Missing Military Life

I never thought that my last military reserve duty (“Meluim” in Hebrew) would leave me nostalgic.  Going to Meluim means dropping your family and work for up to one month every year and going back to your army unit.  Typical tasks include doing guard duty in the middle of the night, shooting, helping in the kitchen, patrolling the border, and cleaning the restrooms.  Then of course, there is this maddening “hurry-up and wait” pattern: You’re rushed out of bed at 5am only to be told a few minutes later that something went wrong with the schedule and that new instructions will come — maybe, sometime during the day, nobody knows.  Having just turned 39 and being in a combat unit, I no longer have to deal with this.  ”Good for you” you may say.  Actually, what a loss.

The IDF’s reserve duty system is a logistical nightmare for the army and a highly disruptive occurrence for people with a life.  And yet, it is one of the best things Israel has ever invented.

Meluim are socially and psychologically healthy.  A commandant can be a 25 year-old student giving orders to a 39 year-old professor (who could incidentally be his teacher).  A taxi driver can wake up the CEO of a multi-million dollar company at 3 in the morning to switch him on guard duty.  A company employee can end up telling his boss to go do the dishes or clean the bathroom.  I’ve seen it happen many times, and it’s always done in a good and comrade-like spirit.  Meluim brings together people from all types of backgrounds and social levels.  Whether you’re Ethiopian, Russian, French, or third-generation Israeli, and whether you’re a big shot or a struggling Joe Shmoe, you sleep in the same leaking tent, eat the same challenging food, and do the same unrewarding tasks.  People call each other “brother,” something they rarely do in everyday life.  Even army grades are mostly irrelevant: The IDF is the embodiment of Israeli informality and simplicity — as well as improvisation, constant criticism, and chutzpah.

Not only does Meluim erase social status for a few days or weeks.  It is also an extremely efficient networking system.  It works like an alumni club, really.  Every year, the same old army buddies gather for a couple of weeks (not that they have a choice).  This “reunion” brings together lawyers, engineers, salespeople, accountants, etc. who have plenty of time to talk, whether it’s in their tent, at the dinner table, or while patrolling the border in a jeep.  Many business deals and ventures emerge from Meluim.

With all their complaints about the food, the cold showers and the perennial disorganization, most people actually love Meluim.  They get a free vacation, drive those American WWII jeeps on sand dunes, and don’t have to deal with annoying clients or abusing bosses (if they shut their BlackBerry, that is).  If war were to erupt, this summer camp atmosphere would immediately be replaced by seriousness, combativeness, and sacrifice.  The IDF has not only kept Israel safe and victorious since Independence; it has also made, and continues to make, an irreplaceable contribution to the cohesion of Israeli society.

For an immigrant like me, the army is the best way (maybe the only way) to become Israeli.  I might never have understood my adoptive country and fellow citizens without my military service.  I’m forever grateful to the IDF not only for keeping my home safe, but also for making me feel at home in the first place.  Despite the aggravation of those middle-of-the-night and pointless guarding duties, of those freezing nights in the Golan or boiling days in the desert, I will miss Meluim.  Who knows: I might even be insane enough to volunteer for more.