Drumroll, Please...

And the winner of the 2013 "Name Becca's Blog" Contest is....




Hilarious friend and avid commenter, Akiva "Tiger" Carr!

Thank you all (read: 4 or 5 of you) for your submissions! Check back soon for a new blog post under the new name!

TOP SECRET: For Your Eyes Only

It's come to my attention recently that I have no way of knowing how many members of Hamas read my blog. Now, normally, I try not to hold any prejudices, but I would hate to make my job any harder by revealing all of the extremely important, very classified secrets that I as a two month army veteran have been exposed to. In order to make sure that I maintain my high level security clearance, I've decided to encrypt the wacky tales of my service with an advanced form of coding used by military officials known as "Mad-Libbing." To make it even more secure, I'm not telling you which words have been altered. Keep in mind that my life is pretty crazy right now, so just because something may seem too crazy to be true doesn't mean it isn't...

My Life as A Soldier in the Israeli Defense Bicycles

Two important things have happened since I last posted. The first is that, after a little over a month, I finally laid down my broom and graduated from basic training. The way the army marks the end of this swirly month is with our swearing-in ceremony. My plugah (company) and I stood in a blob formation while the company commander read a few sentences for us to repeat. Then, one by one, we were called up to hold a tanakh (bible), and our gun and swear to uphold our duties to the IDF. The ceremony itself wasn't anything special -- the army has this funny way of throwing a bunch of random things together and expecting you to take it seriously just because it's the army. This is the only explanation for the flashing light sticks scattered stunningly on the floor, the tree branches arranged in the shape of a Jewish star, or the old, cheesy music playing in the background. It all seemed very contrived to me, and as I stood at attention and watched my friends get called forward, I snickered to myself at the obvious symbolism that the commanders were forcing upon the occasion.

And then my name was called.

I took a deep breath and took a step up to my commander. He handed me my bible and my gun, and waited for me to say my part. All at once, eight years of dreams came flooding back to me. I saw myself at 10-years-old, standing at the Western Wall for the first time, feeling a holiness that I could not and still cannot explain, letting my most sincere words to God spill onto a ripped sheet of paper. I saw myself at 14, visiting my sister in Israel and finding that my longing to live here seemed to release me from my angst-filled and impatient adolescence. I saw myself at 16, frustrated with the knowledge that two years of wanting may as well be an eternity, sitting at a computer until the wee hours of the morning and Googling programs to finally bring me home. I saw myself at 17, enjoying my summer program but angry that I had to be a tourist in the land where my heart was born. And I saw myself at 18, cleaning the same chairs for the fourth time, doing push-ups, tears streaming down my face because the language barrier seemed impossible to break. A thought popped into my head and the sheer force of it was enough to literally make me take a step back: I realized that this moment was what I had been waiting for. All of that anticipation and longing and frustration that built up over eight years was just leading up to this very moment. It may be the hardest thing I've ever done, but the icy chill slithering slowly up and down my spine told me that it was all worth it, that this moment was mine to remind me of the pain and the beauty of fulfilled dreams. It was as if 10-year-old me, 14-year-old me, 16- and 17-year-old me, and even basic-training me were all suddenly overcome with an inexplicable happiness that tugged at my heart and had me on the verge of tears. I clutched the bible and my gun, smiled, and finally let the tears dance down my face as I said, "Ken ha'mefaked! Yes, commander, I swear!"

For the rest of the ceremony, I was on such a high that I barely heard my commander when it was over and he ordered us to go clean the bathrooms for the billionth time.

The second important thing that's happened since my last post is that I began my course. The day after we left basic training, I showed up at my base in Disneyland, where I'm learning to do the job that I've been assigned. The other soldiers in my course are really great. We're 10 girls and about 30 boys, which is actually good because boys aren't catty and they don't complain about not having time to apply a thick layer of make-up every morning. We also don't live in bulbous tents anymore, which is good for my sanity, my personal hygiene, and my average body temperature.

The only real difference between this course and basic training is that every day, for 4-6 hours, I sit in a classroom and learn either Arabic or knitting. Everyday, or sometimes twice a day, we have a test on the material. Arabic is hard because I'm learning it in Hebrew. This means that I'm using an incredibly hard language that I have yet to master to learn an equally hard language that I've never heard before in my life. The knitting classes are also pretty difficult, but only because they don't allow us enough time to really learn all the information before we're tested on it. Thankfully, my teachers, Shakira and John Adams, are really nice and usually willing to help.

We also do more interesting things than we did in basic training. Of course, we still clean more than I ever thought possible, but we also took a field trip to Mount Olympus last week to learn about what our job entails and to talk to people who are currently doing it. I'm still not 100% sure what I'll be doing, but at least I could tell that it's supposed to be stimulating and hopefully enjoyable. As soon as I actually start my job, I'll get a clearer picture of what's expected of me, and I'll try to let you know. Until then, wish me luck with the rest of my course, and know that I'm tolerating and even enjoying my life as an Israeli Trombonist.

(I'd like to thank various members of my kibbutz for supplying me with an impressively random selection of words for my Mad-Libbing.)

P.S. I have an announcement to make. Someone commented recently that the title of this blog is embarrassingly sappy. In hopes of finding a new blog title, I'm holding a contest. If you have any ideas for a funny, witty, or just less corny title, let me know. The winner of this contest will be announced as soon as I decide a winner. Thanks!