First Kav in the Gdud: Nachal Oz

Hey everyone

First and foremost, sorry to the family and friends who’ve been waiting for an update (sorry Savta)- I’ll try to be more on top of the blog.

The blog didn’t end when training ended. It’d be ironic if it did. The real experience starts now. The experience of a combat soldier, arguably, is only real and realized when he’s out of the comfort of a safe, monitored training situation.

The blogs been harder to write now for two reasons. One, as opposed to training, where for 7 months straight every minute of every day was jam-packed, not as much happens anymore. There just isn’t as much to write about and share. This first assignment we have as a pluga is pretty simple, uneventful, and straightforward. That could all change, but currently it’s honestly quite boring.

And secondly, “Parkinson’s law”;  the principle that the amount of work you have expands to fill the amount of time you have to do it. I used to think about this all the time in college with assignments. If you have an essay to write for a course and you have 2 hours to complete it, you’ll be able to. But, if you have 2 weeks to write it, it can and will also take the full 2 weeks. When I was in training, i knew that as soon as I got back to base, not only would I only have my phone for an hour a day, but that we’d be incredibly busy. Every time I left for home, if I didn’t write the blog, I’d be behind. That was a big push to publish every week. Now, we have endless time. We always have our phones, we’re at this current mesimah until at least September (unless things change with the war, which they always can), and there isn’t as much developing to write about. So I fell behind. I keep friends and family updated all the time. But, since this blog is actually mainly for my future children, I don’t want to have nothing written about my actual post-training service, or large gaps in the accounts of my experience. Expect more publishing.

I want to separate this blog into 3 parts: what’s been happening in the gdud generally, major events over the past few months, and thoughts I’ve been having.

Part 1: The Gdud Life
So trainings over. We’re officially in the gdud. The moment I’d dreamed about for months and months. Not knowing exactly what it would be save for a new experience altogether.

We’re fully fledged combat soldiers, at the army’s beck and call, ready to be sent wherever we’re needed. Sounds exciting right? Well…

It hasn’t been anything crazy, which I can’t say is a bad thing. Our first assignment is in Nachal Oz, a base right outside Gaza. It’s actually been the exact opposite: pretty boring. I’ll go into what weve done over the past few months and spend some time on the highlights, but the main task we’ve been currently assigned is shmira. Just hours and hours of sitting or standing alone (if you’re lucky with a partner) and trying to get in as much sleep as you can when you’re off. There’s also patrols, toran mitbach, maazin duty in the pluga.

We’re doing cycles of 17/4; 17 days here down in Nachal Oz and 4 days at home. Lone soldiers get a Yom Siddurim and so my cycles have actually been 16/5 since they tack it on to the end of the yetziot. We also have “Yemei Kola” where we spend a couple of days back at Bach Tzanchanim after coming back from the weekend. We’ll do an Erev Tzevet or use the time for the shooting range or drills. It’s a way to spend time doing important things before going back to our mesimot. Down in Nachal Oz, there are 3 places we could be put. There’s the Nachal Oz base itself which has the nicest conditions: eating in a cafeteria, showering, sleeping in a bed.

Then there’s מוצב 76 (it’s on קו דיווח 76 of the Gaza border) where you live in a little crate, sleep in cots, and don’t do anything but 3 hours on and 6 hours off of shmira. The third place you could be put is מוצב 96 – more built up than 76 but still a little outpost. There are milluimnikim there also and theyve helped to make the place more liveable. There’s a fridge, couches, and actual beds. But, there’s also a room where we keep our equipment. Which means that as soon as your cycle of shmira is done, you also have to take turns with the other people in your group doing guard duty over the room.

3/6 I think is the best Shmira cycle. We were doing 4/8 for a bit, but you could be screwed over if you get bad hours. Why are some hours worse than others? From 5:30 – 7:30 AM and 6:30 – 8 PM , everyone has to be awake and on full equipment. The transition from dusk to dawn and sundown to darkness are considered the most high-alert times. It’s official mandate of Tzahal that everyone be ready for action during those times. So, if you were doing a shmira schedule of 4/8 and got the hours of 12 – 4, the max amount of time you can sleep uninterrupted is 4 hours before waking up and doing shmira again. 4-8 would be the best time because it’s during the time everyone has to be awake anyways. If you do that kind of a cycle for 2 weeks straight it’s incredibly hard. And unfair. The 3/6 cycle distributes the sleep hours more fairly.

If you’re in Nachal Oz, there’s other assignments you could have. Patrol duty: shifts of 12 hours. 12 hours on, 12 hours off where you drive around the border, stop at different yishuvium, and just do a bunch of waiting. You aren’t allowed your phone, so I bring books and a journal to write. The time passes by quickly.

Some army pics:

Overall, the general attitude in the gdud is more relaxed. You do your shmira or your task and when you’re off, you’re off. There are of course random things you’ll need to do throughout the day, and there’s no shortage of pointless tasks you’ll be told to do just because, it seems like the Mefaked feels like it. But in general, it’s relaxing, spending time on your phone, calling friends and family. Much different than the one hour a day of phone time we had in training. This is, of course dependent on “Sadak”: how many people there are in the roster to assign to all the mesimot. The less people there are, either because they’re at doctor’s appointments or special requests to go to a family event among other things, means that our times are worse.

I also thought the rumor mill was a thing of training. But it was maybe even intensified in the gdud. This person heard from that person who’s dad heard from his friend who works high up in the army that tzanchanim are going to Lebanon and we’re leaving next week. You hear stuff like that all the time. Until something actually happens, don’t believe anything. And not only because it may be a rumor and may be untrue, but because in the army things change all the time. Right now we know from our מ”פ that the current plan is to be here until September.

One of the main reasons I wanted to draft was to play my part in defending this country and the people I love. For the Israelis it’s often more personal. They know their families are sitting at home, able to function with peace of mind, because there are soldiers standing on the borders protecting them. (It’s probably harder when it’s their own sons on the line, but the idea of them feeling safe because they know there are soldiers on the line still rings true). Our first Kav down in Nachal Oz has us protecting 5 Yishuvim right behind us: Nachal Oz, Beeri, Kfar Azza, Saad, and Alumim. My little sister lives in Saad. It’s very meaningful to me that my first assignment as an actual Lochem is defending the Kfar where my sister lives. Knowing that my role as a Lochem has a direct impact on the people I love.


Part 2: Major Events
I’ll have to go far back to recount all the big things that have happened.
First things first, two days after my masa kumta, while in modiin for shabbat with my family (still here from the ceremony), sirens went off. Israel and the US had started an offensive attack against Iran and now Iran was firing back. 
A couple of hours later, I get a phone call from my Mefaked. He had sent a poll in the group chat for us to answer, just to make sure we were available and had our phones on in case the army needed us to get to base quickly to go somewhere. I told him I wasnt checking my phone because of Shabbat. He said that with everything going on, he’d be sending a poll every two hours to make sure we were available. So, as unnatural as it felt, I had to check my phone throughout Shabbat.

We entered the mamad several times throughout the day. Even though my parents and siblings were still here, I barely saw them. They were staying by my Uncle and Aunt a couple minutes walk away and because of the frequency of sirens, couldn’t walk over until much later. We tracked the progress of the Israeli offensive throughout the day, hearing all about the targets they’d struck and successes they had. There was a feeling of “finally”. Not just that Israel and the US had begun the attack after waiting for it for weeks but also that Iran was finally having it’s come-uppance after decades of being the #1 sponsor of terrorism. It’s about time we end them once and for all.
We got a text after shabbat that, due to the security situation, we would be coming back Monday instead of Sunday. Another day at home, mostly spent in the shelter. Also, my family’s flights got cancelled so they’d be staying here throughout the week.

And that was my introduction to being a lochem: the breakout of another “war”. It also changed our mesima. We were originally supposed to be stationed at tzomet hagush for 8 months, but because of all the shuffling of the different chativot, we got placed down in Nachal Oz. The only certainty in the army is that things are uncertain.

As of the writing of this blog, a few months later, there has still be no resolution to the war with Iran. The US and Israel had major preemptive, historic offensive attacks, taking out much of their nuclear infrastructure. The citizens of Iran protested and were killed by their government for doing so. Iran blocked the strait of Hormuz. The US keeps threatening but not taking action and instead resorting to negotiations. There’s a whole lot thats happened and my bullet point summary doesn’t do it justice, but the feeling we have is that everything’s still up in the air. There isn’t really a moment where we can just breathe, because everything can change rapidly.
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Now that we’re in the Gdud, I always have grenades and my night vision scope on me. My Tzevet got a generous donation of all new tziud and after originally not switching to the new vest, I wanted to. So, on my first Yom siddurim in the gdud leaving from nachal oz, I asked my mafkatz if I could take my old vest home and switch it out with my new one. He said I could,  but made sure to tell me to take out my grenades first. I traveled home and about 3 hours later get a call from my Samal freaking out. “Yonatan, is your Lior(night vision scope) with you?”

“Yes,” I replied. “But I can send a picture of it to you right now so you know that it’s with me”.  “Okay”. And then he hung up. 20 seconds later I get a call from the mafkatz. “Yonatan, this is a huge deal. I know it’s your Yom siddurim but you have to come back to the base in nachal oz right now to return the tzelem.

It was really annoying that I had to drive back to base two hours after getting out from my day off. What makes this story even more worth writing down is that ever since, it’s been a joke in the tsevet. They will put on a heavy American accent and then in Hebrew say: איפה הליאור שלי.  Don’t think I’m ever going to live that one down

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I got a text from a friend one night when I was on either our first or second Yetziah, I don’t remember. “Did you hear about the lone soldier in 890?”. “No, what happened?” I replied. “Oh, well I don’t want to share if it isn’t official or you haven’t heard yet.” A couple of minutes later, different lone soldier group chats, and my army tzevet group chats started sharing the news. A lone soldier in 890, one of the Tzanchanim gdudim, was killed in Lebanon. The name didn’t sound familiar to me at first, but when his picture started going around, my heart skipped a beat. Moshe Katz was a lone soldier from the same Machzor (draft class) as me. We were in different gdudim so our training was entirely separate, but all the lone soldiers on base are connected.

Throughout training, they’d do events for all of us together. I had spoken to Moshe a couple of weeks before. I wasn’t so close with him, but he was a person I had a direct connection with. This was my first time experiencing an all too common experience for many Israelis: someone you know falling in combat. I couldn’t process it at the time and I’m still not sure I have. This was someone in the same draft class as me. He had marched in the masa kumta with me a couple of weeks before. And then, just because of the luck of the draw, his gdud and his unit had gone to Lebanon and mine had gone to Gaza. It could have easily been us. The finality of death is the hardest to fully grasp. My first thought was, “Oh I’ll see him at the next lone soldier event in Jerusalem; I want to ask him about the experience.” Like dying was just another part of the army experience. Like he know had passed another stage in being a soldier and he’d have some insights to share. It was hard to accept that that was it. We wouldn’t see him ever again.

We got back to Bach Tzanchanim after the weekend and were supposed to do a Tarmach (Targil Machlakti) but at the last minute we had to cancel. A best friend of our Mafkatz had fallen in combat and he was going to the funeral. So, over the course of the week, two soldier deaths had rooted in my consciousness. If before I hadn’t realized the gravity of what we were doing, this week changed that. We’re not in training anymore and the stakes are real. And not in some feigned, performative way that mefakdim will just say to get us to take our mesimot more seriously. These soldiers had been killed in their army roles in combat. The mesimot we have are genuinely dangerous. It’s not a controlled setting like training. The stakes are real.
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Along with not having so much of a normal civilian life anymore after drafting, one of the realities of being in the army is that you may not be out for the chagim. Of the three tzvatim, ours got unlucky and we had to close Pesach, both the seder and second days of Yom Tov. I was doing shmirot at 76 and my time slot fell out right when the Seder would be. Luckily, one of the guys in my tzevet who wasn’t so religious said he’d be happy to take two hours of my shift so that I could go enjoy the Seder. The seder itself was hurried – from the start until shulchan orech was about an hour and then we finished the rest on our own. I was asked by Dr. Erica Brown, a friend and mentor from the Sacks- Herenstein center at YU to write about my experience for the center. I’ll share it here because most of my Pesach thoughts are there.

Why was this night different than all other nights? Why was my pesach this year different than all other years?

This year, I didn’t get to spend Pesach where I wanted to. I didn’t spend it with family or friends. I didnt even get to spend time going through the Haggadah, reading out each section aloud, sharing Divrei Torah and insights. I had a rushed Seder before heading back to resume guard duty.

8 months ago I answered the clarion call of national service and defense of my Jewish homeland.  I drafted to the Israeli army and joined the Tzanchan/paratrooper unit. Apart from the responsibilities of a combat soldier and the duty I’d been given, it also meant losing many of my quote-on-quote freedoms. The freedom to be in charge of my own schedule, go home whenever I want, have a normal night of sleep etc. But this Pesach, Chag Hacherut, I’ve learned to appreciate the true meaning of freedom and the deep way in which I’ve been able to celebrate it, even while not feeling so traditionally free.

I spent my Pesach on the border of Gaza with my platoon. The seder was rushed because everyone had their different jobs to get to and patrols or guard posts to fill. The pre-meal portion of the Seder was kept to a strict 1-hour and the meal was done on our own terms, finishing Hallel and Nirtza on our own. I missed the family Seder, that special time of year where I know the traditions and faces will be the same. But there was something much more meaningful here. Something deeply connected to the essence of the holiday: the pursuit of Jewish freedom.

In a pre-Pesach shiur given to students at University College London’s Jewish Society in March of 2018, Rabbi Sacks explained the Jewish understanding of freedom . He explains that freedom, true freedom, comes from the building of a free society. A society in which we remember our people’s history and we build and uphold laws to help ensure we live in a state of law governed liberty rather than bondage and anarchy like we had in Egypt.

In his own words, ” So, what the Torah is telling us, is to have a free society, there must be some rule of law. But that law must be something you identify; law because you know it’s freeing your people, you know what they endured and you know therefore why the law is the antidote to that negative experience of exile and enslavement. In other words, freedom doesn’t come easily. We take it for granted and we shouldn’t. Great civilisations have known freedom and they’ve declined and they have fallen and they have lost their freedom because they took freedom for granted {…} The Torah offers us a tough approach to freedom. What Emanuelle Levitas called difficile liberte. You know, freedom is hard work {…} That’s what Torah education is all about. And that is why a free society means we have constant need to work for it, constant need to protect it, and it is all of our responsibility.”

The ultimate end to the story of yetziat mitzrayim is the settlement of Eretz Yisrael as the fully fledged nation of Am Yisrael. This is what we commemorate and remember throughout the Seder. This year, it was a special honor to celebrate the Seder in Israel, not as a tourist or even just a citizen, but as a soldier defending the land. As a part of the Jewish army tasked with ensuring a free society in the land we’ve dreamed for so long of returning to. 

Freedom isn’t a life with no rules. It’s order and self governance and liberty; concepts that we’ve dreamt for thousands of years of having the right to ensure on our own terms. Freedom is something worth fighting for and anything worth fighting for is bound to be difficult.

Being out of the army at a family Seder may feel more free. But the real freedom was the choice to do the hard thing. The thing I know was right.

Freedom isn’t about doing whatever you want; it’s ultimately about choosing the right thing to do. Not about living aimlessly, without bounds or guidelines or responsibilities, but living purposefully and fighting for a society in which we, as a nation, can enjoy a greater form of freedom: liberty, justice, self governance, and self determination.

Choosing the hard thing to do, and not having an easy, family filled seder like every other year, was in some way the best representation of and lesson on freedom I could have asked for. To focus instead on the freedom of Jewish state and the Jewish people was the greatest use of the festival of freedom and its intent.

I won’t lie and say that it was easy, or even that I preferred it this way. But there is a deep sense of comfort in knowing that because of what we were doing, there were families in yishuvium right behind us who were able to have a safe, warm, happy Seder. Families who only a couple of years ago experienced the greatest of tragedies, were now able to sit and share a festive meal with their loved ones because of the sense of security we were able to give them. We ensured that they were able to continue the Jewish traditions in the Jewish Homeland as a free people. עם ישראל בארץ ישראל

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Growing up in America and going to Jewish schools, there were a few moments  throughout the year where we felt truly connected to Israel. Not just as a place we were excited to travel to on our next vacation, but a place we were bonded with from thousands of miles away. The most obvious are the chagim; knowing that an entire country is celebrating the exact same holiday you’re celebrating. The Seder night, Yom Kippur, etc. When there were conflicts or hostages; I remember praying for Gilad Shalit and the three boys when they were taken captive. The other main occasion we felt our ties to Israel, all the way from the Diaspora, was on Israel’s national Holidays: Yom Hazikaron and Yom Haatzmaut. I remember every year the school putting on a memorial service for fallen soldiers and the next day celebrating Yom Haatzmaut with a big carnival and BBQ. From all the way across the world, we felt connected to our homeland in mourning and in celebration.

This year, my tzevet closed in Nachal Oz for Yom Hazikaron and Yom Haatzmaut. We wouldn’t be able to celebrate with our friends and family on the outside and would instead resign to our guard duties and other mesimot. There were some civilians that came onto the base and barbecued for us but still, it was nothing like the celebration we would have had on the outside.

So the celebration aspect of Yom Haatzmaut wasn’t as fun as other years. But I had one of the most meaningful moments of my service so far, the day before on Yom HaZikaron. Every year, and I know this from our schools doing it in America growing up, there’s a siren that goes off for about two minutes to commemorate the fallen soldiers. My guard duty shift this year happened to fall out during those two minutes exactly. As opposed to every other year where I was either in a class or at work, this year I was in an Israeli army uniform with a gun in hand, protecting Kibbutzim behind me as the siren went off. It was very much a full circle moment for me, to have grown up practicing this tradition all the way across the world, feeling as much as I could that I was connected to these soldiers, and now being a soldier myself. 

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The soldiers aren’t always happy in the gdud. We have lots of sleepless nights (actually there really is no such thing as night and day anymore; you’re either on shmirah or doing a mesimah or you’re not ans trying to catch up on sleep), you don’t eat so well, you miss the outside world, and you have to deal with all kinds of stupidity. There are hanfatzot – things that were made to do for no reason at all, seemingly just to make our lives harder. Things like not being able to sit during shmira, even if it’s in the middle of nowhere, not being able to sleep during certain hours, etc. Our Mafkatz (Mefaked tzevet/Mefaked machlaka) has gone over the top with all these things to the point that it sometimes feels like we’re still in the training mindset. And there’s the assumption,and general progression in the army, that when you get to the gdud, the hanfatzot slowly go away. One major thing he’s been doing: we have to workout every day, alternating between runs and workouts. But, in a way that makes it feel like he doesn’t trust us, we have to send him pictures of the workout and screenshots of the run.

One day at the Orpit, a class didn’t wake up for the morning role call. 8 people in all. Without batting an eye, he gave all of them 4 hours on their Yetziah (they would have to wait 4 hours to go back home after we’d all left). Since they were taking public transport and had to wait for next available buses, it would turn out to be 8 hours. Throughout that week in Nachal  Oz he also doled out hours like it was nothing. Someone took a shower midday and got 4 hours (in addition to the 4 from not waking up). The tension between us and our mafkatz rose to the point that the guys were genuinely planning mutiny. Seeking  to have him replaced with someone else. We brought up all the problems we had at a sichat tzevet and, to no great surprise, he didn’t buckle at all. No, “You guys are right, I’m being a bit harsh.” Just explaining and justifying everything he’d done.  There are dozens more examples, but the bottom line is that he isn’t a very understanding mafkatz or one who seems to want to make our lives and our kav here easier.
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Liora got engaged! The first Mayer sibling to bring in a new member to the family. They started their relationship after I drafted, but even though my time has been sparing that I’m actually on the outside, I’ve been able to get to know him and he’s a great guy. We are all excited for the new addition to the family.

It’s also a reminder that, although life on the inside, on Kav, feels monotonous and boring, life on the outside marches on. My friends’ careers advance, people finish college degrees, travel, etc. Their lives advance. It’s a thought I’ve been able to mostly suppress, in part because a year and a half isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things. But this change is really close to home. And especially because starting a relationship while in the army has been incredibly hard. It forces me to think yet again on the sacrifice that the army is from a life advancement perspective. Putting everything else on pause and saying I’m going to give up my personal freedoms and my life for a year and a half because of this thing that I believe in at this age, it hits different than if I were 18.

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Technically for the first three months we weren’t actually in the Gdud. We were in “Gadmas” – gdud maslul – roughly translated to gdud in training. We were the youngest in 202, the fresh batch, and so we had to earn our right to be in the gdud. There’s a debate in the Pluga on whether anything is actually different between gadmas and the gdud. Some people say the gdud is better, less hanfatzot, you’re given more freedoms and trusted more. But I don’t agree. I think it’s all מ״פ dependent and ours is a stickler for the rules and for soldier standards.

After three months, to signify our ascension to the gdud itself, we had a masa aliya. A 5Km + 5Km with stretchers symbolic march, a small tekes afterwards, and that was it: we were “officially” in the gdud. Again, especially since nothing changed afterwards, it didn’t feel nearly as meaningful as the masa kumta.

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For each year of their service, chayalim bodedim are given a month off to visit family. The army pays for the flights. I requested mine to take place after three months in the gdud, so that I’d come back and have half a year left exactly.

About a week before the trip was scheduled to take place, Israel renewed attacks in Iran. My mafkatz got a message that all international travel was on standby. The government and army was assessing the situation over the next few days to determine whether or not it was safe and practical to let soldiers leave.

Obviously the whole ordeal was stressful; a few days before my long awaited break from the army, my vacation was being threatened.

Thankfully, it blew over and my trip was scheduled to happen without hiccups. Now, before leaving the army for an extended amount of time, soldiers have to do a tofes tiyulim. You give in your gun and equipment and have different departments sign off that you’re okay to go (logistics, doctor, Mashakit Tash, etc. )

I went back to Bach Tzanchanim on my own (that’s where 202’s base is) to do the whole procedure. It’s only a couple of signatures and could have taken a couple of minutes, but since these people aren’t always present, or sometimes just don’t want to be helpful to some regular soldier and put you through the ringer just to get a signature, the whole thing took 8 hours.

My last stop was the Rasar. He took one look at me and, even though my hair was pretty short, said I needed a haircut and I didnt look proper. I asked him what I was supposed to do and he told me to go to the barber on base. Another delay. When you’re so close to freedom, you feel every little hurdle that much more.

I walked back to base to find that this week, of all weeks, the barber wasn’t there. So what’d I do? What anyone who just desperately wanted to go home so that he could feel his America trip was soon to be underway. I found scissors in a Mashakit tash’ office, went to the bathroom and trimmed the hair around my head and took water and dampened the top. The Rasar approved.

And that was that; I went home, energized by the thought of seeing friends and family in America soon

Thoughts
You’re always tired in the gdud. You don’t sleep well. You don’t eat well. You don’t live in the best conditions. There’s no such thing as day or night anymore, only on shmira or off shmira.

Naturally, this leads to a strong desire to totally shut down whenever you’re off. Naps whenever you can, watching movies/tv shows, etc.

I’ve always felt the tension between relaxing and the virtue/justification thereof, and the need to be productive with free time. The army has exacerbated this tension. There’s no real desire to be productive and no real way to be. There isn’t any work I can get ahead on, no errands I need to get through or career advancements I can focus on. After two years in the workforce and the start of a bit of momentum to a career, I took a hard stop and drafted. There is still the feeling of standstill, but it’s mixed with the inability, rightfully so, to do anything about it.

And so more than finding ways to be productive (which was my pre-army reaction to this tension), I’m learning to be okay with it. To take a step back, realize that this is an unusual time in my life and doesn’t operate by the same rules as an army free life, and accept the need for shutting down and relaxing. I’m still “productive” by certain 21st century standards: movies and TV shows instead of short form content, tons of reading and even writing this blog (even though I haven’t been too good about that).

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Before drafting, and more frequently when I got to the gdud, my parents told me their blessing for me was that I’d have the most boring service. No action whatsoever. I actually agree, but that sentiment has changed once I entered the gdud and understood what an army service actually is. It’s not just Sadir (your regular service) but tons and tons of milluim. It doesn’t really matter what happens during my Sadir because when the next war happens, and there will be a next war, I’ll be called up.

All around Nachal Oz we saw milluimnikim. The majority of the army is made up of older soldiers with families and lives and jobs. You’ll see middle aged people with laptops out doing work, on Facetime with their familes, and walking around like they own the place. But they’re still there. Well on past their regular service, they keep coming back to do more. The amount is exacerbated during war time, but even in years of peace, reserve duty must occur.

So I’m happy with Sadir being boring. And that’s not because I don’t ever want to see action or be in danger as a combat soldier. It’s what I signed up for. When there is danger, we’re called so that the civilians can live their lives in peace without ever encountering it. But, I now know that the timeframe for seeing action, having an “un-boring” service, isn’t constrained to my Sadir service. There’s going to be miluim.