Since We Last Spoke

Almost a year has passed since I wrote a blog post about when the going gets tough.  I thought this was super important to put in writing because it was my way of letting people know that the army is both incredibly physically and mentally challenging.  It was my real answer, if you will, to the question I was and still am most often asked: "So, how is the army?  Do you love it there??"  I wrote it at a particularly challenging point in my service -- when my body was physically broken from training and my mind was elsewhere, in the United States at my family's Passover seder.  Since then, a lot has changed (for one thing I finished my year and three month basic-->advanced-->specialized training period!).  So while the answer then, as now, is an unequivocal "no, I do not love the army," I have grown and changed in ways I could not really imagine before enlisting.  However, when I have anywhere from 30 seconds to 5 minutes to even in some situations a whole night or weekend to chat with friends/family/acquaintances, I rarely even attempt to give an honest or insightful response to what I do believe to be genuinely interested questions surrounding my life as a soldier.  I would much rather just bask in being close to old friends and close family and enjoy precious face time, soaking up smiles and others' stories instead of volunteering my own.  For better or worse, in instances of personal relationships I've always been a better listener than communicator -- just ask my ex'es about that.  But, sitting in my basement room back in Natick at the halfway point of my two and a half year service, allow me to elaborate on some personal experiences and transformations, and ideally even shed some insights along the way.

Way back in early April last year, I was doing some rudimentary guard duty on my advanced training base and had some spare moments to process what I had been going through to that point in my service.  While in basic training we for the most part just ran around and learned lots of simple rules over and over again (i.e. safety lessons on how to use a gun, how to walk in formation, how to wake up and get fully dressed exactly the same way as 22 other guys in under 3 minutes, full days devoted to ethics and morality in the IDF, and so on), advanced training introduces us to actual tactics we theoretically are going to use down the line.  It programatically starts from the individual's tactics while charging up a hill and slowly but surely works up its way up to how to act in the open field as a full company.  Compounded with the increasingly difficult work outs, advanced training's true aim is to build the soldier up so as to be battle ready.  Indeed, during that random little guard post stint, I started to realize that if basic training was meant to break the individual down and separate him or her from the mentality of the free-spirited civilian, advanced training meant to mold him or her into a fighter.  It was this last word, fighter, that struck a chord with me that April afternoon, and I had to write it down so I'd remember it.  I had always labelled myself as a Lover, Not a Fighter.  It fit my mellow and playful personality and I often used the phrase to calm a heated situation down.  I never even threw a punch before my Krav Maga lessons began in the army, and I definitely have never started fights, only stopped them.  Hence, this was the first time I identified a transformation that I was just beginning to go through-- from Lover, Not a Fighter to Lover and a Fighter.

Returning to that question I get asked so often, "nu, do you love it there??," I don't think any sane person can actually love (or even like) running around with a weapon acquiring skills that might one day have lethal effects on other humans.  No one I know in the military actually wants to fight or kill.  Views like these, or really any sort of jingoistic vision, is antithetical to the purpose of the IDF and completely misses the point of serving.  Ben Gurion used to lament that he had to send his young boys and girls to compulsory military service instead of national service (which in his time was truly nation-building service).  What a shame to year after year waste such a mass of natural resources and talent (and budget!) to help build an army instead of a teachers corps or parks force or really any multitude of things.  Yes, he lamented this fact, but Ben Gurion also had an acute understanding that the country desperately needed protection, that Israel needed to be prepared to ward off attempts at her destruction at all times.  So while ideologically he might have wanted to send his youthful resources elsewhere, in practice Ben Gurion needed men and women on the ground at constant ready.

This thinking resonates with me greatly.  Personally, I can brainstorm twenty ways for the world's young, Jewish men and women to give back to Israel, the country that will always be there for them. The Lover in me says that on purely ideological grounds, I think every Jewish youth should do a year of service in Israel under a government sponsored program, be it through a military, national, or civic service.  [I also actually favor mandatory service of some sort for every Israeli civilian--Jewish, Muslim, Christian, or other, as well, but that's for another conversation.]  And in my utopian world, every Jewish youth worldwide would in fact find the appropriate program for him or her and give back to Israel for a year, working to make Israel a better place for all its inhabitants while learning the language and landscape.  This would allow for a much more vibrant, deep, and knowledgeable conversation on issues in Israel from within and abroad and would allow every individual to form his or her own opinions on Israel based on real, tangible experiences.  Give me 40 years and who knows, maybe I'll have made some progress on this particular vision.  But ok, I digress.  Ben Gurion's ideological sacrifice resonates with me today because the Fighter in me agrees with his (and every leader that has followed since's) pragmatic understanding that the country is to this day under serious security threats from almost every border and therefore needs to be ready to go to battle.

Thus, I am more than willing to sacrifice my time and energy in military service because if there is something that this training has provided me with, it is the notion that I am prepared, both mentally and physically, to fight should the need arise.  Let me be clear: I do not want to fight, I would much rather love.  I would much rather shed blood, sweat, and tears building a better Israel by broadening religious pluralism, engendering cooperation between Israelis and Palestinians through shared water resource management, developing periphery areas in the Negev by settling land disputes between Bedouins, municipalities, and military installations, reforming the education system top down starting with higher salaries for teachers in order to encourage the country's best to want to teach, and so on and so on.  But I am also a realist.  I live in a tough neighborhood and know that I cannot simply forsake protecting my country and worry only about the things I love (and for that matter am immensely frustrated by) here in Israel.  Therefore I must at the same time be both a Lover and a Fighter.  Be willfully optimistic about the ability to change and improve life in this nearly 66 year old baby of a country while also being determined and proud to protect her.

This is not something I could have completely comprehended before moving here and enlisting.  It is not something that came easily--a year and three months of grueling, exhausting training is indeed a palpable testament to the time it took me for this transformation to take root my being.  It is a part of me now, a heavy burden of responsibility that, as the fighter in me takes the fore for the next 15 months while the lover sits patiently in back, I am aware of and must shoulder with diligence and care.  What is new for me, however, is something that I do believe most Israelis inherently understand.  It is, after all, a dual responsibility that Israelis have been carrying with them since before the State was even born.  On the one hand, then, I think this transformation is a positive one and indicates just another step into my 'becoming an Israeli.'  On the other hand, I hope that with this new found sense of self awareness, I can absorb it quickly enough to serve admirably through the end.  While I am confident in my abilities to do what I have to do should the situation arise, I can still ask that we pray, even if naively, that sane heads prevail so that nation shall not lift up sword against nation.  Because let's be real here, who wants to experience war anymore?

Springtime Struggles

I don't like to do this, and don't do it often, but for the sake of giving an honest and full picture of my experiences as an immigrant soldier, I've decided to devote this post to what is mostly a vent. To say that everything is fine and dandy all the time would just be lying, so here's a bit on when the goings get tough.

April was not an easy month.  While it is usually a month that signifies at least two nights of full out family bonding in the form of Liben Passover Seders, I will remember April 2012 for a while as a month of many personal trials, tribulations, and failures -- with some really cool things sprinkled in on the side.  This pesach was such a difficult one for me because it was smack in the middle of my advanced training stage.  The weather went from pretty rainy/dreadful to beautiful overnight, but then again overnight from beautiful to super hot.  Hot weather, tougher assignments and drills, increasingly difficult workouts and runs all took their tolls on my body.  While I spent 4 months of basic training working off 5 years of beer and library induced physical rust and building myself basically from scratch, advanced training has not been particularly kind.  So although I am in much much better shape than when I enlisted just over 5 (!) months ago, the ratcheting up of things hit me quick and hard.  Notable examples include me still not having passed the obstacle course test in the required time of 9:30, me sweating more than all other 119 guys in my section and dealing with those bodily ramifications (needing to drink insane amounts of water, eat more salts, bring more spare clothes than everyone else, and apply gold bond literally everywhere), adjusting to walking/running/drilling with a heavy travel pack on my back in addition to my vest, and a combination of all of these factors gelling at once and causing my  body to completely break down during a trek so that I actually had to pull out after 12k (out of 40).  This last one really got me down because until that point treks had been a strong point of mine and instead of getting pumped up about what I've been doing and spending time with my family in Elwin, I was straight out failing one physical challenge after another.

I completely understand that one doesn't necessarily just succeed in a new environment so radically different than anything ever experienced before, and that is why I gave myself the adjustment period of 4 months of what I would call the very humbling era known as basic training.  But I did not account for such physical obstacles.  In other words, the physical pains were starting to affect my otherwise positive aura and prevent me from developing the other aspects of my military training/experience (leadership, language, professionalism etc.).  This was incredibly tough for me because I set high standards for myself in general, and especially for things that entail life altering decisions.  It is how I have led my life since the beginning of college, it is how I got myself into an elite unit in the Israeli army, and to not succeed with flying colors after 5 months of working myself into the system gets downright frustrating.

The physical affecting the mental is the lead in to what was Pesach 2012.  I think it was the first time that I really really missed the States.  It was totally the double whammy of not being in Natick with my siblings and parents and niece and nephews and then actually seeing my best friend since pre school and his family for a tease of a few days that did it.  To be struggling at your job, to not be with your family at an event when it has been a yearly highlight and fixture since childhood, to see a best friend come and go with the snap of a finger -- well hey man when those things all coalesce it can really depress you for a minute or two.  And it definitely brought me down.

But let's get real here, this post isn't really only a vent.  That's not who I am, and hopefully my readers (all three of them) know well that I am much more of a Peggy than a Debby.  So a couple of weeks ago when it was 7am, we had been awake for 2 hours and were walking several K with those huge packs that break your back without having eaten anything for breakfast, I was swearing off everyone and everything I could think of in my head.  It was literally just one of those mornings where I could find nothing good to think of.  And then we arrived at the main bivouac, ate a quick can of tuna, and sprinted onto helicopters.  Yep, we flew in a chopper, and I went from near tears to huge smiles.  There's always a light at the end of the tunnel, always something cool or important or meaningful, or maybe even just a tiny thing to you can take away and learn.  I have since made up the 40k trek (ok fine it was 39 but who's counting) and seen my big brother Micah -- here on a visit with his day schoolers; both things which improved my spirits invariably, especially seeing Micah.  I have a brutal month coming up, but it doesn't really matter.  My body will continue to go through insane cycles of blood, sweat, pain, and tears through the rest of my service, and it is really up to me to handle it in the best way I can: with a positive attitude and a determined will to succeed.  Nobody said it was gonna be easy, right?

Now, if only I could pass this damn obstacle course....

Twitter

Shabbat Shalom, readers! Just a quick reminder that if you're interested in keeping smaller/little tabs on me, the best way to do so is to follow me on twitter. Simply go to twitter.com and search JonahLiben and there you will find plenty of little tidbits from the past year and a half. I usually will only have enough phone time to send out one or two tweets a week, but it's better than waiting for a spare weekend when I'm actually with a computer and able to type... That's all! With love

An Ode to Miron

My last post was kind of heavy so I decided to put up a short poem I scribbled in class last a couple of years ago.  It is a something of an ode to Professor Dan Miron, the scholar-saint-man-myth-legend of a professor at Columbia U.  I decided to post it now because if there is one thing that I didn't think I would miss but definitely miss, it's learning and reading. In the army, I simply do not have the time or energy for such frivolities!

So, to all you Hebrew speakers, enjoy!

מירון, יא גאון

קוראים אליך במיקרופון

איחרת! בדקנו בשעון

אתה אמור לעמוד בראש הכיתה

ולהרצות על הנפטרים מהספרייה

אבל הברזת

שנצ'ת? נמנמת? לאן נעלמת?

הקול שלו, חזק אלה נעים--

אותו רמה של מלאך ביום הדין,

חסר לנו בחדר

מקווים שהוא בסדר

מירון, יא גאון

קוראים אליך במיקרופון

בא כבר! ספר לנו קצת על עגנון

11/4/09

Imagining the Un/Imaginable

Imagine that a topic that has demanded a consistent and persistent place in your thoughts for the past 5 years is no longer just a conversation in your head but a reality. 

In a few cases, you have gone against the advice of friends and family yet find your strongest support from the same people.  Some will never agree with your decision, but many many more have learned to live with it and send encouragement and smiles from all over, including the unlikeliest of places.  Regardless of personal opinion, all eyes are on you, charting your early successes and failures with varying degrees of distance or eagerness and sometimes a weirdly distant eagerness.

'How are you doing?' 'How is he holding up?' 'Is your Hebrew good enough?' 'Does he look healthy?' 'Are you ripped yet?' 'What exactly is his job?'  'When are you coming to visit?' 'When is he coming home?'

These questions and many more like them are the ones I have been fielding (directly or indirectly) since I enlisted in the Israeli army on November 23, 2011.  That was quite a day, exactly six weeks ago.  Emotional not only because I was finally entering the army after a process so prolonged the wait was becoming unbearable, but also because it was my nephew, Ezra Eli's, brit milah back in New Jersey.  Since then, I went through a few days of 'Intro to Basic Training' which was by and large a funny joke.  I participated in what I assume was my final gibbush (unit tryout), this one for the advanced units in the Nachal brigade, and was placed into the Gadsar company of the Nachal brigade.  [I'll explain in brief what that means: Nachal is one of five infantry brigades in the Israeli army, the other four being Givati, Tzanchanim, Kfir, and Golani. Within Nachal there are 4 companies--the 50th, the 931st, the 932nd, and Gadsar/934th. The first three are your normal infantry companies, with Gadsar housing the advanced units in one.  Within Gadsar there are specialty positions, which is where I come in...].  Most importantly, the army became a very tangible reality for me.  After the Intro Basic and tryout, real basic training began.  The majority of the month of December was spent on base, including a very intense 21 day stint where my platoon of 22 soldiers began to collectively get our asses kicked and the collective molding process of a) transforming us from civilians into soldiers and b) becoming a tight knit unit ratcheted into full gear.  Almost the entirety of the three week period was spent by us counting the days toward the light at the end of the tunnel, symbolized by our swearing in ceremony at the Kotel (the Western Wall) in Jerusalem and a weekend leave.  But before we were to be sworn in we had a week of first aid and bio warfare training (very interesting), a week of shooting (the first of many, as I understand it), and a week of hell on earth (called 'field week,' or שבוע שדאות/shavuah sadaut), where we operated in the desert's cold and wet winter terrain, guarded our shanty tents that were not in the least bit waterproof, crawled up rocky hilltops for as much as 45 minutes at a time just to eat our can of tuna, and 'slept' in holes that we dug.  These three weeks, strangely enough, I had prepared myself for.  They were on our schedule that is posted on base, and I had asked around to try to gauge what to expect.  It was the day we were being sworn in, when we toured Israel's military cemetery on הר הרצל/Har Herzl, that grabbed hold of the framework I had built for myself and threatened to shatter it all.


Har Herzl is the final resting place of many of Zionsim's earliest and biggest leaders, from Jabotinsky to Herzl himself.  It is also where most of Israel's prime ministers and other noteworthy leaders are buried, from Golda to the Rabins and more.  The vast majority of the cemetery, however, is reserved for Israel's fallen soldiers, where the highest generals are buried next to fresh conscripts.  I had been to Har Herzl several times before, most recently with my garin a couple of months ago, but this was the first time visiting the military cemetery donning a military uniform.  I understood there was a new importance and meaning to this visit as soon as I stepped through the front gates, but for the majority of the tour, things were for the most part standard.  This changed towards the end when I was walking with my group and I ran into my friend Robert, also a garin tzabarnik in Gadsar Nachal.  My group was walking up a set of stairs and his walking down.  As we crossed paths I closed my fist to give him a pound and he out of nowhere just grabbed and shook me.  Staring me in straight in the eyes, Robert said something like 'Michael Levin's grave is totally different in uniform; you just don't see things the same.' 

Michael Levin is the name of a very well known American Jew who immigrated to Israel earlier this decade and a year into his army service was tragically killed in the Second Lebanon War of Summer 2006.  His story and name have since become household among Zionists across North America.  I had visited his grave twice before (including two months prior), but I hadn't prepared myself to see the tombstone again.  Seeing Robert with that look in his eyes jolted me a bit, and I found my commander a couple of moments later and asked him if I could walk away from the group and seek out Levin once more.  I spent the next 15 minutes in the area of the grave, but, subconsciously or not I am still not entirely sure, I was not able to find it.  There was a memorial of another fallen soldier taking place in the area, and the deceased's mother was reading a passage about her boy.  I knew Levin's grave was right by the memorial, and I couldn't get myself to get too close.  I do not know why, but something in me was telling me to seek him out, but only at a distance.  I was guarding myself.

Before we left Har Herzl for the Old City, my platoon commander sat us down and summed up the importance of visiting a place like this.  He then asked if anyone saw a grave site in particular that touched them personally, and pointed to me and asked me if I wanted to tell the story of Levin.  Some of my platoon mates recognized the name, but I know it is an honor to recall one's memory so I agreed to tell everyone what I knew about the soldier from the States.  I began by saying that though I never met him personally, I had met Michael's sister on my college campus last year and have many friends who were his friends from summer camp.  He was a spark plug of a character who literally sneaked his way into an army building to convince superiors to let him into the unit he desired.  He was a devoted American Zionist who left his friends and family to serve his country.  He was a lone soldier.  And then my voice cracked, my throat choked, and I could not get another word out.  I just coughed, cleared my throat, and blurted out (in English for the first time), "Yeah."  My commander took that as a cue a moved on. 

I nearly broke down at that moment because after a mere month in the army, I had had a real taste of what it means to be a soldier, what it means to shoulder expectations (some real, others self imposed) from friends and family, and what it means to represent the Jewish people--not just by self identification but also in official dress and look.  And thinking about the far too early death of an American Jew who 'left it all' made me think really hard about my own position.  It might sound morbid and even selfish, but anyone who visits a military cemetery while in uniform and doesn't at least for a moment think that in the near future it could be their plot being prepared is simply probably lying.  My buddy Sam met Levin's parents at an event for lone soldiers once and told them that Michael served as an inspiration to him and countless other lone soldiers.  Sam said the parents responded that Michael never intended or wanted to be an inspiration; he just wanted to do his part and serve his country.  It is scary, uncomfortable, and possibly disrespectful to say this, but for that moment at Har Herzl, Levin represented my biggest dream and my biggest fear.  He is inspirational for me because his fervor and passion for Israel led him to make difficult life decisions that brought him to a place far away from the people he knew and loved.  In that sense, I see a lot of myself in him.  Which is why he is also my biggest fear.  Because like Levin I am here to serve my country.  But I am here for many other reasons, too.  I am sure that Michael also had many other dreams and life goals that were not fulfilled.  Robert was right when he hold me that I wouldn't be able to look at tombstone the same post enlistment.  And that thought scared me; it kept me away from paying the proper respects to a soldier for whom I have utmost respect. 

The journey that I have just begun and the experiences I will gain over the next two or three years will surely be formative, but they are supposed to be just the beginning.  In death, however, there is no 'things were supposed to happen differently,' or 'this was just supposed to be the beginning.'  How does one coherently explain this, that my life, too, might very well be tragically cut short, and then attempt to convince close ones with a full heart that combat military service is something that needs to be done?  It is a task I have struggled with for 5 years-- not an easy task, and one that does not end.  In life, Michael Levin's story provides American Zionists like me with an inspirational story of aliyah and enlistment.  In death, his story provides us same Zionists with a deep sense of mortality, humility, and a stark reminder of Job's message--we do not understand death, we cannot understand death, so do not try; for to try will bring too much doubt and pain into our lives.  In both Michael Levin's life and death, heroism prevailed, and the story of his smiling, determined character continues to be passed and spread.  Thus while I am ashamed of myself that fear got the better of me during my last visit to Har Herzl, I know that I will return again and give Michael a visit without hesitation.  For after thinking and writing this out, I believe that he would do just the same.  

Enlistment and a Baby Boy!

Ok Crew, 

Long time no talk, time for an army update.  [Disclaimer: several parts of this email are copied from an email to my immediate family, so sorry for any re-reads.  But there are additions and changes, too...]

Unless something radically changes, I will be joining the Nachal Brigade (חטיבת הנח"ל) of the IDF on Wednesday, November 23rd (three days!).

My host dad (abba me'ametz; and maybe mother, too?) will drive me to the processing center in Tveria on Wednesday morning where I will then sit for several hours as they process me (whatever that means), give me army gear, and mostly just sit.  After this, I will part ways with whoever may or may not show up to see me off (Maybe a couple Regba dudes?) and then I will get bussed down to what will become my new base for the following several months, Ba"ch Nachal (בא"ח נח"ל).  There is no ceremonial aspect to the enlistment: no live streaming, no big hullaballoo. Just hugs to whoever is there and a 'see ya soon.'  

Basic training for Nachal is several months and is located at Ba"ch Nachal, near Arad.  For me this means taking a 3 hour train ride from Nahariya to Beer Sheva (the full length of the Israeli train system) and then another 40-45 minute bus ride to Arad.  All things considered this is an excellent commute because most Tzabarnikim complain about having to take 3-6 buses and it taking a loooong time to get places (two guys in my group going to שיריון, or Tanks, have something like 8 hours of transit to and from base).  I've known all along that living by the train was gonna be huge no matter where I serve and I think it will immediately pay dividends (3 hour naps to and from base sound great to me).  After that I will be stationed at a base 5km away from there for another several months of advanced training. So I'll be conceivably making that commute for the next solid amount of time.

Towards the beginning of basic training, there will be a tryout that everyone is invited to for the elite unites within the Nachal Brigade.  [Now, my plan was to try out for the elite units within צנחנים (Paratroopers), but since they didn't take me (oh well, their mistake), let's go Nachal baby.  When it's all said and done I'll have done every tryout possible!]  If I get into an elite unit in Nachal (going for either the פלס"ר/recon commandos or the פלח"ן/explosives specialists), then I'll have another, even more extended period of advanced training.  After training my base will be near Netanya (on the train line, easily accessible by train) and from there we'd go to different places and guard/do missions.  

Nachal has a great reputation and is known historically as the place for kibbutznikim, moshavnikim, and other youngsters from youth movements.  Today it also takes a lot of immigrants so there will definitely be a good number of Garin Tzabar folk interspersed throughout the various Nachal divisions and units.  On my manilla I put Tzanchanim and Nachal as tied for top choices, and I know it will be a good fit based on what I have heard from EVERYONE I've talked to.  Specifically from my garin, I will be enlisting with Tomer and Shai, both great guys.  As of last week, 4 girls in my garin have enlisted (out of 6), and almost all of the guys will enlist this week at some point into various units.   

Basic Nachal websites to check out at your leisure: 

English (Wikipedia) 

Hebrew (Official Army Site)

If this was not a crazy enough day -- indeed a day I've been dreaming/contemplating/worrying/philosophizing/debating and ultimately gearing up for for the past 5 years, it also will mark the day of my older sister Talia's baby boy's ברית מילה (Brit Milah/Bris)!  So I will be charged with a personally dually emotional task of being there with my family in New Jersey in thought and spirit while also mentally preparing to join the army.  I knew the day was coming where Talia would give birth and more recently I realized that I would enlist around the same time.  I knew it and I prepared myself as best as possible to miss this incredible שמחה in my family's life but even so, it still truly -- for better lack of a work, sucks to miss it (just as it will be really tough to miss my cousins Kim's Bat Mitzvah next month and well as my sister in law's childbirth בשעה טובה in a couple months and so on).  A friend consoled me though and reminded me that though I might miss this one in person, there will be plenty of celebrations and gatherings in the future that I will be able to get to.  Amen to that.  In the meantime, מזל טוב (MAZAL TOV!) to my sister, to my brother Gabriel, and to all the extended Liben and Yarmush clans.  Believe it or not my thoughts will be with you that day!  And yes, our family grows once more :)

שבוע טוב ומוצלח לכולם,

Wishing everybody a good and successful week, 

Love, 

יונה/Jonah

P.S. My beard is currently longer than my hair! Just had to put that out there.

Perspectives on Shalit

An attempt to show my outlook leading up to and immediately following the Gilad Shalit deal...

Rewind 10plus days ago: news sources from around the world report that Gilad Shalit will be released from the terrorist group Hamas' underground cell in Gaza.  The deal, mediated through Germany and Egypt, would include a swap of 1,027 prisoners for one Israeli soldier.  For the next several days, all Israeli media outlets (radio, tv, newspapers, internet) discussed was the impending deal (I too got caught up in it, sending out several tweets on the matter).  And soon the world media was covering it, too.  Here in Israel, it did not surprise me that the possibility of a deal actually going through demanded non-stop national attention.  For my first two months here, to the t, every official event of any sort that I went to -- no matter whether it was at the two massive social justice protest rallies I went to in Jerusalem and Nahariya, a Garin Tzabar ceremony, or my Garin's Declaration (where we 'declared' our permanent presence to the rest of the moshav/village with skits and movies), every event devoted time to bring up the hope and need to have Gilad Shalit return home as soon as possible. 

Although there was a vast majority of Israeli opinion in favor of the swap, there was also a minority who outright rejected any deal of this sort.  Hence, a significant part of the Israeli media coverage went towards families and friends of loved ones who were murdered in terrorist attacks, admittedly emotional and upset that the perpetrators of multiple heinous crimes would now be freed.  I empathized and thought of it this way, if convicted murderers serving several life sentences are all of a sudden let free, wouldn't you be upset?  How is that justice being served?  Especially if one of these people was directly related in killing your kin or good friend?  I would.  Especially after the list of the 1,027 names was released and their bios and crimes became available via a quick google search, this minority seemed to be making an incredibly powerful point: why release such a large number of people, especially when hundreds -- yes, literally hundreds, were directly involved with murdering innocents?  Needless to say, the names of some of the to-be-freed prisoners and the crimes they committed were also being flashed all over Israeli media in the days leading up to the deal.  I couldn't help but then scoff at the Al Jazeera Op-Ed that asserted that Israel was releasing "1,027 faceless Palestinians" and yet the whole world only cared about the one Israeli.  ההפך, the opposite!  When names like Ahlam Tamimi kept appearing, with her cold blooded testimonials and interviews explaining her acts of terror (and there are many other names out there with equally brutal story lines), it was painfully clear to each and every Israeli that this was not a "fair" trade in terms of actions done to merit imprisonment in the first place.  Every Israeli knows that not every prisoner on that list is an actual murder.  But to imply that because the world cannot name all 1,027 prisoners in one breath, Israelis and the world at large do not care who these people are is ludicrous.  We are acutely aware, and it is scary.  

[Re the Al Jazeera post, for a more balanced and much more biting piece that makes the Al Jazeera point, in a more (honest-and-thus) effective manner, check out this Op-Ed written by Syrian journalist Dr. Faisal al Qasim, writing in Doha, for the Gulf News.]

So, in the final days before the swap, there was considerable anxiety in Israel.  Would the deal actually go through?  Will Gilad Shalit, everyone's soldier, actually make it home?  Will we regret this decision in the months/years to come, if a) the freed prisoners commit more acts of terror or b) the release of the prisoners encourages more attempted kidnappings?  No matter what the particular political outlook on the issue, everyone in the country truly waited with baited breath...

Here are two articles that eloquently represent many of my feelings I had while justifying the exchange in my head.  The first is a Jewish legal approach to the issue, by Rabbi David Ellenson.  The second is an honest (and critical) piece from the increasingly hardened realist, Danny Gordis.  Ellenson hits the Jewish aspects right on, and Gordis is especially appropriate for me as incoming soldier of the IDF.  If you haven't read them yet, do it!



But at the end of the day, I think Rabbi Avi Weiss, writing in HuffPo, gets at the crux of it for me.  Though I quote below, the full article is short and well worth the read.  Rabbi Weiss writes:
"Ecclesiastes writes: 'everything has its season ... a time to weep and a time to laugh ... a time to wail and a time to dance ... a time to rent garments and a time to mend.' Ecclesiastes seems to be saying that there are distinct times for each of these emotions.
Yehuda Amichai, the great Israeli poet, understands it differently. He writes: 'Ecclesiastes was wrong about that ... A person needs to love and hate at the same moment. To laugh and cry with the same eyes ...To make love in war and war in love.'
Jewish law marks this phenomenon when it asks that at the height of our greatest joy, at a wedding itself, that we break a glass to remember the shattered Temples, the shattered human temples, that need fixing. [...]
Today, the heart wins out. But this is not a moment of euphoria. It is that moment under the chuppah (wedding canopy) when we celebrate joy and happiness only to firmly plant our foot on the glass and breaking it remembering the souls and the families whose lives are forever shattered."

Incredibly happy to see Gilad back in Israel; impossible to be happy enough to rejoice wildly in the streets.  Beautiful metaphor from Weiss...  

The Shalit saga has touched Jews around the world in different ways for over 5 years.  And now, after an anxiety filled, emotional roller coaster of a couple weeks, the prisoner exchange has happened.  Gilad is home, and it is time to let him sleep, let him be, and let him live with dignity and quiet as a free man once more.