Written Oct 12

I’ve now been home over two weeks. It’s taken this long to feel like I’m part of America again, instead of an un-declared Israeli on the wrong continent.

The first few days back were rough. It wasn’t the jet-lag. The flight back was an overnight one. Take off in darkness, land in darkness. It’s weird enough flying that long. Now add having zero horizon reference except for the city lights you see for the first two minutes after takeoff and the last minute or two before the wheels hit the ground. It took me a while, but I finally found the combination that lets me get a good amount of sleep on a plane:

Get up at 7AM.
Run around an army base for a few hours trying to find something worthwhile to do.
Come up empty.
Pack, repack and re-repack all your bags, making sure everything is in it’s optimal position and you have room for last minute souvenirs.
Clean your barracks. Wander aimlessly. Take off your uniform for the last time. Strip the bed. Put everything into matching piles. Shirts, trousers, belts, sheets. Carry it over to the supply room to turn it in.
Shower.
Check and recheck the barracks for personal items. Mine and other people’s.
Hugs, handshakes, salutes and goodbyes with the soldiers.
Get on the bus.
Wait, quietly stressing as other volunteers make the bus stop three times in Haifa apparently thinking it’s their taxi service.
Talk with the few that are left as the bus starts to make time to Tel Aviv.
Get depressed as I see familiar landmarks pass wondering when and if I’ll see them again.
Hit Tel Aviv traffic.
Get off about 4 blocks from the bus station. Walk there to kill time. Be forced by security to open every compartment of every bag I have. Find the army store in the bus station. Buy stuff. Share dinner with an attractive French volunteer who’s unfortunately dating a childhood friend. (Unfortunate for me. Possibly for the two of them as well. It would suck if the relationship went south and the friendship with it. But c’est la vie.) Get lost in the bus station. Get found again.
Walk five blocks to the train station.
Get on the wrong train.
Take a train back to Tel Aviv, wait for the right train, have to run up and over because they switched platforms. Get on the right train.
Get to the airport. Clear security with suspicious ease.
Walk around the terminal.
Get a grilled cheese sandwich with mushrooms, olives and hot sauce.
Walk down each terminal concourse and back at least once. Look at the pretty airplanes.
Get on my plane.
Eat dinner. Order the pasta instead of the chicken. Red wine (complimentary) to drink.
Use the lavatory.
Plug into the classical music playlist.
Close my eyes.

I got around 6 hours of sleep give or take. Pretty good for me on a plane. So jet lag was not the issue. Neither was the time change. It was something much more personal. It was my bed. It took me a week to get used to my own large, soft bed. Up until this weekend I was sleeping on a 2.5 foot wide section of mattress, rolling within my own width. When my eyes opened the first image I saw before I read my surroundings was that of my last base.

The open window letting light and a cool breeze onto my feet, the long axis of the room taken up by bunk beds, the pile of folded cots in the near corner. I could almost hear the sounds of the five other guys I’d lived with for a week and a half. Well, not all the sounds. The snorer in the bunk below me was absent in sound, but I could still feel his presence. Then a second would go by and it would all be gone.

That’s weird. You wake up sensing this place where you became comfortable, these people you trusted with your life, the fastest friends you ever made. The fist second you open your eyes they’re right there with you, the next second you blink and they’re gone. You’re in your home and you don’t feel like you belong there. That’s a hell of a way to start the day. Now do it every day for a week and see how you feel.

So on top of going to a fairly solitary, albeit comfortable existence after two months of nearly solid social interaction my activity level felt like it went from Sixty to Zero. Not really, it just felt that way. I still went to the JCC to work out, and I had a hell of a lot of running around to make up for being away for so long. Friends, family, coworkers, meeting, greeting, making deals, hoisting drinks, playing catch up, editing photos- all the while thinking, “What the fuck am I doing here? This is not my world anymore. I should never have left Israel. I can make it there, I belong there! I don’t want to fall back into my routine, spending hours watching shows on Hulu, reading internet forum posts, hitting the refresh butting hoping that when the page reloads there will be new posts or a new webcomic strip. I didn’t miss any of it for a second, and now I’m back to it? Fuck that! I’m not some soft cubicle mouse keyboard jockey! I’ve looked into Fatah-Land and seen the face of the enemy! I’m hard! I’m strong! I’m...very,very confused.”

I wondered how it was that it took me about twelve hours to feel like I belonged in Israel and I still don’t completely feel like I belong in America. I almost feel like the Stars and Stripes has one too many colors for my liking. I kept telling myself and other people in ratios how close I was to being inclined to make Aliya. I started the trip 50/50. Then it was 60/40- in favor. 75/35, then back to 50/50, then 40/60. Eventually I got up to 90/10. I never got to 100. I never will. I’m just not a 100% kind of guy when it comes to this. However much I feel drawn to something, however much it sucks me in, catches my interest, makes me love it, makes my heart pound for it, there is always a part of me going the other way.

“Hold it. Even if this is what you really want...Why? Why do you want it so bad huh? What are you running from in the States that you won’t bring with you? Not running from something, right? Running to something? Towards what? What are you in a hurry to do Mr. Herzl mark [really big number]? You gonna be a cause head now? Found something worth risking it all for? Why so eager, Mr. Wannabe Hero?”

Yeah, that last 10% of my is a real asshole. People ask me why I put myself down and I’m not putting all of me down. It’s just that Cpt. Buzzkill, nagging bit of doubt, reason injected into an emotional response that I hate. I know he means well, but he just kills my fun. If it wasn’t for that jackass I’d probably have gotten laid way more.

So I spent a lot of my first weeks back reenacting the War of Attrition in my head. I think there’s an armistice now. I still don’t know what the final answer will be. I don’t feel quite right in the USA. I’m looking at a lot of challenges, but things still seem awfully easy here. And if nothing else, I like the fact that security guards at the shopping malls here are only concerned with shoplifters. Imagine that. They’re worried about thieves. It seems so quaint, and amusing to me. The macho rent-a-cops will let anyone walk in without a second look, but if their pockets have a tag sticking out- then it’s go time!

On the other hand, there was the experience which finally made me look at the flag flying from a building and feel something again. Some “Good Old Fashioned American fun!” I went out to a farm owned by a friend, rode an ATV for the first time. Without any protective gear. Yeah, kind of reckless, but we weren’t going all that fast. The guy I was with had his 2 year old with him, so he wasn’t going to do any crazy stuff. And, I was given the best quad they had. Push button ignition and breaks. Rock on. We rode around on those through some gently rolling farmland, apple orchards and some beautiful woods. Still mostly green even though the leaves are starting to turn. Then on to that most American of activities: the discharge of firearms on private property out in the middle of nowhere. And I’ve got to say, obliterating a clay pigeon on the first try on my first ever shot with a shotgun was really nice. Of course it was beginner’s luck and I missed all the other shots but the very last one.

Before I brought out my old monster I got to shoot a few other weapons. A Colt .45 that dated to the 1940’s, a couple shotguns, a lever action .22 rifle and a single action .22 revolver. I made a holes of various sizes in some old soup cans. One of them even went spinning a couple feet in the air just like in the old movies. I guess I hit it just right. Then it was time to hit the cardboard target out in the woods about 150 yards. The spotting scope was out and the my old Swiss mountain beast was locked on. Not a great grouping, but fun and lethal to that cardboard cutout.

I missed the turn I was supposed to take to get home fast. I didn’t mind. It was magic hour, I was up by the lake and the sun lit up the broken clouds. I drove past farms, orchards, ugly cookie cutter housing developments and I really enjoyed America for the first time since I got home. I still don’t know if I’ll make Aliya. But until I figure it out, letting that dilemma run my life is just about the stupidest thing I can think of.

I still haven’t put up my last couple journal entries from Israel. When I do, I know I’ll edit the hell out of them. There’s a lot in there that seemed good at the time, but looking back probably would just make trouble if it saw the light of day. Then again, why be afraid? Any drama’s going to be 6,000 miles away from me, right?

I went over with a few missions for myself:
1) Have a vacation with my friends. Party, chase girls, get drunk, catch fish.
Success. Not as much partying and girl chasing as I would have liked. And the biggest fish got away. This is described in detail in previous entries. Overall, 95% mission accomplished.
2) Play more airsoft with the Israelis. Act as a goodwill ambassador between the WNY and Israeli airsoft scenes.
Accomplished big time.
3) Visit the Israeli branch of the family.
Done and fun.
4) Successfully complete all tasks associated with the scheduled Sar-El programs I was participating in. (Many of these tasks involved interpersonal stuff rather than the labor component.)
Done.
5) Determine if I can “Hack it,” in Israel if I decide to make aliya.
Done. I think I can, I think I can.
6) Decide whether or not to make aliaya.
Mission scrubbed. Decision postponed pending the outcome of living my life.

Photos are up.

Well, the photos are just about all up. There are not as many as I'd like due to the dual concerns of security and the fact that if I'm photographing, I'm not working. It's just so hard to find balance sometimes.

Enjoy!

Yipes! Stripes!

I'm completely exhausted. I didn't get all that much sleep last night. Partly I got to sleep late due to the Slichot service (I'd have fallen asleep standing up if not for the shofar blowing.) and my usual getting up in the middle of the night to piss. Keeping hydrated has it's price. Being on the top bunk and having to put on some pants also tends to complicate the early morning bathroom runs. Every night as I sit there I wish I'd just snagged an empty water bottle and had the balls to use it.

I woke up this morning from a dream about zombies (I was just loading my rifle- oddly enough it was in the closet from my room as a kid.) when I woke up. It was the sound of an engine. Coming, going, coming going, a propeller engine. A UAV? They don't move like that. do they? I got to the window at my feet and managed to see a little yellow crop duster. An old ag-sprayer working the kibbutzim in the area. It was 0700. I climbed down, dressed in my stretched out, stinking, work t shirt. I didn't see the point in keeping it washed or wearing a fresh one. (I also wasn't that picky about my underwear. When working here I wear two pairs, alternating. I change them when I shower, saving the clean stuff for trips off base and weekends. The times when my stench might be noticed.) After brushing my teeth I sat down with an energy drink, granola bar and my copy of Beaufort. I got though the granola bar, the energy drink and about a chapter before I looked at my watch. Five minutes to flag raising. I tied my boots, bloused my trousers, tucked in my shirt and grabbed my much hated Sar El hat.

I hate the Sar El hats. First of all, they look like they have been designed for old men. Wear one of these in Florida, hail a cab and they'll ask you which nursing home you're going to. It's also a lousy hat. Especially for work here. The material doesn't breath. There is nothing to cover your ears or the back or your neck. And, on top of all that, it's WHITE. That's a lousy color for a hat you're going to get dirty in.

Hatikva, breakfast at 0800. Finished by 0815. Top off the jerrycans with ice and water. Fill my Camelbak. Organize the tools where people can grab them for the bus at 0830. We also loaded fresh Made in the USA camo nets. Somewhere in there I managed to get two safety pins from another volunteer. The pins Ehud had wanted last night.

Hezbollah 0, IDF 1

Yesterday Hezbollah took a shot at an Israeli patrol along the border. They fired a missile at the IDF patrol vehicle. Either they missed or the vehicle armor held. No Israeli soldiers were killed, they returned fire and killed one of the attackers. We weren't told how near or far that was from where we've been working. I found myself wondering how well those missile fences at our outpost work.

I gave the pins to Ehud who pocketed them for later. We dragged our tools and camo nets on to the bunker complex at the border. As we worked I heard the familiar WHAM of an explosion. (Familiar to me from my last base which had an artillery range.) We didn't see anything at first, but then a couple miles away there was a dust cloud on the border fence. There was no additional alarm. I scrounged some angle iron for us to secure a cammo net and when that was done Ehud sprung his surprise on me. He had Madrid and Winnipeg each grap one of my arms and hold them out. Then there in the sight of g-d, the United Nations UNFIL and Hezbollah he pinned the three bars and felafel of an IDF staff sergeant (Samal Rishon) onto my sleeves. I don't remember what I said. I know he and I have gotten along since moment one, but I still can't figure out how I earned these. But damn if I'm taking them off without someone ordering me to.

A few minutes later there was another boom at some point. I heard a Huey, but didn't look. Apparently it was actually a two ship of Cobras. The story Ehud gave use from his LT was that some combat engineers were detonating mines along the border fence. The UN was checking to see exactly what was on whose side of the fence and we were essentially getting pulled off the outpost. (It was lunchtime anyway.) As we were waiting for the bus a UN SUV pulled up to the gate and demanded entry. As we grabbed a few photos of ourselves in front of the gently fluttering Israeli and Golani brigade flags, an Italian and Spanish officer, each in a blue beret went into the outpost to do whatever it is they do. I highly doubt we'll ever find out who exactly planted those mines, but the UN seems more concerned by Israel's blowing them up than by whomever planted them.

After lunch we were told to report to the common area in our barracks wearing swim gear. Were were spending the afternoon at a kibbutz swimming pool. Usually I'd protest the lack of working, but not today. I wanted some me time. I also wanted to see Liege and Paris in bathing suits. (Worth it.) There was a men v. women water basketball game in which Paris turned out to be a sniper sinking every shot. It also turned out that two of the guys couldn't make shots from 3 feet away. I dunked a couple times, but in the end we were beaten by two baskets.

I finally made my decision on Eilat. It's been moved to the top of the list for next time. One full day just isn't enough, and this Sar El group is as close to perfect as it gets. I can't leave it. In the course of deciding I called dad. This is one of the kinds of decisions I've always had problems with and he knows how I think at times like this. I ended up telling him where I am. If he's worried (I'm betting, “Yes, but he's not losing any sleep over it.”) he hid it well. He was less than surprised as well. He just cited my Sar El pattern. Border with the West Bank near a hot spot from the Second Intifada. Base quite close to Gaza and the Egyptian border. It just made sense. We're starting to think of how we'll do things next week when I get home. To be honest it's one of the furthest things from my mind. As ready as I was to go home last week, now I feel like “Home,” and my life back in the 'States is as far away emotionally as it is physically.

UPDATE: It turns out the new radiator for Ron's Jeep is still stuck in customs. It looks like Eilat was off the table anyway. With luck I'll be able to get some trigger time in at the range before Yom Kippur. Why do they call it a "Fast," when it seems to go forever?

A View to a Kill

What a view. From the base, I can see the Med. From our work site a mile or two and around a thousand feet higher I can see Haifa. And the UN. And some guys who are probably Hezbollah.

I've fallen back into my green routine with ease. It took a day or two for the routine to really get going. Our first madricha had to bail on us because when she met us at the airport she was already fighting a throat infection which was only getting worse. The base medic took one look and told her to go home. She still stuck it out until another madricha arrived. I really admire her dedication to her job. Even though madrichot have what a lot would consider real soft duty, all these girls are real soldiers and every once in a while they show how tough they can be. Romi didn't quit her post until properly relieved.

Usually she would just leave us with the other madricha until another could arrive, but our other madricha is brand new. We're her very first group. I think she lucked out big time. If she got a group full of teenagers it would probably drive her into an Israeli version of a Section 8. Starting off after peak tourist season is probably a good way to ease her into the job.

I mentioned my friend from Spain, I'll call him “Madrid.” He and I continue to become really good friends, swapping photos of each other raising the flag, working together and talking about all kinds of things. His family goes back to before the Spanish Inquisition, after which they became conversos and hid their Jewish roots. In recent years some of his family has embraced their Jewish roots, converting back, while others remain Catholic. I think Madrid's out to find out more about his roots, and as he said, “Do honor to his blood.” Tonight I'm going to a service at the base synagogue one of the soldiers has been trying to get me to attend. Madrid's coming too.

At my previous bases it took the soldiers about a week to warm up to us, and another to really get close to us. The joking, poking fun and horsing around kind of closeness. The Band of Brothers kind of thing. It feels like here that's gone into fast forward. One of the soldiers who's been working with us, a Yemeni combat engineer named Ehud and I have become pretty close. We talk a lot as we work and at night. We even have a trick we play on some of the Golani soldiers we work with. Ehud prettends to be Argentine, Mexican or some other nationality and that he doesn't speak Hebrew. Since he does not wear his rank (3 bars and a felafel- Staff Sergeant) on his work uniform he just passes off his combat engineer stuff as souvenirs from another base. So far at least three soldiers have gone for it hook line and sinker.

On a more serious note, I've had some great conversations with those Golani guys. Today I talked a lot with a recent immigrant from the US- Manhattan actually about a range of things as he surveyed the border with binoculars in his bunker with a Tavor and a MAG machine gun. It was an odd sensation working on repairing an anti-sniper net (The outside of the net is white, the inside black. The end result is the person inside can see out, but no one can see in from a distance.) crawling underneath to attach it to an overhead cable and looking right down the barrel of a belt fed machine gun. It was even more serious because at that very spot a soldier had been killed by sniper fire during the Second Lebanon War.

OK, let's back up a bit. I found out last week I'd be going North. I mentioned that to my father in our last conversation. He said, “I just hope you don't get put on the Lebanese Border.” Here I am, working less than 50 feet from the border, Hashem only knows how many Hezbalonchiks looking at me through binoculars, cameras or worse. The soldier I was talking to today was wondering how the hell we were even here. This is one of the most dangerous borders on the planet. Especially with Iran's leader, Mahmoud Ahmadinijad visiting Lebanon RIGHTNOW things could get hot in a second. The soldier then pointed out a house occupied by the Lebanese army, “They probably have a bunch of rockets in there,” and two stopped trucks about a mile away. There was a guy in what looked like Jeans and a black shirt standing there looking right back a us. “They're not used to seeing people crawling all over this place. They're probably trying to see what you're doing, maybe taking pictures.” Shit man, that's my job.

I noticed bullet holes in the outpost's anti- missile fences. (A steel structure extending 50 feet in the air covered with several layers of chain link. The idea is to detonate a missile before it reaches the outpost.) I was on a direct line with the holes. I suddenly felt a chill and not just from the breeze on top of this mountain. I was waiting for the whistle of a bullet, for all hell to break loose, deciding which was the quickest, safest way to hard cover. Hey, there wasn't a whole lot else I could do aside from freaking out.

Yesterday I talked to another soldier who told me he'd lied to his parents about where he was posted. I asked if he thought they'd figured it out and just didn't let him know. He said they believed it, but I''m not so sure. Parents always figure that stuff out. That's why I'm just not telling mine where I am until after the fact. Sorry dad. I know you're reading this and I know you'd be worried for me if you knew right now. But right now, this is exactly where I belong.

There's so much that I've seen and thought of in the last two days. It all blends together. Ehud lighting the powder from a 7.62 NATO bullet on fire in full view of of the Lebanese border. The group learning to sing Hatikva so tomorrow at flag raising we can all belt it out at the top of our lungs when the music plays. The beautiful morning and evening bus rides from the base where we live to the border outpost where we work. One of those rides being spoiled by the driver pointing out rocket damaged homes and the spot where Ehud Goldwasser and Elad Regev were abducted. The way my brain's record skips whenever the girls I call “Paris” and “Liege” speak. That accent, man oh man. And they're pretty cool to talk to as well. Paris is Jewish, but she's got a gentile boyfriend at home. Maybe I can get her playing for our team. Probably not with me, but I think she's already thinking about it.

I'm not really sure what I'm doing after this weekend. I might be going to Eilat with Ron, or returning to the group. The thing is, the group will only have one more full day of work after this weekend. There is a possibility it may extend, but short of a war starting, my departure date is set. So there's no confusion, I've decided that if a war starts, I will stay here and volunteer for the duration. Ｉ　ｒｅｍｅｍｂｅｒ　ｈｏｗ　Ｉ　ｆｅｌｔ　ｄｕｒｉｎｇ　Ｏｐｅｒａｔｉｏｎ　Ｃａｓｔ　Ｌｅａｄ．　　Ｉ　ｃａｎ’ｔ　ｓｉｔ　ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ　ｏｎｅ　ｏｕｔ　ｉｎ　ｔｈｅ　Ｓｔａｔｅｓ，　ｓａｆｅ　ａｎｄ　ｓｏｕｎｄ　ｗｈｉｌｅ　ｍｙ　ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ　ｆｉｇｈｔ　ｆｏｒ　ｔｈｅｉｒ　ｌｉｖｅｓ，　ｔｈｅｉｒ　ｈｏｍｅｓ　ａｎｄ　ｔｈｅｉｒ　ｆａｍｉｌｉｅｓ．　　Ｓａｒ　Ｅｌ　ｉｓ　ａ　ｈｅｌｌ　ｏｆ　ａ　ｌｏｔ　ｓａｆｅｒ　ｔｈａｎ　ｔｈｅ　ｒｅａｌ　Ａｒｍｙ，　ｂｕｔ　ａｔ　ｌｅａｓｔ　ｉｔ’ｓ　ｄｏｉｎｇ　ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ　ｒｅａｌ．　　Ｎｏｔ　ｊｕｓｔ　ｈｉｔｔｉｎｇ　”Ｒｅｆｒｅｓｈ，”　ｏｎ　ｔｈｅ　ｎｅｗｓ　ｗｅｂｓｉｔｅｓ　ｔｒｙｉｎｇ　ｔｏ　ｆｉｇｕｒｅ　ｏｕｔ　ｉｆ　ｍｙ　ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ　ａｒｅ　ａｌｉｖｅ　ｏｒ　ｄｅａｄ，　ｉｆ　ｔｈｅｉｒ　ｆａｍｉｌｙ　ｉｓ　ｉｎ　ｔｈｅ　ｓｈｅｌｔｅｒ　ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ　ｏｆ　ｒｏｃｋｅｔｓ．　　Ｗａｉｔｉｎｇ　ｆｏｒ　ｔｈａｔ　ｅｍａｉｌ　ｏｒ　Ｆａｃｅｂｏｏｋ　ｐｏｓｔ　ｓａｙｉｎｇ　ｔｈｅｙ’ｒｅ　ＯＫ．　　Ｎｏ，　ｉｆ　Ｉ　ｃａｎ　ｂｅ　ｈｅｒｅ　ｗｏｒｋｉｎｇ　Ｉ　ｗｉｌｌ　ｂｅ．　　Ｅｖｅｎ　ｉｆ　ｉｔ　ｍｅａｎｓ　ｔｕｒｎｉｎｇ　ａｒｏｕｎｄ　ａｔ　ｔｈｅ　ｄｅｐａｒｔｕｒｅ　ｇａｔｅ　ａｔ　ｔｈｅ　ａｉｒｐｏｒｔ．　　Ｉ　ｈｏｐｅ　Ｉ　ｄｏｎ’ｔ　ｈａｖｅ　ｔｏ．　　Ｂｕｔ　ｔｈｉｓ　ｐｌａｃｅ　ｉｓ　ｗｏｒｔｈ　ｆｉｇｈｔｉｎｇ　ｆｏｒ，　ａｎｄ　ｉｆ　Ｉ　ｃａｎ’ｔ　ｃａｒｒｙ　ａ　ｒｉｆｌｅ　Ｉ　ｃａｎ　ａｔ　ｌｅａｓｔ　ｓｗｉｎｇ　ａ　ｈａｍｍｅｒ　ｏｒ　ａ　ｐａｉｎｔｂｒｕｓｈ．

Again- sorry about the font there. I really don't know what's going on with my little netbook sometimes.

Getting to second base

Second base, day one.

Last night was Alex's birthday party. I was kind of disappointed really. I expected the party to go until dawn. It's probably for the best that it didn't. I think 1.5 liters of beer was plenty considering I had to get up to catch a train to meet my new group.

I woke up right about the time I was supposed to be leaving the house. Not good. Especially because no one else was awake. After a couple minutes of my rushed morning routine, I checked my Cellcom phone. It read an hour earlier. What? I slapped the battery into my Verizon phone and it read the same as the Israeli phone. What the? Oh, right. Daylight savings. I was mostly dressed so I just lay back and went back half asleep to match my half- dressed state.

I got the train in the middle of the Sunday morning soldier rush. All the soldiers on weekend leave going back to their bases, made even worse by the fact that this was the Beer Sheba train. The same one I'd used two weeks before, and just like then, it was packed.

Our group formed up at the airport. We are the definition of a diverse group. Ages range from an 18 year old girl from Liege Belgium to a 73 year old man from Greenville SC. So far my best friend is a 42 year old Spaniard. We spent the trip up to the base mapping our progress on his map. Pam, the Sar-El coordinator gave us a brief lowdown of our base, saying that it was “Very nice,” and located between Tiberias and Haifa.” There was just something in her facial expression and vocal tones that prompted me to whisper to myself, “You're not telling us everything...”

As my new friend and I were tracking our progress I mentioned my suspicion that we were in fact going further north. I figured all the way to the border. I knew from Mark Werner's book, Army Fatigues that they took groups up there. It was also keeping with my Sar-El tradition of being right on the thin line between “Us and them.” It turns out I was right. About 20 minutes out from where we were supposed to go the mini bus made some unexpected turns and out madricha made the announcement. “Called it!” I shouted.

It's amazing how much little things can matter when you're deprived of the comforts you're used to. For instance, at this base, I got a correctly fitting uniform on the first try. My trousers are actually long enough for me to blouse them- a Sar-El first for me. Our room has no air conditioning, but the windows get a decent cross breeze as we are on a mountain. So far, there have been no bugs to speak of in sharp contrast with the ants, beetles and scorpions of the last base. It also seems that work will be more abundant too. The soldiers here are all kravi- combat soldiers. They seem to be opening up to us much faster than I've seen previously. It's a good thing too, because we only have a week together. I'm not sure what work we'll be doing, but I feel like it will make a good impact.

One more word about the group- we are about 14 people and the majority of the group are gentiles. Granted, it's a narrow majority, but a majority none the less. Also, most are from Europe, which is developing quite a reputation as being anti- Israel. Score one for the good guys.

The clock runs down

This past week I've had entirely too much time to think. And, the last couple days, entirely too much to eat. To be honest, the last day or so I've just felt entirely too close to just losing it. There's been a lot of fun, drinking with Ron's uncles was a really good time, and as I mentioned food was abundant and amazing. But not really knowing what was going on, only catching bits of conversations, feeling singled out as a guest- it just grinds on me,

And, like I said, there has been entirely too much time to think. For the last year thoughts of Israel took my mind every time it wandered, this week it's been thoughts of home. Not even things I miss either. To be honest, in addition to family and friends I don't miss all that much. Long showers without feeling guilt for wasting water. Good Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese and Sushi. My car. Being able understand the conversations going on around me.

For the last year this trip was the great unknown. The thing equally anticipated and dreaded.

What would happen when I got off that plane in Tel Aviv? Now it's, “What's going to happen after I get off that plane in Rochester?” Well, I know part of it. The mundane anti-climax to international travel. Pick up my car from mom's garage. Pick up my mail and re-start my delivery. Sort through it. Buy groceries. Unpack. Do laundry. Sleep off my jet lag before I start seeing Tyler Durden. Go through my email backlog. Catch up on the web comics. Edit and retouch my photos. Post all the edits to Picassa and a tighter edit to Facebook. Then the most fun of all- going back to work. I'm still undecided if I should wear a set of fatigues on my first day back. It's not like anyone important would be around to see them (The joys of working nights.) and at least they'd be clean- unlike the ones I wore for around a month.

Tomorrow instead of tagging along to Ron's open airsoft game, I'm going on a hike with Nir. Tomorrow night is a birthday party for our friend Alex. I have a feeling things are going to get pretty stupid- made more so by the fact that I'll have to catch a train to the airport to meet my next Sar-El group. They told me I'll be up North this time, but that can change. I'm really looking forward to being back in green. Things are a bit more predictable and there are more English speakers to hang around with. I love being immersed in a different culture, but not being able to keep up really grinds on me after a while.

I've only really glossed over the airsoft scene in Israel, so I'll go into a bit more detail based on my own observations. I have personally been to two stores, both of which are under the “Tacticball Members Club,” name. One is in Kfar Sava, the other, run by Ron is in Ceasaria. Ron's is housed at the Dani Hai facility which included horse riding, ropes courses, paintball games, and a lot of firing ranges including a couple small MOUT/CQB training facilities.

In order to purchase an airsoft gun or equipment a person has to have a recreational player's card. (You caught the “Member's Club,” right?) This reminds me a lot of some of the rules in the UK. The personal ownership of airsoft guns is kind of a legal gray area. Technically, the guns are rented permanently by the player, but officially owned by the club- which retains records on who has what. I'm not sure how used sales work, or if they are even allowed to be conducted outside of a shop.

Games fall into two basic categories- open and closed. Open games are just that, anyone can come in, pay their money, pick up a rental gun, face mask and play. Most players, especially younger ones at the open games use rental guns. Ron has about 40 available, mostly they are Classic Army Sportline M4's, there are also some Tokyo Marui MP-5's a couple G-36's, and AK's. The open games go on bi-weekly and attract around 60 people. As you can imagine, distributing the rentals, safety equipment and ammo is barely organized chaos. The game itself is pretty much total chaos.

One thing worth pointing out is that weapon safety in the staging area is taken far more seriously than any field I have seen in the States. No magazines are allowed in weapons, pistols or rifles, the players for the most part police themselves, the staff gives out one warning. After that, people are either running laps, doing push-ups, or going home. Any negligent weapon discharges in the safe zone are cause for the same, even if it was only a dry fire.

The field at Dani Hai is a small complex of cargo containers with some scrub brush and small gullys around the outside. There are only two ways the buildings can be approached and both can be easily defended against. It would require perfect communication and coordination to get in there with equal numbers defending and attacking. This being airsoft, the attackers are usually good and screwed. To me the field is just too small for the number of players who show up for these games. There is not enough room for maneuvering without running into people. Teammates can end up tripping over each other and there is just a lot of paintball-ish run and gun. On the more positive side of things, most players tend to use semiautomatic exclusively, which on a crowded field does allow for some movement and reduces the injury potential a lot.

Closed games (invitation only) are much smaller and are usually between organized teams with a few guests in attendance. This was much more to my liking as there were about 1/3 the number of people which allowed for a decent amount of movement. People also knew each other, knew what they needed to do and played a much more tactical, and to me enjoyable game. To put it in perspective, I shot only about 75 rounds. The first game, I had no targets and did not fire, the second I fired perhaps a dozen times just to keep someone's head down while we moved. The third game I got into more action, and was safety killed toward the end of the game. The final game of the day I took a hit in the shoulder about a minute in. Well, someone has to be the first out.

The game types I saw were pretty simple, attack and defend, capture the flag, etc. Not too involved, but still fun. Given the size of the field it's also kind of hard to vary things too much. I know there are larger more role play and simulation driven games, but these are pretty rare due to trouble finding suitable land. Unlike in the States there is so far, no cooperation from the military.

I just realized that I have just about 12 days left here and one of those is Yom Kippur. So much to do and so little time.

Apocalypse Achshav! (And other reports and observations)

The other day started with a trip to another of Israels small number of airsoft shops. I'd been to this one before the last time I was here. Ron and the other store had combined to meet the minimum order requirement from a dealer in Hong Kong and it was time to pick up Ron's part of the shipment. It has been a running joke between Ron and I of one of the few shared movie references we have. It is the scene in Apocalypse Now when Captain Willard steals Colonel Kilgore's surfboard. Kilgore then has one of his helicopters flying over the river playing a recording of Kilgore saying how important the board is, and how much he wants it back. As we were leaving the shop, Ron called the guys inside and asked if the knew the scene. All I understood was “Apocalypse Achshav,” and I thought, “Heeeere we goooo...” Ron handed me the mic to his loudspeaker/siren and I was on.

“Lance, I just want my board back. It's a very good board, you know how hard it is to find a board you really like...”

There was a callback to this later on in the evening. We were going fishing in the Med at night and a couple helicopters (I'm pretty sure they were Cobras. Cobras sound a bit like a Huey. Blackhawks sound like a truck, and Apaches sound like Death sharpening his scythe.) flew over as we were walking to the beach. “Lance...”

The plan was to fish for squid, then cut them up and use them for bait. Our lures looked like large prawns and glowed in the dark. They looked like little shooting stars as they arced through the black sky. Unfortunately, Neptunus Rex was not cooperating and the sea was too rough and the wind too high for any fishing to be done. After putting our rods ashore, Ron ran back out into the surf and after stripping to my skivvies, I went in too. The water was warm and the beach shallow and sandy. I managed to catch a few good waves and said, “Hey Ron, this would be even better if some asshole hadn't stolen my surfboard!”

Let's rewind a couple days here. Over the weekend Nir, Ron's older brother, his girlfriend, uncle and myself went on a short drive to a park/archaeological site. A couple weeks before, Nir had taken me to see the ruins of Caesaria, and this was a bit related. We were going on a guided tour through an underground tunnel which carried water into the Roman aqueduct that supplied Caesaria. The water in the tunnel was up to a bit over knee height on me and was the coldest water I've ever felt in Israel. (Excluding the rain in the winter of 2005 when all I had to stay dry was a plastic tablecloth.) I'd say it was probably around 60-65 Fahrenheit- balmy by WNY standards, shrinkage inducing by Israeli standards. I got in a few good jokes about how Israelis can't handle cold and managed to avoid the instant karma of slipping on my ass.

Later that night Ron and I went to hang out with his girlfriend and her sister. I hesitate to call this a “date.” We were just hanging out on the Kibbutz where they live eating pizza, drinking wine and beer and playing sheshbesh. (Backgammon- Yes, I got schooled.) When we first got there my “date” offered me coffee, and I wish I had a photo of my face when I took that first sip. It was awful. Beyond awful. The kind of taste that made me wonder what the hell was in that glass before the coffee, and how someone could forget to wash a glass of...baking soda? Ah ha. “Excuse me,” I asked making my voice as gentle as possible, “I think maybe you put salt in the coffee instead of sugar.” She turned red, apologized and took the glass, about halfway through the door she paused and took a sip. Her lips curled, her face scrunched up, we all chuckled a bit and she disappeared inside to make a new cup. As soon as she did that I made my way to the bushes and spat a few times to the laughter of Ron and his girlfriend. A couple minutes later a fresh glass of coffee appeared and after waiting a few minutes for the grounds to settle, I sipped some mighty fine, and perfectly sweetened bean juice.

Not all is going according to plan. Eilat has been scrubbed due to some car trouble Ron has. his radiator is on the verge of going. With my help, he ordered a new one from the States, but it will not be here until after Rosh Hashannah. Because there are few things worse than getting stuck in the middle of the Negev with a dead car, our great Israeli Road trip has been scrubbed. To be honest, I'm not quite sure what I'd do in Eilat anyway. The undeerwater stuff is largely lost on me due to my glasses. Aside from some hiking, there's pretty much just booze, babes and beaches. And those are pretty easy to find in this country. So tonight we are driving up to the Kinneret for more fishing. We'll throw in some lines for a couple hours tonight, then adjourn to grill up some meat, drink beer and talk of manly things, then fish more in the morning. After that is Erev Rosh Hashannah, in which I hang on for dear life, eat a whole lot of food and try to follow along for the next couple days.

After the holiday is Alex's birthday wherein there will be much consumption of beer and liquor, the possible presence of women of questionable morals, loud music and a party which will end with my hung over ass on a train to the airport to meet my next Sar El group. I'm told I'll be somewhere in the North this time. As much as I like the idea of a change of scenery, I'll miss the guys in the desert. The Eli-Copter does not like making touch and goes.

While waiting to leave for the Kinneret I'll write a bit about the Air Force Museum. I should be trying to get a few z's in, but I tried that and it's not happening. Since I'd been through Beer Sheba a couple time coming to and going from the base. I try to read roadsigns wherever I go. That information can come in handy wherever I am. (And it has.) I saw two signs repeatedly, probably more because I was looking for them than anything else. One sign was for the Museum. The other was for Hatzerim. Hatzerim, I knew is the main air base in the Negev, home to the flight training academy and the museum. As the people on Sar El were finding out, when it comes to an area of my interest I tend to retain a massive amount of information. With that in mind, the guided tour left a lot to be desired. I'm pretty sure the tour guide did in fact have more technical knowledge than me, but spoke in generalities to make sure that too much information would not come out. (She tried to tell me that the only flights going over our base were A-4's on training flights. Sorry honey, I know the difference between types. They might all have been on training runs, but F-15 and -16's sound a lot different than an A-4.) One figure did stick out: 4 minutes. An aircraft going supersonic can go from one end of Israel to the other in 4 minutes. That's Tzafon-Darom, (North-South) the long way. 4 Minutes in time of war to detect, identify and shoot down an intruder. Actually less. A supersonic jet could reach a major population center in seconds. Is it any wonder why in 1967 the IAF took the risk that it did, deploying almost every aircraft they had to hit the Egyptians on the ground?

Our guide first took us through a museum which featured examples of portable SAMs, and early anti-aircraft guns (One was used by a Kibbutznik to shoot down an Arab plane in 1948!) and modern missile systems. The AGM-65 Maverick was proudly painted with, “Made in the USA.) There was also a display of the pilot's gear showing the difference between a helicopter pilot and a fighter pilot's gear. There was an entire room devoted to the ejection seat and survival/ escape and evasion pack. (Fun fact: IAF aircrew boots have the same tread going forwards a backwards to confuse anyone trying to track a downed pilot.) The point was driven home that with an aircraft being worth in the range of $100 Million and each plane being needed, it is a big decision whether or not to eject, and it is truly a last resort.

On the way to the next part of the tour we passed by two of the more famous Israeli Aerospace products; The IAI Kfir fighter bomber and the Arrow anti ballistic missile. The Arrow is the only currently deployed anti missile system. It was originally put into use around 10 years ago and has been constantly upgraded. It was probably designed after the Scud attacks Israel endured during the first Gulf War (Part of a Scud is on display.) and has been given greater importance by Iran's missile and nuclear program.

The second part of the tour went chronologically though the fixed wing aircraft, without giving all that much information on each. Starting with the WWII leftovers, the Czech made Bf-109, the British Spitfire, the American P-51 Mustang, moving to the first jets, the British Gloster Meteor. Then onto the “French Honeymoon” when the IAF few exclusively French aircraft, starting with the Ouragan, and Vatour, moving to the more well known Mystere, and finally the face of the IAF as it ruled the skies in the sixties, the Mirage III. There are two Mirages on display, one in Israeli colors, and one representing the upgraded Mirages that were sold to Argentina. Personally, I think they'd be better off without the Argentine plane, considering that most of those were shot down by the British during the Falklands War.

Then off to a 707 for a 10 minute video about the IAF. I'd actually seen the same video on YouTube, so that was kind of dissappointing. On the other hand, the plane I was sitting in was one of the aircraft that participated in the Raid on Entebbe in 1976. Clif's Notes version:

Palestinian terrorist hijacked an Aif France flight from Tel Aviv to Paris after it made a stop in Athens. They flew to Entebbe Uganda eventually releasing all passengers except those with Israeli passports or Jewish sounding names. The French flight crew also elected to stay with their passengers. With negotiations going nowhere, Israel sent several C-130 Hercules transports filled with elite infantry units and commandos to Entebbe. The Infantry troops secured a perimeter around the airport, the commandos stormed the terminal killing the terrorists. Two 707's were also on the operation, one for command and control, the other, (the plane at the museum) as a flying hospital. It was on this plane that the only fatality from the rescue force, Yoni Netanyahu- brother of Israel's current PM died.

OK, back to the present, 15 minutes left to run around and photograph! Holy shit, what do I get? I ran up some bleachers for an overall shot- gotta have that. Now, the 14mm for some wide, low angle shots. Run Run Run! Gotta get the Ouragans, those are some under-represented early jets- there's history there! Now the P-51! Gotta have a P-51! I love those things, especially wearing a Mogen David! The Black Spit! The only still flying plane from the war of Independence! And a kickass paint job to boot! Now onto the enemy aircraft. DeHavilland Vampires- check. Hawker Hunter-check. Pile of wreckage from a shot down Mig-17- double check! 007, the Mig 21 whose pilot defected from Iraq- done and done. A-4, F-4, F-15, done. Helicopters? No, not enough time, and I've got to hit the sherutim (W.C.) damn, there's so much more I want to see!!!! CHARAH!! (SHIT!!!) I forgot to get some photos of the IAI Lavi!

The weekly data dump

I'm writing this just after midnight on 2 September. Today will be our last day on the base. Sadly, some of the soldiers we were working with will be off base working with another reserve unit. It sucks that we won't get the chance to say goodbye to them.

Tonight's activity involved writing notes to each other which had observations from the last couple weeks. Other than myself, only one other person stayed the entire three weeks. Despite a HELL of a lot of ball busting we all had good things to say about each other. It was really good to hear especially after a phone conversation with my friend from Tel Aviv who is apparently no longer my friend. There's not much to say really except that I forgot how different my sensibilities and mannerisms of speech are from other people. I forgot that sometimes things just don't translate and don't go over the way I want. I could try and recover things, but I'm just not sure it will be worth it. I've walked on eggshells too many times, guarded what I said for fear of pissing someone off and self-censored. What I've learned is that the people who really like you, will call you out so you get better, but still stand by you. The ones who were just casual acquaintances will walk away. I don't know what's going to happen here. I do care, but only because the good people in this world shouldn't be fighting each other. We've got much bigger problems.

I feel kind of sad to be leaving this base. This past week I've really felt a connection with the soldiers. I've worked with them before, we see each other in the chow hall and after hours during games of basketball and frisbee. I even got a nickname. “'Copter.” Eli-Copter. My name in Hebrew is pronounced, Eh-lee. So, some of the tank maintenance guys named me Eli-copter. (Ten minutes later a 2-ship of Apaches flew over. Very cool.)

Yesterday's trip was to the air force museum. Unfortunately, we had a second destination so I did not get in all the picture taking I wanted. I could easily have spent 3-4 hours there. I'll write more on the museum later.

Our second destination was a Bedouin “Tent of Peace.” We were told a true story where an Israeli family going to Eilat had a breakdown and were stranded in a heavily Beduin area. They were pretty scared and really wanted to get out of there, but their car was good and busted. Eventually, what happened was a Bedouin who owned a towing company said, “Look, take my car, when you get back I'll have yours fixed and we'll swap back.” This sort of paid it forward and when tensions rose between Israelis and Palestinians the people involved built this Tent of Peace to show a spirit of cooperation. It's also a place to learn about the traditional and modern Bedouin culture. After coffee and tea, our host explained the place of many of the Bedouins in Israel. How many are moving into cities and have come to consider themselves Israelis who are committed to their country. We were told about the special Bedouin units of the IDF and how the Bedouin are highly sought after by the IDF for their language and tracking skills. There is even a small unit of Bedouin women who the army sends to university and then sends to work as teachers in Bedouin areas. It was a very optimistic look at things which I think we all needed.

Up until this week I felt kind of lost. Both with the volunteering and with my relation to the country as well. I always felt welcomed and was treated well, but I was missing that certain spark I was looking for. This week it came back. I found myself saying, “This is what I came for.” I know my earlier entries have often had a negative kind of tone. I guess that's just the way I felt. Kinda down, kind of lost. I'm still not exactly found, but I at least have a map.

I'm writing this part on 3 September from notes made on the bus o Jerusalem.

I was one of only two who made it to breakfast besides our Madrichot who rolled in kind of late. We had all been up until around midnight joking, taking and sharing stories. It was the last night, we all felt we had to cram as much in as we could. After our last flag raising we were taken to the armory where we cleaned and lube some massive steel machinegun mounts whose dimensions could only be for the M2 .50 caliber machine gun. Good old “Ma Deuce.” We worked outside and I enjoyed the parade of F-16's flying overhead from parts unknown to destination unknown. I tried to spot as many as I could because I knew I'd miss their comforting roar.

I peeled off my dirty, stinking uniform and staked it on a corner of my rack. I'd already packed my soap and shampoo so I took a quick, water only shower. It still felt pretty damn good. After putting on my shorts and brand new [and clean] Sar-El t-shirt I went with the group to return what we'd drawn from supply. One pair trousers- so dusty they were two shades lighter than when I got them. One shirt. One hat- how it was not white with salt stains I don't know. One bed sheet. One belt. My sole remaining roommate turned in our fan.

After we finished packing and cleaning our room it was still 30 minutes until lunch. My roommate and I walked out to the tank storage yard to say goodbye to the guys there. It was a much nicer walk today. The air was cooler, the clouds had not burned off, and we were wearing shorts. While we waited for a few minutes for some of the guys to come in so we could get some group photos I showed some of the soldiers the photos I'd taken on the flight from Rochester to JFK. I also drew a crude map of NY state and Ontario so they could see where I am from, and where Toronto- the home of my roommate is. We also put our Facebook information down. So we would not be late for lunch the senior soldier there gave us a ride back to the chow hall in a beat up army truck. The floor was covered with battered electrical gear so I had my knees nearly in my chest as we flew down the ½ mile road to the rest of the base.

On the bus out one of the volunteers read the traveler's prayer. As if in answer a few minutes later raindrops began appearing on the windshield. It was hardly a drizzle by Rochester standards, but here it really meant something.

As the bus winded it's way up to Jerusalem I found myself listening to Brothers in Arms by Dire Straits. It's a song that's always gotten to me and here even moreso. Especially when riding on that road. In 1948 the Arabs laid siege to Jerusalem and the convoys going down that road bringing food, water and men to help break the siege. Those convoys got shot up pretty bad. There are the preserved remains of those vehicles on the side of the road as a memorial. Now it's a 4 lane highway with cameras that automatically send tickets to speeders. Sacrifice is not an abstract concept here. If you are not reminded every day of it, then you are not looking very hard.

The only good bug is a DEAD bug!

Final week at [name of base].

The group is now down to six. All guys. I'm now the oldest person in the group by one year. Despite the age range of ten years we've bonded much more in the last couple days than the previous larger group ever did. I attribute it to the shared appreciation of dick and fart jokes. Although, when it comes to movies these pishers have a lot to learn. The stink palm in Mallrats? The campfire scene from Blazing Saddles? All lost on youth.

Additionally with one exception the group is made of people who have made aliya or are considering it. The fact that this trip is in many ways a fact finding trip to see if I want to move here has been sort of an open secret and the 600 pound gorilla in the room when talking to my parents. I'm still very much undecided. I spent part of the morning's work talking with a Canadian volunteer who's more or less in the same situation. Nothing much came of it, but it was nice to talk to someone who shares the same dilemma. He's also located fairly close to me so we'll probably meet up after we both get home. He even makes fun of the same regional television commercials. Yes, six thousand miles from home and I'm ripping on Fuccillo car commercials. “Come into Fuccillo motors for this beautiful, pre-owned Magach-7 main battle tank! It's HUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE!!!!!!!!!!!”

The work situation has also gotten better. Whereas before, there wasn't really all that much to do, now we have soldiers pulling rank in order to get volunteers. It's kind of funny, and it does ensure a variety of work. For example today I helped unload and store camouflage nets (Made in USA complete with NSN code.) and fire extinguishers, then cleaned gun parts at the armory and finished up the day putting protective storage covers on tanks. Not surprisingly the covers are referred to as “condoms.” Well, they're rubber and they do go over a big, rigid gun...

Tomorrow is a half day of work followed by an excursion to an as yet undisclosed location. The smart Shekels are on the Israeli Air Force Museum in Beer Sheba. It's fairly close by which fits with the time table, and the fact that unlike last week's trip to the Dead Sea and Ein Geidi our madrichot have not been issued weapons.

After this week I am to a certain extent in the weeds. As in, I will have damn little idea what is going on. Sar-El is on break until after Rosh Hashanna. Ron, myself and a couple other people will be going down to Eilat for a couple days of real vacationing. Other than that I don't have any clue. Ron's father is trying to find me a Machzor (High Holidays prayer book) with English translations, but either way it's going to be real hard for me to follow along.

Last weekend I actually went on a date. I was a double date with Ron, his girlfriend and her older sister who is my age. It was a good time although Ron and I cut it a bit short, him because of exhaustion and me because I had to haul ass to Beer Sheba in the morning. I was also fighting a minor head cold. We went out to a pasta place in Haifa. It was a nice time and I'm hoping to do something this weekend. The really funny thing is that her family lives on a kibbutz which I stayed on for a weekend with my youth group trip. Funny how life and history works out. The few things I remember from that weekend are the beautiful sunsets, the beach and the fact that I saw more stars from that beach than I ever had before. Who knows, maybe I'll get to do some more stargazing.

One thing Sar-El madrichot should be trained on which they are apparently not is how to deal with some of the hazards of volunteer housing. Tonight there was much girlish screaming and gnashing of teeth over a cockroach in the women's bathroom which is only being used by the madrichot. One of the pishers ended up dispatching it with a fire extinguisher. Not by crushing the roach, no, he discharged the roach in a spray of dry fire retardant. The door was closed a whoosh heard and a blast of powder from the crack under the door. Needless to say, everything was covered and the powder hung in the air for several minutes. After getting a cough inducing mouthful I went out to the parade ground/rec area to play some Frisbee. One of my errant throws managed to take out a decent sized beetle on landing. Starship Troopers references were made and the night was good.

No Kvetching!

Second week on the base. Three people left us last week, and even though I barely knew them I miss them. Especially given some of the people who have come on to replace them. We now have an additional 4 male volunteers, all of them in the 17-19 age range. Two of them are from Brooklyn but look like they're more at home on the Jersey Shore. They are however, good an energetic workers provided there are women around for them to flex in front of. It seems like after this week, the group will nearly be desintigrating.

The one new female volunteer, a 28 year old French woman who is considering Aliya will only be with us one week before moving to another base. It seems like our last week will be stag.
While we gel on our work assignments, in our personal time we seem to split up a lot. We're all on the same base, in the same barracks, same food, jobs, etc. but it seems like we're on different planets.

Today was a day off. We did a hike at the Ein Gedi National Park, and a swim/float in the Dead Sea. Both are more or less touristy things, but I enjoyed them. Especially taking a dip in the pools at Ein Gedi. The Dead Sea beach was also much better than the one my youth group went to many years ago. The beach was coarse sand as opposed to my previous experience with salt crusted rocks. I also did not have any blisters this time around so I was not in anywhere near the same level of pain.

Tonight a group of us walked over to the neighboring base to hang out, get snacks and perhaps use the computers. I took one look at the line for the computers and gave up on that. I can wait a couple days to get online. After about an hour of joking, talking, and people watching I headed back. As I approached the break in the fence between some dumpsters that led to our base I reflected on the first time I made that walk last week. “WOW. I am walking around on an army base like I really belong here. I don't think I'll ever get used to this.”

I have not only gotten used to it, I've gotten kind of comfortable with it. As i passed the fence line I unbuttoned my uniform shirt to the navel and loosened it a bit so the breeze went through. (On the other base we are required to wear our uniform shirt and pants with the shirt tucked in. On our base, things are looser except for meals.) I strolled back leisurely enjoying the full moon and lamenting the light pollution that blocked out most of the stars. There were scattered pops from the firing ranges. I'd long since stopped trying to identify weapons by sound. With the large open spaces and desert breezes it is hard to even determine directionality. There were a couple single barks, followed by a few lighter pops, a strange metallic clank or two, some strings of pops, all deadened by distance and the wind. Jets cut paths through the sky, some with their lights looking like meteors, others announced their presence only with a roar. I chuckled thinking of when I watched Area 88 with one of my friends back home. It's a Japanese cartoon about mercenary pilots from all over the world in the service of a desert country. It doesn't line up exactly, but there are one or two parallels. Mostly the heat and the international nature of our crew. Also, that everyone is here for different reasons, and not everyone will talk about them.

As I write this, sweat streams down my forehead and my arms are covered as well. As soon as I'm done here, I will take a quick shower before going to sleep. I know it won't do much to clean me. I''ll be covered in sweat and grime 5 minutes later. Even when I am with my friend over the weekend　Ｉ ｗiｌｌ　ｓｔｉｌｌ　ｂｅ　ｍｏｓｔｌｙ　ｃｏｖｅｒｅｄ　ｉｎ　ｓｗｅａｔ　ａｎｄ　ｇｒｉｍｅ．　　Ｉｔ’ｓ　ｊｕｓｔ　ａ　ｆａｃｔ　ｏｆ　ｌｉｆｅ　ｈｅｒｅ　ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｅ　ｗｅａｔｈｅｒ．　　Ｉ　ｓｔｉｌｌ　ｈａｖｅ　ａｂｏｕｔ　３．５　ｗｅｅｋｓ　ｂｅｆｏｒｅ　Ｉ　ｃａｎ　ｔａｋｅ　ａ　ｌｏｎｇ　ｈｏｔ　ｓｈｏｗｅｒ．　　Ｅｖｅｎ　ｏｆｆ　ｔｈｅ　ｂａｓｅ　Ｉ　ｌｉｍｉｔ　ｍｙｓｅｌｆ　ｔｏ　ａ　ｃｏｕｐｌｅ　ｍｉｎｕｔｅｓ　ｔｏ　ｓａｖｅ　ｗａｔｅｒ．　　Ｔｈｉｎｇｓ　ｒｅａｌｌｙ　ａｒｅ　ｄｉｆｆｅｒｅｎｔ　ｏｖｅｒ　ｈｅｒｅ　ａｎｄ　ａｎｙ　ｔｉｍｅ　Ｉ　ｓｅｅ　ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ　ｆａｍｉｌｉａｒ　Ｉ　ａｍ　ｑｕｉｃｋｌｙ　ｒｅｍｉｎｄｅｄ　ｏｆ　ｈｏｗ　ｆａｒ　Ｉ　ａｍ　ｆｒｏｍ　ｔｈｅ　ｗｏｒｌｄ　Ｉ　ｋｎｏｗ．　　Ｂｕｔ　ｔｈａｔ　ｔｏｏ　ｉｓ　ｗｈａｔ　Ｉ　ｃａｍｅ　ｆｏｒ．　　Ｔｈｅｒｅ’ｓ　ｓｔｉｌｌ　ｐｌｅｎｔｙ　ｔｏ　ｅｘｐｌｏｒｅ　ｏｎ　ｐｌａｎｅｔ　Ｅａｒｔｈ．　　Ｄｏ　ｉｔ　ｉｆ　ｙｏｕ　ｇｅｔ　ｔｈｅ　ｃｈａｎｃｅ．

[I have no idea what happened tot he font and kerning here. I couldn't figure out how to fix it in my work processor, and there's no way to figure it out in Word 2010- Hebrew edition.]