The 6mm Life

Written Oct 12

2010-10-25T16:15:00.001-04:00

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.

2010-09-29T03:01:00.003-04:00

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!

2010-09-16T16:36:00.002-04:00

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

2010-09-16T16:33:00.003-04:00

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

2010-09-16T16:32:00.000-04:00

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

2010-09-11T03:32:00.000-04:00

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)

2010-09-07T14:50:00.001-04:00

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

2010-09-03T14:28:00.002-04:00

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!

2010-09-03T14:28:00.001-04:00

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!

2010-08-27T04:27:00.002-04:00

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　Ｉｗiｌｌ　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.]

Drinking religiously in the Holy Land

2010-08-21T10:56:00.000-04:00

Well, the Jerusalem Beer Fest was a real blast! On my way to the Jerusalem Hostel, one of my fellow volunteers, a Chabadnic, introduced me to two of his friends we ran into on the street. Both of them were going to the festival so I met up with them. We talked beer and some other things and eventually we played a little Jewish geography finding out that one of the guys went to school with my cousin Joe.

I found some beers from a wonderful micro brewery outside Tel Aviv called Dancing Camel. Nice ales, a real nice wheat beer, perfect for summer swigging. I couldn't bring myself to try any of the heavier brews. It's just too hot out for really dark ales and stouts. Even at night.

On the way back to my hostel I ended up tagging along with a few guys from the Givati Brigade as the went for burgers at a faux Irish pub. Oddly enough, it was one of the best burgers I've ever had. Juicy, spicy, just the right amount of carbon crunch on the outside- even the chips (fries for you Yanks.) were right on.

Friday was spent wandering around on foot. I stopped at the Kotel (Western Wall) and put in a word for, well- if you're reading this probably you if by association not name. Because it was Friday and Ramadan the police in the Old City were loaded for bear. I actually saw one walking by with a full bandoleer of 40mm shells. I went the other way. Wherever a guy like that is going, I don't want to be. On my way out I stopped to look for some things for people back home, thus began one of the funnier episodes so far.

I saw some Judaica and asked about a Jerusalem stone Mezzuzah, “Sure, this Judaica shop, I have!” Yeah. Judaica shop. You've got Mezzuzot, Shofars and Mogen Davids next to Rosary beads, prayer rugs, crucifixes an icons. Add to that you're reading an Arabic newspaper. Let the fun begin. I eventually found all I was looking for and that begun the most fun part: Haggling. 1300 Shekels? I think not. Maybe if I were getting a Mezzuzah that has documentation saying that Theodore Herzl himself carved it on the train to the first Zionist Congress back in the 1800's. I got everything for 500. The best part was as I was leaving the shop owner said, “A'salaam aleikum.” Judaica shop. I guess if a Jew walks in the door, yeah. I answered in kind, “Aleikum salaam.”

Today was a trip to the newly remodeled Israel Museum for a bit of culture with some friends who came in from Tel Aviv. We didn't get to the whole museum, it's pretty huge and there is all of recorded history to cover. My friends did not appreciate the modern art sections and that kind of bugs me. Granted, there is a historical context which makes “getting” Cubism, Futurism and Dada difficult, but still, the notion that somehow something is not art just because you can't understand it at a glance bugs the hell out of me.

Right now I'm killing time until Shabbat ends and I can get some chow. Then I have to pack up so I can get to Takanah Merkazi (Central Bus Station) and get a bus to meet the group on time In Beer Sheba.

Somewhere in Midbar Negev

2010-08-21T10:17:00.004-04:00

Date: 16 August, 2010

Day one on the base: Finally I'm getting the dry heat.

I'm on a base in the Negev desert where the daytime highs are in the high 30's Celsius with broken overcast consisting of F-15's,16's A-4's and Apaches. That's about all I can say about the base. Like most of southern Israel we're in rocket range of Gaza so any other landmarks are a big No-No.

The barracks are an improvement over my previous volunteer mission. There are no bunk beds and the barracks are not pre-fab. Like the previous base, we have no air conditioning, but we do have working fans. My roommates and I managed to snag two. We are also in possession of the better part of a case of toilet paper. Most of the volunteers are repeats so we are somewhat accomplished scroungers. That said, I still couldn't get a pair of good fitting trousers. Mine are too big in the waist, and a couple inches two short.

The base does have a room with public internet computers, but the hours are kind of sporadic and it is usually kind of busy. I managed to get on for half an hour last night.

The volunteer group is much younger, than my previous experience. Our oldest volunteer is 30, the youngest 20. There are a couple who already made Aliya or are in the process. Most interesting to me, there are women on this group. I don't really see anything developing with any of them- at least not on the volunteer mission. To be honest, the presence of young, single attractive, Jewish women makes this at times feel a bit like a youth group trip. Some of us, like myself are looking to find someone and that might make things interesting later on.

So far work has been excellent. We did some warehouse organization, but the highlight of the day was loading equipment onto a couple TOMAT. TOMAT is an Israeli acronym for something along the lines of, “Self-propelled artillery piece.” In this case, a Made in the USA M-109 Paladin. If anything starts going down soon, these will likely be moving out to drop steel rain on some very bad people. And I helped. Tov meod.

Date: 18 August 2010
Week one of Sar-El is drawing to a close.

As I said before, I'm somewhere in the Negev Desert. (Midbar Negev) I just found out that we're well withing rocket and artillery range of Gaza. That's really not to remarkable considering the range of the things and the size of the country.

The work has alternated between being intensely physical and engaging to being quite dull. The only stuff I can really talk about at the moment are the dull parts. The base we're on is mainly a reserve logistics base for armor. The soldiers here maintain and equip tanks, APC's and self propelled artillery so that in the event of a war the crews can go right to the vehicles, fire them up and go.

Several of the group are leaving after this week. Most are returning volunteers who completed a program immediately prior to this. One of our Mardichot (leaders) is leaving as well. She's going on leave. It's kind of hard to figure out how I feel about all of the people, especially the Madricha who's leaving us. Tal is a really nice girl and incredible perceptive, but at the same time seems a bit immature. I can't quite put my finger on why. Maybe it's that she seems to have a way with guys who aren't me.

This weekend I'm going to Jerusalem for a family visit and the obligatory visits to the holy places. I feel almost like I can skip going to the Western Wall, “Been there, done that,” you know? Except for one thing. I have a new cousin. A baby girl named Aviva. She should get her name on a note in the Wall. There is also family to visit and a beer fest/concert in German Colony. (It's either that or finding a pub and downing a few [too many] Gin and Tonics.)

Getting there and back will have me using the Israeli bus system, which is infinitely more complicated than the rail system. I could use the soldiers hostel in Jerusalem. I stayed there two years ago, but I really want someplace air conditioned. One of my bunkmates knows a couple hostels but he will likely be staying with some of his more religious friends. I'll probably be meeting some fiends on Saturday, but if that falls through I'll spend the day at the Israel Museum. It's air conditioned and recently remodeled. I can easily spend the day there. I think this is one of the times I am most anxious about. The idea that I can get around the city to build confidence-”Been there, done that.” I just don't want to do it alone. I really hate feeling like an outsider and I'm hoping that I'll be able to fall in with some good people. Or at least fall in with some fun ones.

Chapter 7: The infamous dinner

2010-08-13T08:29:00.000-04:00

This trip is kind of hard to write about. My detail oriented mind wants to record every nuance and sensation, but there are simply too many and I have too little time to record them all.

Last night was spent bouncing around the back of Ron's Jeep on a kind of “Police Activity.” It is a civilian police auxiliary which apparently has search and arrest powers. There were a couple traffic stops, some foot work checking people's ID and a lot of bouncing around on rough dirt tracks looking for people doing things they did not want to be seen doing. To be honest, I'm not sure what to think about the whole thing. While Ron is pretty professional about it, some aspects- like a bunch of tough looking guys in civilian clothes riding around in a police van seemed to have more in common with a vigilante group than a semi-pro official law enforcement group.

I'm kind of glad the night was quiet. If things had started happening I really don't think I'd have been any help except as a distraction. Either I under value my physical abilities, or other people over value them. Probably a bit of both, but lacking any significant training, I think it's safe to say that I should not do this again. And, if I do, I should fix it so the sunburned part of my back is not constantly rubbing against the seat.

Yesterday's main event was supposed to be 90 minutes of quality time on the shooting range with a Tavor assault rifle, Glilon (Galil SAR) rifle, and an Uzi. That got cut significantly by a bunch of customers at Ron's shop. It was further cut when the secretary with the keys to the walk in gun locker (I want one.) decided to leave an hour early meaning we had to hurry to return the weapons.

I got two mags though the Uzi which was fun to shoot, even though I had to keep it in semi. Predictably, the recoil was very gentle, I just wish I could have done a little rock and roll. The Glilon also had nice handling. I only got one magazine though that one. I made a nice grouping (By my standards) but it was a bit low. I think I needed a little coaching on the sights and my stance. The Tavor was a surprise. Again, I was shooting low and considering I was using an optic it's definitely an issue of stance and shooting competence. Ron told me I was flinching a bit. The recoil from the Tavor surprised me, it did not knock me in the shoulder, but it was hard to keep on target. Probably due to it's lightness and bullpup design. I could really have benefited from a vertical grip to control the muzzle better. Or just some of the training which I would have gotten with more time. With luck, there will be another chance at the range.

I also got a chance with each of Ron's pistols, a Glock 17 and a Bul M5. I did OK by my standards with the Glock, I needed some coaching on my trigger squeeze as my rounds kept going to the left or right of the steel poppers. I did much better with the Bul. (An Israeli made pistol which looks like a Colt 1911 but is chambered in either 9mm or .40 caliber.) I was able to go four for four with the poppers. Four rounds, four targets, and the rest of the magazine to empty into the cardboard cutouts.

Tonight will be the infamous Shabbat Dinner. Enough food for an army, and all of it...*droooooooool*

Heeeeere we go

2010-08-12T01:38:00.000-04:00

To fall back on the old cliche, the last few days have been a blur.

The flight was smooth, but uncomfortable. Delta Airlines purchased NWA recently and, judging from the NWA nameplates on the service carts, this was one of the birds that came with the deal. The interior was somewhat antiquated with vinyl seats and now integrated entertainment system. Sure, there were movies, but none matched the in flight catalog. With luck I'll get a better bird for the flight home.

As soon as I met Ron and we left the airport I realized once again I am through the looking glass. This is a place where balagan (clusterfrak) is used in polite conversation as a description of the normal way things can be. A place where it is sometimes difficult to tell from a distance if a building is being put up or knocked down, and a place where a civilian carrying a pistol is almost the only one who can walk into a shopping mall without getting searched.

I'll go a little bit into the activities. I've spent a few hours now in Ron's airsoft shop. It is a converted CONEX container at a large shooting range. The walls are finished, there is a water hook up and most importantly, an air conditioner. The peg wall is a bit sparse and includes mostly King Arms rifles, and a number of pistols of a few makes and models.There are shelves of magazines and another wall of tactical gear, nearly all of it Israeli made.

Today the main activity was fishing in the Kinneret. (Gallilee) We exclusively used spoons and had decent luck. I landed two keepers, but I have no idea what kind they were. I lost count of how many times the lures were hooked on the rocky bottom. When that happened, one of us would wade out to where the lure was and give it a tug in the opposite direction to dislodge it. I had the fun of trying that with my own line only to rapidly find myself doing some extreme multitasking by way of keeping my [borrowed] rod and my head above water while treading water one handed, dislodging the lure and reeling it in without hooking myself in the process. I managed that at least three times.

With the exception of being up since about 3AM to go fishing, my sleep schedule has largely stabilized into what would pass for a normal, day walking schedule. Hell, I even managed to do a little work on behalf of my real job. However, when I get home I have a feeling that my 28 year streak of not being a regular coffee drinker/addict will be over.

More will be written as I think of it and as I get a chance. I'm having a hard time finding the words. I think I'm feeling a certain sense of normalcy- which doesn't make a whole lot of sense what with being so far from home, not speaking much of the local language, etc. Perhaps it is the compliment I get every time an Israeli starts asking me something in Hebrew not thinking for a minute (Until I open my mouth.) that I'm an American.

Apparently my food tolerance is not quite up to spec.

Last night was a family mangal, the Israeli version of barbecue. Yellow curry chicken breast, some other marinated chicken, lamb, chicken wings, pita toasted on the grill with either a paprika or pesto based spice along with the usual selection of salads, humus and tahini all washed down with a Carlsberg. I got razzed a bit for not cleaning my plate but considering everyone else got to pick and choose what they had and I had a massive pile of some of everything given to me, I think that I did all right. Besides, I protested, “I took extra wings!”

Ron's father can not eat them so someone had to make sure they were enjoyed. Oh boy were they ever enjoyed.

Now's as good a time as any to revisit my pre flight nerves. I still don't know where they came from. I still don't know how they were able to so quickly disappear once I looked out of the 747 and saw I was feet dry over Tel Aviv. It could be one of my ongoing emotional issues, the one where my mind says, “You're here now, time to get this done and think about it later.” I really hope not. Because that's a stress response and the closest to real stress I've gotten since I've been here was the previously mentioned aquatic multitasking while fishing yesterday. Hell, the sunburn I got doesn't even hurt that bad.

Well, time for a shit and a shave- not much point in a shower right now, I'll be outside most of the day sweating my nuts off. Today's going to be a long day- but a good one. One in a long series I think.

2010-08-07T10:56:00.003-04:00

The fer is now largely gone, replaced by a mass of nervous energy. A few hours sleep punctuated by waking every couple hours to re-arrange the insides of my luggage. There is now a pile on my chair of things I wanted to bring but could not find space for, or removed to save weight.

It is not as if I will be trekking all over the place with my huge rolling duffel. That will stay behind as I move on with a backpack loaded with just the essentials. But it does have things I need in it.

The decision to bring my digital SLR along has taken most of the space in my carry on. I decided early in the process that I couldn't be there for this long and not take it. The point and shoot photos from the last time were pretty good, but my inner photographer wouldn't let it go if I did not go up properly armed to the Holy Land.

There is also the supply of airsoft parts I am bringing my friends. Gerber and Leatherman, multi-tools-- one a request from a friend, the other to give to one of the soldiers I find myself working with. My sense of history perked up as I packed all of that. It reminded me of all the weird things they had to do in '48 to get real military equipment past the various international embargoes. While this isn't nearly comparable, we are trying to circumvent some taxes- which like sheshbesh, is something of an Israeli pastime.

I do have about the same amount of clothes as the last time. Light on outerwear, heavy on underwear. There are a couple exceptions. I had to bring a set of more formal clothes for the holidays. My poorer appearance might be excusable due to my living out of a suitcase, but I'm not going to show up on Rosh Hashanna looking like a schleper.

The mind killer

2010-08-07T01:55:00.002-04:00

I can't explain why, but right now I'm more scared than I can ever remember. I'm going back to Israel again. I'm doing another volunteer gig. Just for longer. In fact, this length of time was the plan two years ago. So why does it scare me?

Is it because now I have expectations? Two years ago everything and everyone was a largely unknown quantity. Or more importantly to me- I was an unknown quantity to them. The idea of living in someone else who's not family's home for over a week is just- well, it's pretty much unheard of for me.

It's pretty much a given that sequels don't measure up. My first road trip to the Jersey Shore (Way before MTV had ever heard of "Guidettes.") brought back a new sense of confidence and some really awesome photos. The same trip the next year had me bringing back blisters, a little sunburn and a lot of photos that were just trying too hard to live up to what came before. So maybe I'm just worried that I set the bar a bit too high.

The problem with this fear is that I can't confront something when I don't know where it's coming from. For screwing up on a grand scale- all evidence is to the contrary of that. Maybe it's that I don't know what the endgame is here?

This could be the experience that helps me decide whether or not I want to move there. What then for my family? A job? My friends? The fact that I am an American citizen and the idea of being naturalized somewhere else is a bit of a problem for me with that? I don't know. I've always been the kind of person to think way too far ahead. And now I'm agonizing over what to take, or cut out from my bag which has gotten too full. Sometimes I think that if I ever found true happiness I would stub my toe on purpose just so I had something I could relate better too.

Considering that I'm a middle class, white, American who's already got some stamps on his passport- maybe I'm already doing just that.

Well, until i figure it all out, hang on to your butts because the Gonzo Photographer is going downrange.

Got beer?

2010-04-25T02:11:00.002-04:00

I may be well on my way to being a confirmed drunkard. Not an alcoholic mind you, just a drunk. Alcoholics go to boring meetings and drink shitty coffee. If I go to boring meetings, I'm on the clock and getting paid while I nap.

It is an observation of mine that people tend to disparage their local brewery. Naturally there are exceptions. Yuengling being a notable one. I have yet to meet anyone from Pennsylvania who is a vocal critic of America's oldest brewery. The Genesee Brewery in my home town of Rochester NY on the other hand tends to be generally crapped on. Admittedly I engaged in a fair amount of that myself without having tried the product.

I still haven't had Genny Lite or Cream Ale because both of those hold zero interest for me. I avoid light beer like I avoid dinner at my mom's house when she's experimenting with new recipes. And Cream Ale- that just sounds like two things which should not be put together. Regular Genny and Genny Bock beer, those are good for the price if not just plain good beer. Genny costs about the same as Pabst Blue Ribbon or Budweiser and beats both- in my highly subjective opinion.

But like most things, this whole topic can be traced to Israel in less than six degrees. My friends there seem to prefer Heineken and Carlsburg to the local Goldstar and Maccabee. Now, I'll agree that Maccabee is over-hyped piss-water. But Goldstar is pretty good and cheaper than the imports. So guess what I would like a fridge stocked with next time I'm there? I hope it will still be 15 Shekels (That's about $3.00) a bottle from the vendors on the Tel Aviv Promenade.

So try your local non-microbrew beer. Unless you live in St. Louis or Golden Colorado, odds are it's better than you think.

What dreams may- HOLY SH- WTF WAS THAT?!!!

2009-12-02T03:23:00.001-05:00

I don't know how it is for you, but I tend to go through dry spells when it comes to dreams. Not the dreams of world domination, I mean you standard REM sleep dreams. The ones that you have to decide whether or not you should tell anyone about because it may let out far more info than you want.

Anyway, with me it seems like weeks go by without any dreams I can actually remember. But in the past few days it's been one after another. The most memorable one made me wake up with a big grin on my face. (No it did not involve a Felicia Day- Natalie Portman threesome.)

It started out with me laughing at a news article I was reading. In my dream it seemed that 80 or so neo Nazis had busted out of prison, gotten themselves SS uniforms and WWII vintage German weapons. And then ran smack into a detachment from the contemporary Bundeswehr who, like most Germans nowadays really don't like that Nazi shit. The results were pretty predictable which is why I was laughing. There's nothing quite like the surrealist dream image of Nazis being told by modern Germans to shut the fuck up. With bullets.

The fun part about dream you can remember is trying to figure out just where the imagery came from. With this one it's pretty easy. I was helping a friend of the family who was making a very low budget indie film set during the Holocaust. Specifically, since I have a longstanding interest in militaria and this time period I mostly ended up helping her procure and set up a uniform for the film's antagonist.

I guess dreams are kind of like a pressure valve. There when you need relief, but otherwise not particularly memorable.

This post doesn't seem to make much sense, but having not posted anything since July, I just needed to get soemthing up here to get back into it.

No one wants to see your butt pack

2009-07-10T17:02:00.000-04:00

Hopefully, by now my photos from Operation : Northern Wind VI will have been released. If not, wait a while. They're worth it. In any case, this gives me an opportunity to climb back up on my soapbox and spout off about the blending of my two hobbies which will hopefully be the genesis of something leading me to the famous “Step 3: PROFIT!”

When I was at RIT I had to endure a few weeks of shooting sports photography. I hated it. I really don't give a damn about any sports except for the Olympics and those are easy to follow because most of them are races of one form or another. Maybe I should have tried to photograph some track meets, they'd have been easier to keep up with than high school soccer or tennis. The rule was: try to have the kid moving, face visible, with the ball in the frame. If you want to do mediocre sports shots that you can pass around at a PTA meeting, that's how to do it.

The thing is, I just didn't have the timing down and hated every second of it. While I can watch, enjoy and certainly appreciate the athleticism of sport, I have no interest in recording it. Photographing the fans was always a hell of a lot more fun. I've got a great shot of a soccer mom staring laser holes into a woman rooting for the other team, and another one of a Teen Girl Squad with one hanger on sulking in the background. They're good shots, you'll have to take my word for it.

Photographing airsoft is a little different. First, I actually like doing it. Second, I know how things go, I know what people do when, where they're going to go so I can put myself in the right place. There's a third one in there, but I'm not quite sure what it is. I think it has something to do with marking anyone who ruins a shot for a future burst to the face.

Of course, there are some unique challenges that come with wearing the blaze orange safety vest. Not the least of which is being able to hide that blaze orange safety vest. Well, that's actually impossible, but the point is that I don't want to give away someone's position. The easy way to do that is to just sand there looking stupid, checking the time, looking at a map or compass until the guy watching me turns around and does something else. Then I can resume photographing the person preparing to put a burst into his center of mass.

Another challenge goes back to the rule for mediocre sports photography. A soccer mom does not want to only see her kid's jersey number and no matter how much money they spend on their fake radio and hydro carrier, no one wants pictures of only the ass end of their kit. (Even if they have a large “Mud flap girl” patch that says, “Big Sexy,” on it. So that means getting in front of someone who is in the process of putting rounds downrange, often while they are dealing with incoming. This is where I can get my ass lit up from both sides at once. But the photos look good. And, two more names get added to the “In the face!” list.

Before the game starts I try to learn all I can about the objectives for each team and the lay of the land. I want to put myself where most of the action is going to be. In the case of Northern Wind, that meant spending a lot of time around a cluster of buildings. But, being sneaky myself I was able to channel both teams and find some other good fights. I was able to cut through the woods and find myself in a position to get some minor fights which otherwise wouldn't have been covered. Not everybody likes to be in the big battle. Everybody likes to find themselves looking badass in the photo gallery.

The last really big challenge is the dance. The dance, is what happens whenever you get more than one photographer or videographer covering in event. We all see the shots we want, but go through a crazy set of motions trying to keep the the orange vests out of our shots while staying out of theirs. We are a shy, sneaky and slightly evil lot. We don't like to be recorded. We like to be ghosts, 6”2' skinny, day glo orange ghosts. The only evidence of our passing being what we decide other people get to see. Seriously, the next time you're at a wedding watch how it works. There will be the guy getting paid to photograph, and at least two people with expensive cameras and an artistic bent out to get their own version of the same events. (Whenever I'm at a wedding I always introduce myself to the guy getting paid to shoot the thing and tell him to shove me out of his way if I'm in the wrong place. He's got money riding on this, I don't.)

The dance gets really fun when shit is hitting the fan all around you. Yelling, 'nades being tossed, smokes being thrown fusillades of bb's going in at least two directions- and on top of that you're trying to stay out of Nikki with the telephoto and Jeff with the DV cam's shots while getting close enough with the mid-range zoom to do some damage. And then you have to dodge game control's Humvee as they roll up to check out the fun.

I'm sorry does that sound like bitching? Let me pull down my balaclava so you can see the grin. I'm getting shots fucker! Good ones! Keep popping smoke and keep me happy! Too close for missiles? Switchin' to guns!

Never die, never fade away.

2009-06-19T22:52:00.003-04:00

One of the most important books I have was a parting gift from my high school photo teacher. As he was packing up his things getting ready to retire he gave me the pick of some of his old photo books. They stood in a cardboard box like records at a store and I looked through them the same way. Landscapes. Ansel Adams. Industrial and commercial. Stock books. I stopped at a slim, white hardcover. There was a man on the front in a strange looking coat, wearing an Uncle Sam hat and a sign advertising haircuts. I picked it up and looked through it. This was something completely strange to me. Strange images devoid of context. It showed another time, I could tell by the prices in the windows, the cars but most of all the clothes.

Men women and children dressed to the nines. Or the eights. Families proudly walking down city streets in suits, jackets and no one without a hat. It was much more my father's time than mine. And yet, something about it drew me in. Each photograph had a story behind it. A conversation, a passing glance. But none of it was there. The story was a blank as the large areas of white surrounding the photographs. There was no context and it drove me crazy. I wanted stories, I wanted to know what was going on.

Mr. Littwiller noticed the book and said, "Ah, I thought you'd like that one." I had no idea why. At least not until I was long done with RIT and had been put through the ringer by Mr. Litwiller's old friend Gunther Cartwright.

Though those years at RIT I always focused on what the images in that book never had. A story. I wanted to tell the stories. I worked so hard at making the images match the words I wanted to say. That is to say, I was miserable. The happiest I was making photographs was when I said, "To hell with the story. I want to take photographs I am proud to put up. Photographs where people ask me to explain what is happening, not photographs where I have to explain everything to get them to see the image."

The photographs that capture my imagination are not the ones which tell a story, but the ones which begin to tell a story. The ones which make people wonder and feel the need to do a little digging on their own.

A photograph of a man jumping from a boat to the dock with a mooring line makes us gasp a bit. Does he make it? Does he go in the water? But I find myself asking: What made him take the jump? Who's on the boat? How many times has he made the jump before? What's he going to do later? In five minutes of thinking I can fill in, in my imagination the guy's entire life's story. And then i wonder what's this guy to the photographer? Was he hoping for a splash?

I guess I've come around to thinking that telling stories is not nearly as much fun as trying to get other people to make them up.

Eli is to photography in 2009 as Wil Wheaton is to writing in 2002

2009-01-18T13:33:00.003-05:00

I haven't posted anything about photography yet. I've been trying for a long time to figure out what to say. The fact is, photography is a sort of painful topic for me. Thinking about it in a professional sense just bring back memories of failure and crushed dreams. Going through old images seldom gives me a sense of accomplishment at what I did in the past, it usually just makes me angry about the present. I feel like instead of finding a way to make new art I'm using the few good pieces I have as a crutch. "Hey! Look at these! I don't suck after all!"

I know a lot of people tell me I'm really good, but there's a catch to that. I have a hard time accepting praise from people who don't notice that their prints from the CVS minilab are too magenta. If may parents, relatives and friends are complimenting me I'd rather it be because of some connection they have to the image rather than on technical or aesthetic merits. I do like to form that emotional connection, but also for every good thing someoen can find about an image, odds are I can find two faults. Part of that is the nature of art- the creator is always painfully aware of the smallest mistake or defect. It's also because of the harshly critical environment at my photo school and how I reacted to it.

I was not a leaf on the wind, and I did not soar.

I am very ambivalent about trying to make a career (Or even a part time job.) out of my photography. On one hand, I do believe myself to be "Better than average," if not good or great. And a certain part of me does crave recognition. At the same time, I fear being not as good as I ought to be, or as good as I think I am.

I just don't have the courage yet to really put myself out there and try to succeed on my own terms. I don't quite know what those terms are. I'll let you know when I figure them out.

Being a history buff sometimes sucks.

2008-12-22T15:52:00.003-05:00

I was taking my mom out for an early birthday lunch to Sticky Lips Barbecue. As we got into the parking lot I saw that another car came in behind us. He followed as I went around the lot once and got a spot. Then he sat there about 20 feet back with his window rolled down.

I could see a slightly chubby middle-aged man, he had light colored facial hair, glasses and a bright red jacket.
"What does he want?" I asked aloud. I was thinking he might want to chew me out for that little bit of e-breaking I did in the lot. (My mother was NOT pleased with that.) Or maybe I had a break light or signal out.

No, it was my bumper sticker. I usually don't like bumper stickers. I tend to be fairly low key and like my car the same way. But there are some I just have to have. The Car Talk "Drive Now, Talk Later," one was the first- followed by an "Isotopes" sticker giving a little plug fro my favorite local band. But this was about the blue and white one that says, "Israel, you do not stand alone."

The guy had some rather strong feelings about that one and as it turned out he had very good reason. He introduced himself and said that he had been shot up by Israel. He was on the USS Liberty.

On June 8, 1967 as the 6 Day War raged on land the USS Liberty was in international waters off the Sinai when it came under attack by Israeli aircraft and petrol boats. 34 American sailors were killed and over 150 wounded. No one has yet come up with a convincing answer as to why it happened.

Relations between our two nations continued along as if it hadn't happened. This former navy man wanted to make sure I hadn't forgotten. How could I?

That's pretty much what I told him. That's all he wanted. To know that his shipmates won't be passed over by history and forgotten by their countrymen. It hurts me to remember this. I do not like the feelings of conflict it brings up in me, the sense of an impossible choice between loyalties. I'm glad that I don't have to shoose. But I do have to remember.

2008-11-24T02:50:00.003-05:00

I don't walk onto military posts often and when I do I am always overcome by a sense of being distinctly out of place. Whether I am photographing, acting as OPFOR or going to do odd jobs as a Sar El volunteer, even though I have a job to do I always feel as if I am an interloper. In a way, I am. I can wear my hair as long as I want to, dress as I see fit (within reason), I don't salute and I don't have to do push ups. (Thank G-d.) Even though the circumstances are not everyday, I am quite familiar with the feeling.

It is the same feeling I used to get when I would go out on assignment for my photo classes. The heightened self-conscious feeling of other people's eyes on me wondering what I'm doing at their place of business or event. It's a feeling that a few years ago overwhelmed me and put me in a cheap, overstuffed chair across from a psychologist. (Not a psychiatrist. Mine wasn't able to prescribe drugs. It was probably better that way.) Of course it's different now. For one thing I've grown up a lot on five years. For another thing when I'm on a military installation I've got people I can point to and names I can drop.

But the initial discomfort is always there, as well as the, "What the fuck are you doing here?" looks from the people who have to be there. But after a while it fades. I observe them, they observe me. I see something in them I want to photograph, and after a while, they see me acting professionally, doing my job, without interfering with theirs. A few jokes ("One more for "Soldier of Fortune!""), a few images shown on the back of a digital camera, and a quick explanation tend to go a long way.

But the initial nervousness is always there and in this situation and others I don't see it going away.

Now it's time to step away from my issues for a while and get into the basics of my last weekend with the NY Army National Guard's Recruit Sustainment Program in Buffalo NY. Here's my weekend:
17:15- Arrive at the armory. Find the sergeants I'm working for. Introductions with the ones I don't know, bring in all my stuff (Four trips), then dinner. Photograph the recruits doing maneuver training outdoors. A couple other OPFOR guys show up, we shoot the shit until about 0200 then get to sleep on some cots.

06:30 Saturday morning- a very unpleasant wake up, followed by breakfast, equipment checks, and briefings. I have two sets of gear to check, photographic stuff and my airsoft gear. I lend out one of my guns to the RSP. I photograph one group running the gauntlet of sniper fire, bombings, civilian mobs, thug-ish police and the room clearing from hell. Then i follow them inside and photograph them as they learn to cammo their faces. I talk with them a bit and they are a lot more comfortable with me, and with getting shot to hell by my friends. I tell them next time they see me I'll be gunning for them too.

I trade my camera for an Echo 1 Vector Arms AK47, put on a plastic badge and go out to play Iraqi Police. I'm mostly passive. I do some communicating which I aim at getting them to remember what they're supposed to be doing or presenting a minor speed bump in that process. There is one situation where they are slow to enter a room. We go in to "Show them how it's done,' and promptly get shot to pieces by our fellow OPFOR. As I write this I still have the welts.

After lunch, more of the same.

After dinner there are 3 hours of scored challenge events. By now my feet are killing me and I'm dead tired, but I do the best I can. I run, I scream I get pushed to the floor at gunpoint and searched.

After the recruits are bedded down we tear through six large pizzas and 3 18 packs of Labbat's beer. I fall asleep on a cott in between to cars in the cavernous motor pool.

Sunday was more conventional airsoft. We did more shooting than acting which we discussed at length in out AAR. But it still had training value. The recruits communicated well, moved as a team, supported each other and did a number on us.

When I got home on Sunday I promptly called in sick to work and passed out for about 13 hours. I really was sick. When I woke up I had my first full on cold of the season. Runny nose, congestion, the whole deal. I can't help thinking the lack of sleep and long hours held the door open for the germs. Still worth it.

Renewal

2008-10-21T02:37:00.002-04:00

Over the past four years my airsoft fortunes have waxed and waned. The first year i played I had a horrible retail job which would only occasionally grant me a Saturday off in order to play. But on the rare occasions I could play, it sustained me. I walked a little taller for a week or so afterwards, felt a little better about my life, and just wasn't as easily annoyed.

The next year with a new job I could play more frequently. The good post game feelings were still there (Along with the occasional hangover.) but it just wasn't as special. Instead of a rare event, airsoft was working it's way into my [screwed up] routine. From there the inevitable happened. As the airsoft scene got larger and some people grew more vocal about how they think things ought to be run the fun took on an aspect of a chore. Of work.

I began to feel airsoft as a game wasn't all that much fun, but merely presented an opportunity to be around like-minded people. This past weekend I had a chance to rediscover playing. Not only that, but I was able to, in many ways play the kind of game I enjoy.

There were perhaps 25 people total divided up playground style into two numerically equal teams. I say, "numerically equal" because quantity does not equal quality, and in that respect there were some sorely mismatched rounds. Most of the day i was on the receiving end of that, but I gave about as good as I got.

For most of the day I found myself alone, so I reverted to my old standby of sneaking around. I was patient enough to make certain as possible that when I moved into the open the other team was occupied with something else. I tried to strike a balance between moving fast, loud and conspicuous, and slow, overly cautious and vulnerable. I got some nice shots in and when I wasn't able to take anyone out I certainly gave them a fright.

During the last game of the day I was together with four guys from my team. Now, I feel it's important to mention something at this point. My team is not just the side I happen to be on for that game. They are people I know, trust and can predict. When I work with them I am more aggressive, more communicative and an all around better player. I know they will back me up and act as they should when given information. (ie: When I call out an enemy location I know it will be suppressed immediately, not in a minute, immediately. And, overwhelmingly.) When I am on my own, I have to be on the lookout for much more, I have no one watching my flanks, no one to provide suppression. So when on my own, I tend to be as stealthy as I can. Low crawl, climb steep slopes and generally try to be where I'm not expected. Sometimes I'm lucky and that works. Sometimes I get pegged in the head five minutes in before I even get a shot off.

It's worth noting another thing about this past weekend's game. I had planned on running with just my AEG and a hicap. No tactical gear at all. Too bad the hicap decided that it didn't want to feed. I did have some mid caps and I was able to carry two of thos in my shirt pockets, and one in the gun for a grand total of 300 rounds. I used semi most of the day which added greatly to my stealth and to the fun.

Here are some general things I try to do:
1) Before playing test your gun(s) for range and accuracy. Know how far they can go under the best of circumstances. Only engage someone within that limit. (In general most airsoft guns are accurate to about 100-120 feet. I like to engage at between 75 and 90 feet to ensure a hit.)
2) Do not fire until your target is well within range or until forced to by the following:
Detection
The need to cover for a teammate
Nuisance fire to keep an enemy off balance
3) When unsure of a hit and still unseen, engage with semi. In case of a miss this makes it harder to zero in on your location by sound.
4) When there is little cover, simply hugging the ground can work. Most people's visual scanning tends to look for something at or near their level. Not on the ground or up a tree.
5) If you are exchanging fire with 2 or more individuals try to use cover so that only one can target you. Even if it is only for a second or two that may be all you need to hit one and then evade the other. Of course Kamikaze runs are always an option.

Why?

2008-10-01T20:03:00.002-04:00

I've gotten this question a lot since I got back. Two questions actually.

"Why did you go to Israel?" and, "Why did you volunteer to work with the Israeli Defense Forces?

I've got no shortage of answers. I'm a Jew. I'm a Zionist. I've got plenty of interest in military stuff, and I look good in a uniform. But those are all surface answers. They're the kind of answer that leads to more questions without really answering what you're asked.

"So you're Jewish, that doesn't explain why you (Someone who isn't very religious at all and tends to be a bit down on those who are.) would fly halfway around the world."

The more private answer is to pay off some old debts. Let's go back ten years shall we?

I was sixteen. I hadn't started shaving, hadn't learned to drive or how to get a girl to let me kiss her. I'd just gotten my first AP credits and I thought I knew damn near everything. For six weeks in the summer of 1998 I was with a group of around 30 other American Jewish teens and I got a hell of an education. Turns out I didn't know shit. Not about how the world worked, how people worked or how I worked. Turns out I was a whiny little dirt bag with some anger problems. (Yeah, go figure.) I was a whiner, a jerk and a dumbass. I got bullied, was a bully, fell in love, was heartbroken and generally got about a year of high school social stuff crammed into six weeks of youth hostels and Egged buses.

But when I came back with a really dark tan, lots of photos, some peach fuzz on my cheeks a slightly different walk and a sense of self that I didn't have. Maybe it was the people I was with. Maybe it was the place. I think it was both. But I felt like I'd done some things wrong. I'd done them wrong by the people I was with and by myself. So I resolved that within ten years i'd go back. After I'd grown up some, gotten myself reasonably squared away I'd go back and show my people, show myself what I could really offer.

Mission accomplished.

I did good. I didn't complain. I put myself in adversity and I triumphed. I put myself in a dangerous place and I didn't flinch.

So why did I go? Why did I do what I did?
To prove it to myself. And, simply because I said I would. Promise made, promise kept. As for the politics, Zionism, religion, etc. I'm simply not accustomed to explaining why I believe what I believe. Just that I haven't drank the Kool-Aid just yet.

I now hate Iron Man

2008-08-25T09:34:00.002-04:00

Through some massive cock up, EL AL had the same movies going from NY to Tel Aviv as they do from Tel Aviv to NY. I have now seen Iron Man about 10 times, Prince Caspian about 4 (I still find it odd that EL AL would choose to show a movie that's pretty much Christian allegory. But as I've learned, many subtle things don't translate too well.). I've also finally seen Dodgeball, again 4 times. Alan Tudyke (Spelling?) makes a good pirate, although the lady next to me didn't appreciate me saying, "Hey, that's Wash!" when I realized who he was.

I'm in Newark which seems about as far away from Rochester as anywhere right now. But at least everyone speaks nominal English. Mostly. (EMFDYSI?)

After the wedding we're going to do some sightseeing in NYC and I am personally looking forward to a nice juicy American steak.

The FAMAS

2008-08-23T05:42:00.002-04:00

As I mentioned earlier, one of my bunkmates, Jean has served in the French army. (He's also going to give me a website where I can buy French camo- eat you heart out Evin.) So, me being me, I asked him what he thought of the FAMAS. Here are the main points:

1) The version in use by most of the French Army is the G1, this is the model with the built in bipod and which utilizes proprietory magazines. The G2 version which takes STANAG magazines (That's M-16 compatible, NATO standard magazines for those of you who are not airsoft. gun junkies.) is mostly used by the French Navy and by special units.

2) It's heavy. With a magazine it wieghs in at around 4 kilos, compared with the 2.5-ish and M4 weighs. This is Jean's only complaint.

3) The paddle safety in front of the trigger switches the weapon from safe, to semi and auto. An additional knob on the stock toggles either full auto or 3 round burst.

4) There are flip up rear sights. Open for up to 50 meters and two apertures for medium and long range respectively. Mounting optics is a pain in the rear and needs major work.

5) The barrel is on the heavy side to allow the firing of rifle grenades. The current issue grenades have a bullet-proof plate in the back allowing the to be launched with regular ammo rather than a special cartrige.

As an additional note on French Army kit, he reccomends avoiding French military boots at all costs as they are extremely uncomfortable.

Well I'm off to lunch now, just having cleaned up rom a morning dip in the Med. The water's fine. Also Israel finally has an Olympic medal. Bronze in windsurfing.

A brief word on weapons

2008-08-22T10:28:00.002-04:00

Most of the weapons I saw in use with IDF soldiers are not in fact M4's as they appear initially. Closer inspection reveals that they lack the brass deflector, have a slightly different forward assist and have a different barrel. I got a close look at a few and the factory mark reads "M-16 A1." However, they do have an M4 length barrel (or shorter) the telescoping stock (aslo slightly different from the M4) and the barrel has different external charectaristics. The hand guards are also A2 style.

True there are M4's in service, but not as many. I also saw far fewer red dot sights than I thought.

I only saw 4 or 5 Tavors. I talked with Ron about them and apparently they are not quite as soldier proof as people would like. Something which may be slowing the adoption.

Gotta go, people waiting to use the hotel's compter. Later I'll have feedback on the FAMAS from a French Army veteran.

Turns out Wifi signals are harder to find than I thought

2008-08-21T09:53:00.002-04:00

I'm really sorry I haven't updated this more. I simply haven't had the opportunity either due to being busy, or not having any wifi signals. To make up for that, here's 2 weeks worth of posts. Photos will follow once I get home from the two weeks of weddings.

080811 1040 Israeli Time

Well I did get to play some airsoft after all. I felt much better on Saturday and got in a couple small games with Ron and his team. I'll relate more on that later.

Sunday I felt much better and linked up with the Sar El program. Myself and eight other men were placed with the Magav- the Israeli Border Police at a base somewhere in the Afula area. I don't know how much I can get into with regards to location specifics but to say that on three separate occasions we've heard large booms that seem to be the work of Israeli combat engineers.

Spartan accommodations describes this to a tee. I'm sleeping on a 3 inch foam mattress dated 2003. I have no sheets, but I got a sleeping bag from supply to use as a bottom sheet. No pillow, so I'm using a pillowcase filled with my clothes. No screen in the window, no working A/C. Last night we left the door to our room open to get some airflow. My sleep was constantly interrupted by the soldiers speaking, yelling, joking with each other and the clack of weapons being cleaned and prepped. As someone who likes racking the bolt on his airsoft guns I've got to say, none of them are as loud at the bolt on an M- 6 being racked repeatedly a 0300 right outside your room.

Sleep as it turns out wasn't my big problem. My diarrhea came back this morning with a vengeance. I missed the morning flag ceremony and the morning's work. The base medic took a look at me, checked my vitals and dispensed some soldier strength Immodium. I'll try working after lunch. In the meantime I'm drinking a lot of water. I feel kind of ashamed because of this. I know I can't help it and not knowing what made me sick I can't say I could have avoided it. All I can think is that I'm being a burden right now instead of an asset. Something which is the opposite of everything I wanted to do this trip.

I'm sharing my room with a middle age American railway worker(Who voted for Kinky Friedman) , a 28 year old French Army reservist and another Frenchman whom I don't know a lot about. We also have two guys from down under, one from Kiwi and one Aussie from Tazmania. So far I can see some of the usual group dynamics, some people lead more, some follow more and some are just along for the ride. I haven't yet figured out where I stand.

080812 1600 Israeli Time

The Magav is Israel's border police. They are pretty much what you'd get if you combined the US Border Patrol and US Marine Corps. The people on our base patrol the border of the West Bank, conduct operations in Israeli controlled parts of the West Bank including combat operations. This base also houses the Israeli military court which tries Palestinians from certain areas who commit crimes against Israel. These can range from illegal entry, theft, etc. up to terrorism such as bombings.

Yesterday, after cleaning up the area around the court we were allowed to observe part of a trial on the charge of attempted murder. the defendant looked about my age, perhaps younger. Sitting two rows in front of our group were a man and a woman, the man looked like his father, the woman could have been the defendant's mother or grandmother. Due to the seriousness of the crime there were 3 judges who would decide the case as opposed to one for minor cases.

While I liked the idea that we could see this I was pretty pissed off by the conduct of some in my group. They seemed to treat is as a spectacle, as entertainment, on kept asking if he could take photos. I found it very disrespectful to the court and to defendant and his family. It seemed like we were mocking them in a way.

Today I've been working in the kitchen doing a heck of a lot of cleaning, The base's main meal is lunch because the court personnel do not overnight at the base. In talking o repeat Sar-El volunteers the chow at this base seems above average. Probably because of the court and the fact that the Magav here do combat operations. Good food keeps up morale. With that in mind I didn't terribly mind the constant grind and sweat of the kitchen. Though when the time came to unload the food truck I smartly positioned myself at the end of the relay so that I was the one stowing the cartons of food in the walk in refrigerator.

The cast of characters:
T'chia ( Teh-Hia)- Our Madricha (Leader), she's the IDF soldier assigned to take care of our group, arrange things, see that we're well and working. Nice girl, good English, sometimes a bit scatter-brained. Somewhat stocky figure.

Jean/John- A Frenchman from the Toulouse area. He's a veteran of the French army and thinking of moving to Israel. He's a Gentile.

Yaniv- The other Frenchman. Not the best English, fluent Hebrew. he tends to use that to go off on his own with the Israelis much to the consternation of others. He's not someoen I like to entrust with the key to our room.

Art/ Arthur- A Texan on his second marriage. he works for the railroad and voted for Kinky Freidman in Texas' last election. He and I get along wonderfully despite about 30 years difference in age. This is his third Sar El trip.

Mark- Mark's done over five Sar El's and has written a book about the Sar El experience. I plan on picking up a copy and late4r picking his brain about the process.

Brad- I have a hard time figuring him out. He's a tall middle age man with a very soft voice and a manner that makes me wonder if he wasn't out in the sun too long. He was on the first Sar El that our base had about a month ago.

More to come later.

2100 Hours

I'll continue the rogue's gallery another time. For now I'll talk a little about a typical day here at the place I'm calling Fort Apache. ( As I said before, I don't know how specific I can get about the location, but that name should give you a clue as to the neighborhood. ) There are two details, outdoor detail and kitchen detail. Outdoor detail has mostly been doing things like trimming plants, pulling weeds and sweeping up pigeon crap. Kitchen detail is... yeah in the kitchen. Mainly cleaning, but also doing some food prep.

Anyway, kitchen crew has to report for work at 0730 to set up a small breakfast for the volunteers. This base does not normally serve breakfast. Then it's cleanup and prepping lunch, which is the big meal of the day. Lunch is also he only meat meal of the day. Once lunch is clean up kitchen crew is released until 1700 when they report to prepare dinner which resembles a typical American diner breakfast with eggs and fried potatoes being the main attraction. The outdoor crew is released from work around 15:30-1700 and has a chance to relax and clean up before dinner.

At 19:30 both teams get back together for an evening activity. Last night it was M-16 night, a brief rundown of the M-16 rifle, it's operation, parts and shooting positions. I managed to keep my mouth shut most of the time. Tonight it was the bomb squad who live in the barracks behind us. They showed us real (rendered safe) devices as well as reproductions. They also took responsibility for the two explosions we heard our first night on base. We got to try on some of their body armor and test drive the smaller of the two robots they keep on hand. On the first try I was able to pick up a brick with the manipulator arm and move it a few feet before setting it back down in a standing position. A light touch is key. When that fails, the robot does have a 12 gauge shotgun.

Right now I can hear some of the soldiers singing some traditional songs. I think I heard “Dayenu” a few minutes ago. I'm a little too tired from running around the kitchen all day to remember the others. It sounds loud, boisterous and fun. I can really get a sense of their camaraderie.

From the first 5 minutes on base I decided to give up on being clean. I've worn the same pair of socks every day, changed my underwear once. It sounds disgusting, but there simply is no point in trying to be clean here. Between the weather and the work I'm constantly sweating and stinking. Showers are a nice way to end the day, but in the morning they're an exercise in futility. My ill-fitting uniform could probably stand on its own and I'm kind of looking forward to turning it in at the end of the week. At the same time, I'm kind of attached to it and not in the, “Oh G-d it's not coming off,” sense, although that is a real possibility.

Well, time to enjoy the evening air and the five minutes of clean feeling my shower gives me.

080813 14:45 Israeli time

Tomorrow we're leaving the base for day trip to a water park in Holon, near Tel Aviv. All the Sar El groups will be there so in addition to cooling off there will be programs and maybe some networking. Afterwards we'll be released for the weekend. Contrary to what I though I'd do I find myself registered at the soldier's hostel in Jerusalem. I figure I'll save tel Aviv for the last weekend because it will be easier to make my flight. And by then the hotel bill will be quite easy for me to justify. In the meantime I'll see Jerusalem on shabbos, wander around the shuk, maybe go to the Israel Museum. I'll probably pick up some militaria at Mr. T's on Ben Yehuda for myself and the airsoft crew. I also plan on partying it up on Saturday night.

I don't have to be back at the kitchen until 1700, but won't bother showering until the evening. It really doesn't pay until all the day's work is done.

It's kind of odd that I've paid several thousand dollars to come halfway around the world to scrub huge pots and pans, pull weeds and generally do other work that i wouldn't want to be paid for in the States. But for some reason doing those jobs here gives me a sense of pride I haven't had in a while. I'm helping to feed Jewish soldiers. I'm helping to make their difficult military service better. I'm physically standing up for what I believe in. It sounds corny when I say it, but when I feel it it's anything but.

Did you know that when they raise the each morning here they don't sing Hatikva? Why do they need to? They're living it. For these few weeks, so am I. Another thing that I just realized yesterday- the bred on the tables at the cheder ochel (mess hall) is rye bread. Fairly good rye bread too, but no seeds. And no corned beef in sight.

22:16 Israeli time

This is what being on a combat base is. I just watched a dozen or so troops armor up, gear up and head out to do a mission on the other side of the border. Less than five hours ago I was serving them spaghetti. I hardly know these guys but I find myself quite concerned for them. I wouldn't mind if they woke me up in three hours and I don't sleep a wink tonight. As long as all of them come back. I can't wait up for them, hey packed several boxes of food so they plan to be out quite a while. This is a small fraction of something I've never had to deal with. The relative or close friend going on a tour of duty to a war zone. Seeing a friend from way back depart on a mission not knowing what may happen. I know I tend to be overly emotional about a lot of things but with this kind of thing going on, how can I not?

080815 20 45 Israeli time Shabbat shalom

I guess I figured out the reason for coming back to Jerusalem despite having every reason in the world to either go play airsoft or sit on the tel Aviv beach with an umbrella drink. It's part of the whole “promise keeping” reason I came here again. One directive I gave myself was, “Walk the same ground (As I did 10 years ago with the youth group.)” It's a little redundant as going to the Kotel with my father, walking down Ben Yehuda Street or the main drag in the Armenian Quarter all fulfill the letter of the directive. But I was after something different. Something specific to myself and fewer than 40 other people on planet earth. So tonight I found a holy place- it has been used for prayer before and I said what I needed to say.

“I'm back. It took me ten long years but I'm back. I'm here as my own man. Grown, self reliant and good at heart. I kept this promise. I will keep others. I hope it won't take ten years.”

See, that place in Independence Park, near a concrete rectangle on the ground, between some trees with enough room for 30 people to sit in a circle is where we did Shabbat services the first weekend our group was in Yerushalayim. Funny how I got more chocked up there than at the Kotel. I guess holiness is wherever you find it, especially from within.

One of the other directives I gave myself was much more earthly. On the way to do that service we walked past a bunch of sidewalk cafes with people eating good food and drinking good beer. So I found a place that's actually open on Friday nights had a couple Stella Artois a decent sandwich and people watched for a couple hours. I think this trip is the last hurrah of “Eli the loaner.”

When I was growing up I had very few friends. I was and am extremely self conscious and so afraid to slip up and bring the inevitable ridicule that I just came to depend on myself at the expense of interpersonal relationships. If I get one thing out of this trip I hope it is the memory of this as my last solo expedition. Next time I need someone else. Friend, girlfriend or family I don't care. Some things just need to be experienced with someone you care about. I think this is one of those things. So ladies- You know where to find me and what I'd like you to wear. Gentlemen- well, just bring beer if we can't get the ladies to come out.

I spent most of the day wandering the area around the old city. I did pretty well in the Jewish and Armenian quarters and by myself didn't have the stones to go into the others. Next time. I did well for myself at the market on Jaffa street. Some tea and bread for Shabbat and black jelly beans for the back on the base. all for under $15. I guess that's the kind of deal I could get at the public marked in Rochester- if I were ever awake for it.

The airsofters out there will be happy to know I hit up the two surplus stores near Ben Yehuda. I bought a pair of IDF trousers to replace the earlier ones I bought and outgrew, but also to guarantee that I'll have a pair of pants that fits me for this week as opposed to last week's flood pants. The trousers are not the most recent pattern (There's a reason it's called “surplus.”) but I've noticed at least 3 distinct patterns of uniforms in use sometimes within the same unit, sometimes mixed and matched on the same soldier. So as long as the cut is right and the pockets are in the right place it works., I would like to find a Magav uniform for airsoft use. In additions to being grey rather than green the Magav uniform has two important differences that I really like.
1)The option for a short sleeved shirt.
2)A zippered fly as opposed to a button one. Needless to say, this matters a hell of a lot more to me than sleeve length.

080817 21:04 Israeli time

This is going to sound weird but for the last three days I've actually missed my accommodations at the Magav base. I missed the lack of sheets, the stuffiness, the bugs, the now familiar noises. I missed the people, the soldiers I recognize, now they nod as we pass. We volunteers seem to have been allowed more respect after the first week. I missed my constant companions. Jean and Art. Yaniv has gone to another base and we're all more or less happy to be rid of him. Everyone works better now. It seems like the times' passing very quickly, like the last week of school or summer camp.

I know my contact with home has sucked. I haven't found all the WiFi hot spots I thought I would. Truth be told, I've been too busy to be bothered much by it.

My Canonet shit the bed on me the other day in Jerusalem. I've gotten less than three full rolls through it. I know I'll take all the film home because I can use that in other cameras. As much as i want to bring the camera home and maybe get it repaired I will most likely leave it here. It was purchased at a garage sale to be expendable and it was always somewhat unreliable. The real downside is that I really like having a rangefinder in the arsenal and replacing this is going to cost me a lot. Hasselbald Widelux anyone?

080820 16:45 Israeli time

This will be my last entry from the base. Today was our last full day of work. Tomorrow at about 1300 we'll board a bus for Tel Aviv and go our separate ways. Most of my time here has been spend in the kitchen doing many, many rounds of dishes. Yesterday I got to do some cooking which I found much more satisfying. especially because the troops really liked the food. I think I'll try making some schnitzels at home. Feeding 3 or 4 people will be much easier than 3-400. I got out of the kitchen and did some weeding followed by helping Art (one of my bunkmates) do some painting. We painted two reasonably identical representations of the military court insignia flanking a saluting soldier. It took some creativity because the only colors we had to work with were red, green and yellow.

Tonight is a special dinner, we're having a barbecue. We'll also be exchanging contact information, there will be many kind words and who knows, maybe tears. We all chipped in to get Techiya our Madricha some jewelry.

Tomorrow Art and I will be splitting a room at a hotel in tel Aviv, he flies out on Saturday, I fly out a day later. I don't mind paying full shot for a night in a decent hotel at peak rates. If anything, I'm looking forward to it.

I suspect I'll spend a very long time coming to terms with exactly what I got out of this trip. For right now, I'll simply say pride in a job well done and pride in myself for not disappointing. As with the first Israel trip, much of this will take years to work itself out. But this time I'm far more prepared for that process.

080821 16:45 Israeli time

I'm now at the Hotel Adiv in Tel Aviv where I will be staying for the next three nights. The room is small, the price high, but since I'm way under budget I don't really care. We're a block from the beach and a short walk to the Carmel market. Tomorrow I'm planning on taking a longer walk to the IDF museum.

As expected, parting with the group was bitter sweet. I now know that if I ever get to New Zealand I have a place I can stay. I'll certainly make an effort to try yo keep in touch with most of the people on the trip, although two of them will most likely fall by the wayside. I guess that's pretty good. Six out of eight fall into the “cool” category, and two are in the, “Well, I could live with them for 2 weeks,” category.

Holy wall of text Batman!!!

2008-08-08T16:10:00.001-04:00

All Dates are in YYMMDD format.

080803 23:21 EST
Since I was dropped off at the airport things have been a kind of blur. I think things are only going to get more blurry. Before that I just want to write down some thoughts.
1)Several chairs down from me in the main concourse of the Rochester airport there was an attractive woman in her late 20's reading. She was wearing huge, black Audrey Hepburn style sunglasses. She was giving off the things aren't right vibe. As she got u to go to her flight she took off the glasses and wiped tears from her eyes. I guess airports are full of people with sad stories.2)The El Al counter at JFK's terminal 4 is easy to find, just locate the Emirates Air counter, and go in the opposite direction as far as you can. Really.3)Not all the ticket agents are highly trained crack security operatives. Unless “New, hardly trained, and doesn't want to be there,” is what they're using as a cover.4)So far my film hasn't been zapped. They almost did at JFK, but for the one roll of 1600 speed I put in there. For reference, it doesn't matter what the ISO of the film is, X-rays still damage it. Lower ISO's just take more exposure to show the damage. Not knowing how many times it might get zapped this trip I'd like to avoid it where I can,5)Terminal 4 at JFK needs a major air conditioning upgrade. 6)There's an Emirates A380 parked next to an L1011 out on the apron and the A380 just dwarfs the other jet. That thing's freakin' huge.
That's it for now, hopefully the next post will be from Israel. Of course, I probably won't be able to post this until I get there as I can't find a free wifi hotspot.
23:42
It was dark by the time I got into NYC. As we climbed out of Rochester the sun was at a perfect angle behind us. Every tiny little feature on the ground cast a shadow. Where there are usually flat fields, there were small gently rolling hills. As the in flight map placed us in over the Catskills I looked out at the isolated patches of lights and thought, “Somewhere down there, my grandparents sleep. I wonder what they'd think of me now. I hope they'd approve.”
As we got closer to NYC, there were more lights, first large blobs, then continuous masses. Most were the orange of sodium vapor street lights. But every so often there were patches of white. As we got lower I could figure out what each color represented. Orange for a school parking lot, white for a car dealership. An orange industrial park, a white sports park or shopping mall. We landed from the south after flying near Newark. “Hmm, somewhere done there are living relatives,” I thought.
080804 23:00 Israel Time
Not having checked luggage is definitely the way to go. Once I was able to de-plane from row 54G of one of El Al's 777's I was able to leave all the people who got off in front of me in the dust. Got through passport control, was waved through customs, found an ATM, figured out how to get shekels out of it and then went looking for a place to buy a phone card. Less than a minute into that I heard, “Hey! Eli!” There was Ron and one of his buddies. After all the BS with getting on the flight in NY, once I got to Israel everything went perfectly. Except for the weather. It's supposed to be a dry heat. I got screwed.
As we were getting near Hadera Ron says, “I need to take a shortcut and it's coming up right about...now,” he said as he turned through a break in the main road's guardrail. Suddenly we're screaming down a dirt road at night away from anyone else that I could see. The first thought that came to mind was, “Well, this is where I end up face down in a ditch.” Which was closely followed by, “It's a good thing I don't have to piss right now, because this dirt road is not doing me any favors.”
080806 2300 Israeli time
I'll let the pictures do most of the talking for yesterday. Suffice it to say, there are fish in the Kinneret (That's “Sea of Galilee” to some of you) which look and act a lot like perch. If I'd tasted perch before I could compare that as well. Beer, friends and fishing, it really doesn't get much better than that.
Today we went to Jerusalem to the Kotel. (Western Wall) Once again the thing that struck me the most is how little I felt. I don't know if it's a lack of faith, but I just don't feel any sense of wonder, holiness or anything like that. It frustrates me both that I don't and that other people do. So I put tzedakah in the box, notes in the wall and I stood there for a minute touching the stones that have been worn smooth thinking about the many hands that have been there before and wondering if they got any more out of it than I and iff so, what, and how?
After a nice meet and greet with my cousin and her husband we went to the armor museum at Latrun. So Mr. Jimi, consider yourself 1-up'd.
080808 15:45 Israeli Time
Shit happens. As I found out today, if you eat the wrong thing on the other side of the world, it happens a lot. After a few hours of digestive fun and not being able to keep anything down Ron and his father took me to their family doctor. After about 5 minutes he said I ate some bad stuff and put me on a medicine called Kalbeten. (Bismuth Subsalicylate 262 mg) Judging from the symptoms it treats it looks like Pepto in tablet form. So, I'm pretty much laid up for the rest of today and will probably only do light activity tomorrow. That means no airsoft. :( Also, no going out tonight to try picking up Israeli girls. Double :(
It sounds like there's a pretty good chance that I'll be good to go for Sar El on Sunday. If not this will really, really suck and all the fun I've had this week will be overshadowed. But since I feel much better now, I'm thinking the rest, air conditioning, medication and plenty of water will have me back in shape in a day or so.
I really can't say enough good things about Ron and his family. I'm staying in a private room, with an air conditioner and a full size bed. His mother's been feeding me in the stereotypical Jewish mother fashion. When my long pants were in the laundry, Ron's brother let me borrow a pair of his to wear to the Kotel. And, on top of all that, if I were on my own today for my illness, I would truly be up shit creek. I only hope if he visits America I can be such a good host.

Yet another odd thing

2008-08-02T19:56:00.002-04:00

I am packing less stuff in terms of bags and volume of space to go halfway around the world than I do to drive 90 minutes for a weekend of airsoft. It's a good thing I'm not a gear-whore.

Meanwhile, my Eee PC is not recognizing the 16 GB card that came with it, so I can't use it to archive digital photos, although I can still transmit them to my Picassa account. The tech support guy hadn't heard of anything like this, and I could hear him looking through all the stuff. For some reason regardless or which card, or whether I use the internal drive or an external reader it's the same thing. This is what I get for saving $100 bucks by not getting the one with Windows. Live and learn, it's still going with me because it will fulfill several other requirements I have. (Being able to get online to contact you jokers, transmit images, work as a journal.)

So any of you who are techies- don't bother telling me what I need to do to fix it. At this point, I simply don't care, I'll fix it later. May this be my biggest hardship. Besides, I more film than I thought, so if all else fails we'll do this old school.

Packing list

2008-07-31T16:52:00.002-04:00

8 Pairs boxer briefs
6 pairs low cut crew socks
4 pairs military grad boot socks
1 pair sneakers
1 pair USMC issue desert combat boots
3 pairs shorts
4 T shirts
2 button down short sleeve shirts
1 long sleeve fishing/outdoors shirt
1 pair khaki cargo pants
1 Voltage converter
1 Pentax Optio WP digital camera with 2gb memory card and battery charger
1 Canon Canonet film camera
Compact electronic flash unit
12 rolls of 35mm film, a mix of B&W, color print and color slide
2 Paperback novels (Dune and War of the Worlds)
iPod
Asus Eee PC 701 compact laptop with a 16gb SD card for storage and charger
2 flashlights
Toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, etc.
1 khaki boonie cap
4 copies of all my documentation (2 of which will be turned over to various program functionaries.)
15 feet of parachute cord for use as a laundry line
1 "sleep mask" (blindfold)
1 inflatable neck pillow
Multiple sets of earplugs
1 Yarmulke
Various airsoft related items.
Many things I have thought to take, written down and organized for paking but have not remembered for this particular list.

Gotta start somewhere

2008-07-31T16:37:00.004-04:00

Hi,

Welcome to my little corner of the blogosphere. This is going to start out as a journal and repository of thoughts and happenings from my upcoming (4 days and counting) trip to Israel. Afterwards it will morph into a showcase and sounding board for photography, airsoft and other things I find important.

What you won't find here (At least I hope not.) are some of the major tropes of blogging. No religion. No politics. No music. No, "My girlfriend left me for a guy with a Harley and a "Born To Kill" tattoo." I'd like to be a little more creative than that. I'm also going to try to live up to another rule: I will not say anything about someone on this blog that I would not say to them in person.

Sit back, relax, enjoy the show.