Lately many people have been asking me what it was like serving in the IDF. I honestly can’t say because really— I don’t remember much. My service was not particularly severe and it was quite some time ago.
I remember crying a lot. I remember sleeping on busses— lots and lots of busses. I remember the greens and browns of the uniforms— my puffy coat that was sometimes used as a pillow. Cigarettes— so many of them. My friends all red eyed and sleepy and laughing so hard I cried. Boredom— the kind of boredom I will never again experience in my lifetime. My skin flaring up with acne so bad it hurt. Eating bad food in Israeli villages where all the houses looked the same. I remember wondering how in a country where it barely ever rains it seemed to rain constantly. Constant hunger. Sweat stains and sleeping pads on floors. Performing tedious tasks that others swore were necessities.
I honestly don’t even remember the day of my discharge. I just remember not being there anymore. Suddenly there was work and money, future, studies, lovers, music, airplanes, drugs, New York City. And there— my memory picks up.