Unlike most Israeli conscripts, I had not been drafted when I was eighteen, due to a set of decisions I won't bother to recount. Instead I'd done basic training a year and a half previously, and I was now called up to the local processing base, where I'd be told where I would be serving.
The first thing that I should mention is my uniform. My pair boots were a couple of sizes too big. I'd purchased rubber soles to improve the amazingly unorthopedic design and made sure to always wear two pairs of socks on top of each other. This reduced the blistering a little, so I only had a mild limp. My shirt and pants on the other hand were five sizes too big. Without my belt the pants would fall to the ground. I don't recall if I had it then as well, but during my basic training I'd always had a rash - I was allergic either to the material or to the detergent in the base laundry.
The base I was reporting to was the main base for processing new recruits in the Tel-Aviv metropolitan area. I'd been there previously for initial testing and physicals, and for most of my prior interactions with the military bureaucracy. It was a dusty bunch of ugly shacks surrounded by a barbed wire fence and full of internal mini-bases, surrounded their own fences.
My plan, more or less the traditional one for Israeli conscripts who are unhappy with their role, was convincing a Mental Health Officer, known universally by their initials as the "Kaban", to give me a medical discharge. All recruits are given a physical "profile" number, the highest being 97 (rumor says that the extra 3 points are taken off for circumcision). A medical discharge, for physical or mental reasons, means the soldier is assigned a profile of 21, so "profile 21" as it is known was my goal. All that stood between me and freedom was the fact that I am a terrible actor and very obviously sane.
Upon arrival at the base I gave my papers to the appropriate office and was escorted by a soldier, who appeared to have a permanent sneer on his face, to the placement officer's office. We joined a small group of other new recruits. The soldier explained to us that the officer would decide where we would serve. As is always the case when new recruits are presented to officers, he explained that we should only speak when spoken too, always end sentences with "Sir", and stressed the dignity and power of the officer we were about to face.
Eventually my turn came round, and I was ushered in. Standing behind the officer, who was sitting behind a desk, was a rather massive sergeant. The sergeant's job was to deal with those recruits who turn out to be over-enthusiastic in their objection to whichever job the officer has decided they should fill. After briefly glancing at my file the officer told me that, due to my high physical profile, I would be assigned to a combat unit.
"I don't feel I can serve in the army, I just can't, this won't work", I said. "I want to see the Kaban - I know it's my right." This was not a very convincing or articulate argument I must admit, though it was aided slightly by my extremely nervous and depressed demeanor. "You are going to a combat unit because there's nothing wrong with you, like it or not. However, you do have a right to see the Kaban, but mark my words, when they send you back you're going to a combat unit." He scribbled a note for the Kaban and I was ushered out as the next recruit filed in.
Outside I was handed my file together with the note, and told to report to the local transients' unit to await my interview. On the way I loosened the staples on the paper enough to read what the officer had written - "I recommend the soldier be excused from combat duty". Even if granted this was not enough to let me out, of course, but it was a reasonable start.
This was the first of many times during the process when my so-called superiors blatantly lied to me. In every case this happened when my behavior violated not necessarily the rules but certainly the norms and modes of thought expected of me as a soldier. When faced with a repudiation of the framework they were working within, they always responded with a verbal attack or utter denial of my position. The goal was always to impress upon me the values the military organization is based upon, even when their actions (as in this case) undermined them. In his role as a bureaucrat the placement officer was required by military procedure to allow me to see a Kaban. Deciding I was unfit for combat duty was a result of his role as placement office. And in his role as soldier, he lied to me about it.