Who Got Gunz

Memories of a Lone Soldier continue…

First time, ever I saw a gauge
Fat Joe (Gangstarr, We got Gunz)

Tonz of gunz, everybody’s getting strapped, tonz of gunz, better watch your fucking back
Guru (Gangstarr, Tonz of Gunz)

More rules of the game. Once again we gather in a het. We must place our water bottles parallel to our right boot, vertically, up and to the right a bit. If not, it’s matsav shtaim (literally Situation Two, figuratively a whole load of press ups). On this particular occasion, we are about to learn the ten golden rules for handling a gun. These, we are told, are rules written in blood. A fellow soldier, from Kazakhstan, is selected to read. A few hours previously, I had reminded him that the army was a game, and that the best way to get through it was to play by the rules. Here, he took matters into his own hands. In a tone of ultra-exaggerated enthusiasm, in which the Borat comparisons were hard to ignore, he began to plough his way through the Hebrew truisms. Our group descended into hysterical, uncontrollable laughter. Missing the point, our mefakedet [commander] asks why we are laughing at our fellow soldier. Together, we are made to perform matsav shtaim. And then we get guns.

***

A month or so before enlisting, I went hiking with a few friends in the Yorkshire Dales. At the end of our trek, we relaxed in front of Jackie Brown, Tarantino’s underrated follow-up to Pulp Fiction. In an early scene, Ordell Robbie (played by Samuel L. Jackson) schpiels about the various firearms on the market. Eventually he arrives at his favourite – the M16: “When you absolutely, positively got to kill every motherfucker in the room, accept no substitutes.” My mind drifted to what was to come. The machine-gun that was being proudly paraded on the screen by a tough bikini model would soon be in my hands. How, I ask myself – thinking both personally and historically – did it come to this?

***

We are taught about our guns before receiving them. We discover its length and weight, its history, and its pros and cons. We learn never, but never, to put it onto automatic. We take a brief test, in which we are told the answers. We are going through formalities. It is urgent to receive our weapon.

The easiest cliché used to describe the relationship of an Israeli soldier to his/her M16 is that of the permanently attached lover. In reality it is more of a noose. We take it everywhere with us: to the toilet, to the shower, to class. At meals it sits perched on our lap, while we try somehow to manoeuvre our knives and forks around it. When we were out in the shetach (literally territory) this week, it lay next to us in our sleeping bag. At first it hurts to carry around, but one soon gets used to it. But woe betide us if we forget it. If we are seen without it for even a second we are liable to get punished. This week, at least half a dozen of us were kept behind for an extra two hours for committing this crime.

(Our memem informs us of this with a fantastic ritual. At the end of the week, all the tsvaatim [teams] gather together in one gargantuan het. The guilty are summoned by name. They are asked if they know why they have been called, before being issued their punishment. The tension is so palpable I almost wish I were among the sinners.)

So we take our gun everywhere. But there is more to it than that. We treat it like the proverbial cup final ticket that is embedded deep in our pocket, but which we nonetheless constantly check is there. When we rise in the morning, we check that there is no bullet in it. Haneshek parook, badook v’natzor hamefakedet, we shout as confirmation. Before taking it apart to clean it, we check that there is no bullet in within. After taking it apart to clean it, we check that there is no bullet within. Now, everybody knows that there is no possibility a bullet could have magically entered the gun during this time. But we do it nonetheless. We are encouraged to be constantly neurotic. Before asking why this might be, however, we must use the weapon.

***

Shooting the gun. We trek down to the shooting range, through beautiful countryside that will never be viewed by civilians. Finally, we reach our destination. Set between two densely forested hills sits the range. We are split into groups. The first group heads into the shooting area, the rest gather to learn various shooting positions. Finally, my time comes. We are asked if we are nervous, whether we have shot before, whether we are ready. I am not nervous, but neither am I particularly relishing what I have to do. To get used to everything, we fire one bullet. Having been standing nearby for half a day, I already knew that the sound was horrendous. Needless to say, when it is your own finger behind the trigger, the noise is magnified to the tenth degree.

I take aim at my target, twenty five metres away. It is a diagram on an A4 piece of paper, pinned to a piece of cardboard. We are in a valley, and the echo of the bullet seems to surround us. It is hard to take aim, particularly with glasses, and the pressure on the arms is excruciating. I tell my mefakedet that I am ready. I shoot. I see nothing leave my gun and I see nothing reach its destination. All I hear is that horrendous noise. For the first time in my life I have some inclination of what it must really be like to be shot. It is hard to take aim, particularly with glasses, and there is a sharp pain from the recoil if you do not position yourself perfectly.

After our trial run, we have five bullets to shoot at will. Then another five. Once finished, we have to remain prone on the floor, with our guns lifted to an angle of sixty degrees, while we wait for everyone to finish. I experience a breakdown of sorts. The sound of the bullets whizzing away remains horrific, and I feel a real sense of anger that I have to do this. Later on, during our second round of shooting, it gets easier. We do various kinds of marksmanship. My scores are low, but I handle the weapon competently. I comfort myself with delusions of grandeur. One is a warrior or a thinker, I tell my comrades, but rarely both.

***

The one skill every single member of the IDF acquires – from the lowliest desk clerk to the meanest paratrooper – is to fire a weapon. This means, theoretically, that the entire country knows how to shoot. Israel is an army with a state, literally a nation at arms. Why is this? After all, even in our darkest imagination, surely no one really believes that the time will come when we will all be required to fight off the enemy. In the nuclear age, it would never come to that.

Is the M16 now the embodiment of the new Jew? In the shtetl, we had but our holy books to protect us. Now, all of us get to pack heat. Fat Jews, fit Jews, religious Jews, Jews in skirts, gay Jews, black Jews, all Jews. We even give some to non-Jews. Jews got gunz. Is this what we are trying to tell our enemies? I think this to be too trite an explanation. Because one thing I’ve learnt this week is that guns don’t kill people, bullets do. When I was awoken from my tent at 4.15 in the morning to do guard duty, cursing the Zionist entity to its core, I wondered what the point was. After all, if any marauders did appear, I didn’t have a single bullet with which to fend them off.

That may change. But, for now, our M16 is but a toy – and with good reason. There was one accident this week at our shooting range. Nothing serious, but a warning nonetheless. We are told never to place our finger on the trigger, and never, ever to point the gun at someone else. For fucks sake, I wonder, what else is the bloody thing for? But in one session, we watch a video warning against the dangers of playing games with guns. This is where most of the accidents occur. Extraordinarily, in a society where everyone gets a gun, people losing control with their weapon (albeit outside of a political context) is almost unheard of.

Israelis are taught to revere their weapon. To what end, I’m not sure. Maybe for the hell of it. Maybe because it’s a heavy burden to carry. I was certainly happy to hand it back in at the end of the week. As a non-combat soldier, I’m not allowed to take it home with me, and I’ve got no complaints about that. While I’ve learnt that hip-hop does indeed sound better with a gun by your side, I’ve also learnt that to shoot a single bullet, even in the middle of nowhere, is a horrible thing. I have nothing but contempt for the machismo of those who can’t wait to shoot. Yes, Jews do indeed now have guns. But to what end? To what purpose? Maybe, as I continue with my service, I will find out…