Member of the Gang or Member of a Cult? Reserve Duty in Israel
At Rosh Hashana dinner I met an old friend who is heading to his third reserve service cycle right after the holiday break. In less than one year, he has been serving for three months; quite a lot when you are a forty-four year old man who had finished his mandatory service nearly a generation ago. Does he have doubts about the extra duty? Not really. The additional allowance he gets for his service may help in removing potential recourses, although I would not risk my life to earn extra 133 shekels per day. You can say that I am not that anxious for cash, or that if I were – there must be easier ways to earn this money, but is not less – maybe even more – appropriate to say that I am simply not a member of the gang.
I was discharged early, in my early 20’s, after informing the commanders of my reserve unit that I ideologically object to the settlements in the West Bank and if I were forced to defend them (which was the task of the service at the time) I would work by the book – regardless of the consequences. The commanders sent me home on the spot (“dishonorable discharge” they emphasized – as if I cared).
Reserve duty in Israel has been often considered, even mocked, as men’s pastime; almost a variation on annual vacation with your buddies in Thailand. De Jure, the service is mediatory; de facto, nobody will force you to do it – if you don’t want to. I speak from first-hand experience. I am not a zealous Zionist. I do not support a large part of Israel’s military aggression. I ask questions. I have doubts. Obviously, I am a very bad candidate to be a soldier in the IDF. I was exempted.
My friend served twice this year in Gaza. Now he is heading to Lebanon. Does he believe that there is no other choice but war? Actually, he has not dedicated too much thinking to this question. When duty calls – he puts on a military uniform, joins his friends and plays war games. Unlike me – he is a member of the gang.
Or maybe cult is a more accurate description? The contrast between going to Miluim (reserve service) and making a pilgrimage to Uman is sometimes more cosmetic than inherent. A different dress code – more than a different experience. I am not ignoring the fact that death and injuries are more frequently happening on the battlefield than in a sanctuary, but soldiers don’t think of this. If they did – they would not enroll as reservists for extra 133 shekels per day. Reserve service is an indispensable part of their life, even if it can bring about a premature termination of their life.
For a year, we have been immersed in fighting. What started as a reasonable geographically limited retaliation to a terror attack gradually developed into an all-around conflict with half of the Muslim world, give or take. No end on the horizon. No vision for the day after. My friend is about to go to the battlefield in Lebanon this week without even thinking about the outcome, which – in the best-case scenario, assuming we win against Hamas, Hezbollah, Yemenite Houthis, militias from Iraq, and of course Iran, is perennial military service since enormous manpower would be required to maintain Pax Israeliana. Yet, my friend is a member of the gang, and that’s enough for him to wear combat fatigues and go to war without asking questions.