Different in Uniform

Undoubtedly, changing ones appearance brings upon a different identity. When my mom puts on her dentist garb, she transitions from a regular person to a dentist. When a police officer puts on their uniform, they assume a new role with a different identity and responsibility than what they had before. The same is said, and maybe even more-so, the moment I put on madim (Hebrew word for uniform).

The first time I wore my uniform in public I realized something different, both in the way I was perceived by others and the responsibility I had. I was no longer seen as an American with broken Hebrew trying to get around, but rather as a complete Israeli doing the dirty work to make sure these same people can live the lives they desire. Nobody on the street dared to speak to me in English, even if they noticed some hiccups in my Hebrew, and a certain amount of trust was given to me as I'm walking past security, or simply just moving around this country in general.

This feeling was never more prevalent than on this Yom Hazikaron (Israel's memorial day), where we honor all soldiers who fell, as well as all those killed in terror attacks.

Yesterday evening my Machlakah left base at 6pm, and I made it home by 7:35, about 25 minutes before the siren. For those who don't know, on Yom Hazikron a siren is blasted throughout the country at 8pm on the evening of the memorial day, and then again at 11am the next morning, where everyone throughout Israel stands in silence to remember those who have fallen. When I arrived home, I ran to get something quick to eat, and then made my way to the Kibbutz ceremony, scheduled to start with the blasting of the siren at eight. I stood there in front of the flag, with four other individuals in my Garin, all standing in uniform. The Kibbutz wanted us there to lower the flag since we were the current soldiers on the kibbutz.

This morning, myself and a few others from my Garin decided to go to the military cemetery in Sderot for the siren and ceremony at 11am. Once again we came in uniform, but this time in a cemetery filled with hundreds of individuals, many of whom were soldiers from all over the army.

Throughout my entire life, I have commemorated Yom Hazikaron each year, in the United States and with a different perspective. There would always be a ceremony at my school, and I remember watching videos of the siren in Israel, where people would stop in the middle of the Ayalon and get out of their cars for the siren. I remember the speeches given, the candles lit, and the hatikvah sang. However, this year was very different.

Hearing the siren in person sent shivers down my spine, as I thought about the fact that the entire country was standing there in silence for that one minute, commemorating all those who have fallen, in what felt like an eternity. Furthermore, as I stood there in uniform, I knew that now it was my turn. It was my turn to stand in uniform and do my job, to make sure we can commemorate today and celebrate tomorrow. When all the Kibbutz kids are looking up at us in uniform, knowing we are protecting them, I know that it is our job to make sure not only could they celebrate tomorrow, but next year as well.

After a tiring and frustrating few days on base, in what will probably sum up most weeks of basic training, I was filled with so much joy to come back home, and standing at these ceremonies in uniform helped me realize why I am doing what I'm doing. Throughout the weeks on base, when I have no control over anything and with barely a moment to breath, it is easy to forget why I'm here. These unique moments help me recenter and understand what I'm doing, filling me with more pride, and giving me some motivation to help me get through the weeks to come. Let's commemorate today, and party tomorrow.