Travelogue XIV – Brigadier Generals, Awards, New York & The Officers School
moocowinthecity -=The Reason For The Long Delay=-
My apologies for the delay in writing – first it was due to unstable internet (which has since been corrected) but then, many months ago, I came back to find my laptop on the Kibbutz stolen. I left for work and returned a day later and my room was ransacked again…I was hit twice in a row. Anything of value (electronics, etc.) was taken. They even took my half used bottle of Aqua Di Gio cologne. The one thing they didn’t take was my hiking gear (which is the one thing that I actually placed value on – I really don’t own a whole lot and anything else of importance is in my bag which I always have with me anyway).
The Israeli Police are not known for their intelligence but I had to deal with them to file a report. I called them at 8:00 in the morning (knowing that they wouldn’t come for something like this at night)…I was told to call them back in half an hour (as I assumed, they were making coffee). Calling back in half an hour I told them I was at Kibbutz Zikim which lead to thirty minutes of “Who’s on First” (there’s a military base next to us by the name of Base Zikim)…finally, after they understood where I lived, I told them I would meet them at the front gate.
About an hour or so later a police car came and I hit the button to open the gate and walked up to the car after it had pulled over and parked. The officers rolled down their window and looked at me, and told me to hold on a second. I waited as they dialed their phone…and answered as my phone went off “Hi…yes…I’m the person standing next to your car…I’M THE ONE WHO CALLED YOU!” as the driver (and the officer on the phone) turned their heads to look at me.
After explaining to them that I was a soldier (I hadn’t yet gotten into uniform to head to base, having informed my commander that I was going to be late) they asked me if my gun was stolen. I explained to them that I don’t carry an M16 on a regular basis, only when I’m on an assignment where I have to or when I’m on guard duty. They asked me why. I told them I was in the Foreign Relations Branch. They asked me what that had to do with anything. I told them it was because the army gets upset when I shoot the foreign attaches.
My former room (I’ve since moved to a different room on the same Kibbutz) was a one room shoebox design and we made our way over there so they could take a look. There was one main window in the back. The Kibbutz had removed the security bars that used to guard that window because in place of the window, they were in the process of having a bomb shelter installed. There was a bathroom which had a small window which no one could possibly fit through, so that was moot as a point of discussion.
After I unlocked the door for the officers to go in, they stood for another twenty five minutes or so…contemplating as they looked into what amounted to a tube of a room. Finally, they turned to me “we have a theory” the spokesman for the two said (clearly Watson, the narrator). “Oh, what is it?” I asked…knowing I was about to be sorry I begged the question “We think…” he said as if he were about to solve a cold case file “…they came in through the window…” he smiled a toothy grin…happy and stunned at his own incredible deductive reasoning. I immediately apologized in my head to anyone I had ever berated for making blanket statements about the Israeli police force and now fully concurred with them. “Oh…” I said “I thought they slid in through the crack under the front door…sort of like a Genie…we have them in these parts, don’t we?” They both looked at me.
Sherlock then told me that he needed to call the Crime Scene Investigation Unit…which I thought was sarcasm because of my now stated belief that I was robbed by a Jin and maybe we were now playing twos…but it turned out I was wrong…we do have a CSI unit…it consists of a very nice van, painted with a CSI-esque logo…and is run by a ninety-ish year old man with a finger print case. Now…I like to think that fingerprinting is sort of elementary…you know…like there might be some standards or procedures for where to look….as in the case of my room…if there is a clearly defined palm print on the window maybe the standards should dictate that you dust there…instead of my pillow or my desk. Having sufficiently ignored the palm print (because clearly there couldn’t be anything useful there) Moshe (as I referred to him in my head…since I had already assigned the names of Sherlock and Watson to the first two rocket scientists that the police sent) packed up his things and left…declaring that there wasn’t anything useful in the room at all.
What makes it more frustrating is that the Kibbutz forgot to tell me that I had the option of insuring my room for what amounts to $8.00(USD) a year. The financial loss that I incurred was huge…and was exacerbated when the Kibbutz deemed that despite not supervising the workers, having removed the bars from my window and failing to let me know that my room could have been insured they determined that they had no responsibility in the matter and that they weren’t going to reimburse me for anything. I’ll recover from this financially after I get out of the army and can start working a real job, for now I just shrug because there’s really nothing more I can do.
My Arabic professor used to say it was good to be poor for awhile…because it meant when you were finally earning money you could really appreciate it…I’ve been telling myself that these past few months in the hope that it rings true later.
I was promoted to the rank of Corporal which came with it a token pay raise of three shekels and couple of weeks after the promotion, an award.
My commander called me on July 15 and told me to be at Head Quarters on July 16, 2009 in my best dress uniform. I arrived and was awarded with a few other officers and soldiers by the Chief of Staff of the Ground Forces, Brigadier General Yoav Har-Even.
For my work in creating the ESL (English as a Second Language) course for the IDF Ground Forces Command and creating the first Ground Forces wide English assessment exam and testing procedures I was awarded with a Certificate of Excellence.
I was also provided with my own building to have an ESL classroom and testing center in (links to photos are at the end of the travelogue). This was only made possible due to the incredibly hard work of Yaron, a Chief Warrant Officer that we work with.
My duties don’t just keep me on the base though. I find myself heading into Headquarters in Tel Aviv frequently and I’ve also had the pleasure of going on assignment with my commander.
On July 7, 2009 I went with my commander to the West Bank as personal security (he had to go check on some things and he required someone to ride with him, literally, as shotgun. He figured I’d enjoy the trip “to meet people crazier than you” he told me). I went to base early and signed out an M16 and two clips and then got on a bus and made my way to Tel Aviv where we met up and made our way to the West Bank together in his car.
Right before getting to the border we got out of the car and put our clips in – something you rarely do is walk around with a loaded weapon – which demonstrated to me the seriousness of the visit. Getting back into the car we went through the border and entered the West Bank.
The West Bank is gorgeous and surprisingly quiet…and like most things in Israel that are quiet, it has the potential to get really loud, really quick.
I recollected as we drove through the beautiful landscape that I had a similar experience when I went to the Dome of the Rock/The Temple Mount on my pre-aliyah trip – it was so quiet and calm there that I was actually stunned.
As we drove down the road I kept my eyes moving, taking everything in. It was interesting to see signs entirely in Arabic for things like home insurance, schools, cars, etc. It is incredibly hilly with winds blowing everywhere and light from the sun mixing with the rocky ground and the hills comprised of both earth toned rocks and grass that make up the general landscape in the West Bank. All you want to do is setup some tents, a campfire and begin roasting up some kosher smores.
Personally, being there for the first time, getting to really walk around – it makes the entire situation seem that more absurd. These are fights that should have been settled long ago and lands that should just be appreciated; to have acts of violence come from them is such a waste of beauty.
We made the necessary rounds, talking to a few people, keeping our distance from the locals and then turned around and went back into familiar territory. After stopping off for some falafel we parted ways. We would do this trip once more a couple of weeks later…thankfully, and once again, without incident.
On Saturday, August 1, 2009 a terrible act of terror happened in Tel Aviv…this, outside of a Ketusha rocket landing on my Kibbutz and putting up with what was constant rocket fire from Gaza, was one of the first acts of terror that I’ve ever experienced, peripherally, in Israel.
One of the things that goes almost unspoken except on nights when you’re sitting outside with your friends at three o’clock in the morning at the beach is how you think you’d act in a terror situation…what would you do?…how will you handle the news of a suicide bomber going off near you?…what if he was a block away?…two blocks?…near where your friends work? It’s something that crosses most of our minds, especially those of us who are immigrants…and is something we usually feel the need to discuss but are never quite sure with whom we can discuss it other than ourselves.
The way you know any act of terror has been committed in Israel is that your phone will start to receive rapid text messages from your friends trying to make sure that everyone’s okay…or in the case where you’re in an area that most of your friends aren’t, your phone will ring repeatedly, each one trying to hear your voice to make sure that everything’s fine and you’ve managed to get yourself to a secure location.
It’s never okay to “just disappear” in Israel. Much like checking in with your Mother before changing plans, similar is expected of you here by your friends. I was greeted with calls and text messages checking in to see if I was okay and I responded to them before heading back to bed.
I had been staying with a friend in Tel Aviv for the weekend instead of heading back to the Kibbutz which is why my friends were concerned. My commander finally asked why I had a propensity for living in areas where excitement happens or being in areas when it does…I was once again threatened with being put inside a ball of bubble wrap by my unit…and I shrugged as I tried to make sense of what happened and go about my day.
The next weekend my friend Shirah and I stood with 70,000 people in Rabin Square, tears streaming down our eyes to mark the taking of lives…many of us walked around like zombies all week thinking about what happened…candles were lit everywhere that night marking lives that were put out too soon, that were cut short before their prime.
Gathered with 70,000 people in Rabin Square we began the process of healing…some more affected by this tragedy than others, though it touched everyone…seculars and religious alike.
I have never been one to need reassurance when something bad happens, but when President Shimon Peres got up to speak and delivered such a strong address that it brought fresh tears to everyone’s eyes, I finally knew what it was like to be comforted by the words of an elected leader (something I had never personally felt living in the United States regardless of the administration or political party).
What President Peres said as he stood up to speak was that when a gun was pointed at the Gay community a gun was pointed at him and all Israelis. It didn’t matter what community it was pointed at, because we’re all Jewish which means it was pointed at all of us…and as my friends who aren’t in the Gay community said to me when I ran into them at the demonstration, they all had one line going through their heads all week long:
“…then they came for me.”
This powerful line is from a poem that is often attributed to Pastor Martin Niemöller for those who are interested in looking it up.
In what other country in the Middle East could such a gathering take place? What other Middle Eastern leader would come out and make such a speech to such a community? Where else in the Middle East does this kind of solidarity exist?
The dead include a 17 year old Girl and a 26 year old retired IDF Officer (LGBT soldiers and officers serve legally in the IDF). The place that was attacked was a youth center to help LGBTQ youth come to terms with their sexuality. The officer volunteered there to help make sure that youth were on the right track. There were others who were wounded…some incredibly seriously…some who may never walk again. Making the tragedy even worse was the outing of anyone who was there and injured who now had to explain how they were injured to their families, some of whom they hadn’t come out to yet…they had to deal with the tragedy of loosing friends, the trauma of being attacked, and then being outed against their will.
It was an intense summer for all parties involved…anyone who was relaxed, as far as anyone in my social group can tell, must have been in a coma.
-=A Trip Home=-
I was overjoyed to be heading home for a month of leave given to all Chayalim Bodedim (Lonely Soldiers – someone who doesn’t have family in the country). More so, I was getting to go home for the High Holy Days.
I don’t really have words to describe how nice it was to be at my family synagogue for the High Holy Day services. My family and I have been congregants at Temple Or-Elohim for nineteen years. The prayers and hymns and music were as familiar to me as anything else from my childhood (even with some of the liturgical changes that come from having a new Cantor). The choir’s voices were radiant…and it was incredibly moving to be spending the New Year with my parents, my twin, and my younger brother all together, once again, at our place of worship.
I was also given the pleasure of speaking about Israel. There’s a lot that I wish I could have said, there’s a lot that should be said…but there’s only so much one can say in five to six minutes. There’s a book which I think people should read, called “The Forgotten Ally” by Pierre Van Paassen (1943)…it’s sometimes hard to come by, but you can usually find a few copies on Amazon.com. His book is amazingly powerful and is his own personally narrative is equally fascinating. I leave you to make your own decisions about it.
This section is hard to write, primarily because I’m worried about leaving people out – so much happened that was incredible, it was like being in a fantasy – please forgive me if you’re not mentioned here by name, it does not mean that seeing you was any less important or touching.
My trip home was punctuated with lots of travel and visits, from West Palm Beach, New York City and Long Island to New Jersey and Buffalo there are few words to describe what it’s like to see family and friends who have been sorely missed. Even better to be able to pick up right where the conversations left off and feel as if time hasn’t moved so fast that you’re separated.
In West Palm Beach my family met up with my twin brother, David, and we spent quality time with my Grandmother going over old memories and family photo albums. In New Jersey I spent wonderful amounts of time with my Grandfather and Grandmother and family over many meals and cups of coffee (and my Grandmother’s award winning Jell-o mold and my Grandfather’s sharp sense of humor). Returning to New Jersey for a few days on my own, I hung out with my dear friend Christine who I went hiking and hawk watching with during the day and who introduced me to some Gay history and culture that I hadn’t previously been acquainted with during three nights of movie marathons (each requiring a lot of hugs at the end…they weren’t the kind of movies that make you go ‘aww’) and an incredible day together at a spa, which she took me to for my birthday. Talking together as we hiked, it was nice to unload some of my current concerns and leave them in the safety of the woods…one of the reasons I love going hiking.
On Long Island I caught up with my closest friends from High School and we ate at our usual haunt as many times as we could get together, Ali and Ben (and Margot who now lives in Georgia) were my rock in High School…and it’s nice to know that we’ve managed to stay close and together, despite the ups and downs and sometimes great distances. It was wonderful to have visitors who came from all over, as far off as North Carolina…where when we call to say hello, they tell us to hang on and yell “I don’t know who it is…they’re speaking Yankee at me!” until an interpreter can pick up.
To be able to see my parents, my brothers, my aunts, uncles and cousins who I have missed beyond all words was nothing more than joyous. My cousin Rachel and I getting to see a Broadway Show with one of our favorite actors together, having dinner with my Uncle Ray in The City and hanging out with my cousins Michael and Daniel on The Island and all of the family friends who came over to say hi, who helped raise us…this is what family is all about. Getting alone time with my Mom and my Dad, and my two brothers was also important and wonderful.
My best friend Ben (one of my adopted brothers), his mother and my parents even did a tour of all of the Apple Stores in The City and Mom and I learned about the mating habits of beavers at the American Museum of Natural History (which was…uncomfortably, perhaps…like watching soft-core beaver porn…complete with b-track music…)…and then met up with another adopted brother, Alex, to head to Strand Books and then grab some coffee before bringing him home with us (‘he followed us home…can we keep him!?’). Cheryl and I caught up over coffee and it was as if only a day had passed and Kate and her partner, Zach came out from Westchester to share in the combined “Late 25th Birthday Party/Sam’s Graduation Party” that we threw when all three Schwartz Boys were in the same place, at the same time (a rare feat these days).
In Buffalo I reacquainted with loved ones and shared laughs and tears with friends. Catching up on everything with them and remembering some friends who have long since passed but who have never been forgotten…and watched happily as my best friend Alice planned, in the quickest amount of time I have ever seen it be done, her wedding…pretty much single-handed…in less than a few hours. Hanging out with my fun and adorable Pagans is always a magical time – the puns…God almighty the puns! And that laugh…God almighty what a horrendous laugh! – and hanging out with the Syphrit Sisters and Jacqueline was like being wrapped in a warm blanket.
At my university I reacquainting with professors and contacts which have opened some new opportunities for me that I’m taking the chance of exploring.
All of this made it incredibly hard to head back and It all ended too quickly, and sadly, I wasn’t able to see everyone (some of my friends got sick, and I came down with a chest infection towards the end myself which put an incredible damper on my movements, not having health insurance in the United States)…but that’s how it goes only having thirty days…I anxiously look forward to my next trip to the United States when I hope to see everyone who I missed.
On Rosh HaShanah I left a basket with a couple of hundred blank slips of paper for people to write prayers on. In my people’s tradition we place notes with prayers, hopes, wishes, letters to loved ones and God in the cracks of the Kotel (or the Western/Wailing Wall).
These notes were dropped off two days after landing back in Israel, placed personally by me in the Kotel. Security in Jerusalem was intense due to the rioting that occurred just a few days before and it was bizarre to walk along quiet streets in what is usually a boisterous area.
Approaching the Kotel during Sukkot one cannot help but be captured by the music that rises up from those singing around you, especially given the stark silence of the journey that it took to get there…literally being lifted up on the wings of prayer.
The heart dances and spins around as if you were dancing in circles on Simchat Torah…but such is our music and our history, circular. On the men’s side of the wall there is in fact a spot that’s big enough to handle many, many, many notes and all 250 or so went in easily…easily being able to handle many more if I had them.
Making my way out of the Old City I stopped by Vic’s Art Studio in the Armenian Quarter (he’s a master artisan and his work is really unbelievable). I wanted to go in and see his work reflecting Jerusalem and was glad to send him the warmest regards from my parents.
Before I left I made sure to recite the same thought that I always think while taking three steps in Jerusalem “Thank you Lord for once again allowing me to walk in your holy city…thank you for affording me the blessing to return…”
-=Time flies, glory=-
When I was at university I used to miss the insides of Temple Or-Elohim, truly a beautiful synagogue to pray in. I wished the students had a proper place of prayer. My boss when I was an intern at Hillel used to say that it didn’t matter whether we had a place to pray in or not…because wherever people got together to pray that place was holy.
Certainly a sentiment I agree with but not one that necessarily made me miss any less the sun streaming in through stained glass windows…but one that I really finally understood when on one Shabbat, while wearing a weapons vest, a bullet proof helmet, holding an M16 and carrying 450 rounds of bullets my friend Shiloh walked up to me with a Havdallah candle and a plastic cup of grape juice and said “let’s do Havdallah…” as if there was nothing else we could possibly be doing at that point of time that was of any significance at all….and he was right…it was time to welcome the end of Shabbat and the coming of the new week…it’s up there in the same significance of creation…and together with friends we lit the Havdallah candle and let the shadow fall on our hands to show us the separation of dark and light, we breathed in spices to remind our souls to once again reawaken and we welcomed the start of a new week full of fresh opportunities.
Last weekend I once again found myself guarding base on patrol. Unlike many other armies, our army is egalitarian…outside of some combat units where they take military culture (too seriously according to most soldiers) on my base we don’t salute anyone under the rank of Brigadier General, we’re on a first name basis with pretty much everyone, we don’t use words like “sir” or “commander” outside of courses and basic training…so when on patrol I had an officer offer to make me an avocado and cheese sandwich (she was excited because she found someone else who appreciates the culinary genius of Doritos and mashed avocado) I gladly accepted because it was something perfectly normal…only in Israel. It was like a slumber party with rifles…filled with lots of laughs and just a little bit of Parsha and plenty of snacks.
That Sunday, instead of returning home at noon (the usual custom on my base when having completed a weekend or even single night of guard duty) I stayed late. I was meeting with a new student…a Brigadier General. Sunday night was our first class together. We’ll be working together for an as of yet undetermined period of time to bring his English up to where it should be given his rank.
After my lesson I was waiting at a bus stop to head home. There are few things that I like doing less than standing at a bus stop, in uniform, at night, without an M16.
While waiting for the bus to come I noticed an officer I know, a Lieutenant, who used to be the Education and Youth Corps officer in charge of new immigrants (he was recently promoted to a new position in the Ground Forces, though still with the Education and Youth Corps and was allowed to take his staff with him).
We both take the same bus route home and so he wanted to know why I was leaving so late, and I told him it was because I had just finished with one of my students…he wanted to know why I didn’t tell the student to pick a nicer hour and I told him that the student had a high enough rank that would make that kind of suggestion in poor taste. As our thirty or so minute ride made its way to Ashkelon, we caught up and I told him of my new classroom, which he asked to visit (since he’s still sharing a conference room and doesn’t have his own).
Last Wednesday I went to his office, said hi to his soldiers and spoke with him and he said he wanted me to meet his commander (who I assumed was a Major or similar…the usual rank of someone in charge of Lieutenants and below, at least on my base). He knocked on the door of the Head of the Education and Youth Corps at the IDF Ground Forces Command.
My heart skipped a beat.
He introduced me as the soldier who is an English teacher, mentioned that I have a degree in Linguistics…and the Lt. Col said to make sure that a meeting was setup for sometime next week for the three of us to sit down together.
On the way out, the Lieutenant told me to remind him to talk to me about what it means to be an Education and Youth Corps officer and that, along with teaching English, was going to be on the agenda.
For those of you who don’t realize how exciting this is…it’s like Harry Potter going for an interview to be an Auror, for those of you who don’t understand that, it’s like Rudy being allowed an interview to go to Notre Dame…if you don’t get that reference, it’s like being offered a position to interview for Jack Bauer’s job…and if you don’t get any of these references…get a library card and borrow Harry Potter.
However, there’s a way of doing things in the Army…or in general. I knocked on my commander’s door (he was getting ready to head out) and I told him that I had two things that I really needed to talk with him about before he left for the day. He asked me to come in and sit down.
I said the first is something he won’t mind: that I’ll be teaching another Lt. Colonel English. The second, I told him, he might have a problem with. He looked up at me and I told him that I might, perhaps, if I pass all of the exams, make all of the connections, if the planets are in syzygy, if after my meeting this coming week they even offer to send me, I might, possibly, maybe have the chance to go to the Education and Youth Corps Officers School and if this opportunity were to present itself would he support me in it?
He asked me if I meant personally. I told him personally and as my commander. He said personally he supports me, as my commander he doesn’t – he needs me where I am…that I should think about the name I’ve been building for myself in the Ground Forces as both an English teacher and language specialist and that he was in the process of trying to get me a contract as a Warrant Officer because he doesn’t want to lose me to the Officers School for six months (his sincerest wish is that I’ll sick around until he finishes his service).
I told him nicely, with a smile, sincerely, but not so sternly as to burn bridges that I wasn’t interested in a position as a Warrant Officer…that I wanted the challenge of the Officers School and without it having to be said, we both walked away with the understanding that my shoulders were reserved for the rank of officer only. We also left each other that day on rocky ground…and as uncomfortable as that is, I won’t work behind someone’s back…so better we’re uncomfortable rather than dishonest with each other.
I have a meeting on Sunday at 15:00IST (0900EST) in just a few short hours to discuss with a Lt. Colonel and his Lieutenant not only teaching the Head of the Education and Youth Corps at the IDF Ground Forces Command English…but also to talk with them about the possibility of becoming an officer…in the Corps that I’ve been dreaming of.
But a meeting is just a meeting, and few things are certain in the Middle East…but that’s the way we like it…it’s often misunderstood…but like the camels that sail through the desert, our notion of time and immediacy is fluid…fluidly I’m planning on going to Jerusalem next weekend for a weekend of rest and prayer.
Gaza is quiet right now, Lebanon has only had a rocket or so launched over their borders into Israel (of course how many rockets Belgium could get away with launching into France, or Canada into the United States is an entirely different story) and I can still see the Gaza Skyline from where I stand to look over my cows on the Kibbutz.
Next month will mark one year from when I moved from Tel Aviv to Kibbutz Zikim, and in another two months it will mark one year since Operation Cast Lead. February marks more than half of my service completed and tomorrow will determine – greatly – whether I finish in a year in a half and head out to the next adventure or whether I continue on to the Officers School.
Prayers, as always, are appreciated and if you need a note placed in the Kotel or a candle lit at the Sepulcher just send me a note and consider it done.
Until then,
Peace, Love and Hummus.
Matan
Photos:
Army Life:
http://pics.livejournal.com/nomadmatan/gallery/0002ky9b
Kibbutz Life: