until I produce something that is of value. No one cares what a tortured soul I am or how fucking terrible (read: slightly below average) my childhood was. Or shit. I don't know. It's fucking hard to wrap my head around the fact that I don't know the first thing about the world at this point. That's why I'm trying to do something unique. So that at least I have some life experience under my belt so I can say that I actually do know. Here I go... it's going to be a pretty big fucking long shot.

Ultimately I think that true hardship is not only character building, but also the best mirror that there is, and I want to get a pretty good look at what I'm made of; but I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm pretty fucking scared of what's going to be revealed to me.

Did I Say 14 Months?

2009-04-12T06:07:00.009+03:00

First I'd like to say that I did my research, I really did. This research included two official Israeli websites and an official message board for foreign IDF volunteers. The moderators of the MB and the two websites all said in plain English that even though I'm an Israeli citizen I'm exempt from serving three years like most Israeli men; I could do fourteen months if I wanted under the condition that I'd leave the country when I finished. A year after I left I could return for vacations until I was twenty-seven at which point I could live in Israel if I wanted to, and I was perfectly happy going down this path. That was, until the Israeli government executed a top-secret operation with the sole objective of giving me the dick. Its code name was: "Operation Give Eli the Dick". Looks like this "short path for Israeli citizens residing overseas" doesn't actually exist. I don't have to do three years, only 2.5, but still, finding out that you have to do thirty-months instead of fourteen fucks with your head just a little bit.

Hi Grandpa. How's it feel entering your mid-seventies? You're really getting there, huh? How's the cancer treatment coming along? Grandma! How's your heart condition treating you? Good? Good! Anyway, remember that promise I made about going to college in two years? Yeah, about that.

Hey there, College Education That Should Lead Me Into a Stable Future. You probably can't hear me from over there, but there's been a slight delay. Sorry, speak up, I can't hear you. "Suck my schlong"? Why would I suck your schlong? Oh, oh, you said, "how long?" Shouldn't be more than two additional years. Summer winter summer winter. Sorry, that sucks, but it's the way it is. Anyway, call when you can, but I understand if you can't since it's expensive long distance.

Hi Joseph, my five-year-old brother that's already been abandoned by his mother! Eli's going to have to go away for a while. A little longer than he was originally planning to, anyway. I know you're too young to comprehend the difference between two years and four years, but it's a big one. I'm confident that me leaving you won't fuck with your already fucked with emotions, self-esteem, and sense of guilt. I should know, I've been more or less in your situation. I wish I could stay with you until you were an adult and share your burden with you, but I'm at that point where I have to leave you and carve my own niche in this world.

Hey guys that I go to school with. When I'm a freshmen you're all seniors and I'm pledging to your frat, please don't haze me harder than any of the other pledges, OK? When you're all working on Wall Street and making millions of dollars, and you feel like calling in sick, know that at that very moment I'm loaded on caffeine writing a twenty-five page paper on the socioeconomic status of young gay males in south-eastern China, and it's due in two hours. Also, I'm probably hungover.

Hey there, Statistical Chance of Being Killed or Dismembered! You look at least twice as big since the last time I saw you. Have you been working out? Oh, and I saw your cousin the other day, Statistical Chance of Going to College! Whatever work out program you're on, you should tell him about it because, between you and me, he looks a little frail.

Well at least things aren't all bad, there is a small glimmer of hope. I scheduled to meet with an IDF representative at my local Israeli embassy. Maybe he'll tell me that I'm wrong and I can do fourteen months. Things don't look good though.

Also, I know that the minimum time you can serve in the American military is something like two years and that's a special program, so now I feel like a bitch complaining about a measly 2.5. Whatever, fuck you, it hit me from a blind spot.

Shady's Back (The Introduction)

2009-04-07T04:46:00.017+03:00

My name is Eli, I'm a an 18-year-old born-and-raised American who has decided to go to Israel to join the IDF and blah blah blah.... Look, the truth is if I've ever been more scared to do something in my life, I've blocked it from my memory. Getting over the fear of roller coasters is a solid analogy for how I feel right now. The train comes in and the people who are getting off are all smiling and cheering, "That was fucking awesome, man!" but that does nothing to calm your nerves. You take your seat and the assistant impatiently straps you in. It's not too late to get off, you tell yourself. But no, you can't fucking back out now. Then the train starts moving and you know you've crossed the point of no return which brings you even closer to a full-blown panic. You're trying to hard to not be a bitch, to tell every natural instinct in your body that everything will be OK.

Then there's that god damn fucking ascent up the hill. Everyone who's been on a roller coaster knows about this. If you're not scared of coasters this is no big deal; it's fun even. But when it's your first time all you can focus on is that chain emotionlessly pulling you to the top as the noise it makes grinds against your nerves until they're shattered and mangled. You look down and notice how the ground is moving away from you. An eternity later you get to the top, and there's no moment of clarity or nirvana where you just accept your fate; you're about ready to freak the fuck out until you feel the wind pick up and the coaster zip down. Then it happens: you start to have fun. Before you get to the bottom of the first hill you realize this isn't that bad at all. By the time you get to the second hill, you're enjoying yourself in a stupefied "what the fuck was I so afraid of?" state-of-mind.

That's what it's like waiting to go to Israel this summer. Just replace forty-five seconds going up a steel hill with three months of painfully cyclical thoughts and having intense conversations with yourself when you try to fall asleep at night. Hey there, Eli, it's your old pal, Common Fucking Sense. Do you remember me? We haven't spoken in a while. I was just wondering, do you want to die? Do you want to throw away a college education? Do you want to spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair sipping spaghetti through a straw? Oh you don't, huh? Then go fucking get your college acceptance letters, those enrollment fees aren't going to deposit themselves.

Yeah, those acceptance letters are tempting. I got into some schools that I'd be really happy to go to. What's good is that these moments of doubt are always followed by these fleeting moments of clarity where I remember all the great times I've had in Israel, what a connection I felt with my family and with the country, and the emotional gauntlet I had to run through every time I left. Most of all though, I remember how confident I was that I could be a soldier and that I belonged to this country, and how I anticipated that when I returned to America my confidence would dissipate. No, I don't want to end up in a casket, but this is important enough to me that I'm damn well sure I don't mind taking the risk.

With one small problem, that is; I haven't gotten to the top of the first hill yet, or knocked over the first domino, or whatever stupid metaphor you want to use. Until I do, I'll have nothing to comfort myself but my own thoughts and fears, the main one being that this isn't a fucking roller coaster and there's no guarantee that I'm going to "realize this isn't bad at all" the second I start the first drop. What the fuck would count as the first drop anyway? Getting off the plane? Starting basic? Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to have a clear vision of how this will turn out until I'm at the point of no-return and there's not a god damn thing I can do about it? Is this what living your life feels like?

I really want to be a kid forever.

NOTE: Here's the explanation.

The Returning Stranger (Why I'm Doing This)

2009-04-01T05:17:00.020+03:00

Nobody asked for life to deal us with these bullshit hands we're dealt. //

We gotta take these cards ourselves and flip em, don't expect no help

My name is Eli, I’m 18-years-old, I was born and raised in America, I go to an elite college prep school, I have been offered admission to several colleges, I’m reasonably smart, and I look both ways before I cross the street. I’ve also decided to snub all conventional wisdom and join the army. Not just any army mind you; the Israeli Defense Forces. I’ve been trying to figure out why for a long time, and I’m still not completely sure. It has everything to do with my mother, and a lot to do with her various boyfriends. More importantly, it’s because of my Israeli father and his warm and accepting side of the family. This explanation wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t briefly chronicle my life, from the beginning until now.

To start, I was born in _______, New Jersey. A few years later my mother divorced my father and received full legal custody of me. From when I was two until I was about thirteen, I was stuck in the world my mother created for us. Even though she moved from boyfriend to boyfriend like they were frets on a guitar I felt safe because she was a stable figure in my life. When she punished me I knew resolutely it was because she loved me. Few kids in my experience feel that way at seven-years-old. She wanted to give me the childhood she never had. Every word she spoke to me, every waking moment and conscious thought were all out of love for me, every thing she did was to make life better for me. I was literally her reason for living. At this point, you need to recalibrate your codependency alarms if they’re not going off because it should be obvious now that she was an utter emotional wreck. A single mother with no ability to care for herself or hold a job, lost in a world that emphasizes college degrees and strong work ethics; the ability to raise a child was only one of many things she didn’t have. One day she was home alone with me when I was seven-years-old and tried to overdose on her medication. Blood shoot out of her mouth as she went into violent death rattles, and that glint in her eye disappeared like a star getting covered by a cloud. An ambulance came and she survived, at least physically, but I was traumatized and her mental well-being was still non-existent.

When I was eight she turned to the drugs; not just her liberally prescribed medications, but the illegal stuff as well. Heroin, cocaine, weed and special k; if you can name it she probably did it. She was lost in a galaxy of multicolored uppers, downers, screamers, and laughers, except she wasn’t looking for the heart of the American dream, she didn’t know what she was looking for, but unfortunately I had no choice but to come along for the ride. It was tragic, but I still loved her. With every ounce of my being, with every fiber of my body, I loved her and would have died for her. I prayed to god that he would take her pain and give it to me; I didn’t know what was wrong with her but I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and responsibility for the emotional tornado she was in just like any kid would, and this lasted for nine years. It also screwed me up immeasurably. I was young and moldable, and I had this emotionally train wrecked, codependent mother. There was never a chance it was going to turn out well. My mother had four main boyfriends while I grew up.

The first was Brian. One certainty about him is that he hated kids, and I was no exception. He is also the most influential father figure I’ve had because he got to me right in that sweet-spot of a child’s development. I think about the year-and-a-half that I lived with him every day of my life even though I have very few concrete memories. I don’t know if I blocked everything out or was just too young to make long-term memories. What’s more strange is that I want nothing more than to go back to that time even though my mother was suicidal and not remotely in control of her actions; even though Brian was offended by my existence and was quick to put me down with his tongue and sometimes his hands. It’s completely crazy, but I’d give anything to relive one day during that time in my life.

Stuart. He was a friendly guy, but not fit to be a father. He probably only had carnal interests in my mother. His twenty-one-year-old drug dealing son lived with us as well. It is from him that my mom picked up her habit.

Peter. He was also a friendly guy; playful and fun to be around. He was also in no way fit to be a father. It’s a good thing my mother and I never moved in with him like with all her other boyfriends, otherwise the inevitable breakup would have devastated me more than it did.

Sal was the last boyfriend and I still live with him as of this writing. I think he means well, I think, but he is so consumed by his own misery that he doesn’t have the ability for compassion, trust, love, and definitely not for empathy. He is not without his good points, such as during my mother’s drug escapades, I’d be willing to bet my soul that he never even felt tempted to use the drugs she was on, and it’s not like she never offered. Such things are not an issue with him, his fatal flaw is being totally incapable of dealing with emotions, both his and those of others. I remember in fifth grade when I asked him why mom was in the hospital for so long and he calmly told me that she was using cocaine and had to go to rehab. I never cried so hard in my life. He just sat next to me and didn’t say anything, he even looked impatient, like he was saying "hurry up and cry already so I can get to work." I know that he probably felt horribly inside, but that is the only way he knows to deal with emotions; if it’s not anger then it’s silence.

Being that all these boyfriends were father figures to me, I looked up to them unconditionally. Brian, Stuart, Peter, and Sal are all a part of me although I wish to god every day they weren’t. Regardless of what I wish, the fact is I have Brian’s quick temper and hatred for most things, Stuart’s aimless view of life that refuses to admit reality, such as his son is dealing drugs from his own house, I have Peter’s flippant childishness and lack of ambition, and Sal’s total inability to express emotion. I have these attributes and many other ones acquired from the fathers I had growing up, some may even be good.

Having been molded in these circumstances left me emotionally stunted to say the least and made my high school experience almost unbearable. It could have been worse; I’m lucky that the people at my school were generally friendly and for the most part easy-going. Regardless, being unable to interact with people I had a lot of trouble making friends because I didn’t know how to reach out to people. Things like confidence, outgoingness, and even friendliness frightened me because of an inculcated fear of abandonment. As for girls: forget it; I couldn’t speak to them if they were even mildly attractive.

Combine this with the fact that the few friends I did have were in the same boat as me, but they moved on emotionally before I even knew that I had a problem to fix. When this happened I was left in a desert of loneliness and self-hatred, friendless and by myself... good-bye self-esteem. Alone and betrayed, I had no choice but to dust off my shell and lock myself into its deepest most cavernous depths, turn off the lights, and throw the key away. I had no interest in interacting with anyone. If someone talked to me I got pissed off, if a person paid me a compliment I assumed the opposite was true. Everything was an excuse to belittle myself, every little thing said, done, or ignored in my presence was evidence for how fucking pathetic I was. I was that fucked up, and the worst part was that no one was going to help me. I didn’t care about school, I didn’t care about my family, and I definitely didn’t care about myself.

Left in this vapid state of half-existence I passed through the days which in retrospect are a complete blur. I just wanted everything to be over but I didn’t know what everything was. More than anything I was crying out for help in the only way I knew how. Some people do it by being rebelling against authority; I did it by disappearing entirely. I also had that idiot sense of entitlement that many people have, especially high schoolers, and I felt like the world owed me something. It took me awhile to learn that the world owes me nothing, as Twain said, “It was here first,” and that if I wanted something I’d have to man up and go get it. Then I made the best decision of my life, and it was deceivingly simple: I decided to take my father up on his offer for a trip to Israel. How I even had the capacity to make such an audacious decision considering that I barely knew my dad astounds me; I guess I was just sick of waiting for my emotions to sort themselves out.

My biological father, a native of Israel, was an enigmatic figure when I was growing up. He’s a good man with good intentions, but not always that much follow through. What separates him from all my mother’s boyfriends and my mother herself is that he, more or less, is emotionally put together. Even though he can’t hold a job, even though he lives with his mother, he is warm, compassionate, good-intentioned, and never on the verge of total mental collapse. This description of him might not sound flattering, but given the parental figures that I had growing up, these attributes were easily more than enough to win me over. Not only that, he has three sisters and five brothers that are all great aunts and uncles in their own right. Through them, I have several cousins and we all get along great. This family as a whole is the reason I am delaying my education at least two years to join the IDF.

Here’s where it gets strange: I’ve only been to Israel twice in the past 16 years: two weeks in August and December of 2008. For all intents and purposes I am making assumptions from having brief run-ins with these strangers during quick two-week vacations. These strangers include my father, who I only saw twenty times or so growing up during supervised visits. Now I am risking my life and my future to serve in his country’s military, home of a language that I don’t speak and a culture I don’t understand so I can connect with him and his family. As anyone who has grown up in a terrible home environment would know, the only thing you ever wish for is that the dysfunction would go away. To have the universe dangle this incredible (read: functional) family in front of my face was too much. If you were me, if you went through the things that I went through, you would have made the same choice.

By the way, the Israelis have it easy: they never have to let their family know they decided to join the military; the decision is made for them. As I’m sure most others who enlist in the military could tell you, informing your family is no easy feat. My grandfather in particular made threats, such as he would never speak to me again, or that he had no intention of paying for me to go to college if I should join the IDF. These threats were empty, and we both knew it, so then he and my grandmother tried to persuade me in other ways, such as they can’t sleep at night and that their health is rapidly deteriorating as it is and my decision to go to Israel will exacerbate that, they’re not going to live forever, etc. This was particularly devastating because at the time my grandfather had just been diagnosed with prostate cancer. I imagined them laying in bed, gripping their pillows all night with the lights off, laying in the fetal position while shivering and drenched in a cold sweat. I envisioned death gripping them slowly over several months because of a depression that would start from my decision. Of course that was ridiculous, but there I was: A kid that never had people to look up to or any type of significant emotionally grounding familial figures except for my grandparents and now I am being told by them that I am killing them by living my life the way I want to. It is this type of emotional torment that turns people into my mother. Not to mention the legitimate arguments that I am throwing my life away, that I am crazy, no one with a college education in front of them would ever decide to go join the military, especially in a foreign country, etc.

After a lot of soul searching I decided to go through with following my dream, in spite of everything thrown in my way. I came to peace with the arguments and the intense guilt trips, but more than anything I decided that I didn’t want to suppress what my heart was telling me. I informed my grandparents of this in an e-mail, and surprisingly they are coming around to my decision although it didn’t happen right away. That does not change the fact that choosing the path that I did, with them bearing over my conscience, and a lot of other obstacles, was the most difficult thing I have ever done. For the first time ever I could pick a path for myself free from my mother’s lunacy. In the end, I figured that any decision can turn out to be a mistake; whether it’s joining the military, going to college, going left instead of right; it could all be a mistake, so why not have it be a mistake on a path that I chose?

At this point in my life I’m happy to say that my dysfunctional childhood and my terrible high school experience don’t seem to matter much because I have a future to look forward to that I can be happy with and proud of; that I can hopefully look back on and say that I wouldn’t have done it any other way. For a lot, maybe even most people, this means going to college. For better or for worse, it doesn’t mean that for me. If I had faltered at the moment of truth, if I had given into the guilt trips and the “think of your future” arguments, I would already be on a path I don’t like; on the superhighway to becoming the parents that I had growing up whom I now hate. Maybe I’m on the wrong path but god damn it I am not on that path, and that is what my dream really is. Am I living it? I really fucking hope so.

It’s been a long a time since I’ve rock and rolled

It’s been a long time since I’ve hit the stroll

Ooo Let me get back, let me get back, let me get back...

Baby, where I come from.

It’s been a long time, been a long time

Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time.