Refusing An Order During My First Week In The Israeli Army

Like any red-blooded 18-year old Israeli, it was my time to begin my national service in the Israeli Defense Force (IDF).

In Israel, national service is mandatory. With some exceptions, every 18-year old Jewish citizen joins the army. When I joined, men would serve 3 years and women would serve 2 years.

The role of the army in Israeli society is very hard to explain in a short article. It’s something between a rite of passage, a melting pot of various parts of Israeli culture, and a duty one must do for one’s country.

Everyone is assigned to a different position for those 3 years. The assignments have relatively little to do with the recruit’s wants, or in army speak “You will be assigned to a position depending on the army’s needs.“

A soldier is basically the IDF’s property for 3 years.

As a young man, there wasn’t as much as an ounce of aggression in me. I never really got into fights. I avoided them, as they seemed pointless.

But being a healthy young man, I was all but destined to become a Combat Soldier, someone who shoots to kill people.

This wasn’t theory either. Israel is located in the hotbed of conflict that is the Middle East. There was, and there always is, something going on.

After finishing high school, the date of my recruitment was nearing as the days passed. I sent letters to the IDF saying I was not a good fit to become a combat soldier.

I kept getting back the same response.

“We have received your letter and will take it into consideration. However, ultimately you will be assigned to a position based on the IDF’s needs.”

In other words, “Fuck off, kid.”

Becoming a soldier

So it was with a heavy heart that I report to the army’s reception and sorting base (well known by its acronym The Bakum) on the 21st of March 1999, about 2 months after turning 18.

After a tearful goodbye from my parents, I was escorted into an army building colloquially called the soldierization chain.

In enters a young man wearing civilian clothes… And a few hours later, out comes the same person with a full olive-green army uniform, boots, beret and all. A soldier.

The first step of the chain was a health check up. The army doctor considered a diagnosis of back issues I brought with me, and changed my health score to reflect that. However, I was still certainly fit for combat.

The crucial moment came next. I was about to be told my assignment, or where I would spend the next 3 years of my life (and the following 20 years in reserve service).

Me and other 1st day soldiers were seated in a waiting room, waiting to hear what our army destiny is.

I was called into the office and sat across from the assignment officer.

“You’ve been assigned to the Artillery corps.”

“But… I’ve sent you a lot of letters saying I didn’t want to be a combat soldier!” I weakly proclaimed.

There was a moment of silence. The officer gave me an intense gaze.

“Yes. You did.”

With a loud thump, he stamped my assignment papers and pointed the way out. There wasn’t much more to say, and I guess he didn’t have much time to talk. There were dozens of new soldiers in line behind me waiting to hear their assignment.

Making a decision

Due to delays, I wouldn’t be deployed to the Artillery Corps basic training camp until the following day. I was assigned a temporary unit, a communal tent and a bed to sleep in my first night in the IDF.

The other newbie soldiers were all assigned to different corps. Some were happier about their assignment as others. I was talking about my issues out loud. I said I never wanted to be a fighter.

“Just don’t get on the bus” said someone. “They can’t make you go.”

That moment I decided that I would do exactly that. At least, I hoped I’d have the balls to refuse getting on the bus when the actual moment came.

When I look back at myself at age 18 I wonder how I even made that decision. I was the quintessential good kid. I did what I was told. As an excellent student in high school, I graduated with top marks and a very high SAT score. I had no teenage rebellion to speak of.

And now, I was to about to refuse an order by the Israeli Defense Force.

Action time

The following morning I reported at the so-called “Traffic Office” to find out when and where I had to go.

“The bus leaves at 2pm to Shivta (The Artillery Corps basic training camp).”

So, at 2pm I was at the collection point.

A tired looking sergeant was there, holding a list of all the Artillery soldiers-to-be.

I identified myself with the newly issued soldier ID I was given at the soldierization chain.

He barely made eye contact. I could feel the adrenaline rushing through my body. My voice came out broken and shaky.

“I’m not getting on the bus.” I said.

Despite the insubordinate words coming out of my mouth, I was standing in attention, hands behind my back, the picture of obedience. He was still my commander after all.

He made eye contact with me for the first time, and he wasn’t happy. I could feel his intensity building up. His eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets.

He took a step to cover the distance between us and leaned forward so that his face was immediately in front of mine. I could feel his breath and spit hitting my face.

“I said, get on the bus now Soldier! That’s an order!”, he yelled.

“I’m not getting on the bus, sir.” I replied.

He cocked his head back, and lowered his voice.

“I see exactly your kind here every day. So let me tell you what’s going to happen.

“If you’re not getting on the bus, you’re going to go to jail for 40 days. After those 40 days, you’ll be ordered once again to get on the same bus. If you keep saying no, you’ll keep going to jail.

Everyone breaks, and looking at you, I can see that you’re weak. You’re going to break.”

I had no time to think. It all sounded very scary. What have I done to myself? Am I going to spend the next 3 years in prison going through this endless cycle?

Another part of me though got upset. Bullheadedly, I was even more inclined to not get on the bus, if only to spite this fucker. I’ll show him who’s weak.

“So. Are you going to get on the bus, soldier?”

“No, sir.”

Into Custody

I saw the bus leaving. The irrevocable nature of my decision struck me. This was actually happening.

I was taken into the custody. It was something I had only seen in movies up until that point.

The first order of business was to take away all of my possessions, list them and make me sign for them.

Interestingly, I had to give up the shoelaces from my army-issued boots. Apparently a lot of soldiers freak out, and when they’re alone in their cell, they try to hang themselves. Eek.

I was then taken to a cell. It consisted of a heavy door with a small glass window and 3 bunk beds.

For the first hour, while being the only person in the cell, I was freaking out.

Worse than being locked up was not being able to escape my thoughts. I was going over and over possible scenarios of how this could end and scaring myself in the process.

I can’t imagine what being in solitary for days and weeks on end does to someone’s mental state.

When some other people were allowed in, I relaxed. Everyone else was in for the same reason as me – refusing to go where they were assigned.

We weren’t supposed to speak, but we whispered hushed conversations between us.

“Just don’t give up”, I found myself telling someone. “They can send you to jail for 40 days, but we’re talking about 3 years of your life.”

I was mostly trying to convince myself.

The actual conditions in the detention centre weren’t bad. We had to be quiet all day and do nothing. I felt a weird mix of boredom and extreme anxiousness about not knowing what was to come next.

Military Trial

I was taken into military trial. The offense was disobeying an order.

They initially sentenced me to 14 days in jail – 2 days of which I would serve in the detention facility I was already at.

The remaining 12 days were given on probation, and would be activated in case I refused the order again.

In 2 days time, they told me, I would be tried again by a lieutenant Colonel. He would order me to get on the bus again. I had time to reconsider.

When the day came for the second trial, we were taken out of our cells and told to stand in 3 rows outside the courtrooms. Each person’s name was called at a time.

Many people decided to take this opportunity to change their mind.

I recognized the guy I motivated from my cell. When he got out of his second trial he gave me a nod. He had changed his mind. He didn’t join his position back in the rows and proceeded to leave the detention centre. He was getting on the bus.

My name was called. I went into the courtroom, and as expected was commanded by the lieutenant colonel judge to go to my Artillery training.

I refused once again.

When he asked why, I explained that I wasn’t willing to become a combat soldier or take combat soldier training at all.

So, my 12 days probation were activated, and I was sentenced to another 28. Just like the sergeant mentioned, I was sent to jail for 40 days.

“Do you want anything else to be noted on the record, soldier?”
“Nothing more to say, sir.”

I went back to my position in the 3 rows, waiting to be taken away to jail.

A way out?

But something weird happened. They called my name again to the office where my trial was held. I didn’t see them do it with anyone else.

“We were looking at your data here, soldier. You have a high intelligence score and it would be a waste for the army to send you to jail on your first week. If that happens, you will never get security clearance.”

Without security clearance, the only kind of jobs I could expect to have would be a cook, a driver, a barber and the sort.

“So we want to offer you a deal. You won’t be sent to be a combat soldier. Instead, you will become a paramedic on a Navy radar boat. Do you accept?”

The week before, there was a big exposé in the news about how many people who served on radar boats got cancer from the strong electromagnetic waves emitted by the radar equipment.

This felt like a marketplace, where the only thing that mattered was the IDF’s needs, and apparently filling in positions people avoided.

“I don’t accept.”

“Then, you’re going to jail.”

I had already accepted that I would go to jail. No problem.

I went outside and took my place in the 3-rows again.

And a few minutes later, my name was called yet again. This was odd. I headed back inside.

“You’re lucky, soldier. You have one last chance to avoid going to jail. We can offer you to become an intelligence corps NCO (non-commanding officer).”

Hrmm… my friend was in the intelligence corps. He had severe asthma and never underwent combat soldier training.

Instead, he used his brains to write intelligence assessments, recline over maps, and plan operations. At least that’s what I imagined from the bits of information he was allowed to tell me.

I went on a gut feel.

“I’ll take it.”

I was escorted off the courtyard and checked out of the detention centre. All of my belongings, including my shoelaces and my mobile phone were returned to me.

I called my parents who were worried sick and told them I was coming home for the weekend.

Intelligence NCO

At the beginning of the following week, I returned back to the base and went to the traffic office to find where I need to go.

I headed to the meeting point. There were other soldiers there, just standing around chatting all relaxed. We were all waiting for our commander to arrive.

“Is everyone here assigned to be an intelligence NCO?” I asked the few guys that were there.

“Intelligence NCO? I guess you can call it that. We’ll belong to the intelligence corps, but we’re going to be border observers.”

Well, this sounded weird. We were all supposed to have had the same assignment.

He went on to explain that observers were deployed to border outposts to watch over Israel’s borderlines.

When there was a breach, they shoot. They all received combat training because, well, they were combat soldiers.

I’ve been duped.

The same guy who told me this information seemed extremely motivated to become a border observer. He was very well informed about the what was to come next. He said that now, all of us were to take eye exams.

First, there would be color-blindness tests. Every person who has healthy color vision would be able to see the numbers in those pages. Then, there would be depth vision tests.

As the doctor checked me, I somehow wasn’t able to distinguish any numbers. At least that’s what I said.

To test my depth vision, I was given 3D glasses, and shown a 3D image with 6 elements. I had to say which element stuck out of the page the most. I said they all looked completely flat to me.

With a heavy heart the doctor said. “Son, you have no depth perception at all, and you are very severely color blind. There is no way you could be a border observer.”

I tried to act disappointed.

Serial Bus Evader

As I couldn’t be a border observer, I was once again temporarily assigned to my tent. The next morning, I had to report to the traffic office and find out which bus I was supposed to take.

“You are assigned to go to the Armored corps. Be at the collection point at 1pm.”

This time however, instead of arriving at the collection point, I just decided to not show up. They kept calling my name and soldier ID number, but I never made an appearance.

I just went back to my tent at night to sleep, and somehow, in all the confusion I wasn’t reprimanded for not showing up.

For the next few days, I kept doing the same thing. I went to the traffic office every morning and asked where I was assigned to go. Every day it was a different combat unit – the Anti-Aircraft teams. The Artillery corps again. And so on.

I just kept waiting it out. I had no strategy. I just didn’t want to get on those buses.

Then, one day, I went to the traffic office. Where am I supposed to be and when?

“You are assigned to non-combat basic training. Be at the collection point at 12pm.”

I guess in retrospect, the army had filled all the quotas of soldiers it had to. The March recruitment season was about to be over – it was already a week into April. They had to send all the soldiers left in the recruitment base to some kind of basic, non-combatant training to prepare them for army duty.

In other words, I got lucky.

I got on the bus to basic training that day. We were taught how to shoot a gun, made to crawl and run. All of it was really basic stuff, and most of it had to do with instilling us with discipline and obedience.

I finished my non-combatant training a month later and was assigned to an Air Force unit, which required soldiers with a high intelligence quota.

I served in the IDF the 3 full years, learnt a thing or two about command, public speaking and getting out of my comfort zone. I got to use my brains.

I was actually given a shotgun for the duration of my service, but it was a formality more than anything. I was never in a position where I had to shoot anyone.

To Conclude

Looking back on my life, my first week in the army is clear a turning point.

I think it was the first time I realized that the script I was born into – which for every Israeli kid included, at 18 years old, serving where the army needed them – wasn’t necessarily the script I had to follow.

I could write my own script to life.

I could chase impossible goals, and sometimes even achieve them.

I could live a unique life that fits my values.

I could look deep within myself for answers rather than rely on external authority.

I have been doing so ever since.

And I don’t regret a thing.