Several years ago in reaction to the most recent Lebanon War a non profit organization called Yashar L'Chayal was started to provide what you may call humanitarian aid to units in the Israeli army that do not receive outside help or donations. They give something as simple as fleece jackets for chayalim (soldiers) on border patrol bases where in the winter it can drop to temperatures below freezing at night or baseball hats for chayalim training under the hot sun in the desert for hours at a time. It is basic supplies such as thermal underwear, jackets and hats that the IDF can't afford to get for them but can make a world of difference. The stuff we were giving out that day were actually donations from my uncle and his sons who have been giving generously and consistently to this cause for the last couple years.
I visited three bases, all serving very different purposes and housing very different units, yet all equally in need of help. The first we went to was a naval base in Ashdod that is home to the patrol boats that safeguard the waters all the way from Netanya (slightly north of Tel Aviv) all the way through the waters surrounding the Gaza Strip. The chayalim who join Daburim (the patrol boat unit) work some of the longest and hardest hours in all of the IDF and receive zero to no recognition for their efforts. During our discussion with a captain of one of the boats he explained that unlike other units, their entire lives are on this boat. When they are not on their 3 day patrol out at sea, they are sleeping and eating on the boat and cleaning it for two days in preparation for their next 3 day shift. For three years, their lives revolve around this boat and the 11 other chayalim who serve alongside them. It was hard for me to grasp that soldiers who are going out on the water for extended periods of time in which they have to weather all types of conditions such as icy waves and extreme winds would not be provided with the proper clothing. This is where Yashar L'Chayal steps in and today brought them dozens of sets of thermal underwear. As a sign of gratitude they gave us a framed picture of a patrol boat with a plaque thanking "Mishpachat Maschler".
Our second stop was to the border patrol base in charge of guarding Bet Lechem (Bethlehem), specifically Keva Rachel (Rachel's tomb), and the surrounding areas. Upon approaching the base we arrive at a Palestinian village whose entrance is drowning in signs warning away all Israelis, prohibiting the entrance of Israelis and reinforcing that it is strictly under the control of the Palestinian Authority. As we pass by the signs and I wonder "What the hell are we doing here??" I finally see our destination as we turn in front of a fence draped with the camoflage netting of the army. There we met with the Rasar (quartermaster), who quickly ushers us into the Chadar Ochel (dining room) and in typical Israeli fashion begins force feeding us a huge lunch of soup, chicken, fish, rice and countless other side dishes. The interesting story behind this officer was that after 6 years serving at and essentially running this base, today was his last day and he was waiting to hear where he would be reassigned and what his new position would be. The soldiers of this base were part of the police but under the command of the army (somewhat confusing, I know). Like the Daburim, they also get no outside help and so Yashar L'Chayal has helped them on multiple occasions, the latest installment being a delivery of fleece jackets.
After touring the base we made our way over to Keva Rachel. As one of the holiest sites in Judaism, it is an extremely popular site for people to visit, in an extremely unfriendly Arab neighborhood. Years ago, in order to safeguard visitors from sniper fire and other unpleasant surprises from the locals, Israel made the decision to build a huge concrete wall surrounding the road leading to Keva Rachel. It is an intimidating trip and one that only emphasizes the gravity of the situation and the seriousness of these soldiers' work. Outside Keva Rachel we gathered with some of the soldiers to take a picture with the new fleece jackets.
Our final stop was a base a little deeper in the West Bank in charge of monitoring the activity of the surrounding Palestinian towns. Approaching this base, I realized that we were making a steep ascent up a mountain. The change in elevation was only confirmed when we walked out and were immediately hit by a blast of cold air and strong winds. To put it plainly, this base was a shithole. With units rotating through here every 6 months, they have little incentive to improve upon it and make it more liveable. It was a huge step down from the last base where 
the Rasar made it his goal to beautify the base with plants and fences and other random decorations and amenities. We had a chance to talk to a few of the soldiers, ask them some questions about living conditions and what their jobs entail here. They do some scary work. Every time they go out to patrol, they wear the cumbersome bulletproof vest, equipment, helmet and gun. There were intense looking tanks parked in one corner in the event they have to drive through one of the more populated regions. We went to one lookout point and were showed the house of where a terrorist was holing up before they caught him. The building was in plain eye sight of the base. It was incredibly fascinating but, not going to lie, a little scary.
the Rasar made it his goal to beautify the base with plants and fences and other random decorations and amenities. We had a chance to talk to a few of the soldiers, ask them some questions about living conditions and what their jobs entail here. They do some scary work. Every time they go out to patrol, they wear the cumbersome bulletproof vest, equipment, helmet and gun. There were intense looking tanks parked in one corner in the event they have to drive through one of the more populated regions. We went to one lookout point and were showed the house of where a terrorist was holing up before they caught him. The building was in plain eye sight of the base. It was incredibly fascinating but, not going to lie, a little scary.It was an incredible day and I look forward to having this opportunity again. It is mindblowing to think that the existence of the State of Israel rests on the shoulders of a bunch of 18 year olds. And as fantastically insane this concept is, it has become an inherent part of Israeli society. I no longer think twice when my bus from Be'er Sheva to Jerusalem is made up mostly of young men and women in uniform. I no longer jump when I see a boy my age with a gun slung over his shoulder at a wedding. Unlike in America where soldiers are only something you see on the news and have no part in our daily lives, this culture of required military service plays a powerful role in defining Israel's identity. Children grow up watching older siblings head into the army, knowing that they will one day do the same. Immature 18 year olds fresh out of high school leave the army grown up and more prepared for the rest of their lives than Americans of a comparable age.
Israelis are given the nickname of "sabras" for a reason: the army may toughen them up on the outside, but they still remain genuinely good people on the inside.
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