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By TAL BLUMSTEIN<\/p>\n
NEW YORK (JTA) — \u201cYou have night blindness,\u201d the Israeli army doctor announced unsympathetically at my pre-service medical examination.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re dismissed from your IDF mandatory army service by law,\u201d he said and called the next soldier-to-be.<\/p>\n
I was frightened by the diagnosis. I had worn glasses since I was 3, but I never thought I would lose my vision at 18.<\/p>\n
It turned out not to be as serious as it sounded: My eyes just didn\u2019t get used to darkness as quickly as they should.<\/p>\n
It took me time to digest the enormity of the news: I didn\u2019t need to serve in the army.<\/p>\n
As a slim, 5-foot-8 musician, I never wanted to follow in the footsteps of my father, who served in the artillery force and fought in the first Lebanon War in 1982, so I was relieved to be released from combat. But I still wanted to serve my country. Army service was always an inseparable part of being Israeli. I grew up knowing this was something all good citizens should and want to do. And I did.<\/p>\n
Having played the piano from age 6, I auditioned with hundreds of others for two spots as pianist in the IDF Orchestra. I was accepted.<\/p>\n
The 60-member orchestra represents the Israel Defense Forces for important ceremonies and events, including welcoming foreign presidents and politicians. I performed for dignitaries, heads of state, played with famous artists and even traveled the world three times to raise money for the army.<\/p>\n
Performing for hundreds of people in a foreign country made me proud to be Israeli. People paid to see us, and we made them feel more connected to my country.<\/p>\n
Unfortunately, none of this helped me find a girlfriend \u2013 or even a date.<\/p>\n
One night at a bar in Tel Aviv, I spotted a pretty brunette. She seemed a little older than me, in her early 20s.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, how are you? Is this seat taken?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you in the army?\u201d she replied without answering my question.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m a pianist in the IDF Orchestra,\u201d I said proudly.<\/p>\n
Silence. Her face showed nothing. I couldn\u2019t read what was going on in her mind.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, sorry, I have to go meet my friends,\u201d she said, and left me there, standing by the bar stool, surprised, trying to figure out why she left so fast. After all, I said only two sentences.<\/p>\n
Did I look bad? Was I not confident enough? Maybe it was something I said?<\/p>\n
After the scenario was repeated at parties and bars in Eilat, Jerusalem and Raanana, I came to realize that my prestigious job in the army wasn\u2019t so prestigious with local females. It seemed they were more excited by military men than music men.<\/p>\n
I never understood why women were so attracted to combat soldiers with guns. I guessed it made the soldiers manlier, tougher. But was I less a man because I didn\u2019t fight? Why did being an army musician make me less attractive?<\/p>\n
Some nights I wondered what I could have achieved with the fairer sex if I only carried a weapon. I felt left out, and it was frustrating.<\/p>\n
After my service, I decided to continue my music career in the United States. I was 22 when I moved into an apartment in Jersey City, N.J.<\/p>\n
One night at the bar around the block from my apartment, I flirted with a cute American Jew named Danielle. I told her I\u2019d been a soldier in the Israeli army. Since being a soldier was more unusual in the U.S. than in Israel, where everyone must serve in the army right after high school, I had hoped the young Jewish women here would appreciate my military service more than Israelis.<\/p>\n
\u201cHave you ever shot a weapon?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, but only in training,\u201d I said. I could see the answer ruined my shot at dating her. I\u2019d moved countries, but was my fate with women going to be the same?<\/p>\n
One day on a ski trip to Austria with three other jobniks \u2013 the Hebrew term for army geeks, or soldiers who didn\u2019t fight \u2013 we decided we had to come up with a new story for our military service. We went to a local bar and the act began:<\/p>\n
\u201cHey there. What\u2019s up? Is this seat taken?\u201d I asked a pretty blonde French tourist.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, go ahead,\u201d she replied in a heavy accent.<\/p>\n
A few minutes later came the million-dollar question: \u201cSo what do you do?\u201d<\/p>\n
This time I had a good answer: \u201cI\u2019m a combat soldier in the Israel Defense Forces.\u201d<\/p>\n
She liked my story and, finally, success. But I felt weird. It was the first lie I had told about my army years. My friends always said that I was too nice and that I care too much. Maybe they were right.<\/p>\n
On the ski trip, I tried the story a few more times — and felt guiltier for every woman that believed it. When the week was over, I realized I didn\u2019t want to lie anymore. I wanted to be myself.<\/p>\n
Although the lies got me a few great nights with beautiful women, I wanted to find a real girlfriend \u2013 and I couldn\u2019t with a lie.<\/p>\n
Just a few weeks ago in New York’s Greenwich Village, I introduced myself to\u00a0 a beautiful, tall, blue-eyed woman sitting at a bar.<\/p>\n
“What are you doing in the city?” she asked. “You don\u2019t sound like you\u2019re from here,\u201d she added before taking a sip of her apple martini.<\/p>\n
\u201cI just finished my service in the army orchestra in Israel.\u201d She took another sip. \u201cI\u2019m a jazz pianist now,\u201d I added.<\/p>\n
\u201cWow, that sounds amazing,\u201d she answered enthusiastically. We ended up talking for hours and she gave me her phone number.<\/p>\n
Turns out in artsy downtown Manhattan, I had the big guns after all.<\/p>\n
(Tal Blumstein is an Israeli musician now studying jazz piano performance and living in New York City.)<\/em><\/p>\n