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.
No comments:
Post a Comment