HOT 'N BOTHERED

My latest article on Unpious.

And my unpolished version:

Monsey isn't exactly known for being the hottest place on earth, but put on a three piece G&G suit, woolen tzitzis, a long sleeve bottom down shirt, and a beaver hat, - and boy oh boy, it gets hot in a hurry! Growing up it didn't really bother me that much, it was what we were all used to. I even went to Yeshiva in Israel, and endured a summer there in the sweltering temperatures, all the while wearing the standard-issue uniform of the Chassidish. Looking back it turned out to be a good thing.

As I stepped out of the St. Louis airport into a heat index I’d never thought possible, I was glad I wasn't wearing that get-up anymore… Until that day, a Chol Hamo’ed trip to Washington DC was the farthest south I’d ever been, and now I was on my way to start Army Boot Camp in Fort Leonard Wood Missouri, in the middle of june.

“GET ON THE BUS!” “HURRY UP!” It’s hot as hell, is all this yelling and running really necessary? This is what the Jews must have felt like when they were rushed out of Egypt, maybe that story about the matzo is true… AC on the bus? Of course not, I should have known that would be too much to ask for…

Once we got there, the first step was a buzz-cut, which I was used to, and wasn't unwelcome thanks to the oppressive heat. But just when we thought we were (slightly) comfortable, it was time to put on our nice new uniforms. Knee-high woolen socks, combat boots, cargo pants, jacket, and hat. As excited as we were to put them on, they instantly added ten degrees, even indoors! Add to that the fact that in Boot Camp everything is an emergency, and you choose not to run everywhere you go at your own peril… The sight and smell of sweated-soaked boots and uniforms became very familiar to all of us.

Lucky for me though, I grew comfortable wearing all those layers much sooner than everyone else around me. While most of my counterparts were used to wearing not much more than shorts, t-shirts, and flip-flops, I - on the other hand - had been wearing the full Chassidishe regalia just a short time before. Eventually though we all acclimated, and we grew accustomed to wearing not only our uniforms, but soon added body-armor, helmets, and started carrying a weapon around at all times. I got so sun-tanned that to this day I’m still mistaken for Puerto Rican.

But that was years ago, since then I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing extreme heat - in “full-battle-rattle” - all over the world. Sure we bitch and moan about having to wear all that gear, but given the choice, I wouldn’t want to go to the places we go, and do the things we do, wearing anything less…

January 2010, in the dead of a southern winter, I along with my unit was in the field “playing Army”, when a call came over the radio for me to report to HQ. I rushed over not having any clue what to expect, and the first words out of my commanders mouth were “what languages to you speak Getzel?” The Army pays me extra money for being proficient in Yiddish and Hebrew, and my superiors are aware of this, but obviously weren't clear on the details. “Uh Yiddish, Hebrew, why sir?” “What’s Yiddish?” “Uh it’s kind of like German, with a little Heb - “ “so it’s not French?” “no sir it’s not French” “forget it then”.

At all times there is one unit in the US Army that’s on the presidents speed dial. If anything pops up anywhere in the world, they have to be “boots on the ground” within eighteen hours of the presidents word. Eighteen hours may sound like a lot, but that means from the moment the president issues it, the orders have to pass down the chain of command, down to the lowest private on the list, everyone has to grab all their gear, assemble in a predetermined area, get on a plane, and get “there”, wherever “there” might be… All in under eighteen hours, and this includes holidays, weekends, leave, pass, drunk, or any other excuse you may have. You miss the plane, and you're a deserter, and you don't want to be a deserter…

To my luck, It was my units turn to be on standby, and Haiti had just been hit by the largest earthquake in it’s history, and guess who just dialed 911… We had to pack our stuff and race back to base because we were going to Haiti, and they were desperately trying to identify anyone who spoke French or Creole. (I don’t)
By the time we packed up our junk and drove back to base, there was a gauntlet of shots, pills, crash-courses, and briefings already waiting for us. We were told not to eat or drink anything not provided to us by the Army, expect tropical hot and wet weather, oh and by the way, the HIV rate is 95% so go ahead and take your chances...

When we got on the plane it was snowing and cold, only a few short hours later we landed in Port Au Prince in the middle of the night, but it was near 100 degrees. As soon as the cargo doors opened it was like a blow dryer was suddenly turned on in our faces. And the humidity! We were instantly drenched in sweat. But there was no time to dwell on that, we were instantly put to work. Unloading planes full of food and water, then loading them up onto choppers, and flying around to designated areas and emptying them. We did that for days without stopping. It was by far the hardest work I’ve ever done in my life, but also the most gratifying work. Meanwhile I got so sun-burnt I was pealing skin for weeks, lost a bunch of weight, and got to hang-out and work with Sean Penn. In addition I became the impromptu interpreter between the American and Israeli military and medical teams, and got to meet the Israeli ambassador to Haiti.

All the while we had to stay in our beloved uniforms, fight for access to cold showers (which turned out to be teeming with e-coli), and eat space shuttle food and water only. I “borrowed” some Israeli cookies out of the ambassadors car (stale), had some rice and beans with the Israeli medical team (bland), and tasted some French military rations (not bad), but for the most part we starved.

The one good thing about the desert compared to Haiti is that at least in the desert, as soon as the sun goes down, the temperature goes down with it. Not so in Haiti. It was hot and humid 24/7, and unlike other places we deploy to, Haiti was highly visible. The farther you get from garrison life and big-wigs, the less stringent the uniform standards become. Head-gear and jackets come off, t-shirts come untucked, pants cease to be tucked into boots, and faces go unshaven. But in Haiti we were on display for the world media at all times, plus we were surrounded by high-ranking types everywhere we went. So we had to stay all prim and proper at all times, no matter how uncomfortable we were.

One of the valuable lessons I learned in Haiti (besides that we Americans are unbelievably spoiled) was that humans are incredibly adaptable, we didn't have AC in our truck or tents, we had awful food (and not much of it), and work like slaves at all hours of the day and night. But no one complained, one look at the suffering of the Haitian people, and we felt privileged.

Sure wearing 18th century Polish clothes in 21st century America, is silly, Peltzs, shtreimelach, strukess, and shteevel, and for that matter, head-to-toe dresses, and shpitzels, have all outlived their usefulness, and serve no purpose, much like the buggy-whip. But before you shed a tear for those poor shlubs, remember that just like anything else in life, you get used to it. For the most part, chassidim aren't walking around wishing they could do away with the penguin suits, and just like habits, priestly frocks, cowboy hats, and bell-bottoms, they're all style choices that may be out-dated and goofy, but they don't hurt anyone. And as in the military, the farther away from the “home base” they get, the less careful they tend to be about wearing every article of clothing as prescribed. Go to Miami Beach, or the four corners in South Falsburg on a summer motzei-shabbos, and you’ll see what I’m talking about…

The main reason Chassidim still wear their uniform to this day, isn't very different from why we in the military wear much of what we do. Instant identification. It’s the reason the Marine Corp. patented their cammo pattern, the Army forbids rolling up jacket sleeves, and why the Air Force and Navy have uniforms that wouldn't fool a blind person.  Chassidim can spot each-other a mile away, you could be going 75 MPH on the thruway, and out of the corner of the eye you see a Honda Odessey, filled to the brim with little Chassidles. Once your eyes have grown accustomed to a certain pattern, you become very good at picking them up, so too in the military, we need to be able to instantly identify friend or foe, (the individual military-branch differences is just ego).

So grab your gartel, grab your shirtzel, grab your skinny jeans, and grab your ascot, and lets hug it out, and sweat it out together.

FREEDOM

Being a minority, of a minority, of a minority (former Chassid, in the Army), I think I have a special appreciation of freedom. Not that long ago, I was full-blown Chassidish without a care in the world, shtreimel-bekishe, beard-payes, and proud of it. When I finally left that world I chose to join the US Army, were I learned to appreciate freedom all over again. I was made to memorize the words “I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life”, while having my own freedoms severely curtailed.

When I was a kid ‘freedom’ meant something else entirely, I was ‘free’ to listen to Moderchai Ben David, I was ‘free’ to go to day camp instead of staying in school through the summer, I was ‘free’ to spend Shabbos with my (slightly-less-than-Chassidish) cousins… But no matter the decision I made, my parents would be there to steer me in the right direction. “You’ll grow out of the whole music-listening thing, studying Gemarah all day is far more important”, “day camp is for little kids, once you start Yeshivah - you won’t even want to go to camp…”, “the Mechitzah isn’t as tall as ours’ at our cousins’ because we’re better Jews”.

For years I felt I’d been given extraordinary amounts of lee-way, relatively speaking I was hardly micro-managed, I went off to Israel to Yeshivah and was pretty-much on my own, I was consulted whether I wanted to learn full or part time after marriage, I was my own man. But as soon as I dared to flex my freedom to ask questions, I was told to “shut-up, and sit down”, “have some more faith”, “just study some more”…

Fast forward to today, and my idea of freedom is very different. Being free to screw up, and actually learn from my mistakes is a good thing, not having an entire community tell me exactly who, what, where, when, I was going to do everything in life involves some decision-making on my part, but it’s freeing!

When I lost faith in all things supernatural, it was at once quite liberating - no more worrying about Gehenom - but at the same time it signaled the beginning of personal responsibility. No more “Im yirtzeh Hashem, I’ll be fine”, now it’s up to me to make it happen… As one of my (false) idols Penn Jillette says: “freedom means the right to be stupid”. When I mess up now, instead of blaming it on divine will, I’m forced to re-examine what I did, and determine what went wrong. God is a crutch used by many people as a cover for laziness, “it’s not my fault that I can’t pay my bills, it’s bashert”.

Americans love to fetishize freedom, not to mention the military. I’ve become sensitive to the ‘F’ word as much as to religious terminology, coming from the world that I do, I feel uncomfortable with any sort of ritualistic worship. Whether it’s blind patriotism, or unconditional love for the military, we should always be skeptical, it’s our God given freedom!

I’ll be out of the Army in a few months, and for that, and so much more I celebrate freedom.

Religion as a Conspiracy Theory

The Mafia killed JFK. The moon landing was filmed on a backlot in Hollywood. Bush planned 9/11...

Why are conspiracy theories so much fun, and catchy? The more elaborate the plot, the harder they stick, and cold hard facts rarely serve to dissuade it's believers. Arguing with conspiracy theorists is much like playing Whac-O-Mole, no matter what you say they'll pop up with something else, and still believe what they want.

Sound familiar..?

I love a good conspiracy theory as much as the next guy, they're fun to think about, and make you feel like you know something that no one else does. But at a certain point you have to come to the realization that the government is not testing chemical weapons on us with Chemtrails...

The problem with conspiracy theories is that, by definition they require too many loose ends to be held together. For any one theory to be true, hundreds - if not thousands - of people would have to be involved in planning, coordinating, carrying out, and then covering up the whole operation. That means that for the rest of their lives, none of these people could ever (even accidentally) utter a word about any of it.

Then there's the issue of outsiders getting wind of what's going on, now we've to start making people "disappear" so they don't blab, and on and on...

The other problem with conspiracy theories is Occam's razor, while it's a lot more exciting to believe that there are Aliens and flying saucers in Area 51, the simpler explanation is that the government tests, and builds experimental aircraft there. But who wants to here that? That's so lame...

Which brings me to religion.

Much like conspiracy theories, religion is full of great stories, complicated plots, twists and turns, and an answer for everything. But when you starting looking closer, things make less and less sense. The difference is that we snicker at people who believe certain whacky things - like conspiracy theories - but respect them for believing other whacky things, like religion. maybe it's time we stop being so accommodating, and tell people how we really feel when they tell us they believe in a talking snake, or that the earth is six thousand years old.

Just a thought...

Confessions of a Koifer

I'd like to welcome you into the office for my first session, let me get comfortable on the couch, collect my thoughts, and decide where to begin. Get yourself situated too - after all, I'm not paying you hundreds of dollars an hour to listen to me complain, so I might go on for a while. I'll start with what authors call "the hook", which is supposed to grab the reader so they don't put the book down till it's done, here goes.

I was born a little while ago in the west coast to a newlywed Orthodox Jewish couple. Four years and three more kids later, my parents decided that Washington state wasn't conducive to the ever more strict Orthodox life they where leading. So we moved to a quiet little Jewish culdesac in New Jersey. Jersey brought us two more kids, and an even more rigid lifestyle, but when that proved insufficient, we moved about an hour north, to the second largest Orthodox Jewish community in North America: Rockland County, New York. In the eighteen years that followed my parents had five more kids, (that's a grand total of 11 for those of you keeping track) married off six of us, and joined a group who - ironically - very closely resemble the Taliban - minus the homicidal and/or suicidal tendencies. In the meantime I got married, had a child of my own, was hired and fired from a couple jobs, opened and closed a couple businesses, tried but failed to go to college, moved twice, but in all that time I was a good Frum Jew.

And then all hell broke loose... In the few years since then, I have cut off my beard, cut of my payes, took off my yarmulka, and I am currently enlisted in the U.S. Army. I went from being a ma'amin to a koifer b'ikor, from a true believer to an atheist, from a hard-right conservative to a libertarian, from listening to Lipa Schmeltzer to listening to Linkin Park.

What happened? What changed? Was it an early mid-life crisis? Did I lose My Mind? Was I upset at my Rebbe's for hitting me? Am I doing all this just to piss off my parents? Am I sad inside, and just running away from myself? Maybe I'm just rebelling the way many kids do as young teenagers, and if so why did it take me this long do it? How could I go from sitting in Kollel, and representing the OK, to joining the Army. Rachmunah Litzlan! (All these are questions and suggestions that people have raised about me).

These and other topics is what I hope to sort out here with your help, you'll just have to excuse my grammar, this is a learn as we go operation. (Praise Xenu for spellcheck)

I have discovered that telling my story, is at once very relieving and emotionally draining. In addition to that, it's hard to relate all the details in one sitting, I'm hoping that this setting will help overcome these issues.