Table of Contents

1. Sarah - novella length - entered June 2 to 27, 2006
Among the Haredi (ultra Orthodox), few are the women who end up in the Israeli Defence Force. Join one of them on adventures in an elite unit.

2. Nuremberg Tour - book length - entered March 6 to May 13, 2006
The narrator is first plunged into a mega scandal; then into a lottery style army draft.

3. Seema - short story - February 6 to 8, 2006
The narrator struggles along, forever in the shadows of others.

4. Vydia - short story - January 23 to 25, 2006
Arrival of an Afghan refugee family throws the life of a school girl into chaos.

5. Baseball - novella - January 3 to 11, 2006
The life of a baseball player hangs in the balance; is saved. The price? Lots higher than most would care to pay.

6. Romance Novella - December 12 to 16, 2005
Just imagine the two individuals least likely to ever grace the pages of a Harlequin.

7. Field Commission - book - October 11 to November 15, 2005
A poor white and her Afghan friend experience misadventures during a tour of duty in Germany; then a week of total war.

8. Lucky - novella - July 2 to 7, 2005
Time Corps adventures of a Guyanese and her Afghan friend.

9. First Mission - short story - June 20 to 23, 2005
A navigation error leads to being stranded in Time; it then goes downhill from there.

10. Futuristic Infantry - book - May 26 to June 18, 2005
Major Zohra Zamani is an infantry battalion commander 500 years in the future. Join her for three Ulster tours. Between tours, experience her difficult way of life.

11. Alien - book - January 8 to 24, 2005
A space alien is exiled to Earth, taking over the body of an Afghan-Canadian woman in a state of clinically dead. The two sides of the personality, Afghan and Alien, then duke it out for dominance.

12. Green Lake - novella - December 2 to 11, 2004
An Afghan-American US Air Force officer 1,000 years in the future leads a derring-do mission.

13. Time Corps - book - October 27 to November 22, 2004
A woman of today is thrust 10,000 years into the future, joins a shadowy organization.

14. Romance - short story - October 13 to 16, 2004
Double romance, set aboard a space ship.

15. Jamila - novella - October 1 to 9, 2004
A total outcast decides to end it all. Two surprise visitors, one an Afghan, change that.

16. Dark Chronicles of Nooria - book - August 30 to September 29, 2004
A ten year old girl is plunged into a chilling nightmare, a surreal Dantesque horror.

17. Iris - short story - August 26 to 28, 2004
An Irishwoman joins a contingent of Afghans.

18. Farzana - novella - August 11 to 25, 2004
A ten year old white Canadian girl freezes to death in a savage blizzard, gets a second chance at life as an Afghan.

19. Soap (Opera) - book - July 26 to August 10, 2004
An assortment of eccentric foreigners joins an Afghan contingent.

20. Vignettes - short short stories
mostly published July 25, 2004 and prior; mostly under 1,500 words.

Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Certain historical events did occur, similar to descriptions here, but not with the characters named herein.

Profanity, when necessary in dialogue, always stars **** used.
Violence, minimal amount which is needed to support story line.
Sex, adult relationships alluded to, some pickup activity, no scenes of direct sex.

This blog is neither for nor against any political organization, religion or ethnic group. Goal is entertainment, while keeping all stories suitable for children.

Sarah 14

A Col will be leading the convoy. Immediately before boarding, he gathers everyone, "I agree, what you have been asked to do today is a terrible deed. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not excusing the High Command. Merely stating one fact in mitigation. Any time a raid is pinned on us, Hezbollah retaliates; some poor Israeli near the border dies. So, this disguise will actually save Jewish lives."
The split second before each pod exits the hangar it goes into visual and radar cloaking. Once all are out, we streak at treetop level towards the blue waters of the Med.
Out to sea, we switch to silent running, as we make our turn towards the target. Just north of Iskandarouna on the coastal road is a dangerous curve. We've chosen it, to take our victim at minimum speed.
"There he is," the Col chortles with wicked glee, "trust an Arab to be late."
We've been hovering in line of four abreast, commence the run up.
My pod comes to rest on the road immediately in front of a jeep. We've only exited visual cloaking two seconds before.
Our victims are taken by total surprise. Turn their heads, see another pod, immediately behind. Two more, each a hundred meters away blocking traffic.
The lads do not have a ghost of a chance for a showdown. Open jeep, no body armor, one centuries old AK47. The driver and guard sensibly raise their hands.
As I cover them with my "H&K" Sarge merely handcuffs each to the steering wheel.
I catch their looks of relief. They know they've been let off. If we were gonna kill, we'd have already done so.
There are eight black plastic garbage bags. It seems odd that Hezbollah, famous for always being short on money, should show such complete disrespect towards it.
Sarge and I carry the bags. Even before the doors fully close, we're lifting off.
We stow the loot in an armored compartment of the hold, just in case of booby traps.
Col grins, "always thought it was a crying shame, the womens wing disbanded after that minor indiscretion. My hat's off to you - twenty two seconds on the ground."
Sarge replies, "just glad we didn't hafta kill. Neither has started to shave."
Col guffaws, "so now Hezbollah is broke, yet again. How many times have they come back to life?"
Sarge laughs, "cats only have nine lives. These guys have already used lots more."
Upon our return to base, we simply leave the loot in the hold. Bomb disposal experts will open it, just in case.
And then, the big invite. General summons Sarge and me, "here, pour a coffee, have a cigarette."
I don't smoke, but to be polite simply pretend to puff.
General smiles, "your word what we say never leaves this room."
We agree.
He opens a folder, shows a newspaper in Arabic, "fear not my friends, this is no ordinary paper. Not something you could buy in a kiosk. Internal newsletter, Intel is drooling over how much info it contains. And that is to say nothing of all the forms and letters. It's the biggest information haul in over a decade. There was no money. Just a flowery article on how funds are short this month."
We all laugh.
"And if any of your fellow raiders press for an exact figure, merely say this. The General felt it wisest not to disclose a monetary figure. However he pronounced himself as satisfied."
I shift my cigarette uneasily, the smoke keeps drifting to my eyes.
And then and there he pins Lt insignia on me and Capt on Sarge.
It's been a wonderful afternoon at Cafe Hillel. Definitely things are promising; I eagerly agree to return. He turns over the check, starts laughing.
"What's funny about a check?"
He shows me, we've been given an IDF married couples discount.
Grin, "we do look good together, don't we?"

Sarah 13

I'm sitting with Indira and the Americans. They are regaling us with New York stories which seem wildly improbable from this far away.
Sarge sits, cheerful smile, "booked Map Reading Room 4 this morning."
Makes sense, can talk in privacy, soundproofed, as we peruse our target.
We show with a map folder and a carafe of coffee. She shuts and locks the door, sets aside the map, "any time I go on incursion, always talk before, say what hasta be said. Now speaking soldier to soldier, things are good, we're ready. I trust you with my life."
"Thanks Sarge."
"Speaking woman to woman, I'm just about ready to strangle you."
I gasp, "why Sarge? Thought things were ok."
"For the last two years, ever since you exited training, I've been watching, hoping. Hoping that somehow you'll start to grow up, mature, but nothing ever happens."
I gasp.
"You act like I'm your mother or older sister. Absolutely refuse to think any on your own, run to me for advice over everything."
I blush, it's true.
"Now, what if you come back and I don't? Who you gonna harrass? That Indira is a nice person, but even more immature than you. Asking her for advice on anything would be ludicrous. And those Americans, yes they're nice, but ain't one of them with enough people skills to supervise a hand job in a whorehouse."
We both laugh, but of course it's true.
"Before you and I walk outa this room, you are gonna start to grow up. Now, why ain't you at least chatting a bit with the Intel Capt?"
"Sa-arge, I told you that, he's three bricks short of a load."
"Forget that, let's examine him in the hypothetical sense, weigh the pros and cons. Get you thinking instead of just floating through life. Start by putting yourself in his shoes. What happens if he marries a civvy with a nice fat job?"
"Things go poorly for him. She makes way more, treats him like a junior partner."
"Excellent, now you set a number. How much more could a woman make before it starts to be a problem?"
"Maybe up to a quarter more. Beyond that, I wouldn't like his odds."
"Good, now you're rolling, turn the argument around. At what level of income difference would a man start to treat his wife like a slave?"
"I'd say she could make 2/3 of his money, things would be ok. If she made only half his income, he'd get pretty arrogant."
"Ok, turn that argument onto education. How much difference would be ok?"
"I'd say two years of difference, just fine. Three, borderline. Four, lotsa problems."
"I won't ask your views on intermarriage, between Haredi and non. Happens so rarely, it's all guess work. But take National Religious people (Orthodox) on one hand and secular on the other."
"Ok?"
"What happens when an Orthodox man marries a secular woman? And vice versa, secular man and Orthodox woman."
"From what I've heard Sarge, it comes down to how he views kosher and such. Now every Jewish man on earth believes his own parents were right, did at least a minimum acceptable level of kosher."
"Wow, right on, don't stop now."
"So you see, the Orthodox man has drawn a stricter line; feels his secular wife just never measures up. The secular guy is thrilled; his wife does as well as his mother and even better."
"I see, so hypothetically what would happen if you and the Capt were married? I refer to issues of kosher and such only."
I blush hotly, "he is National Religious. In most of their thinking, they are not a far distance from Haredi, just a matter of degree. I'd do far better with him than with a secular man."
"I rest my case. Give the guy an honest chance once you get back. Go for coffee with him."
I blush, but nod.

Capt looks sheepish, "could I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Well ah well see, do you suppose you and I could do coffee at one of those sidewalk cafes?"
"Truth is, I'd like to, but it's forbidden."
"Forbidden?"
"The big op, I'm CB til it's over."
He blushes hotly, "sorry, should have thought of that."
"Come on, let's just sit here for now. We can always go after I get back."
"Thank you so much," sits, leans forward, eager smile, "been hoping we could talk. See two leaves ago, got talking with my uncle. He got me interested in Yiddish literature. Since then, I've read ..."
A guy after my own heart. So far, so good.
"After you return, let's go to Cafe Hillel. Ok with you?"
Now I know he is a gentleman. If he were only interested in jumping my bones, I could name easily a dozen places more conducive to that. Hillel is so sedate and respectable you could take your grandmother.
"Sounds wonderful," I reply.

Indira raises an eyebrow, "Cafe Hillel? Surely you aren't serious?"
"I ah"
"If a guy offered to take me there, I'd be insulted. It'd be like calling me a bore and a prude and an old lady."
I can't help it now, tears start.
She rapidly changes track, "that's just me. Haredi, gotta be different, gotta be so careful of reputation, yes it'd be a great place for a Haredi."
I chuckle inwardly. Sarge sure has Indira and the Americans pegged.

Immediately before the paint job, all four pods are moved into the hangar, where they will remain til mission time. Reason, don't want satellite surveillance picking up those swastikas.
As I see the faces of all the male crews, I realize it's a gargantuan political miscalculation.
Whatever advantage might be gained by pinning the rap on the Beirut neoNazis will be paid for by the destruction of Air Assault morale.
Everyone looks physically ill. At least half the men throw up all over the hangar floor.
Standing next to me is a lad so young he hasn't started to shave. He's pod driver for the pod Sarge and I will ride in. He turns to me, "we've talked. Not a one of us is gonna sign up on a career basis after a stunt like this. Just plain unforgivable."
"I hear you."
"I can't even bring myself to talk about it, so let's do cheerful. Rumor has it you used to be a Yiddish librarian."
Proud smile, "for five years."
"Excellent, always wanted to talk with an expert. I'm a newby, just got bitten by the bug a year ago."
As I overhear other conversations, I understand what is happening: out and out denial. Everyone refuses to even mention the swastikas, is onto happier topics.
Tomorrow, next week, next year, they'll refuse to admit they ever flew under the symbol of the swastika. Collective amnesia, only way to preserve sanity.
I throw up when I see my painted face in the mirror. The driver warmly wraps an arm round my shoulder. Kind soothing tone, "do like the rest of us. This ain't real, we're only actors in a movie."

Sarah 12

Sarge and I have done endless practice rounds. Each lane is its own enclosed bunker, so one person's errant shot doesn't affect a neighbor's score.
Our official scoring round is scheduled in Lane 3, 9:00 am for me and 10:00 for Sarge. I'll lead off, with her my official timekeeper.
An officer will meet us there, sign as official officer witness.
We enter to discover a General and the Defence Minister awaiting.
As I do my pre-round stretch routine, I ponder. Generals have no authority to authorize an incursion; are bound strictly by rules of "hot pursuit". The mere fact of the presence of the Defence Minister means they're thinking of going outside The Wall.
I shrug, an icy pre-combat calm comes over me. I feel more alert, more in my own skin.
I take position, quietly ask Sarge to press the starter.
At uncertain intervals of time, distance and lighting condition, Palestinian holograms pop up. I sense myself to be only slightly better than par, slight improvement in my timing and angle shots.
I'm completely floored when the score card pops out; 9,925 out of 10,000 with the comment it is the highest ever score in the 25 year history of this particular virtch.
Nonchalantly I hand the card to the General to sign, see his eyes go like saucers; as do the Defence Minister's.
As I watch Sarge in action, I feel a sense of shame. Her timing and calculation of angles are so much better than mine, it's beyond belief.
She scores 9,998, with the comment she is now the record holder.
The Defence Minister is obviously choking back the desire to yell "yippee" like a little boy. Instead, sober tone, "both of you are Confined to Base for 30 days. If you haven't heard anything by Day 31, free to resume any off duty travel."
Once outa earshot, Sarge says darkly, "what an ***-****! What a complete and utter donkey's ass!"
"How so?"
"CB? Boyfriend will kill me over this. Worse yet, maybe even find someone else."
I stare into the distance, uncertain of what to say.
Finally, she gives a wan smile, "there is a hope after all. His sister likes me, feels I'm a good influence on him. So, maybe she'll help, you know keep an eye on him. Invite him for family Sabbath dinner, that sorta thing."
"Excellent idea Sarge."
"Guesses where boyo is sending us?"
"Lebanon."
"Grow up, everyone knows that, where in Lebanon?"
"No idea."
She whispers, "inside rumor is a bank job on Hezbollah. Leave em broke, unable to meet monthly payroll. Put heat on their morale."
I gasp, "Sarge, that's against the law, our side would never do that."
Bitter smile, "remember the scar?"
I nod.
"Bank job in Syria."
I gasp, then, "did it work?"
"Yes and no. Yes, mission accomplished. No in that it was a lot less money than anticipated."

There are three present, Sarge, myself and the same General.
Polite, "today, background info only. Exact details of the incursion will be shared out later. Now we looked for two things in choice of people. First, decent shooting. Second, a non-Israeli, non-Jewish look. One of you out Germans the Germans with that Haredi look. Other, classic American look, two American born parents. Neither of you would excite any attention in any crowd of North American or European whites. Both of you could pass muster as members of a neoNazi hate group.
Wicked smile, "and that is exactly what you will masquerade. Now Israeli helmets and body armor are distinctive, so forget those. Use American make, every country on earth has some, plus a lot of private organizations.
"Blue jeans are universal to the human experience, as are American brand hiking boots for civvies.
"Faces, done with green camo paint, make you so your own mother wouldn't recognize you. On top of the green paint, we'll have a white painted swasika on each cheek. After all, they'd reason no Hebe on earth would wear such a symbol. As well, Hezbollah and the neoNazi drug mafia in Beirut are at loggerheads.
"Four pods will be needed. All four will be standard camo. Again, every country on earth plus a lot of private organizations use American make pods. So, just paint over those Israeli symbols and replace with - what else - swastikas and Iron Crosses.
"The Uzi blaster has a remarkably similar appearance to H&K, Hochler and Koch. All it takes is sculpting on a few tiny plastic pieces and no one will know it's an Uzi.
"We come in over the Med, use radar and visual cloaking until we're in the target's back pocket."
General pauses as if expecting questions.
Sarge clears her throat, "and what do you wish of us?"
"Two minutes of your time. There will be two men to take down, by means violent or non, your choice. We even aim to offend Hezbollah."
"How so?"
"In your wildest dreams, can you imagine an organization as macho as Hezbollah actually admitting to being taken by mere women?"
We all laugh heartily.
General smiles, "I didn't come empty handed. Score what we want, it's field commissions for both of you, Lt and Capt."
Sarge grins crookedly, "cyanide tablets too. Guess what happens if this goes sour."
The General nods, shudders.

Sarah 11

I roll my legs outa bed, slide my feet into slippers. My next bed neighbor, Indira, already standing, ruffles my hair, "that's the spirit, today they release us, let's get a move on."
"Why the rush?"
"Need I remind you how ugly and dirty the mess grill gets, for late risers. Let's go while it's still clean, cleanish I mean."
"Yeah I hear you, tired of sick people food."
Indira pulls a face, "glop, gloop, like stuff in baby food jars. Now back to the real world, with real chow, sort of, real coffee, sort of and cigs."
As I dress I think, yes it's been a real bonding experience. Both deathly ill with flu at first, just enough energy to lie there. As we got a bit better, we talked some. Her parents originated from India, part of the Jewish community in Mumbai (formerly Bombay). They emigrated to Guyana arriving shortly before she was born.
Upon becoming an adult, she made Aliyah.
As we set out on the walk to the mess, she asks, "these sabras, why they all so clannish? Yes people be respectful, curious how Judaism be there, but no one ever your friend. Only American Jews. You be the first real Israeli."
I laugh drily, "they will tell you I ain't a real Israeli."
Over earnest tone, "but how they all know, I mean just like that, spot you? You's white."
"First, gene pools, the real Israelis and Haredim are two totally separate gene pools. They, mix of everything, sabra look. Us, still look like East European shtetl. Then overall we spend much more time indoors, paler. Then our Hebrew is accented."
"Oh. So why you Air Assault people hafta meet ten am check in, pods don't go til after dark? Lotta top secret briefings?"
I laugh easily, "unlikely, we been floating the Negev so long we don't need maps anymore. It's meant to cover sin. Say you only needed to arrive an hour before lift off. Then what happens if someone's bus is delayed or detoured by terrorism? Always supplies to load, always some minor last minute repair item."
"I like you, you're honest. Lotta people woulda just pretended to be super important."
"So, how's the pay function going?"
"This century or any other, Indians always do well as government clerks."
She's in the food line ahead of me. Now I truly understand what she means by respect. See I'm used to the food slopped on the plate.
The server pauses, searches out the perfectly done sausages, the best looking toast and eggs. Places, not slops, them on her plate. Yes, guess it's how she says, people respect those who are so committed to Judaism that they travel long distances to live it.
I'm totally shocked at what happens next. The server's eye falls on my logo, "34th Air Assault." His expression becomes awe, reverence. He spends thrice as long seeking out the perfect food items for me.
As Indira and I sit, I remark, "wonder what that was about? Ain't like I'm Queen of Beauty."
"Hero worship, obvious it is."
Two tables over, a crowd of male Air Assault whisper, snicker, obviously talking about me. But they too have that look of reverence, of total mind boggling awe.
I push any questions aside, as Indira's American friends start to show, join us. Here's my big chance, I've always liked Americans.
After a long conversation, Indira innocently remarks, "that's funny. Three crews of female Air Assault hafta make morning check in, yet no one is taking the free breakfast."
This sends the Americans into wild gales of laughter. I never do discover why as they then rush off to their jobs.
I've just about decided to head for the library, when finally someone shows. Sarge goes through the food line. Curious, she gets the same sloppy service as ever. Why? She wears the same badge as me, the same badge that affected the server.
Sarge sits, "So how was sick bay?"
"Least I'm ready and healthy for tonight."
She looks at me oddly, drawls, "check in could be light on the ground today."
"How so?"
She gasps, "you didn't hear? Oh right, sick bay never gets the rumors. You and me friend, is all that is left. Some, dishonorable discharge. Others, busted to peasant outfits."
"Why?"
"Just after you fell ill. I wasn't around, off with boyfriend. Everyone else, including the rest of the Sgt's, went on a mega pi**up."
"Trouble with MPs?"
"You ain't whistling Dixie. Got totally stinko, stole lumber, busted up a gay bar and everyone therein."
I laugh, she joins in.
Then, more serious tone, "the Knesset is in a total uproar, Human Rights and all that. Only one thing saved their asses, fact of being women. If men had done the same, would be prison time for sure."
"So ah?"
"You and I friend have joined the ranks of them with loads of free time."
"What do we do?"
"Target practice, lots of it, at the range. If we get really good, maybe the lads will take mercy on us, invite us to the party."
"Party?"
She leans forward, whispers, "you are outa touch, no TV in the sick bay. Lebanon is front and center, the Hezbollah has invited us to the prom."
A male Air Assault detaches himself from his table. Facing me, ignoring Sarge, respectful tone, "please, just one question. Get away under your own steam or did they let you off?"
I smile inscrutably.
Ear to ear grin, "ah, Three Monkeys, nuff said. Sometimes it does pay to be Haredi."

Sarah 10

The ways of secular Israelis still are largely incomprehensible to me. It's not like I see mainstream society, more like being cloistered. Then this crew is so ultra polite, so afraid of offending me that conversations usually lack depth.
One of the new people falls into step with me. Wicked smile, "how on earth do you cope with all this? Don't you get a wild insane desire to pick up a Tavor blaster, fire off the whole thousand round clip?"
"At least thrice weekly, I've learned to just ignore that urge."
Laugh, "thought this stuff would be fun, it ain't. This here's the armpit of the world, or at very least the armpit of Israel."
"Try focusing on something positive. Perhaps there is some interesting way to pass the time?"
She pauses, "yeah, could borrow Yiddish books from my uncle, give it a shot. Suggestions as to authors?"
"Sure, starting with US settings, there is ..."
"Does it not seem strange to you, so many books set in New York?"
"Yes, no, what can you say? If you have the mighty US dollar in your hands, the publisher caters to you."
"But that's sad, so arrogant. These American Jews act like they're the only Jews outside of Israel."
"Maybe just the only ones with any real purchasing power. Sure there are Jews in India and Ethiopia, but mosta them are challenged getting enough food. Yiddish literature would surely rank low on their budget."
"Don't you wish you were a guy? Study in yeshiva instead?"
"Didn't I just hear you grumbling how boring this is? Don't you think yeshiva would be more so?"
She laughs, "yeah, guess you're right. So the women end up the winners after all. They get to read historical novels; the guys are stuck with Torah."
We both laugh.
She grins, "so almost total segregation, like South Africa in ancient history."
"From what I've heard, there are advantages to a husband away mosta the time, less trouble."
"One thing I'm dying to know. That riot in Ramallah, why'd they join in?"
"You know how men get after drinking."
"Don't gimme that, I can sense there's more, what you ain't saying."
"Ok, it's the men hate seculars worse even than they hate Palestinians. Add in the loss of inhibitions that goes with five days drinking. What else do you expect would happen?"
"Oh but they paid the price. A full four months. Not like me and you, three years."
"I've noticed the world lacks fairness."
She laughs, "yeah, guess it does. Shot any Palestinians yet?"
"Not yet."
"Next year in Nablus."
We both laugh.

(So ends Part Two; the blog may be inactive for several months as Part Three is being prepared.)

Sarah 9

Now that the ice is broken, the crew is friendly and relaxed to deal with. They're curious about Haredim, yet mostly avoid any controversial topic. Soon they hit on the idea of talking Yiddish literature. After all, all are at least a little curious and I have five years of experience.
"So lemme ask you," Karen starts, "seems almost every novel is set either in the East European shtetl or in the Jewish experience in New York. Why is that?"
"Books aren't really made for libraries. They're written and published with the cash buyer in mind. Almost no one here in Israel who reads Yiddish can afford to buy books. So, publishers concentrate on what American fans want. Thank heavens the Americans are generous enough to donate used books."
"Funny people the Americans," Lily asserts, "so modern in all other regards. Anything to do with Israel or Judaism, stuck in the past. They come here, expect to ride a donkey cart away from the airport."
Everyone laughs.
"Hold on," I protest, "jokes aside, let's not trash Americans. Did I ever tell how they donated 80 boxes of books?"
Sarge ruffles my hair, "several times by now. Resta you, listen up. Guess who bought this pod. Comes outa the multi billion dollar equipment voucher, mil aid. Without American generosity, there would not be a country left to defend anymore. So, I'm with Sarah, no trashing of Americans."
Nods.
As we file outa the galley, Sarge and I are last to leave. Smile, "word of advice, start English courses during that downtime on base."
"Yeah Sarge, I know by now. So many jobs need it."
"Not just that my friend. Our Air Assault is a lot more professional than anyone else's. As a matter of courtesy, a thank you to the Americans, we regularly loan them instructors. At any one time, there are a dozen or more Israelis over there, helping with their program."
"Officers or Sgt's?"
"Bout half of each. So, learn English and upgrade to complete high school."
So Ruth was right. First time Sarge has ever blatantly come out and admitted what she is up to. After all, none of that stuff would happen during my draftee hitch.
Whether or not I agree with Sarge, I soon see I have little choice. Out on patrol, social life is good, time passes. On base, oy! These people don't know me from Eve.
Take Ruth for example. Yes, she's a good friend. No sooner than we've arrived back and she vanishes with that boyfriend. Rest, it's the same, gone to boyfriend or parental house all the time.
Yes there is some group drinking but very little. During the draft hitch, you don't get a real salary, just pocket money. Salary starts if you rejoin, on a career basis.
With nowhere to go, no money to spend and no one left on base; time drags like molasses at the North Pole in January.
Upgrading programs are flexible, in modules, can work around any duty schedule. Tutoring is one on one or small group.
By the end of a year patrolling the Negev, I've passed high school equivalency and made huge progress on English. I'm now good enough at it, I check out English books to take on patrol.
I'm also not the crew rookie anymore. Several finish, go home; new people arrive.
And now I'm Sarge's shadow. She insists I follow her around, learn every detail of control room, everything from supply order to duty roster.
"You see, it's like this. When it comes to the real thing, you get one chance, two if you're lucky. Let's say you're on a raid of Hezbollah HQ in Lebanon. If flops because you forgot to order one or more supply items. Just guess what your career looks like after that."
"Not pretty?"
Laugh, "understatement of the year, my friend. You end up in some flea bitten outpost in the Negev, shining flashlights at pods and watching porn."
"You mean ah?"
"Of course, whole lotta them there, it's disciplinary. Sgt, well some day I'll tell you the story of the two raids he was on."
It dawns on me, "you were there?"
She unbuttons her shirt, I see the huge scar, "oh yes, verdict is lucky to be alive."
I protest, "thought there were no mixed crews."
"Not anymore, too much hotdogging and showing off, now it's segregated crews. So when you gonna find a boyfriend? That Intel Captain is giving you the eye."
"Sa-arge, come on, he could not spell the word Palestinians, much less figger what they'll do next."
Mock sniff, "we-ell, if you're gonna get fussy, actually demand brains, expect a long drought."
We both laugh.
"Seriously kid, in case it's escaped your attention. Them in shortage, not us. Them who can afford to be fussy, not us."
"You seem to have done ok."
"He may look good, but he ain't all there, mentally vacant. Still, makes it easier to deal with him."

Sarah 8

And now we're three kilometers away from an abandoned greenhouse, now a tiny IDF station. Reason we rendezvous is so our messages can go back in their radio chatter; we maintain strict radio silence.
Easy tone, Sarge says, "use night vision binocs, scan."
I do, then, "nothing other than standard station lights."
She takes the binocs and looks, then, "use that Infra Red, let's see what you can pick up."
"Sarge, readings show eight adult males, weights listed here."
"But how would we know Palestinians hadn't knocked over the place, and there is eight of them?"
I call up records, "possible Sarge, but then how would the Palestinians know to send the right weight of raiders? This IR is accurate to two kilos body weight."
"Still, use your power of deduction. Do positions show hostile intent or relaxed atmosphere?"
"Those five round the table, it's a card game or eating cold chow. If they were eating hot chow, would show as hotter than ambient temperature. From the arm movements, I would guess it's cards, not eating."
"Good, the rest?"
"Those two sit at the right distance from that TV."
"Notice anything different, them versus the card players?"
"Body temperatures elevated."
"I see, so they're watching something more interesting than cards?"
I blush, glad the darkness of the control room hides it. Level voice, "that reading is usually associated with fever or watching porn."
"Good and the 8th?"
"In position to take rendezvous."
"Which one is doing rendezvous?"
I check weights, "obvious it's the Sgt, heaviest person."
"Ok, safe to make contact. Remember tonight's code?"
"One long green flash, followed by a short red." Which will turn in our nil report, let the High Command know we've spotted nothing on the Negev.
"Driver, do not await my command. Immediately after the signal is sent, shift position thirty meters to starboard."
"Aye Sarge."
I send. A second later, the reply comes back, correct, three dashes and two dots on a flashlight.
"Driver, make tracks. Silent running for the first twenty klicks."
"Aye Sarge."
Long before sunup, we've chosen a wadi. Dozens to choose from, never the same two days in a row. We power down, park. Given the wadi's cover, our camouflage and the fact we send out no signals, we'd be hard to spot. Still, we take turns observing.
Everyone gets a rotation of the joe jobs, except Ruth. As driver, she has maintenance; also is not trained on our equipment.
I cook a hearty breakfast of beef sausages, eggs, toast and coffee.
Karen grins, "kid, before you got here, we rotated cooking. That's why we all looked so thin and unhappy."
Everyone laughs.
She continues, "pure heaven, can always tell them as was raised in a large family." (code word for Haredi.)
"Thank you."
Lily smiles, "very kind of you to agree, do it alla time. Least it gets you outa other stuff. You're a fabulous cook."
I blush, "just nice to have enough, get good stuff. Also feels nice to get thanks."
Karen grins, "by that I assume you mean the men aren't forthcoming."
I nod.
The silence hangs in the air a moment. Finally tentatively Lily starts, "ah look, we bin talking. This ain't one of them pi**ant places where nothing happens. No, we're different. If things are quiet, could spend your whole hitch on stuff like this. On the other hand, next week we could be going to Lebanon or Syria or even Iran." She peters out, runs outa energy.
Karen jumps in, "see a month from now, we could all die together. So, gotta be a high level of trust. We don't mean to be offensive, but one thing we gotta know."
"What's that?"
Karen blushes a bit, "when one comes from a group that rarely provides draftees (code word again), there's always a story behind any who show up. So ah well"
Lily jumps in, "we wanna know, why ain't you married? Why are you here?"
I glance at Sarge, who nods.
"No great secret, was in alla papers. Who remembers the mega riot in Ramallah a year ago?"
Nods all round.
"There was one death. Everyone remember was a yeshiva student?"
Nods.
"Well, he was my fiance. Happened two weeks before my 18th birthday."
Karen frowns, "I recall, guys got off easy, four month draft hitch. Least they get to go back after. You on the other hand, nowhere to go, won't take you back, right?"
I nod.
"Bloody unfair." Pause, "know what you need to do, I mean after your hitch is up?"
"I'm all ears."
"Sabras, real Israelis, they'll never accept you. Oh yes, work with you polite, but never be friends. So, pick foreigners who've done Aliyah, Americans are besta the lot."
"Why is that?"
"Heard them talking, view you as the last true Jews."
"Thanks."
Lily says, "more than just that. See Israel ain't a big place, almost like everyone knows everyone else, what with school, youth groups, summer camp, army hitch. So, person gets to 21, already has enough friends, ain't really seeking more. Foreigners, they're outside of those groups, need the friendship. In fact, don't find it, they'll go back home. So, Americans need you as much as you need them."

Sarah 7

Ruth, my friend from exam and upgrading days, fires up a cigarette. We stand watching the sun go down over the Negev Desert. Once it's fully dark, the pod will lift off, patrol.
She turns to look back at the pod, lowers her voice, "I'd watch out as far as Sarge is concerned."
I'm curious, Sarge is friendly and kind, quite unlike any Sgt I've ever seen portrayed in a historical novel.
"You see friend, I been here in the pod crew a lot longer than you. After all, the driver course is much shorter. I see her game, what's she's doing with you."
"What?"
"Come on, haven't you wondered why she follows you around all the time?"
"Assumed it was because I was the newest rookie. She'd be afraid I make mistakes."
"She wasn't that overdone with me. Nor with the two new crew who started after me. Guess again."
"She dislikes Haredi?"
Ruth laughs, "you really break me up. I have a newsflash for you sunshine. Everyone in the whole IDF hates Haredim. All that draft dodging. Almost none of them work and pay taxes, but gobble up all those benefits. And yes, Sarge hates them, loathes them with a passion."
"I never felt she was dumping on me."
"Kid, you are just so different in your upbringing, you can't read seculars. See before you arrived, Haredim were a daily topic of conversation. All those stupid riots, often for no apparent cause. Yet soon as you arrive, the topic is taboo. No one wants to offend you, they all know you can't go back anyhow."
"Oh."
"So guess again, why is Sarge hanging over you rather too much?"
I gasp, "you mean, she's one of those??"
Wicked smile, I can tell she knows what I mean, "those? Whatever do you mean?"
"You know the word, sounds like Lebanese, but ain't."
Ruth laughs, "the word is lesbian. Sarge ain't. Seen that hot boyfriend she has. Seen her drunk, angry, every emotion under the sun, never seen her look funny at a woman."
"Oh."
"Guess again."
"Sorry, run outa ideas."
"Kid, look around this crew. I don't really count, just the driver, like a poor cousin. Resta these people, is there one, even one, with a good attitude?"
"Ah well not really."
"Precisely, now Sarge knows no one is gonna extend at end of draft hitch. Yet they get points for stuff like that. Obvious, she's trying to convince you."
"She is?"
"Sure, she knows enough to know you have nowhere to go after your hitch is up, she's taking advantage. Trying to convince you this crap is ok."
A few minutes before lift off, I head to my station, the laser gun turret. Two minutes to run the test checks on the circuitry. Truth is, I kinda like this. Nothing ever happens, ride around in the turret and daydream.
Sarge drops by, "tested everything?"
"Aye Sarge."
"An hour before rendezvous tonight, I'll send for you, put someone else in the turret. I want you to see how control room works."

Sarah 6

The Col is everything the Sgt ain't: clear-eyed, alert, trim, with an air that exudes no nonsense.
She raises an eyebrow, "I understand you disputed the work posting with the Sgt."
"Oh, Col, no I didn't."
"Why not? Everyone else in the IDF does?"
"Well you see Col, least it's something marketable. Always jobs available if you can run those machines."
"I see, so you actually accept it?"
"Yes Col."
"Well I don't. Quite frankly, the Haredi mafia would skin us alive if we made you a dishwasher. All those weekly columnists, always looking for some way to show grievance of the week. How the evil sinner seculars have once again insulted Haredi culture. To say nothing of the Knesset. UTJ (United Torah Judaism) Party would make serious noise, boycott any Knesset votes. And since they happen to be part of the ruling coalition, it could be a while before the budget gets through."
New to me of course.
"So my friend, we head them off at the pass. Only way out, we have to provide you with a posting which has a level of dignity about it. Let's start with you. Any ideas, where you'd like to be?"
"Library would be fabulous Col. I do have five years experience."
"Unfortunately it is no go. You have no computer knowledge, have done library work in Yiddish only. Our libraries are Hebrew and English. If you can't read English alphabet, you can't even put books back on shelves. What else?"
"Learning to be an auto mechanic would be great Col."
"Forget it. Engine grease all over the hands of a Haredi woman? They'd scream just as loud as if it were dishwashing. Any other ideas?"
"I'm afraid I've run out Col."
She takes out two sheets of paper. Neither has text, each has a graph on it. "Now examine these two, what do you notice?"
"Identical Col, except for this point here. Chart on the left, it's a half centimeter lower."
Proud smile, "good. Chart on the left is your exam results. Chart on the right is the standard profile for Air Assault."
"Pardon my ignorance of things military Col. What exactly is the difference between Air Cavalry and Air Assault?"
She actually gasps. Then, after a moment of examining my face, "ah I see, Haredi really are not into newspapers."
I nod vaguely.
"Air Cav is the peasants. Go back into history, Air Cav is the equivalent of the Armored Personnel Carrier. Only real difference, an APC was restricted by terrain, rocks, swamp, slope etc. Armored Hoverpods can go anywhere, more mobile. But same concept, just a taxi that hauls around infantry."
"Oh."
"Air Assault is a whole different ball of wax. Extensive training in behind the lines operations. Suppose we wanted routine patrols in the Negev Desert, that's Air Cav. Raiding something in Lebanon, Air Assault. Routine arrest of low level wanted militants, Air Cav. Going after Mr Big in Nablus, Air Assault. So, only one thing stands in your way. As you so observed on the chart, you come up short on written Hebrew skills. Nothing that a month of upgrading won't cure."
I wrestle with the morality of it. My exam is a fraud, people will die because I am inept.
"Ah Col, you would be wiser to place me elsewhere. My exam results are not what they appear?"
"How so?"
I blush hotly, "well you see Col, the questions were just too hard, too many of them. Truth is, I guessed on most of them."
Proud smile, "I knew that. We got cross checks built in, pick up that sort of thing. All part of the trick. See if you stop, think everything through, normal people get half or less of it done. Anyone who can guess so much, yet get such a high mark, proves to us, a person of good instinct good judgment. Can evaluate quickly, with inadequate information and proceed, usually with a wise course of action. Exactly what we need out on raids when something goes wrong with the main plan. In fact, your score is so high, you actually qualify as an officer in Air Assault. Only thing standing in your way is insufficient formal education. Hang around a few years, we can easily remedy that."
"You mean I won it honestly?"
"It's the highest honor you can get in the IDF. Every year, there are more people who go up Mount Everest than there are people who pass the exam. More people who circumnavigate the brutal Southern Ocean in a small boat than pass."
The waiting room is empty, it's past chow time. I get my tray, join the same exam crowd. Everyone has looks of wild curiosity. No one else saw the Col, and I was in there a long time.
Ruth, of kinky kibbutz story fame, breaks the ice, "so, whad you get?"
"Air Assault."
Gasps. Looks of absolute awe.
"When do you start the course for real? What upgrading they stick you with?"
"They say I need a month on written Hebrew."
"Consider yourself lucky kid. Me, got stuck on a month of math." She says the word math as if it were an obscenity and everyone laughs.
"We were talking before you got here. Tomorrow is cheque day, not a real cheque, just the small one. Wanna come drinking with us?"
I think fast. I'm not Haredi anymore, nor will I ever be again. It would be hugely rude, but "well, truth is, I haven't before. I'm a little uneasy."
Ruth smiles, "kid, it's gonna be a small cheque. No one is gonna get stinko enough to beat up MPs or dance naked on tables. Sit next to me, everything will be fine, I'll see you don't get into any trouble."
"All right then, let's do it."
"After all, you and me may as well be friends. We might be meeting again."
"How so?"
"I'm learning to drive pods. Most of the graduating class will get Air Cav; some will get Air Assault. Maybe I'll even drive you to Lebanon."
I raise my cup, in mock toast, "next year in Beirut." Of course, it's a takeoff on "next year in Jerusalem." As I see everyone laugh, see the expressions, I realize I've come a long way. Achieved some sort of belonging. Maybe this won't be so bad.

(So ends Part One. The blog may be inactive several months as Part Two is being prepared.)

Sarah 5

I've noticed a curious thing about secular Israelis. They claim to dislike us, yet on every occasion when there is trouble they go way out of their way to be fair and lenient. I mean come on, if those 200 drunks had been anyone other than Haredi, the newspapers would be calling it treason. Actively aiding your enemy in wartime, possible death penalty. Yet the whole thing is presented as nothing more than drunken lads in a minor indiscretion.
The IDF proves to be even more lenient than I guessed. Some 3/4 of the men were already married; got the standard four month tour. However, the other 1/4, all of whom were engaged were given an easy out. Two busloads of them arrived, accompanied by two hard looking Colonels who acted as witnesses. The rabbi did a mass ceremony. Then the men were taken away to join their comrades in basic. The women were all given their draft exemption cards on the spot by these Colonels.
Very nice, takes care of everyone but me. Now the men, when they return from tour, it will be to a hero's welcome. Me, it would be different. Just spending the last week lodging with all these prostitutes has ruined my reputation you see. Forget ever going back, guilt by association, I too am now a prostitute.
The week of exams defies belief. My Hebrew written skills really ain't that good. The questions are long, convoluted and baffle me. Eventually I realize it's pointless. It's all multiple choice anyhow, so I just guess everything.
The conversations in mess and common room are beyond belief. It's best to keep this story suitable for children, so I won't repeat things. However, stories actually include bestiality. OY!!
And now I sit waiting to be called for my interview. All around me, I can sense the fear of death. These girls are really scared what they'll get. Me, I shrug. I'm Hasid, we believe in reincarnation, similar to Hindus and Buddhists. Death is immaterial to me. What frightens me is having to kill, being judged harshly in G-d's eyes.
A fat Sgt calls out "Sarah Zilberstein". Oy! So this is what your career soldier looks like. Heavy nicotine stains, bloodshot eyes, reeking of last night's booze.
She opens the file, "well shortstuff, guess what, we've decided you qualify as a dishwasher."
"Would that mean using a dishwashing machine or by hand?"
Hard look, "you're pulling my leg, aren't you?" A second of examining my face, "no you're not. It's just that Haredim don't read lotsa newspapers."
I nod vaguely.
"Yes sunshine, it's machines. And yes, that's the same machines as you'd find in hotels, restaurants or boarding schools."
Thank heavens! At least I end up with something marketable.
"Go back to the waiting room. Col wants to talk with you."
I feel a shudder of fear. Come on now, surely Col's don't talk with every new recruit. Wonder how heavy it's gonna be?

Sarah 4

Next morning Naomi comes rushing in, waving around a newspaper she found discarded by the bus stop. Round here, no one bothers with the paper, mostly because they can't read it well. Also, they just don't care about current events, after all they're draft exempt, let secular Israelis worry about the news.
It's thick, got a dozen pages on the mega riot in Ramallah last night. Seems a couple hundred wandering drunken yeshiva students came around a corner. What did they find? A huge crowd of Palestinians rioting, trashing the Army Induction Center. And, since they hate seculars even more than they hate Palestinians, they pitched right in. And now there's 54 million shekels estimated damage and 1,500 people being held in jail.
In all of this, there is only one person dead, one of the rioting yeshiva students. Talk about a small miracle!
Now it doesn't take too much savvy to guess what'll happen. The Palestinians will have a very difficult time in jail. As for the yeshiva students, charges will mysteriously disappear. But along with this vanishing act, they can kiss goodbye to draft exemptions. Oh yes, anyone who is already married will get the truncated four month tour, really only basic training. Anyone still single gets the full meal deal, three years in the IDF. That'll teach those clowns. Talk about justice. And that Yakob, well uh that means uh oh no.
Naomi points, "looky here. Name of the deceased. Don't suppose there is more than one Yakob Kirchner at Ramallah Colony Yeshiva?"
I groan loudly. In two weeks the IDF is gonna come looking for me. Even before I'm married, I'm already a widow.

Sarah 3

I flash my winningest smile,"good afternoon Mrs Klein." She's a real VIP here. Like the rest of us, she is Gur Hasidic. However, she was raised in the USA, has a Masters Degree in Psychology, made Aliyah (immigrated), is a Mental Health Counsellor at the IDF (Israeli Defence Force) Induction Center. It's a huge honor that she comes to our tiny Yiddish-only library. After all, she could easily read the stuff in the Public Library, which most of the rest of my customers can't.
"Ah Sarah," she smiles gently, "are you busy at the moment?"
"Nothing that can't wait. Like advice on Yiddish authors?"
"No Sarah, actually I was meaning to talk to you. When is the big day, when are you getting married?"
"Two weeks today, on my eighteenth birthday."
She laughs easily, "you and everyone else. No one here wants to serve in the IDF."
"Ma'am the men round here says there's a reason secular Israelis don't want to put a gun in their hands. Chances are the Hasids would use it on the seculars before they get around to using it on Palestinians."
She laughs brightly, "and what do the women say?"
"They say the only people crazier than secular Israelis are Palestinians. Both are so nuts they deserve each other. You'd actually be doing a Palestinian or secular Israeli a favor by putting them out of their misery. Best not to shoot either, more cruel that way."
Again she laughs, "enough clowning around. So, tell me, have both families bought a trailer yet?"
I blush hotly, "costs two thousand shekels for a cheap used one. My family has the cash, Dad works at the lower yeshiva (religious high school). Their side, they been saving a year; claim they have not one shekel. So, marriage goes ahead, but it could be a fair bit before I end up living at the colony."
"Can't you see Sarah, they're a fraud? Oldest trick in the book. Works like this. You get your draft exemption so you're cool with it, willing to wait. Him, all he has to do is stall for three years, claim they can't afford the trailer. So, he resides in Res there, not in the trailer park. But don't think he'll ever bother to come home weekends. Lot don't. After all, look it's been five days since end of the term, we haven't seen one of those lads yet. Then guess what happens."
"Because we don't produce any children, he can get a divorce after the three years."
"So what are you going to do about it?"
"What can I do? If I don't marry him, it's off to the IDF to share a cell block with a lotta prostitutes. If I do, least I can stay here, continue to live with parents, work in the library."
She grimaces, "this is one bloody awful country, forcing people to make choices like that."
"Ma'am, you at least are American. If you get fed up, you can go home. Last I checked, no other country but here wanted a person with elementary school education, horrible Hebrew and a main language of Yiddish. It's like this whole place is outa date."
"You ain't whistling Dixie. Know what one of the Councillors told me? This Development is the last place on Earth where it still resembles the East European shtetl. In fact, he joked he was trying to get funding from the Museum Board. Then he got serious, said it all was to do with Hitler."
"Why Hitler?"
"If this Development closes, it's like Hitler has won, after all these centuries. If is stays open, it's like flashing Hitler the bird."
We both laugh.

Sarah 2

I have just finished putting away all the books, onto shelves. Time for a break, I put on the electric kettle to brew tea. Naomi, a friend of one of my older sisters arrives, to drop off a couple returned books and choose new.
"Like tea?" I ask.
"Thanks, kind of you. So, aren't you just a little bit worried about the yeshiva (religious school) lads? I mean come on, it's been five days since summer vacation started. No one can stay there in residence, they loan out those rooms to foreign students travelling. So, where are they?"
I guffaw, "every year, same thing. Go berserk, drink too much, hooliganism. They'll show in a few days, once they burn it outa their systems."
"You just don't understand. This year, different. By now, some of them should have shown. But none, not a one. We got over 200 lads from the Development who study (and reside) in Ramallah Colony Yeshiva."
"That's a tad unusual, so, worried about your husband?"
"He's an ok guy, by himself. But once he starts hanging out with that crowd, well anything can happen."
"I wouldn't worry over much. Too much Torah does that to a person. Need to go berserk a bit during breaks."
She looks at me with a surreal sense of disbelief. At that moment, a vision comes to me. Oh yes, I know what'll happen and tonight too. Still, nothing I can do to stop it. And why worry her? So, I do the only sensible thing and change the topic. It's amazing how much conversational mileage one can get by speaking of the generosity of American Jews.
After tea, she leaves, looking more cheerful. I feel like the world's biggest fraud.

Sarah 1

No computers here of course, all record keeping is by hand. I've just finished checking in all the returned library books, have loaded my cart. With a contented sigh, I realize borrowings are a way up. That would be because of the generosity of those American Jews, sending that big book shipment to us.
My reverie is interrupted by a loud commotion outside. Looking out, I see a dozen girls, all maybe eleven or twelve, are holding onto an outsider woman, arguing vigorously. Better go check before there is trouble - again.
There is not a lot of real communication happening, despite all the shouting. See our girls know very poor Hebrew; daily language and language in our school is Yiddish. The outsider woman also knows poor Hebrew; likely a foreigner, definitely not a secular Israeli.
"What's happening?" I ask.
With a wicked smile, the ringleader turns to me, "caught another prostitute on our Development. Sent Tzipi to get her mother's scissors."
Exactly what we don't need. Not another attack on us in the press. The elders are most strict on this, tell people not to use any force, simply explain the rules. This is unlikely to work, parroting this same line to the girls. They've heard it all before; just ignore it. Better if I can find some way to shame or convince the girls.
With a cheerful smile, I ask, "mind if I talk with her?"
The ringleader grimaces, "you'd better, we need a translator."
Now this outsider (foreigner?) is wearing a sundress, definitely not see through. Sleeves are just a bit above the elbow, hem just above the knees. Anywhere else (including a hundred meters away) this would be considered modest attire. Not here.
Gently I ask, "can you read Hebrew? Or maybe English?"
"Yes of course. I saw your sign."
"Then why did you not obey it?"
"I'm not from here. I thought this was acceptable clothing. It's such a long way to walk around, thought it was ok to just walk through."
I sigh, "round here, there's two standards. For us, very strict, sleeves must go to the wrist, hem to the ankles, no collarbone showing. Now for any outsiders, we're a lot more easy going. We only insist the elbows and knees be covered. So, you're not really that far off. Do you suppose you could give me your word, dress proper in future or walk around?"
"Yes I could promise that."
"So where you from? Your Hebrew is atrocious."
She laughs easily, "oh yeah? It's actually better than yours. New York."
"On vacation?"
"Visiting my aunt, complex over there," she points.
Switching to Yiddish I turn to the girls, "perhaps we should remember a few things. See without all the generous help we get from American Jews, life would be a lot harder here. Every one of your mothers comes to the library. Just ask them how much better it is after we got those 80 boxes of books sent to us. Y'all like to play ping pong, over at the Rec Center. Guess who bought the tables? Or maybe those US Department of Agriculture flour sacks. All there because American Jews lobbied on our behalf. The sidewalk lighting, guess who paid for it. So..."
The ringleader gasps, "you mean to say she's American?"
"Yes, just imagine what the press would say after you cut all her hair off."
It's now a cacophony of noise as all the girls do their best to apologize to the American. Yes things will be ok in future.