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The "headquarters" made me realize - no wonder we finished training with two healthy and whole nipples
Like drops of oil we hid in the IDF water, repeating the command of the platoon only with corrections in Hebrew for correct pronunciation.
What a bunch of unbearable we were, God.
I wish I had a moral about how in the end everything is worth it because it's a formative experience, but not all formative experiences are good
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The headquarters
Strider Schleider Putschnik
Friday, April 30, 2021, 00:00
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For a long time I did not think about my internship. A lot of time, also because it's been a really (but really) long time since, and it confronts me with my age and with the passage of time more than I want to do in my day to day life, and also because it's such a chapter detached from my life. One day the I"bnikit looking for high school graduation party dress, and pass every two weeks and olive Dacron excuse you unwillingly thinking about what to wear. Today, tomorrow, day after tomorrow. Two years.
There are two reasons why my basic training back memories flood my mind lately. The first Is that summer will mark two decades of my recruitment, and you know what that means - very true, a cycle meeting. The WhatsApp group has already been set up, archive photos have already been sent in it. The wheels are rolling, the train has left the station. Just how old we are.
The second reason is the "Headquarters" series that airs here 11 and it seems to me sometimes that I may have participated in the background conversations for its writing and I just do not remember.
There are too many similarities.
I, too, did awkward internships in a nutshell along with delinquent girls, whose encounter between their difficult backgrounds and my “valuable” privileged circumstances provided a host of comedic-tragic moments.
And maybe it's not me.
Maybe it's just this collective experience that is so generic and uniform, that everyone who has been through the IDF identifies themselves there.
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General screams aimed at all the girls.
From "The Headquarters" (Photo: Vered Adir)
In October 2000, I arrived at the BKOM in Tel Hashomer, got on a bus headed for Betar Dotan, better known as Camp 80, for the shortest internship the IDF can endure. Something personal, general screams aimed at all the girls who sat there with me and were meant to make clear to us language is an army, not to be confused.
It was after three months of the High Court of Justice - that it also rhymes, also acronyms for a pre-military course, and also something that a year and a half later the High Court (another rhyme) ruled was illegal and put it in the PZM count - more R.T., which is an acronym for acronyms.
We were a little less than twenty girls, as lofty and conceited as only 18-year-olds can be, who have now spent three months hearing how much better they are of all, who came after training whose whole essence was to teach us to be journalists, to criticize, to doubt, to encourage free thought and to fear only the voice of Israel There will be our title no.
We started every day by reading all the newspapers, we studied journalistic ethics and Sobiodica, and the first lesson every morning was with Dr. Avshalom Kor who polished our language with sandpaper number 80.
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Supreme and conceited.
Meitar Schleider Potschnik from the left (Photo: courtesy of those photographed)
As the course ended, we were thrown into two and a half weeks of 01 rifle training with Makam girls from difficult backgrounds (today it is called Eitan. Every few years the IDF replaces the acronyms). Like drops of oil we hid there in the IDF water, Going back loudly after the commanding officer's orders, only with corrections in Hebrew for proper pronunciation. What a bunch of unbearable we were, God. No wonder we all came to the swearing with two healthy and whole nipples. In my life we did not deserve it.
And as in the series all the scenes were there: the melting pot of the shared showers - no matter how you get into them, when you go out you will have a body image complex. The one who woke up in the middle of the night from the breath here too close in front of her, and a determined whisper that told her that if she continued to snore in the tent, someone would already make sure to strangle her with her own hands. She does not sleep anymore until the end of the internship and the problem is solved. And there was also Scabias. Kitchen shifts. Ranges. And crocodile tears in swearing with Chaim Moshe's "swearing" in the background, and Bible books in hand and "I do not swear, I declare, oops," as if someone cares about your small and insignificant rebellion.
And it's pretty amazing, when you think about it, that despite the excessive pathos, and the ridicule that there is in all these situations - suddenly everyone is dressed the same, and there are hierarchies and people who look just like you but need to be saluted and given attention and done in "times" - somehow, someday, it works You must.
And you are stretched in a doom, and inhaling without noticing some shards of military poison, and maybe I should have gone to the officer anyway?
no no.
Although I could have been a good officer, it seemed to me.
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A generic and uniform experience.
From "The Headquarters" (Photo: Vered Adir)
That's how it works. And this is exemplified remarkably clearly in "Headquarters." How easy it is to sell dichotomous slogans to young women aged 18 and 19 that all they can do with them is take them for granted and try to impose them on reality. Within the military framework, and certainly this stenciled and uncomplicated of basic training, it still works somehow. For a while. But wherever a drop of more complex reality penetrates from the outside into this green universe, everything collapses into itself.
We had one sergeant hour in training, she talked about IDF values, a kind of automatic lesson plan like this about the conscription law, about the massacre in Kafr Qassem, about the purity of the weapons. There was such an open discourse with the participation of the female soldiers, and I do not remember exactly how and in what context but someone voted and said "But the sergeant, the State of Israel is a democratic state ..." The sergeant interrupted her and said emphatically:
The State of Israel is a democratic state and this is a really difficult problem. "
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How easy it is to sell white passwords 18. From "The Headquarters" (Photo: Vered Adir)
And this is it, this is the sentence that is engraved in my memory and always pops into my head when I think of the internship. Such a first and automatic association of a slender, short sergeant, with a green boob hat on his head and mother 16 whose barrel is swaying and almost scratching the sand, barks at us that democracy is a problem. Hard.
The internship was a nightmare. I hated every moment and cried some twice (that’s what I remember, but there was probably more crying than that), even though we went out a quarter on the first week because of the scabies. And that is, there is no point. I wish I had a moral about how in the end everything is worth it because it's a formative experience. Not all formative experiences are good.
The internship ended at the end, and we said goodbye to our new and scary friends who abused us in the tent, returned to Jaffa and received blue and beautiful GLC tags. And we did military-non-military service, which had a lot of meaning and quite a bit of value and some bullshit and a nice dose of pose and self-importance. The days were the days of the second intifada, and buses exploded and we reported on them and we looked for eyewitnesses who could go on the air and say "I heard a boom, and I saw smoke and everything went black", and we interviewed a minister from the cabinet for the morning diary It's a recorded Arab. "And I would not replace it in life, but Walla I would give up the internship, she was shit.
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