I'm so proud I could vomit

Twelve years, eight months and eight days ago we arrived at Ben Gurion Airport, our one way tickets used up. I am not going to tell the whole story again; it's already written somewhere in this blog. Let's just agree that I was sub-happy ... more like hyper traumatized. As you all know, over the years I have grown to love living here more than I ever could have imagined. However, the one loose thread that has always dangled just out of resolution's reach is my sons' compulsory army service.

When you have 13 years to anticipate something, you can wilfully choose to put it on the mental back burner time and time again. You can even convince yourself (after every war) that there won't be another war for a long, long time. Oh can you rationalize: the last war totally destroyed the Hamas tunnels, the Ayatollah will finally succumb to his cancer and the new Ayatollah will be a moderate, Egypt will see the light and publicly support us.... Rationalization is a powerful tool.

Well, yesterday was the day I officially stopped deluding myself. My son began his military service. Oh yay.

Don't worry: My blog isn't going to become a diary of my sons' military service now. There are lots of those blogs out there -- and they write nice things, so suffice it to say that that isn't for me. But I will provide a few observations of what yesterday felt like for a nice Canadian Jewish girl who never considered living in Israel and never, ever liked guns.

It's been 24 hours since I left my son at the Induction Center, and already have learned several things:

1. Every "kid" going into the army is nervous. And any one that doesn't seem nervous is either in remarkably deep denial or on some excellent psychotic drugs.
2. Every parent is proud beyond anything words can fairly describe but at the same time capable of tossing their cookies if left alone with their thoughts for more than 11 seconds.
3. If you haven't mingled with people from every conceivable part of Israeli society, today is the day that changes. And for the next three years you will have more in common with them then you ever could have imagined.
4. There's a secret club of parents of soldiers that you never knew existed, until you joined them. You always knew the actual members; you just didn't get the secret society part of it. Secret society members will ask you lots of questions -- even though they already know all the answers.
5. You can separate from your child -- particularly when the infrastructure of the IDF insists upon it. You are no longer the final word in your child's life and your permission is worth bubkas.
6. You have approximately six months before things get "real". I heard that about 20 times yesterday and I am still not ready to consider what that truly means.
7. You consider searching the internet for Hassan Nasrallah and Khaled Mashaal's email addresses or phone numbers so you can contact them and try to talk some sense into them. You are almost convinced that you can make a case that would finally have them see the light.
8. You reconsider every and any left wing position you ever held.
9. You learn the prayer for IDF soldiers that a rabbi handed you on the street the day before -- and you start to say it.
10. You start to hold your breath and know that you are going to have to do so for three years.

I am sure I will learn more as time goes on. In the meantime I am off to get my password for the secret society website!!! (for anyone reading this who doesn't know I am joking, I AM JOKING)