The following post was published by Moti Friedman, an ultra-Orthodox IDF officer, on his Facebook page, under the title: Hunger in the reserves.
A. I am a reserve officer in the IDF. B. I am Haredi. C. I am hungry.
Here is the story of the incident:
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I was drafted this week on Sunday for an exercise. Reported at 7am, a two-hour drive from my home. It's a combat simulation exercise and it's conducted around the clock. A few hours of sleep here and there when you're already collapsing.
I'm not spoiled, but my body needs food (I haven't managed to run it on solar energy yet). On the first day, when I asked at lunch if there was a dish that was kosher according to Mehadrin - they asked me: 'What is this?''
I was a little surprised.
Because before the reserves, something happened. I got a call from the army, and to my surprise, they asked me what kind of food I eat: vegan, vegetarian, or gluten-free?
My throat choked with excitement - the great and wise IDF found time between Iran and Hezbollah to take an interest in my diet, I, the little one - immediately replied happily that I only eat, but only, glatt! And I thanked the IDF for its concern.
So I ate a bun left over from breakfast for lunch. A little dry for my taste, but not too bad.
At dinner, they served tempting sandwiches on a bun, and with renewed hope I asked, my eyes shining: 'You brought me Mehadrin. Right?' After all, I had bothered to explain to them in the morning what Mehadrin was, and why I was the only one eating it. Uh-huh... no. The logistics officer said he would check.
So I ate the heart for dinner. A little sensitive for my taste, but not too bad.
I went up to my commander and asked him if I could find time to pop into a nearby supermarket to buy something. The commander got angry. Really angry!
I personally spoke to the right person, there at the Malka, and more than once, so that what happened in the previous training wouldn't happen. And they personally assured him that everything was in order. He closes and signs. So what happens? What's closed?
But a terribly important message just came in. And we both ran to work.
•
The next morning it's Monday, and I'm giving the soldiers one lesson, and then another. And my stomach... my stomach is not quiet. But I'm an officer. Not some little girl. Should I complain about trivial things?
At lunch, the company eats stir-fried chicken, which smells good. And I check to see if there are any leftovers from yesterday's heart. So for lunch I ate a motivational dish with a light seasoning of mental resilience. A little low in calories for my taste, but not bad.
When I finally found time to call my wife, she was terribly angry - and it wasn't my fault. 'What is this?' she asked reproachfully, 'Can't you feed my husband properly?''
So I had cake and black coffee for dinner. A little bitter for my taste, but not too bad.
My wife hung up, but didn't forgive. She immediately called the commanding officer. He was surprised, he was amazed, and muttered: "A massacre was committed in Israel.".
And immediately and without delay, he did not hesitate or fear and gave her the number of the new rabbi. The new rabbi is indeed new, but not quite a rabbi. A kind of religious officer with a lot of goodwill.
So the next morning I ate a portion of Willow Good. I didn't connect with the aroma a bit, but it wasn't too bad.
I spoke again with whoever needed to, I even raised my voice a little. It's hard... it's hard for me without eating.
So the problem was immediately solved. I was assured that the matter was being handled!
I had the treatment for lunch. I wanted to talk about the problem, but unfortunately it had already been solved.
There's one there, just a simple soldier. A Russian like that, rough and slow. Who travels with me in the command vehicle. So towards evening, when I was already feeling dizzy like on Yom Kippur (not the war. The fast!), he suddenly slipped me a note in the middle of an important KPA: "Your food is under the tactical computer.".
What to say and what to say, I had a hard time thinking about the order and the combat doctrine... and in my mind's eye I could smell Monday's fried chicken. With renewed strength I returned to assessing the situation (he has this tendency, after being assessed he calms down, the situation.)
Immediately after finishing, I ran to look under the computer and muttered under my mustache: 'No to the IDF! They even managed to solve this problem!''
I was very surprised that my food was packaged like it was delivered from some restaurant, and the Russian guy just smiled dismissively. Eat something, you're working hard in the slow lane.
He barely knows me, we talked once or twice in Russian (I broke my teeth trying to remember my grandmother's Russian) about matters of religion and philosophy (the guy is deep in Latin!).
And he, he of all people, simply found a strictly kosher place, and went and brought it to me. That's it, it's that simple.
I sat down to eat. And the food was insanely delicious because it was served generously, in a simple Jewish brotherhood, known as "reut.".
•
To make a long story short: the command rabbi came to visit and again solved the problem, in collaboration with the logistics officer and the new rabbi.
And the problem was solved again: that very evening, a shipment of ten trays of frozen food arrived (Glatt. Glatt. What's the deal with latt?)
A deep-frozen corn schnitzel, and next to it a shiny lump that firmly claims to have been a green pea in its youth. There's an oven in the kitchen and that's it, you're all set!
In short, as you've probably already guessed, the oven wasn't the secret.
And here I am returning from the reserves by train. 47 shekels at my expense. Because the travel voucher printer just didn't work (like the oven).
It's Wednesday, nine in the evening. And I'm on the train home. Tired, hungry, and a little embarrassed. A full-fledged officer in the IDF! And that's what's on his mind? Food?!
No, I didn't receive even one kosher meal from the IDF since Sunday at 7 am, until Wednesday at 7 pm. Lots of good people tried to help. No one was indifferent.
When they had a barbecue for the whole unit one of the training nights, they even thought of me and bought some grilled meat especially for me! They really wanted to help and I'm truly grateful to them.
But the Haredim have a strange tendency to always complicate the situation (they probably underestimated him, so he is not calm, the situation - and I can't eat Glatt meat that was grilled on a barbecue next to Blatt meat, with Blatt tongs.
I really have no complaints against anyone. Everyone wanted to help. Even the brigade's third officer, who didn't agree that I would buy food with my own money and the IDF would reimburse me, 'because it's impossible. There are no food stamps for reservists' - wanted to help.
•
For those who were brave enough to read this far - I will dare to share with them some conclusions from the whole story:
A. The IDF is the best army in the country! And it is a champion at solving problems.
B. If anyone thought that officer ranks give some kind of preferential treatment in the IDF - then think again! There are no protections in the IDF. It does not count reserve soldiers in a completely equal manner!
C. The army is fully prepared to absorb ultra-Orthodox soldiers (after a short stomach removal surgery).
D. I will continue to come to the reserves, and I will continue to work nights and days to defend the people of Israel (with or without food). Just remind me next time to bring sandwiches from home. Not on my wife's sandwiches!
E. Most importantly! Don't judge people by their appearance, origin, or apparent temperament. There are good Jews in all kinds of packaging and with all kinds of accents (and he refused to accept money for the food he bought me) and his name is Ilya Slutsky, the King. And neither the ranks, nor the clothes, make the person. The heart. The heart makes the person.
The most fun is in the reserves.
