No one eats green veggies on Thanksgiving

Aright, I have been trying to figure out a way to organize the random medley of events that happened to me this week and I am resorting to a food analogy. Please bear with me.

This week was a salad. Nothing fancy with purple cabbage or chicken strips, just your basic tossed salad. So going basic, we'll start with the lettuce. Lettuce is the base, it fills out the salad, holds onto the dressing and is basically the most necessary ingredient. In fact, Im pretty sure my brother Barak thinks that lettuce is called salad. My lettuce is living in Israel- without which none of the weird things that happen to me would make sense.

Next were going to throw in some carrots. Carrots annoy me because they take a really long time to chew. Over the years I have acquired the patience to actually chew my carrots, but when I was younger I used to just bite off small pieces and swallow them. So our carrots represent my patience. Which was really put to the test this week as I waited for buses to take me to and from Rehovot each day. As I sat around on my base waiting for someone to give me something to do. As I sat in army offices waiting hours for a piece of paper. And as I waited each painfully long day for the army to release me from my mind-numbing boredom.

Tomatoes- Tomatoes are one of those things that I have always eaten, but only started to really like a few months ago when I ate an absolutely amazing one at the Skversky's. I also like tomatoes because even though you know its coming, I still get excited when I bite into one and get that big juicy sploosh in my mouth. This week books were my tomatoes. The analogy is not perfect, because I have always liked reading, but this week I found myself picking up old classics (they fit perfectly into my uniform pockets) and even though I knew I had liked reading it the first time, I still enjoyed the big juicy sploosh that is quality writing (or in the case of the Harry Potter books, just fun stories). These books were my saving grace this week as I spent most of my days sitting in an army warehouse with nothing to do. Of the three days of work I had this week, I think I did a total of two hours of work. Not that I am lazy, they just had nothing for us to do after we folded all the flags and organized the silverware.

Avocado- Avocado is always the most exciting part of the salad for me and I go out of my way to pick them out. Now, I didnt go out of my way to pick these out, but there were a few exciting events that happened to me this week. The first may not seem so exciting to you, but at the time helped me retain my sanity. On our first day in the warehouse (they kicked us out of the armory because they were having inspections), our commander would give us about 10 min worth of work and then leave us there for 2.5 hours. So pretty much, we were bored out of our minds. We played catch with a tassel, found a lighter and after almost setting a box of flags on fire decided that was a bad thing to play with, attempted to sleep on a shipping crate, and then WE FOUND A BOX OF DOMINOES! Im telling you, it was really exciting!

Okay, my next story is a little better. As I was coming home on Wednesday the whole "soldiers know how to handle crises" thing was put to the test when a young yeshiva boy passed out on my bus busting his head open on the way down. Luckily there were other concerned citizens to do things like call the ambulance and talk to the kid, but I ended up being the one pressing the freshly bought dinner napkins donated by a nice old lady to the guys forehead because he had blood running down his face. He was still on the floor of the bus, so I sat next to him applying pressure trying to transfer all of the medical stuff I had learned about bullet wounds to this situation and eventually giving up and going for the "put something on the bleeding part" technique. I did this until some self-righteous woman suggested that this religious boy might be more comfortable with a man holding napkins to his head, because clearly, when semi-conscious and bleeding from the forehead having a woman apply pressure to your wound might lead you to improper thoughts. But I gracefully passed my duty onto another religious man and sood after got off the bus.

And the last, and most important part of the salad, is of course, the dressing. The dressing permeates every part of your salad, making it so much more exciting than a pile of vegetables. Well this week's dressing was Thanksgiving. Now, as I said last week, I was very upset to miss the madness that is my home on Thanksgiving, but apparently I am not the only American in Israel missing the taste of home (aka turkey and stuffing). But just as Jews in America celebrate two days of chag (holiday) due to an uncertainty born of a seven hour time difference, Americans here seemed a little unsure when to celebrate Thanksgiving. So they just did it all week long. On Tuesday night I went to a Sheva Brachot (post-wedding party) and had turkey and stuffing. On Wednesday I was invited to a party in Nachlaot and had, turkey and stuffing (and really good cran-apple stuff). On Thursday, my slightly less-confused roommate hosted Thanksgiving dinner and I had more turkey and stuffing (and made a really good pumpkin pie!) and I just found out that the people that are hosting me for dinner tonight are serving, bum bum bum, turkey and stuffing. So if I missed out on quality Covel time this Thanksgiving, I definitely made up for it in quantity.

Anyway, Shabbat is fast approaching and I must go prepare. I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving and enjoy your long weekend! Ill be rising at the crack of dawn on Sunday and heading to training in Haifa. Oh, how I miss Sundays.

Life is like a box of chocolates

Remember that scene in Forrest Gump where he super-speedily dismantles and puts back together his M-16? Well this week I was Forrest Gump x200.

After some army craziness that I will elaborate on further, I ended up spending all day yesterday in the armory cleaning guns. There are two rounds of cleaning that the guns go through, the first  is simply opening up the gun and removing the Michlal (which I think is the bolt in english) and dipping the two of them in an oily, turpentine-smelling solution and brushing them down. I had this down to an art by the end of the day, they were teasing me for being so fast. The second, which is more fun and less smelly, is dismantling the michlal and cleaning and oiling all the smaller parts. I didnt get to do this as many times, but perhaps next week.

As for how I found myself wearing a pitiful plastic apron and dipping guns in oil- it is a story that makes everyone that has served in the IDF sigh and say "Welcome to the Army, Kf".

Sunday morning I showed up at a base an hour late, which turned out not to matter because no one noticed, and sat around for a few hours until I finally got called into an interview. Ten short minutes later I was jumping for joy because I got the job I really wanted and they are going to train me to be an airplane technician!! This a) means I get to not only get to touch an F-16 but become intimate in a way that makes my brothers drool. Ha. and b) I get to go back to the base where I had basic training and talk to my Mefakedet's like we are both normal people which not-so-secretly thrills me and c) I get to wear a cool jumpsuit.

But as my training doesnt start for another week, it also means they had to find something to do with me so I dont go soft with a week's vacation. So they sent me to a base that is close to home (only two hours by bus! oh joy) to do, well, busywork. 

So I get to my new base on Monday, thrilled to see at least 8 F-15's flying overhead, and spent another few lovely hours sitting around before they were like "Uh, we cant process you today, too much going on, come back on Wednesday". Sweet.

I enjoyed my time off, and then headed back again on Wednesday, this time an hour and a half late, and it once again didnt matter In fact, I had timed it perfectly because about 20 minutes after I got there, they needed the room we were waiting in so they sent me and six other girls off with a man named Michel. Michel gave us to his adorably nerdy secretary who then spent the rest of the day shuttling us around the base to get our clearance form signed. They sent us home at 4:30 with instructions to be back on base at 7:30 every morning. I am still trying to get them to give me a place to sleep as this means I have to be up by 5 am.

Anyway, by now its Thursday, I arrive on base and after making me sweep the dirt for like 40 minutes they sent me to the armory where I became Forrest Gump. Oh and they also made me mop the dirt. Dont really know whats with them and trying to clean the ground. Especially since they kept making me use horribly corrosive un-environmental chemicals. 

Anyway, I am off for Shabbat and enjoying all my free time although it does feel really strange so fresh out of the lock-down that is basic training. But as I am very quickly learning, nothing the army does makes sense but is working out ok for me so far so I am not going to complain.

Oh and to the 30+ people who are going to be in my house for Thanksgiving- I MISS YOU ALREADY! My roommate is planning a small Thanksgiving dinner, but it is just not going to be the same without my Momma's massive turkey and my dad's mashed taters, and Shosh's biscuits, and Aunt Z's sweet potatoes. And Nat, I am making pumpkin pie just because I cant imagine Thanksgiving without it. In fact, its hard to imagine Thanksgiving without the family craziness, so YOU BETTER CALL ME!

Basic training is like learning to be a duck

 I had an epiphany the other day while marching after my Mefakedet and realized that soldiers are basically well-armed ducks. How so, you ask? Allow me to elaborate:

Firstly, the first and most important thing we learn is how to follow the leader. If you were to peek onto our base during training you would find our mother ducks/mefakedets marching around closely followed by their ducklings/soldiers. And woe unto she who falls behind or out of line, because Mama Duck sure knows how to scold.

Secondly, the ability to wade through lake-size puddles is an important trait come winter-time in Israel. While we lack that nice oily sheen that keeps us dry, that does not stop us from standing, marching, running, and sitting in the rain as if being perpetually wet was the most natural state for a human being.

Thirdly, not only do 18 year old girls tend to eat like birds, but the army loves to feed us nothing but bread and will frequently regurgitate breakfast and serve it as dinner.

Okay, enough of that analogy. I am done with basic training and that is the exciting part. I have finished all of my tests, am now certified to carry a gun, and most importantly, I got my first piece of army bling- the awesome Air Force pin I put on my beret.

We had our ceremony on Monday (which I unfortunately have no pictures of), and I was named the Mitztayenet of our Machlaka. Which means, that of the 61 girls in my group, my mefakedets' all thought that I was the best soldier. And the coolest part was the girls all agreed and told me I deserved it. So at our Tekes (ceremony), I and the four girls chosen from the other Machlakas went up to the front, saluted the general of the base and received certificates and handshakes and "Good Job"s from the big man with all the knots on his shoulder. There was some embarrassment during practice while I tried to perfect the Israeli version of "Hut" in order to signal to all the girls when we should salute, but it all worked out in the end.

After that, we all swore ourselves to the army, first repeating the oath as a group, and then each individually being handed a gun and Tanach (Bible) and shouting "I swear!" to our Mem'Mem. I cannot even begin to describe how it felt to walk up there and shout my allegiance to the Israeli army. I cried, of course, because I was just so overwhelmed with emotion it had to come out somehow. At that moment I really became an Israeli soldier and all the running through the rain and crawling through the dirt and standing for hours in the sun- it was all worth that moment. I don't even know what I will be doing for the next year, but thats okay, because whatever it is, its going to be for the IDF and thats all that really matters.

I have to say that at that moment I also very much felt like a lone soldier and wished my parents were there so my mother could cheer so loudly I would blush and my father could watch us march around in formation and salute with our guns. My friends came to support me, but missed the whole ceremony (thus no pictures). They did however bring love and cookies and a much needed show of pride and emotional support.

Anyway, I am off for Shabbat and headed back on Sunday to hopefully find out what I will be doing for the next 11 months. I am thrilled to be home where I can shower alone and wash all my clothes and eat whatever I want whenever I want. And of course, so I can come online and catch up with everyone. Because even though its only been 2 1/2 weeks, it felt like months. Its crazy how life can change in such a short time.

    

I dream in formation

Well this was quite possibly the longest week of my life. Im not even sure where to start. I think were gonna go with list form.

Things I learned in basic training:

1. זמן זה קודש- Time is Holy. By this, they mean that we better freaking be on time and standing in formation so that we can wait a hour for whatever it is that we are supposed to be doing next. 

2. Akshev is a magic word. Like in "Simon Says" if you do not begin every sentence with "Akshev [insert rank of person you are talking to]" you have to go back and start again. Unlike "Simon Says", if you do this too many times they make you do push ups.

3. When the army doesnt know what to do with you they make you run. When you are going through basic training with a bunch of 18 year old girls, half of them manage to get notes from their doctors saying they cant run. So they do push ups.

4. After a certain point, it is in fact possible to stop caring about things like whether or not food tastes good, whether you and all your clothing stink, whether you are likely to contract a disease from your army issued blanket, and whether you have to shower naked in front of 20 other girls.

5. M-16 A-1's are incredibly cool to look at and incredibly less cool to have to carry around with you all day. Especially when that means that you have to eat, sleep, and yes, shower with it. Oh and more especially when one of your fellow soldiers gets sick and you have to carry (eat, sleep, and shower with) her gun as well.

6. That being said, taking apart and cleaning an M-16 A-1 is incredibly fun.

7. It is very difficult to answer questions you know the answer to in the wrong language. It is also very embarrassing when you ask whether we have murdered (רצחנו?) instead of whether we have washed (רחצנו?).

8. Most 18 year old girls cannot fathom why a 23 year old American would want to move to Israel, much less join the army. They find this especially hard to understand after we have been given 30 seconds to run back and forth to a stump and line up in the rain. 

9. I now know the Hebrew words for all the M-16 parts, all the bullet parts, bullet wounds, tourniquets, all the parts of your leg, and vomit. Oh and that it is a good thing to be a "shpitz".

I couldnt think of a number 10 so at this point I am going to switch back to paragraphs. All in all, I survived my first week and only have a week and a half to go. I am doing better than most of the girls there because I am used to being without my parents, ok with bad food, and mostly, I chose to be there. I also have a better understanding of guns (thanks Abba) and emergency first aid (thanks Ima) than most of them do. That being said, all the Hebrew tends to even things about a bit, but they are all being very nice to me and making sure I understand and know whats going on. They also let me write things on my arm so I can check when I forget. This week was pretty much split between being yelled at, learning the hard way how to stand in formation, cleaning up our bunks, and sitting through classes and lectures. We learned about the history of the army and how it is set up, we learned about the history of the M-16 and all the gun safety laws we need to know. We learned emergency first aid and how to work as a team. We learned all the things we can and cannot wear and do and finally we had an assembly on all the type of jobs we can have. I was given three job options which I requested in this order, 1. Airplane/helicoptor/bomb technician 2. Assistant to an Aluf (like a general) and 3. Creating mulitmedia educational material on how bombs and guns and planes work. My options might change depending on how well I do in BT, but we will see. 

They gave us off for Shabbat which was a much needed break and I am now dreading going back but at least rejuvenated by all the sleep, good food, and phone time (we only get one hour a night to talk on the phone, shower and get ready for bed). Thank god I am doing the lowest BT and only have to do this for 2 1/2 weeks. I dont know how the combat boys do this for 6 months (and they have to run alot more).

Anyway, we are in for the next Shabbat (which I am a little worried about being the only religious girl in my group) so I will not be able to right again until I finish BT. The good news is by then I will know where I am going. Anyway, wish me luck with this next week and I will talk to you all again when I can. Those of you who can call Israel can feel free to call my cell phone and leave me lovely messages of love and support (011-972-54-695-2703)

I got soul AND Im a soldier

I just want to warn you all that this story is somewhat anti-climactic.

Bright and early Sunday morning my two friends and lovely brother took me to Ammunition Hill and dropped me off with a plethora of teenage recruits. It was typically loud and unorganized (very Israeli). I wasnt really sure what was going on, but I saw my name pop up on an electronic board like a flight number and went through the doors where everything seemed to be happening. My friends took pictures, a strange lady gave me a hug and a lollipop, and some soldier crossed my name off a list. Then I waited (this would happen alot). Eventually they ushered our group of loud obnoxious teenagers onto a bus and we headed to Tel HaShomer, the big army base near Tel Aviv. We got there about 45 min later and waited an hour to get off the bus. The busdriver finally got so annoyed with us he jumped off the bus and started attacking officers until somebody came and told us where to go. We then spent another half hour being told to stand here and then over there and then back over here and "What the hell is wrong with you people? Dont you know how to stand in a line?" (we didnt) until they decided it was lunch time. 

Lunch was actually pretty good and after about 5 minutes of talking, everyone at my table had figured out I was an olah (immigrant) and proceeded to grill me with fascination. Except for one girl, she just kind of stared at me for the rest of the day. 

Anyway, we finished up and then all the processing began. There were about 50 kids on my bus and at least another 5 buses had showed up while we were waiting to get off of ours, so there were alot of obnoxious teens about. (Just to clarify, Israeli teens are like 10x more obnoxious then Americans. I was kind of amazed with the backtalk going on) First we were herded into a room where someone yelled at us (no idea what he said), and then we were shuffled down some hallway and began the process of being sent into various rooms. My teeth were x-rayed and photographed, my hands were rather throughly fingerprinted, my picture was taken (and of course is horrible) and then I was sent to the vampires. First they asked us to "voluntarily" have our blood tested for bone marrow transplant compatibility because, good lord, who wouldnt want to save someones life?! its just one little prick! My next little vampire pricked my finger and had fun drawing on something that said DNA, and the next one gave me immunizations (no idea what kind) while I tried to translate "pincushion".

Then, with blood dripping down my arm because the army has no bandaids, I was sent to some sort of interview. I sat down with this woman, she opened my file, and then proceeded to yell at the guy that walked by- roughly translated- "WHAT THE HELL, DUDE?! THIS IS LIKE THE EIGHTH ONE! CANT THOSE IDIOTS DO ANYTHING RIGHT?!" Still have no idea what that was about but I signed some papers and moved on. 

Next I got my army ID and dogtags and was sent upstairs to talk to someone else. He typed away on his computer for a bit and then told me I was going to the Air Force. This, by the way, is a very good and exciting thing. Not only are our uniforms hotter and our bases better, but they just treat you better and give you cooler job options. So with a big smile on my face, I went back downstairs and somehow managed to skip most of the line of teens waiting to get outfitted. I got my duffel full of fun stuff like socks and undershirts and pepperspray, got my army shoes and sandals -no boots for Kfi :( and three uniforms. I then headed into the giant room of half naked girls and proceeded to make sure everything fit. I couldnt get the pants they gave me up past my knees so I spent the next 40 minutes trading in pants over and over again. And of course everytime I went back to get a bigger pair some tiny ass Israeli girl is standing next to me asking for a size smaller. 

I finally got outfitted and dressed and actually thought I looked pretty cool even though all the other girls were complaining that they looked fat. So we are all sitting outside waiting to be told what base we are going to when I get pulled aside and told I can go home. Apparently the Air Force training doesnt start until next Sunday. So I went home, appreciating the new uniform and the free buses that come with it. Anti-climactic, I told you.

I have to say I am actually glad to have this particular week off. Thank you all for your kind words and prayers, but my grandfather passed away soon after I sent that last email. Barak flew home on Tuesday, and I have spent most of the week on the phone with my family. It is hard not to be home at this time, but I am glad I was given this time to spend with the memory of my grandfather. And knowing that I am following in his footsteps- even if this Air Force is not American- comforts me.

For Zayde

I tried starting this email three or four times. I am starting the army tomorrow and I am pretty nervous and excited and kind of swinging back and forth between freaking out and calming down and seeing it as a grand adventure. But, honestly, that is not what is on my mind right now.

My grandfather is in the hospital, and my family is gathering around him while Barak and I wait by the phone. And I hate that I am not there with them. I hate that, though they are supportive and loving, my friends do not know him.

So what I want to do is tell you about my grandfather. I hope that is okay.

My Zayde is my grandmother's second husband and quite obviously the love of her life. She is his second wife as well and to hear him talk about her, it is hard to imagine he ever saw anyone else. Growing up, calling them was always a group event, as whichever one of them answered the phone, they would yell down to the other to join the conversation as soon as I told them it was me.

My Zayde is an artist. When they moved to New Hampshire, they converted an old slaughterhouse into their studio. Whenever he sent me a letter he would draw pictures of their house or the squirrel that had been feasting at their bird feeder. He once stopped me as I came out of the shower with a towel wrapped around my head. I had reminded him of a Vermeer painting, and he went on to draw me as the Girl with a Pearl Earring. For as far back as I can remember he was teaching me things about art. He taught me to see the purple in shadows and showed me how one line could change the angle of an elbow. He is a brilliant painter.

My Zayde is a World War Two veteran. Growing up in a Jewish day school everyone had stories about where their grandparents were during the Holocaust, how they had escaped the Nazis, when they had come to America. But I always thought my story was better. My grandfather had fought in the American army. He had been the gunner in a B-17 and was shot down over Germany. He was a prisoner of war and weighed 70 lbs when the Russian army finally liberated them. He puts on his uniform every memorial day and participates in the town parade. One year he went and spoke to the veterans in a local jail. He loved having a "captive audience".

My Zayde tells alot of jokes. They are not very good, but they make me laugh. When my Bubbe hears them, her eyes crinkle up and she laughs and says "Oh, Russ!"

My Zayde is a father, a step father, and a grandfather. I was blessed with three grandfathers when I was born, but Zayde is the one that has always been a part of my life. He is the one I have spent my Channukah/Christmases with. He is the one that tells me stories of when I was little, he is the one I danced with at weddings, he is the one I wanted to introduce to the man I marry.
I love you Zayde. ברוך דיין אמת

Home is where the Hut is

So this week was Sukkot, a week-long holiday that Jews spend sitting in Sukkahs, or huts that we build in our backyards, in remembrance of the huts we lived in while traveling through the desert after the Exodus from Egypt. In Israel this translates into- vacation.

I spent Shabbat in Efrat with my brother Barak, and we pretty much spent two whole days sitting in the Sukkah. The sukkah is supposed to be a temporary structure (you have to be able to see the stars through the "roof" of dead branches), yet you are supposed to treat it as your home, eating there, sleeping there, and sitting in it as much as possible. Well, the Auerbachs take this pretty seriously, and moved their whole living room into the sukkah. And I mean the whole living room, the couches, the lamp, the coffee table, and come Saturday night, the TV. On Sunday they moved the network cable into the Sukkah so that they could play Age of Empires on their laptops. I feel that I can safely say I spent more than the required amount of time in the Sukkah.

As for the vacation part, Im pretty sure I got my share of that as well. I spent Sunday lying on the couch (in the Sukkah) reading, went to a free concert on Monday and rocked out to Moshav Band, Shlomo Katz, and Adi Ran (who is an awesomely crazy old man), and then went on a bike hike on Tuesday. While my knees and butt are still recovering from upwards of 5 hours spent on a bike (which is probably more bike time that I have had in the last 5 years),   I got to bike through these old dirt paths away from all people, got to wander through a vineyard, pray in a field, and make friends with cows. And when we finally got back to the moshav (small farming village) where we rented the bikes, I got to meander through their neighborhoods in the quiet of the night (except for that one street where I got chased by dogs). 

I spent most of Wednesday recovering (aka sleeping) and Thursday socializing. There is nothing like happy three hours at my favorite pub IN A SUKKAH.

The only bummer of the week was that I found out that my friend Kieffer will not be going into the army the same day as me. They moved her enlistment date to a month from now, so come next Sunday I will be all alone with a bunch of Israeli teenagers. Oh yay. Anyway, the countdown has begun, and Im kind of nervous about it, which has translated itself into me not thinking about it. But next week is my last week of freedom and I plan on enjoying it to its fullest. 

Now Im off to prep for the next awesome holiday as I will be partying it up with the Torah tonight. Im gonna miss Chabad's dance across campus, but hopefully Jerusalem will have something just as good to offer :)