I believe by Victor Krupnik

She goes to serve in the IDF

She is waiting for the bus at the stop

It's hot to stand in the sun in morning.

The Army  heavy rifle as a burden

Pulls back the swarthy shoulder of her.

And the bag - of very great dimensions -

Lies at her feet like a huge mastodon.

In the bag’s pocket there’s a Torah,

On the strap there is a keychain, a phone

She turned eighteen in September new,

The last bell rang loudly a time ago ,

Army riffle well nown type “em-sixteen"

She knows by heart from school years.

In her huge, brown deep as sea eyes

The biblical skies  arise on spirit fire.

Her name is Aviv, or maybe - Tali...

On Hebrew Aviv is spring, Tal is dew.

Clasped out in a  uniform neatly,

Chiseled girlish marvellous stature,

She stands, slightly mocking, perky,

It's not safe to any fighting with her

The resting  cocky black pilot beret

Is pushed under the  beige shoulder  strap.

Who ordered her to cut her hair so shortly,

To upset men on military training fire field?

Stack of black hair - the antique myrrh -

Like wave swept over her  subtle back...

Meet the new recruit, commanders.

Take heart  because in war, as in real war.

The bus will take her strait  to Hedera,

Or maybe it’l be Nazareth instead.

To an almost  peer, an young  officer

She will show  proudly a  new military ID.

Everything will happen just  as usual

Without any pathos, the way it should be…

Tall  guy, about seventy fife inches

Will   put her in a little car  Renault

And he will drive  in time for fast lunch,

He will offer tea from an ice thermos,

And he’ll repeat to her - ‘Ihye besder’…

-Everything will be fine, a new  friend!

The service, course, charter, work will  begin,

And the woman, as a brigadier general,

Will allow for her holidays on Saturdays,

And she’ll write the rank in the book - corporal

And yesterday’s civil girl will start

With  khaki  sleeves, rolled up to the elbows,

Delving into  the fluid couplings and oil cans

Of  the Israeli tank  “Merkava” iron body,

To sip hastily strong coffee  in the morning,

Inhale gunpowder fumes and smoke,

And train the  guys to drive a tank skillfully

In circumstances close to combat real .

Or  on the dream  she will remember the teacher,

And a school geography been  lesson:

“…In forty-two seconds the usual combatiente

Crosses our country  from west to east ...”

From her childhood and   beginning

She’ll understand a simple postulate:

Your land is very small, there’r  so few of us,

Every resident is a soldier himself.

Next ninety-two weeks will promptly  fly by…

She will  return back to   home, grown up,

And pleasant  guy - Ron, or maybe Eli,

Will immediately find her and call his wife

A daughter will be born  to them, and sons,

And in Jerusalem at the Wall of Tears

She will place a note between the stones

WhishIng, that there is no war at world!

At evenings, combining daughters  braids,

She will repeat  her mama’s heartful prayer:

- I still  believe: when your adulthood become,

We won't have to make  war anymore.

...The chestnuts will fall seventeen times,

And the crocuses in the valleys will bloom ,

And it will be restless in the mount Golan -

Bad news will come from the North to them

And her young daughter, funny and perky,

Without regrets for and empty speeches,

Named Lior, maybe Orna, it doesn't matter,

immediately will leave the house with a rifle…