holding an m16, i placed a tanach over it and choked out the words

Inspiration
By Fayga Marks
HOLDING AN M16, I PLACED A TANACH OVER IT
promise and commit to pledge
AND CHOKED OUT THE WORDS: Iallegiance
to the State of Israel,
its laws, and authorities, to accept upon myself unconditionally the authority of
the Israel Defense Force, obey all the orders and instructions given by authorized commanders, devote all my energies, and even sacrifice my life for the protection of the homeland and liberty of Israel.
I quickly saluted my battalion commander and ran back in line. In that one
moment, I fulfilled my lifelong dream of becoming a soldier in the IDF.
Photo: Israel Sun
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THE COURAGE
TO SERVE:
A Chareidi
Woman in the IDF
n eight-year-old girl, dressed
for school in her light blue
shirt and dark navy skirt,
presses the elevator button as
she hurries to school. When
the elevator appears, she
dashes inside and finds herself standing next to two Israeli soldiers with M16
rifles slung over their
backs. The soldiers, sporting kippot, are her neighbor’s sons, who are heading back to the
base after Shabbat. The little girl looks
at them admiringly. She decides that
one day she’s going to be just like
them—a defender of the Jewish people.
That little girl was me.
Unbeknownst to my parents and to
the religious community in which I
lived, from that day onward, I dreamed
of joining the IDF.
As I grew older, my commitment to
enlist grew stronger. Despite the fact
that a religious girl can claim an exemption, I knew where I was headed
when the time came. When I discussed
with my peers or teachers my plan to
enlist, they thought I was crazy. Over
and over, I was told that the army is no
place for a frum girl.
Fayga Marks lives in Ramat Beit Shemesh
with her family. You can reach her at
[email protected].
When I turned seventeen, my official IDF draft notice arrived. I still remember my father telling me to go to
the Rabbanut and get an exemption.
It’s a simple process: appear at the Rabbanut office, declare yourself Orthodox
and submit a form.
I had no intention of doing so.
Frum Girls Don’t Do That!
I recall entering the IDF draft office for
a skills assessment exam. The army
personnel were shocked to see a
Chareidi girl interested in enlisting.
One of the men administering the exam
told me I was crazy and that I should
apply for an exemption before it was
too late.
I can’t say my parents were happy
about my decision. My father and my
teachers persisted in admonishing me:
“The army is not a tzeniut environment”; “It’s not an appropriate place for
a bat Yisrael”; “There’s a lot of male/female activity going on”; “Frum girls
don’t do that!”; “You should go get married and stop worrying about such silliness.” There were concerns for my
spiritual safety and concerns for my
physical safety (“The army isn’t a safe
place”). Of course, there were also concerns for my social status (“Who will
marry you after you’ve been in the
army?”). I listened politely, but my mind
was made up: this girl was IDF bound.
While the IDF is comprised mostly
of Jewish soldiers, I felt as if I were entering a foreign country. And for a
Chareidi girl, it introduced challenges I
never had to face before.
After induction, we were taken to
the base. I joined hundreds of girls on
the packed buses, all of whom were not
sure what to expect from the journey
on which we were about to embark.
When it came time to receive our uniforms, I was handed a pair of tan pants.
“Sorry,” I said, “but I can’t wear this.
I’m religious.” Someone in uniform
started yelling at me. I yelled back, “I’m
not wearing something inappropriate;
get me a long skirt!” I was sent off to a
tailor who custom-designed a uniform
skirt for me, even accommodating my
request that it be ankle-length.
In my training battalion of 200 girls,
I was the sole soldier wearing a skirt.
But I learned something important
early on in my army career: the army
will accommodate your religious
needs—if you stand up for your rights.
To be a frum soldier in the IDF, you
need a little chutzpah.
The training base, which was all female, was comprised of 800 young
women. “What in the world are you
doing here?” was a question I was constantly asked. There’s a misconception
in Israel that Chareidim don’t serve.
While generally few soldiers see
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Spring 5773/2013 JEWISH ACTION 19
Chareidim serving, I learned later on
that that’s because they serve mostly in
segregated army programs that cater to
their religious needs. The IDF offers
religious tracks such as Nahal Haredi
(battalion for Chareidi infantry soldiers) and Shachar Kachol (a program
that trains Chareidim to be army technicians). Seeing bearded men with kippot or women with skirts and covered
hair is not really that unusual, assuming you are looking in the right places.
Nevertheless, the unjust notion that
Chareidim don’t serve persists.
Basic Training
Basic training is meant to smack you in
the face, to let you know you’re not at
home anymore—you’re in the army.
You get only get six hours to sleep and
thirty minutes for the entire unit to
shower and get dressed.
Time for davening is available but
regimented. While every soldier has a
right to attend davening, not every
commander understands why a female
soldier would want to go. (Though I
may not have a chiyuv, a halachic obligation, to pray, in such a religiously
challenging environment my siddur
served as a spiritual lifeline.)
Naturally, I was confronted with halachic questions all the time: “Does an
army base security perimeter [fence]
qualify as an eruv?” “Can one carry an
empty gun on Shabbat?” I posed the
latter question to the rabbi on the base
who ruled that it was not permitted;
thus, I had an official exemption from
carrying my rifle on Shabbat. (A major
part of gun training in the IDF is safety
training. You are never permitted to let
your gun out of your sight. You don’t
put it down, you don’t step away from
it. You sleep with it under your pillow;
you hand it to a friend to hold while
showering. Your weapon is never out of
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I JEWISH ACTION
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your possession.) My unit-mates were
jealous of my Shabbat rifle exemption.
Tzeniut was another challenge.
Even though I was in an all-female environment, basic modesty was sorely
lacking. There were no doors or curtains on the shower stalls, and everyone would dress together. I would
sneak out of the barrack at 3 AM to
shower and dress privately, getting
back in time for wake-up already
dressed for the day.
I also wasn’t certain about the standards of the kosher supervision on the
base. (All army-base kitchens are considered kosher, but not all are glatt
kosher. Furthermore, the
kitchen staff are not known
for their scrupulous observance of kashrut laws.) On my
base, mehadrin supervision was
only available on select days for the
Shachar Kachol soldiers. I implored the
commanders to make such supervision
available on the base at all times; unfortunately, my request was not granted.
For the most part, I subsisted on fruits
and vegetables—not an easy task when
soldiers are required to fill and empty
their plates at every meal.
My fellow soldiers noticed that I
wasn’t eating most of the food being
served, which triggered interesting discussions. They didn’t understand.
Many didn’t even know what kosher
meant! Sure, they knew no mixing milk
and meat, but why wouldn’t I eat the
food from the army kitchen?
I was the first Chareidi woman
many of the soldiers had ever met,
which forced them to let go of some of
the misconceptions they had about the
Chareidi world. Here I was, a Chareidi
woman, very similar to themselves. We
were all part of the same training battalion, all going through the same army
experience together.
Fayga Marks, from a Chareidi neighborhood in Ramat
Beit Shemesh, fulfilled her childhood dream of being a
soldier in the IDF.
Photo courtesy of Fayga Marks
Shabbat on the Base
My draft occurred in early September. I was allowed to go
home for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, but my first
Shabbat on the base also happened to be Sukkot. Sukkot is
a big yom tov in my family. We have a large wooden
sukkah which my sisters and I decorate. We have delicious
traditional yom tov meals and spend a lot of time in the
family sukkah.
That first yom tov on the base was very difficult. There
was no sukkah for the female soldiers, no lulav and etrog,
not even Class A uniforms! (Class A uniforms, regarded as
“dressy clothes,” are generally worn on Shabbat, when a
soldier is not on duty.)
All around me was chillul Shabbat: smoking, cell phones,
guns, money. I had never been immersed in such an environment on Shabbat. It hurt me badly to see these Jewish
girls unaware that they were trampling all over Shabbat.
I have to admit that I felt sorry for myself: no family, no
seudah with songs and divrei Torah, no shul, no visiting
friends—I was all alone. It took time, but once I got used to
Shabbat on the base, it became easier, and even enjoyable.
Arriving for Kitchen Duty
Once basic training is over, there is an official swearing-in
ceremony. It’s an important event attended by high-level officers and soldiers’ families. Prior to the event, I explained
to my lieutenant that I wouldn’t be able to swear. She
brushed me off and I wasn’t sure what her response would
be when my turn came. When my name was called, I
quickly blurted “I promise” instead of “I swear”; she smiled
and saluted. Afterward, she privately told me that she was
proud of me for standing up for what I believe in.
I was assigned to an air force base in the support and
service battalion, specifically food service. Ironically, I left
my parents’ home and their busy kitchen only to end up in
an army kitchen preparing meals for close to 6,000 soldiers!
But helping to run such a massive food operation (cutting
thousands of pieces of shnitzel and frying them for five consecutive hours!) and assisting in feeding air force pilots who
are responsible for bombing terrorists made me feel part of
a very special team.
The first morning on my new base, I awoke to the sound
of a siren blaring. I jumped out of bed and ran to the shelter,
my heart pounding. I’m just starting my service and our enemies are trying to kill me! I thought. After waiting the allotted time, I went to my work station and mentioned the siren
to my new commander. Somewhat puzzled, she said, “The
siren blares every morning. Didn’t you hear them say there
would be a siren wake-up call?” We each laughed and became good friends after that.
I learned that I had to consciously invest in my Yiddishkeit while immersed in the secular environment of the
army. I created a learning schedule and made a point of
going to shul and shiurim when I had free time. Being as I
was now on a large air force base, there was a staff rabbi and
synagogue. When on base for Shabbat, I joined the base
rabbi and rebbetzin for Shabbat meals, which meant
trekking quite a distance!
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Spring 5773/2013 JEWISH ACTION 21
Photo: Ariel Jerozolimski
When I first arrived for kitchen
duty, the head mashgiach was thrilled.
Since I was frum, I could oversee the
mehadrin food preparation. This enabled him to use the mashgiach on staff
to supervise other areas of the kitchen,
thereby raising the overall level of
kosher supervision on the base.
That, however, didn’t relieve me of
my other kitchen duties in the non-glatt
kosher kitchen where I generally
worked. The majority of the soldiers in
the kitchen were young men, making
for a somewhat uncomfortable situation. But there were always surprises.
Some of them began showing up wearing kippot on Shabbat; others asked frequent questions about keeping kosher.
We had many discussions covering a
range of topics: hair covering for married women, tefillin (my father couldn’t
understand why I insisted on interrogating him about the details of tefillin
one Shabbat) and tensions between the
religious and nonreligious segments of
Israeli society.
A Druze soldier was assigned as a
kitchen commander. Apparently he had
been required to take a number of
classes on kashrut. He knew about
bishul akum, and whenever the mashgiach wasn’t in the immediate area, he
would call me over to turn on the fire.
He was very scrupulous about kashrut
and made sure all the laws were strictly
adhered to by the staff.
“Harabbanit”
My religiosity did pose problems for
some of the irreligious soldiers. At
times, my roommates wanted to allow
male soldiers in the room (which isn’t
allowed according to army regulations,
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but happens anyway). Thankfully, my
roommates were respectful and tried to
give me as much space as possible.
However, I did feel lonely at times. I
was excluded from many social events
because I was religious and therefore
perceived as different.
At some point in my service, a young
woman joined the base who had formerly been religious but had gone off
the derech a few years earlier. Bat Tzion
and I became very close friends and
eventually roommates. It was great having a roommate who wasn’t put off by
me or my lifestyle. I thanked Hashem
every day that Bat Tzion came along.
I quickly found myself in the
strange situation of being the representative of Judaism in my battalion. I
earned the nickname “harabbanit” (rebbetzin) for wearing a long skirt and
being shomer negiah (avoiding physical
contact with members of the opposite
gender). It was strange being an eighteen-year-old rebbetzin. My fellow soldiers would always pepper me with
religious questions. Some sought me
out for advice because “religious people
have wisdom.” A few of the questions
regarding boyfriends and familial issues
I wasn’t prepared to deal with, so I
would call my rav or former teachers
for advice.
Fast days and minor holidays were
the most-asked-about topics, as some
of my fellow soldiers had no idea why
we commemorate them. One night a
bunkmate asked me to tell her a story.
It was Adar, so I told her the story of
the Megillah. Even though she was
twenty- two years old, she had never
heard the story of Purim before. All she
knew was that Purim was a holiday of
partying and drinking—and this in
Israel! I was shocked.
I am not the type of person who
tries to convince people to put on
tefillin or light Shabbat candles. Nevertheless, I feel that I made a true Kiddush Hashem during my two years of
army service. Some members of my unit
would try to keep Shabbat with me to
see what it is like. One of my fellow soldiers was grappling with going to shul
every day and putting on tefillin; the
commanders would give him a hard
time. He tended to give in, rather than
confront them. A few weeks after my
arrival on the base, he came over to
thank me. He said, “If it weren’t for you,
I wouldn’t have the courage to stand up
for my religious rights like you do.”
I had in-depth conversations with
many soldiers on the base. A few
started attending shiurim on base and
even tried to keep Shabbat. I saw many
soldiers around me take on certain
mitzvot and express interest in learning
more about Yiddishkeit. In fact, one female soldier, whom I grew close to, is
today shomeret Shabbat and mitzvot. I
didn’t actively try to change anyone, but
my very presence opened up a door for
many who were genuinely seeking.
Since I was discharged over a year
ago, I haven’t gotten used to being back
in Chareidi society. I never truly fit in
here. In the army, I felt I had found a
place, a purpose. I gained a lot from
being in a secular society and having to
defend my religious lifestyle. I don’t
know how many people can do that.
But I did it because of my dream to
serve; I did it for my people and
my country. g