The GREAT Shabbat Meal

So I've been pretty busy for thee past week learning the ins and outs of of hi-tec irrigation, studying water consumption efficiency in agriculture, and planting around 175 olive trees. But I'll get to that in a later post. I want to write about the monthly lone soldiers dinner in the Great Synagogue. Pretty much, once I went to Bakum, earlier last week, I officially became a soldier, thereby being entitled to any benefits offered to us, even though my training has yet to start.

B'Kitzur I got to the Gigantic Synagogue about 20 minutes late and found that it was just beginning, right on (Jewish) time. I was a bit apprehensive about going to this dinner alone, but when I arrived, I immediately recognized a few of the attendees. I use the word attendees because about 25% of the people were former soldiers, 20% were randomers interested in a fun dinner, 10% older people running the event and donors, 15% guys who were interested in joining the army some time in the distant future, 15% were active-duty lone soldiers, and 15% were girls wanting to meet their superhot awesome young strapping Beshert.

I took a seat at a table with a  few of they guys I knew. There was a cute letter from some American kid thanking us for protecting Israel. By us I guess he was referring to me in a few weeks, and the one other active soldier at the table, Yisrael. Yisrael happened to be the only soldier who had brought his rifle to dinner with him, and he inconspicuously placed his magazine on the table. The other guys requested that he remove it, since it ruined the feeling of being at a Shabbat table, Yisrael refused, and a spat ensued. The Cantor interrupted the brewing fight for the traditional Friday night blessing of the children, and Kiddush. When he was finished, like good new Israelis, we picked up the fight right where we had left off. Yisrael agreed to cover his bullets with a napkin, which was  a tenable solution for us. We washed Netilat Yadayim and proceeded to the first course.

Then somebody dropped a bomb. I don't know who raised the issue, but Gilad Shalit was the topic, and the opinions on the trade of terrorists for his freedom was the issue. The number of opinions on the matter far surpassed the people at the table. Shmuel from Coppenhagen who sat towards my left, a former Nachal soldier, insisted that he must be freed at all costs to keep morale in the army high. Elan, the Bitish tanker chimed in and posed the question of whether we can endanger other lives to save Gilad. Yedidya, another Brit from Nachal as well gave credence to Elan. I gave my opinion. I personally think we should pull a Regev-Goldwasser ZT"L on Hamas, they set the price, we provide them with that exact number of terrorist-filled caskets. Andrew to my right, who is drafting in November asked why Israel doesn't have a capital punishment for terrorists, but agreed with my plan. The Israeli across the table stated the obvious, "Your plan is unrealistic." 

But this argument was just the appetizer along with the Musaka, eggplant stuffed with meat, provided on the house from the Tremendous Synagogue. Shmuel voiced an opinion on Hareidim which set me off. He spoke words of fire, and I wasn't going to tolerate that. NO WAY! So yes, me Mordechai , was sitting over his main course, letting it get cold, in a shouting match voicing the need to love all Jews. Just to set the record straight, I think the Israeli Hareidi society as a whole has it VERY wrong, but there are enough people in the world who hate Jews, I will not add myself to the list. Quite honestly I have no clue what the stuffed-capon main course tasted like because I was embroiled in a shouting match whilst I ate. The two American tourists sat and talked amongst themselves, marvelling at how we argued the meal away.

I decided to defuse the brewing fight by suggesting that Elan say a D'Var Torah. I knew ahead of time that he had one prepared, because he publishes one weekly on his blog, and he was quick to take me up on my offer. Bam, situation defused. Just like that! Maybe I should be a bomb technician in the army with skills like those, but I digress. I prompted everyone at the table to say a few words on the Parsha, and kept politics out of the talking points. What we say about the Torah is spot on:... דרכיה דרכי נועם the words of Torah kept a fragile peace at our meal.

Yisrael got up for a second, so of course we tipped his magazine off the table, onto Elan's chair. Elan sat on the bullets, and we replaced the bulge in the napkin with Benchers. We concluded our meal and dessert, but then all hell broke loose. Yisrael went around the table one by one accusing us of stealing his ammunition. I informed him that to us it was Muktsah, so we wouldn't touch it. Eventually Elan got up and showed him the now warm bullets. Yisrael put him in a friendly choke hold, and we all git a good laugh. That is until Yisrael got back to his seat.

While he was on his search for the ammunition, Yedidya stole his gun from under his seat. Here we go again...

From the soldier's dinner, we went to a small Oneg in Baka targeted at lone soldiers once again, and well attended by those most eligible bachlorettes. It was just a big social scene, so after half an hour, I took my leave of absence, and made my way back to the Old City, content, and argued out.