A Ger in the IDF

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Prelude

As I became a teenager, I did not have many friends. I studied history intensively, and it seemed that all of the pages of the history books I read were covered with dead Jews. When I read about the holocaust I was appalled. I read the book "Exodus," and I recalled the Six Day War in 1967 (when I was 10 years old) I became impressed with the Jews as a heroic people, and elite. I was not Jewish.

I had planned to apply for admission to one of the service academies (West Point, Annapolis) in order to fight communism, which I saw as a great evil. To this end I studied. But as my graduation approached I became more and more disillusioned with my own country, the U.S.A. I was disgusted with the protests against the Vietnam War, which I felt should be won outright. I was disgusted with the free sex and drug use of my own generation. I did not get on with my parents, who thought I should be more social and tolerant.

In contrast to the U.S. I saw the situation of Israel, refuge for the survivors of the holocaust, which must fight or die. I believed I would feel less alienated in that society. I thought of going there, converting to Judaism, and joining the IDF, as a way to better the world.

As the fall of South Vietnam became imminent I had had enough. I took courses in summer school so I could graduate early. I got a job to earn money. In February 1975 I finished High School. In April 1975 at age 17, with $100 in my pocket, with no knowledge of the language and minimal understanding of Jewish faith and tradition, I boarded an El Al plane to Israel.

to be continued...

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One of the major goals I had set for myself in life had been achieved. I was Jewish according to orthodox
Jewish law. Now it was time to become an Israeli citizen and join the IDF.

I left Yavne and went to Kibbutz Alumim, (http://www.alumim.co.il) which needed workers. Here I
applied for Israeli citizenship and got my identity booklet. About a month later I received an induction
notice.

At my first interview the recruiter asked me when I wanted to be inducted. "Yesterday," I said, so he set me
the earliest date possible, January 1977. My first assignment, even before basic training, was to a Hebrew
course. Here I met for the first time the underclass of Israeli society, the Jews from Arab countries who
could barely speak Hebrew. They were rather short on Zionism. "Never mind," I thought to myself, "The
quality will improve once I get into a combat unit." After a month we were sent to the great Base of
Receiving and Distribution at Tel HaShomer, near Tel Aviv. After being assigned to tents our routine was
as follows: After getting up in the morning and having breakfast all the new recruits went to a central area
where we were divided into work crews to do crap work on the base, from painting to cleaning toilets to
digging ditches. This was known as the “slave market.” After several days of this we were finally able to
tell the selection officer what units we wanted to join. I volunteered for Paratroopers, but because of my
extremely myopic sight, had to settle for Golani. They put us on a truck and shipped us out.

We arrived at camp Bezek in Samaria for six months of basic training. We were given a bag of chocolate
milk and a banana upon our arrival then went in for a welcome talk with the Battalion Commander.

At this talk I noticed several of the new recruits whose demeanor was either a ghastly pallor, or a sickly
tinge of green. One of them finally timidly raised his hand.

“Sir,” he asked, “we are supposed to be in the communications unit, why are we here?”

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot,” the Battalion Commander answered jovially. “Communications doesn’t have its
own basic training, so they send their recruits to us for the first part of basic training. After that you’ll be
shipped out to Base of Instruction 3 for your communications training.”

The demeanor of the communications recruits did not improve. “Well, sir,” the recruit asked, “can we
possibly have an officer from communications in charge of us?”

“No need for that,” the Battalion Commander replied. “We have plenty of officers of our own to train you.”

After this greeting we were turned over to our corporals, who immediately expressed their displeasure with
our behavior during the assembly.

“You guys are smoking cigarettes, doing anything you want during the C.O’s meeting,” they said. “You
have a lot to learn and we will teach you.

For a few days we did nothing but crap work around the base while waiting for the rest of the recruits to
show up. Finally the formal basic training began.

Our Company Commander, Lieutenant Uri Feinstein, gave an opening talk to the Company. Fienstein
looked like a character from a Hitler cartoon with his thick lips, jet black beard and low forehead. He had
been in the Yom Kippur War and never ceased to remind us of that fact. Sometimes, instead of a Galil rifle,
he would carry the Kalashnikov he got off of an Arab he had killed

“Now, in this basic training most of the time we will use punishments to get the behavior we want from
you. Rarely will we use rewards, but mostly punishments.”

On that cheery note, we began the process of being issued personal combat equipment, which consisted of
the following:

Each soldier was equipped with a Galil 5.76 caliber assault rifle. With this came 8 30 round magazines. The
magazines were carried in a field jacket, a harness with pouches for the magazines, two fragmentation
grenades, two canteens and other sundry equipment. Fully loaded the weight of the field jacket was not
inconsiderable.

Our helmet at that time was the old WWII model steel helmet with a plastic liner. The strap was modern,
and went completely around the head and it always had to be tightened. The helmet was covered with
burlap and camouflage netting secured with round strips of rubber from a tire inner tube. The whole thing
was then blackened with shoe polish.

Each soldier carried two personal bandages and "pocket accessories" consisting of a pack of matches
wrapped with plastic and sealed with black tape, the whole thing wrapped with an extra shoelace. A razor
blade with one half-wrapped in tape was inserted into this package and an additional one into the rubber in
the helmet. Finally, our Geneva ID card was sealed in plastic and tape and placed in the pocked of the
BDU's. Our dog tags consisted of one perforated piece of metal. It had to be covered with camouflage
cloth, and the chain inserted into a shoelace. Two additional dog tags were provided, to be inserted into
special slots in your IDF boots. This was because in the Yom Kippur war, many Israeli tank commanders
had had their heads shot off by enemy tanks (Israeli tank commanders always fight with their head out of
the tank in order to see better, and the enemy always aimed too high, it would seem.). The dog tags of these
headless KIA had been lost and it was difficult to identify the body, hence the additional boot dog tags.
This was long before DNA testing was common.

We were issued this equipment and worked far into the night preparing it according to the corporal’s
instructions. We were checked and re-checked, and they always found something wrong. Finally, after
many hours of work, the equipment distribution was finished and the training began.

Now it became clear what the CO had meant by punishments. Infractions in behavior on our part were met
with the following punishments:

Writing punishment. Straight out of elementary school, if you committed an infraction you would have to
write a line a specified number of times. For instance, if you forgot to say “Yes, Sir,” you would be
required to write “It is necessary to say ‘Yes, Sir,’ and ‘No, Sir.’ 100 times. Some repeat offenders would
have to write 1000 lines, and would not be allowed to sleep until they finished them.

“To the rear, jump.” Upon receiving this command, we were forced to jump up in the air, spin around 180º,
and come down facing the opposite direction from when we had begun. This seems stupid and ridiculous,
but it shocks feet and a body that are already tired.

“Fall on your asses.” Upon receiving this command at the word “Ap” you were supposed to fall straightlegged
on your bottom, in effect spanking yourself. In reality most people lowered themselves to a sitting
position as quickly as they could. You then were told to get up again immediately. This could get very
annoying if repeated often.

Encumbering: This simply was being required to carry specified equipment, usually helmet, weapon, field
jacket, and, if the infraction was serious, two duffel bags (the “war duffel bag” and “peace duffel bag” each
had different equipment in them). You had to perform all of the activities wearing this equipment,
increasing the effort during runs, etc. “Another minute you are here, field jacket, weapon, helmet, two
DUF-ul bags on you,” the corporals would chant gleefully when administering this punishment.

Running. Usually a collective punishment, a target, such as the garage or PX was selected, and we were
given a certain number of seconds to run around it, when one soldier called out the time every five seconds
in order to increase the pressure. If we failed to complete the run on time, the slowest among us would be
declared “wounded” and we would have to carry him and run again.

Wounded: We were taught early on how to raise another soldier across our backs and carry him. Since the
IDF doesn’t leave dead or wounded behind there was practicality to this punishment. Depending on the size
of the carried soldier, this could be difficult.

Cancellation of liberty Most frequently administered to those who slept during guard duty, this meant
giving up your free weekend and having to stay on the base. Since getting away from the base was the only
way to avoid the relentless pressure, this was a devastating punishment.

Stockade From 7 to 28 days in the base lockup. You are forced to wear the ridiculous prisoner’s uniform, a
parody of the regular uniform, consisting of unbloused pants, the old kind of field jacket, unbelted, with
empty, dangling pouches, and a helmet devoid of the usual camouflage wrapping. The prisoner’s “weapon”
consists of that ubiquitous Israeli device known as the “squiiegee”, consisting of a broomstick with a
crosspiece of wood at the end with a strip of rubber embedded in it, used to move water around a floor. On
this is hung a jerry can, and the prisoners march from the lockups to the latrines to clean the toilets. The
squeegee soon smells like s---, and is the constant companion of the arrested soldier.

Prison A sentence of 35 or more days in one of the Army prisons. What life was like there I don’t know, as
I was never sent to one.

This was a list of the most common punishments, but by no means all of them, as the continuation of the
narrative will show.

Our emphasis was not on becoming killing machines, as in the Marines, but on technical solutions to
tactical infantry problems. Sleep depravation was one of the aspects of the training, when a war starts the
Israeli soldier must fight without sleep until the end of the war, there are not enough units available to pull
one back for rest while the others fight. So we didn't get much sleep. One day we were in the lecture hall
listening to a lecture on military regulations given by the company commander, a first lieutenant. Of course
several guys began to doze off. When the CC noticed this the following exchange would take place:

CC: "Wake that man, slap him."

(Whack!)

CC: (To sleeper) “You are a toilet person, now go climb to the roof of the toilet."

Now, in order to understand the ordeal of these unfortunate soldiers, it is necessary to describe the type of
toilet facilities we had at camp Bezek. Bezek was a captured Jordanian camp. The toilets (for the enlisted
men, at least) were on the Arab model. It was no sit-down commode as we are accustomed to in the west,
but merely a ceramic hole with two raised ceramic places to put your feet. It was intended that you squat
down and defecate into the hole. Now an Arab can do this and score a bulls' eye in the hole every time, but
a Jewish soldier could not, with the result that the feces went everywhere except into the hole. The flushing
system was inadequate, so the feces just dried up around the hole. On a warm winter's day, the smell of
them wafted up until it was about two meters above the roof of the toilet. So you can picture the soldiers
who nodded off in the lecture standing on the roof of the toilet with horrible grimaces on their faces as they
tried to hold their breaths or breathe as shallowly as possible in a futile attempt to avoid inhaling the awful
stench.

Great emphasis was placed on having your equipment in proper order. After a day of lessons on how to
prepare our equipment properly, we were told to make sure our equipment was in order, and then go to bed.
We retired, but about an hour later we were woken up for a "battle preparedness inspection." First, you
have seven minutes to get up, get dressed and assemble outside the barracks with all your equipment, in full
battle dress. This night, Phinehas Avizuz was late, and was told to stand to the side by the platoon leader, a
second lieutenant, who than began to inspect our equipment. More and more soldiers were told to stand
with Avizuz as they were found to be lacking water in canteens, lacking bullets in magazines, lacking
cardboard between the magazines in the pouches (to prevent them from rattling against each other and
making noise), and other reasons. Finally, only myself, Yoav Zeeman, and Gueita were left.

"These are the only soldiers I would want to go into combat with," the PL said, indicating us. "You guys go
back to sleep."

We went into the barracks to go to sleep, but the ordeal of those who were not prepared was just beginning.
First of all they had to take out two beds (big heavy metal beds) from the barracks, and onto the beds went
Phinehas Avizuz and another soldier who had arrived late. The beds were hoisted onto the shoulders of the
rest of the platoon. Then the corporal began asking questions about battle preparedness that the soldiers had
to answer. Finally, carrying the beds and their lazy cargo, the platoon started trooping up the hill towards
the water tower, so that "those that have no water in their canteens can fill them," the corporal said.

One of the first ceremonial things we had to do after getting our equipment in order was to go on our
“Swearing In March.” This is the famous march where, at the end of the march, you receive
(ceremoniously) your rifle and a bible. The Paratroopers end their march at Masada, Golani ends their
march at “Golani Junction,” site of a battle involving Golani during the War of Independence.
We were trucked off somewhere and dumped, and began the march. Our Platoon Leader led us and set a
relentless pace. Every few miles we would stop and do stretches, then start marching again. We were
marching around the base of Mt. Tabor, and soon left the road and were marching overland. Many soldiers
were coughing and wheezing with the unaccustomed effort, especially the soldiers from Communications.
Finally we reached “Golani Junction” and prepared for the swearing in ceremony. It was getting dark, so
torches were lit. We assembled and heard speeches from several high ranking officers, then were
administered “the oath,” I don’t recall the words. Then we went to a table where we had previously turned
in our rifles and received them back, along with a cheap Bible. We were now “officially” Israeli soldiers,
but we still had a long course of training ahead of us.

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It has been more than 30 years since I went through 6 months of basic training in Golani brigade, yet I remember the faces and mannerisms of my comrades in arms as if it were yesterday.

Below can be seen a picture of my basic training company, C Company.

My platoon, Platoon 1, is pictured on the last two rows of the upper picture. Although it is hard to make out the details, I will refer to this picture as I continue to tell my tale. Now, however, let us meet the more colorful characters in the platoon.

Uri Ben Anush, or "Arise, Son of Mankind" as his name would be translated to English, was a tall, rich Ashkenazi from North Tel Aviv. He apparently had been put into Golani because he was big, Golani, at that time, was not a volunteer unit, though more and more Israelis were volunteering for it. Son of Mankind made no bones about his not being a volunteer, he had wanted to be a driver and would complain petulantly in a loud, high pitched, whining voice which belied his size about how he hated being in this chickens*** unit.

David Speigel was the other American in the platoon, a Jew from New York City. He was a short, wiry guy who resembled a chimpanzee; indeed he would give us a very amusing imitation of a chimpanzee when the mood took him.

Yoel Yaish was a Yemminite Jew who looked like central castings answer to Amos 'n Andy. He tried hard to be a good soldier but he was so spaced out that he never succeeded. Sometimes after taps I would see him sitting on his bed (which was next to mine) staring into space. "Yaish, why don't you go to sleep," I said, as sleep was a premium for us. "No, I'm thinking deep thoughts,” he said with a bemused grin on his face.

Nisim Dayan had a facial structure like his famous namesake but there the resemblance ended. Another unfortunate assigned to Golani against his will, this Jerusalemite was always late, disappeared from assemblies, and was always drifting off to sleep.

Nimrod Lipsker was a rich Ashkenazi Jew who had volunteered. His high pitched, pansy like voce belied his strength of character. He wanted to excel.

Jacob Gueita was a tough Sephardic Jew from Hatikva slum in Tel Aviv. He was also a volunteer and seemed to enjoy the hard training.

Phinehas Avizuz arrived to basic training after it had started, claiming he had been assigned to Armor but wanted something tougher. We later learned that it was a case of no one at the distributing base wanting him. Central castings answer to the psychotic soldier; he would immediately attack anyone he thought was swearing at him.

Fredia Gershon was a moshavnick of Russian descent, a big strong guy, and a volunteer.

Saul Aberbuk, a blonde Ashkanazi, was a volunteer with a mouth on him that was going to get him into a world of trouble.

Odious Nessim was a shrimpy Sephardic Jew who wanted no part of Golani.

Shining Simon. To this day, I don’t know if Shining Simon was really gay, or just pretending to be gay to get out of being in Golani. He refused to put on work fatigues, and always wore his dress uniform. He did not bunk with us because he had a friend in another platoon and he would always go off to sleep there. I don’t remember if he was one of the communications guys or Golani; I just know he was not around very long.

A word on our two corporals. Coporal Lion was an ugly bucked tooth fellow from the town of Afula. He was blustering and threatening, and his bark was worse than his bite. Corporal Peretz was a handsome guy who had won the "outstanding soldier" award when he had done basic training. He was quiet, and his bite was definitely worse than his bark.

The Company Master sergeant's name was Michael Peres, and in the picture he is in the group of five pictures above the sword, second from the left. He was a devoutly religious Jew but this didn't keep him from putting the screws to us if he deemed it necessary. He was mainly responsible for seeing to food and equipment distribution, but he also had a habit of patrolling around at night. He would sometimes surprise us by appearing in the middle of the night wearing athletic shoes, sweatpants and an army windbreaker.

Now, the barracks were some distance from the showers and latrines, so most soldiers, if they had to urinate in the middle of the night, simply went outside the barracks and urinated on the ground… until one night Peres caught someone doing this. "Stand in your puddle of urine," he ordered the unfortunate soldier. "Don't move until I give you permission." The soldier stood in the puddle of urine from about 2:00 am until morning came. Flies began buzzing around the urine and the soldier standing in it and the urine began to stink as the sun shone on it. Peres came back and brought the soldier breakfast in a messtin. Finally Peres made the soldier bring a shovel and turn up the ground where he had urinated until the urine was buried.

The most significant character in our platoon was our platoon sergeant, Israel Hasson. In the picture he is in the second from the bottom row, ninth from the left. He was in charge of the discipline of the platoon. We never saw his eyes; he wore his dark glasses day and night, rain and shine. Our first introduction to him came on the morning we were to go to the rifle range for the first time…

Having learned how to take care of our equipment, if not by way of our heads, than by way of our feet, and having learned the functioning of the Galil rifle and how to take it apart in classes on the base, we were now scheduled to go to the rifle range to learn how to fire our weapons. The day dawned sunny and clear after a night of rain. After reveille we were getting our equipment in order before eating breakfast when six of us, including me, were taken for KP duty in the dining room. I left my equipment in a state of disarray on the bed, as did the others. After breakfast we marched straight out to the rifle range.

Upon arriving there we found the sergeant in a foul mood. "Everyone lie down on your stomachs." He said. We lay down in the mud. "Now, roll over on your backs," commanded the sergeant. We obediently rolled over. "If you leave your room looking like pigs, I'll make you look like pigs in the field. You left your barracks a mess today, so tonight we'll talk about it more."

We spent a long day shooting and zeroing in our rifles. At about 9:00 pm we ended the day's activities, and assembled outside the barracks where the sergeant was waiting for us.

"What happens now…" he began, "what happens now" (he was in the habit of repeating himself) "is like this. We are going to do an American inspection. Take out everything from the barracks, beds, duffel bags, all the equipment, march it up the hill to the parade ground, and assemble it there." (Where he got the idea that this is how Americans do inspections I don't know). Groaning, we began lifting the heavy metal beds, two soldiers to a bed, and carrying them up the hill to the parade ground opposite the warehouse. The sharp edges of the beds cut into our hands, and the weight of the beds, with the duffel bags loaded onto them, caused a burning pain in our shoulders. Some slackers stood to the side and watched us work, refusing to help, so the rest of us had to carry more than two beds. Finally we got everything assembled at the parade ground.

"Now,” the sergeant said, "when you clean the barracks you don't just dribble a little water on the floor and say you've cleaned it, I don't want to see any mud or dirt on the floor. Now take these 20 liter jerry cans and flood the floor with water."

Our torture was repeated as we carried the heavy jerry cans all the way from the showers to the barracks multiple times until the floor had been flooded clean. Then, we had to carry the heavy beds back down from the parade ground into the barracks. At about 1:00 am we had finished.

"Now, I expect you to know how I want to see the barracks every morning," the sergeant said. "If you won't learn by way of your heads, you'll learn by way of your feet." We posted our guards and went to sleep. Reveille was scheduled for 5:00 am.

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In the picture, David Spiegel is in the second from bottom row, 11th from left. He was the other American in the platoon, and at 27 years was considerably older than most of the recruits in the platoon. He behaved as if he were in a war movie made in WWII.

The day after our "American Inspection" dawned bright and clear after another night of rain. We had reveille at 5:00. After assembling, we had what was called "morning run," a short run and some calisthenics. Then we were supposed to go in and start working on morning inspection. Some soldiers tried to take this time to go back to sleep, but invariably a corporal would make an inspection, catch them sleeping, and encumber them with helmet, field jacket, weapon and two duffel bags, then would take them out and run them all around. Soon even the laziest soldier learned not to try to sleep after reveille.

At about 6:00 we were marched to breakfast. This may have consisted of hard boiled eggs, some bread and jam, perhaps tomatoes and cucumbers. Served with this was a holdover from the days of British control of Israel, British army tea made by pouring a 1 kg bag of tea into a 48 liter pot followed by a 1 kg bag of sugar, then letting it boil and boil and boil until it reached a thick consistency like syrup. Needless to say this warmed you up and woke you up, but it tasted terrible. Rarely did we get coffee.

After breakfast we had morning inspection at 7:00, where our weapons were checked for cleanliness, the shine of our shoes was checked, those who had no beards had their shave checked, finally, the cleanliness of the barracks was checked. No one ever passed morning inspection, everyone failed for one reason or another. Although we were told we would have an additional inspection later on, we never had time for this.

This particular day we would be going back to the rifle range, as we would for the next two weeks, learning not only how to fire our rifles, but how to fire the machine guns and throw grenades as well. We had to take targets and other equipment out to the range. We were told to pick up a piece of equipment and to make it to the range by 8:00.

Spiegel seemed bright eyed and bushy tailed despite the fact that we had gotten only 4 hours of sleep the night before. Perhaps the fact that he only had to serve 1 1/2 years was the reason for his energy, he didn't have to hold anything back for the other 1 1/2 years. He joked around that it was "Spiegel's day to rest," and picked up only one stick used to mount a target on. When we complained, he said "the corporal said for everyone to take one piece of equipment, and this is mine." He thought himself extremely funny.

We made our way out to the range. Most of us moved quickly, but others, including Spiegel, Odious Nessim and Saul Aberbuk, strolled gaily along engaging in the Israelis constant propensity to chatter incessantly about anything under the sun. The result was that when the majority of us made it to the range by 8:00, six or seven soldiers were late and were ordered by the Platoon Leader to stand next to a berm of dirt. He then began to run them from one berm of dirt to another, giving them 30 seconds to complete the transit.

Odious Nessim refused to run.

He had made no bones about his refusal to have any part of Golani, so he deliberately strolled along at a walk, with the result that the group of late soldiers did not make it to the mound of dirt on time, and the PL made them repeat the exercise.

Some of us watching realized what was happening. "Saul,” they shouted to Aberbuk, "It's Odious, he's not running." Saul picked up on what was happening and begin to run behind Odious, pushing him and saying "Run, run you $#%&^&#!." It did no good, Odious refused to run. So the PL declared him "wounded." This meant that we had to pick him up and carry him.

A wounded soldier is carried simply by slinging the man belly down over your shoulders, as long as he does not have a stomach wound. Carry a man with a stomach wound like this his intestines would fall out.

Spiegel had been among the late soldiers forced to run. What he did next was inevitable. He walked over and scooped Odious up and slung him over his shoulders. He then walked over and stood next to a puddle of wet mud. Odious realized what was going to happen and begin to wiggle around trying to get down. "Hey, whatcha doing, stop wiggling, stop wig…," and with a mighty heave Spiegel hurled Odious off his shoulders and down into the mud puddle.

Odious tried to break his fall with his hand, but the mud was too slippery and he went face full into the mud. His face and entire body was covered with it. Bawling like a baby he got up and started to walk back to camp.

"Hey, who dismissed you?" the PL demanded. "Pick him up," he ordered us.

No one wanted to pick up the muddy Odious, so three of us gingerly picked him up the way you would pick up someone with a stomach wound, two under each leg and one under his bottom. We held the sobbing Odious this way all day long, relieving each other periodically. Whatever strain we felt holding him up was nothing compared to the humiliation of Odious.

We finally went back to camp for dinner, and then prepared to go out again for night shooting. Odious refused to go out and went into hysterics when he was ordered to march out. "Odious, your actions will have consequences," the sergeant told him.

As for Spiegel, after that day he could do no wrong in the eyes of the Platoon Leader, and became his "pet." For Odious it was the beginning of the end.