I recently spoke with Yeshiva College student, Jonathan Sidlow, about his experience in the Israel Defense Force as a Lone Soldier. Sidlow recently published a memoir, What Was Once a Dream— a journalistic collection that graphically and vibrantly paints a picture of his military service which culminated during the summer of Operation Protective Edge. The following is a transcript of our conversation:
I recently spoke with Yeshiva College student, Jonathan Sidlow, about his experience in the Israel Defense Force as a Lone Soldier. Sidlow recently published a memoir, MR: “What did the process of writing this book look like?”
JS: “My adoptive family told me to keep a notebook. I wouldn’t have remembered all of this. It took seven months to write the rough draft, during camp out sessions in the YU library. Editing, censorship and publication took the remainder up in total to two years.”
MR: “What made you want to join the Israeli Army?”
JS: “It’s a very long answer. It’s the first chapter of my book. I wasn’t really considering it until yeshiva. I was very close to dropping religion by the end of high school. I have a hard time executing the whole package. I’ve never been the most outwardly frum person. Despite the progress I made during yeshiva, I never liked prayer. I never felt like it worked for me. I still struggle with this. I put on tefillin every morning as a nod to tradition. Yesodei Hatorah turned things around for me to the point that though I still struggle spiritually, I have enough humility to recognize that there is meaning in the Jewish belief system.”
MR: “Did you consider the American Army?”
JS: “I’m heavily considering joining an ROTC residency program [for medical training].”
MR: (After asking him if his parents are supportive of this goal, Sidlow responded that his father is not particularly happy with it.) “Why isn’t your father for it?”
JS: “On the one hand, if I can find a way to avoid debt and accelerate my move to Israel, he’s for it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want me sent to bumblef**k with no Jewish community around.”
MR: “Did you consider making aliyah and joining the IDF for a longer service?”
JS: “Yes, but ultimately I didn’t extend my service for citizenship because I was not confident I’d be accepted to Israeli medical schools. If I’d have to leave the country anyway, I might as well go back to New York, be with my family, and execute the plan I had all along, which is to earn an American medical degree, and then make the move.”
MR: “Did you find that the Lone Soldier program provided the support you needed?”
JS: “I had a very good support system of family and friends, and I had an adoptive family. I never felt like I was lacking anything: I had a really good network.”
MR: “In your book, you talk about some graphic, very intense military situations in Gaza. Did you ever feel that you were being pushed too far or, that you felt any regret for signing up?”
JS: “Soldiers learn during training that there is no “too far,” there is only “what is necessary.” The six months and change of training are spent by the commanders forcing their trainees to confront what they thought were their physical/psychological limitations until the trainees learn that there is no wall between them and their goal. The understanding gradually crystallizes that if one fails, the individual and the collective may die as a result, in the context of war. We look out for each other, and hold each other up, but our expectations of each other are so high that failure in a task is comparable to betrayal. There is no toleration of weakness when the stakes are so high. I had my moments in Gaza, but never indulged in self-pity to the point that it inhibited my functionality as part of my unit. Regret was part of the equation throughout my service, because being a soldier sucks. You’ve relinquished your freedom in order to ensure the freedom of the nation. Regret stems from self-interest, which I always tried to temper with greater perspective of the historical opportunity I had taken advantage of in being part of the IDF.
MR: (Off of this thought, Sidlow added that the only moments of regret came from guard duty.)
JS: “Despair kicked in because of boredom. I despise guard and kitchen duty. Once the boredom set in, and too much time to think passed, I’d think about my family, my friends in college, about how everyone else was moving forward and I was stuck being the base’s bitch for a week with my platoon. Not every moment of my service offers a feeling of fulfillment in retrospect, though I’ve come to accept that just as I wore the same boots in Gaza as I did in the base kitchen: both are necessary. As one of my commanders said, “You don’t cook, you don’t eat. In war however, it was much easier to feel confident in what I was doing, to feel that I was exactly where I should be, so no, no regrets.”
MR: “Did you ever sympathize with the Palestinians when you were fighting for Israel?”
JS: “I sympathize to a point. If I was a Palestinian, and was deliberately misguided by my political leaders to believe that Jews were the source of all evil in the world; if everything I experience at school, home, the mosque, or with my friends suggested that the Jews were oppressing my people, I too would take arms. I know this about myself, because I don’t suffer injustice well. I pity those my friends and I had to fight. I believe they are victims of their own leadership, who threw their people into the fray against a stronger power, further distancing us both from a future of peace. If you’re asking me whether I shed a tear after pulling the trigger, the answer is no. I become apathetic to my opponent’s personal beliefs and background once bullets start flying past my head. As I say at the conclusion of my book, the only thing which eclipses my pride in having defended my country is the sadness which accompanies the knowledge of what is necessary to do so, but this is in retrospect.”
MR: “I know that you’re an observant Jew. Was it difficult to keep Jewish law while in the army?”
JS: “In my personal experience, the IDF bends over backwards to accommodate religious soldiers. On Pesach, even non-religious soldiers aren’t allowed to bring chametz to the base. Though it’s [technically] not the ‘Jewish Defense Force,’ there’s an IDF Rabbanut which has [the] authority to demote commanders for stepping on religious rights. In many ways I was more religious in the army than I am now. Spirituality was my main motivation for drafting, so every challenge I overcame was affirmation of my faith. It is difficult for me to maintain this perspective in a civilian context. I found it much easier to request from God that you make it through today than to say thank-you the next morning.”
MR: (I asked Sidlow if the non-observant soldiers ever became frustrated by the preference towards observant soldiers.)
JS: If you run off to minyan before an inspection and leave your bed a mess, effectively sentencing your kitah to be the crash test dummies of the samal’s latest calisthenics-from-hell routine, be ready to get the s**t kicked out of you. Happened to a friend of mine. He didn’t make that mistake again. I found that as long as you are considerate, most soldiers are chill and considerate in return.
MR: “Was it ever difficult to keep religious faith when you witnessed certain [violent or gory] things?”
JS: “No. I spoke at the Tekes Yom Hazikaron last year about how I thought war in itself was an injustice God had created. I chewed on this idea since then and approach the topic entirely differently now. In its genesis, the world was without conflict. I believe the story of Cain and Hevel teaches us that it was humanity which created conflict through our own decisions. God gives us the means to choose whether we live in harmony or anarchy, and I do not believe that God has done us wrong by giving us this choice. It is humanity’s responsibility to secure justice and peace, because war and its weapons are human inventions. Blaming suffering and death on God, or sugarcoating it with the label “Yisurei Ahava” seems to me like a product of reluctance on the part of humanity to accept responsibility for its own actions. God owes us nothing.”
MR: “Since you’ve been back, how has the transition been?”
JS: “Rough initially, better now. I came back to New York almost immediately after Tzuk Eitan, and three days before the semester began. It’s been two years and I still have trouble with certain sounds. As a result of being targeted often by mortar teams, I still have a tough time on the Fourth of July. I don’t do fireworks. I used to have trouble with the sound of broken glass being crushed, like a broken beer bottle. Then when I started writing, I made the connection: I remembered how we broke all the glass in houses to alert us if someone was approaching. It saved our lives more than once.”
MR: “Has it been difficult to be with a population of non-veteran college students?”
JS: There is a reason that soldiers call each other “brothers.” Your platoon is not necessarily the group of guys you’d go hang out with in a civilian setting, but they are the people who you know have your back, and who you know are relying on you to do the same. These are the kind of guys who are willing to sleep in holes, not eating much. As a result of training, we see very deeply into each other, more deeply than years of friendship can do. The friends I have on campus are good to me, but there will always be sense of distance and doubt because I don’t know them as well as I know my kitah.”
MR: “Though you were a ‘lone soldier’ in the army, do you ever see yourself as alone now that you’re back in the U.S.?” JS: “Yes and no. I tend to see things differently than my peers, and knowing few people who can relate may engender a sense of loneliness at times, but such was also the case during my service. I miss the trust I had with my kitah, but I don’t miss the army life. I don’t miss getting a gas bomb thrown at me during training, during a REM cycle that was rudely interrupted. I’ve also never been an ideal law abiding citizen and never allowed my happiness to be based on whether I fit in amongst others. I approach my time at YU as a finite interval in which I have various opportunities, not a popularity contest. There is a sense of loneliness here because I see things so differently than my peers, [but] I don’t dwell on that too much.”
MR: “I know that you play the drums and are on your college fencing team. Have either of these hobbies been cathartic for you since leaving the army?”
JS: “Yes. I find difficulty in sitting still. If I’m not tapping on my feet to a song in my head, I’m chewing on an idea. I crave a trance state, in which I’m devoting my full attention to something. This is not because I seek to distract myself from reality. Quite the opposite: I search for ways to live with as much intensity as possible. Fencing, writing, music and academics are all arenas in which I can completely invest myself and feel genuine excitement. The effect on my mind is calming.”
MR: (Having ask how else these hobbies distract from moments of discomfort, Sidlow said:)
JS: “Two years ago I heard the sound of a snow plow grinding up against the curb in midtown Manhattan. The sound took me by surprise, and prompted a bout of anxiety, and that got to me, but I happened to be next to a music store. I went in and played drums until the negative energy that comes with these interruptions subsided.”
MR: “Having lived in a Hebrew-speaking culture and community, why did you not write your book in Hebrew?”
JS: “I’m comfortable speaking on the street, but my Hebrew is still terse and blunt, not at the level to write a full length book.”
MR: “What kind of audience did you intend to target by writing this book?”
JS: “Anyone who is interested in the Lone Soldier program, learning about the IDF, or what’s involved in making our home, what was once a dream, reality.”
MR: “Were there any obstacles in writing such a personal book? Any issues of military confidentiality?”
JS: “For a month I sent the manuscript here and there. The whole process of censorship took roughly a month, but the story still reads. Details were taken out, like tactical processes. I just moved on. It took time because of bureaucracy, not the actual work.”
MR: “Were there ever breeches of friendship?”
JS: “If I do insult someone, I leave out their last name. Most of the time I’m complimenting my friends. There was one sh**head commander I took time to mock on multiple occasions. One of the editors had the same commander and had a good laugh hearing my perspective.”
MR: “Any trouble in articulating your thoughts?”
JS: “With emotional things to write, I’d just stare at the screen. Like, how am I going to describe the kind of fighting that was going on? It was pretty brutal at times. It’s difficult to explain some things I witnessed.”
MR: “Have you been back to Israel since your time in the army?”
JS: “Yes [a year ago]. The ‘twins’’ [his sisters’] bat-mitzvah. I saw jeeps go by [and] I knew what was going on but I wasn’t part of it.”
MR: “Was that difficult?”
JS: “Difficult is not the word I’d use. It was an undeniable indication that life moves on. I don’t miss army life in general, but there are certain aspects I do miss, like waking up in the morning knowing you’re part of something, knowing you’re with the best friends you will ever have, even if they aren’t all necessarily your cup of tequila. When the jeeps drove by, there was a nostalgic moment, followed by acceptance that I’m not an active soldier anymore. I also got to revisit some places during the trip, like a spot where there was a mortar attack. The group I was in had to sprint through fields to the trenches hugging the border as mortars fell. It was Hezbollah’s idea of sending us mishloach manot. And I revisited these fields during sisters’ bat mitzvah trip.”
MR: “Do you intend to visit again soon?”
JS: “I plan to live there. I want a medical degree [from the U. S.] and [then] I’m making aliyah.”
MR: “Do you know where you want to live?”
JS: “Kfar Yehonatan, in the Golan. The arrangement of the village puts the houses around a center: various shops, a beautiful beit midrash and beit knesset. I can envision myself on the porch, admiring my hydroponic garden, reading some Steinbeck, or maybe Lord of the Rings for the third time, hopefully with a family, drinking a nice beverage.”
MR: “In writing this book, did you look for wisdom from other Israeli soldier veterans? Any memoirs?”
JS: I read a lot of IDF related literature to get a sense of where my voice matches up in the mix. Early on, many crash test readers told me that the tone of my voice in the book was inconsistent, always sincere, but sometimes sarcastic, sometimes introspective , sometimes funny, sometimes furious. This was something I had to address during the editing process. I read other books to get a sense of how others approach speaking about interactions between soldiers, how do they explain a military confrontation? How do they explain watching people die? I underlined sentences in different books that spoke to me, and often adopted descriptive frameworks to tell my own story. Pumpkin Flowers by Matti Friedman spoke to my soul, but there was no way I could write that well. 188th Crybaby Brigade by Joel Chasnoff, and Beaufort by Ron Leshem were also helpful in this respect.”
MR: “Who are your favorite writers?”
JS: “Hemingway, Steinbeck, Tolkien, Pearl S. Buck. They’re the greats for a reason. I would read in formation, to stave off boredom during my service.”
MR: “Veterans’ Day in the U.S. is in November. Do you have any plans to celebrate with other veterans?”
JS: “I have a soft spot in my heart for soldiers. Every Veterans’ Day my sisters and I bake cookies for [our veteran neighbors]. A marine said to me after a drill in Israel, ‘We’re fighting the same enemy, just wearing different uniforms.’”
MR: “If there is a message you hope to convey with your book, what is it?”
JS: “I try to paint an honest and human image of what a soldier is. I try to eliminate the fallacy from the reader’s mind that we’re made of steel. The only thing that makes us soldiers is that we stand and fight, despite our weaknesses. I seek to counteract the negative media attention leveled against Israel with an inside perspective on what it is to be in the military force. I wrote the book I wish I could have read before jumping into my own service.”
MR: “What’s next, now that you’ve fulfilled this goal? As a writer, student, veteran, and individual?
JS: “The MCAT and medical school. I’m working on a compilation of short stories, but that’s on the backburner. I’m moving forward, and as Henry Rollins would say, ‘Living the s**t out of life as long as I have it.’”
Jonathan Sidlow is currently pursuing a bachelor’s degree in Music and is on the pre-med track at Yeshiva College. He lives in Washington Heights.