I was standing around enjoying my commander tell jokes when the sirens wailed. I again wondered why I joined the Israeli Army, under no obligation, as an American. I’d been stripped of my independence, my family, tasty food and everything else imaginable.

During the hours upon hours that I habitually scrolled through the Jerusalem Post, much like a news junkie, I read the names of the 64 fallen soldiers whose names trickled in upon release. It was then I knew why I was there.

One year prior to Operation Protective Edge in the summer of 2014, I signed my life away to an army that spoke a language I could barely grasp and a country I had no familial relation to besides my ingrained Jewish heritage.

Our commanders screamed in what sounded like gibberish and I yearned to understand. For months, I felt like karma was really biting me in the ass for all the times I’d laughed at foreigners. Gradually, I began to grasp the language, word by word.

The red burst of color in our eyes grew darker and more pronounced and our appetites growled for something other than canned tuna and stale pasta. We ran passed our own limitations and grew calluses on our hands from the penetrating gravel from thousands of push-ups.

I craved shawarma, chocolate and In ‘n’ Out burgers and my sleep deprived thought process were absolute insanity! My religion was centered on hope and I didn’t even have much of that left when the war began to escalate.

The rocket sirens only became a nuisance to our limited sleep schedule, which time and time again were cut even shorter because of the terrorist organization in Gaza.

My friends, who ultimately were my family, were fighting in Gaza and it was a mystery if they’d ever make it out. The world around us was in disarray and taking sides based on CNN’s fabricated news casts. Hate was posted all over social media and none of us fighting could bear to read anymore circulating lies.

More rockets threatened the lives of civilians and the country became accustom to running for shelter but there were times when the country’s faith was restored.

The Iron Dome, Israel’s incoming threat interceptor, experienced an act of God after many failed attempts of intercepting an incoming missile. Israel Today interviewed the Iron Dome’s confidential battery commander who recalled the event that restored the country’s faith.

“We fired the first [interceptor]. It missed. Second [interceptor]. It missed. This is very rare. I was in shock. At this point we had just four seconds until the missile lands. We had already notified emergency services to converge on the target location and had warned of a mass-casualty incident. Suddenly, Iron Dome shows a major wind coming from the east, a strong wind that sends the missile into the sea. We were all stunned. I stood up and shouted, ‘There is a God!’ I witnessed this miracle with my own eyes.”

Chills rushed down my spine finding out some sort of power kept a true act of destruction from occurring and essentially kept Hamas from having a field day. We’d already lost a significant amount of heroes who gave their lives in the protection of ours. These heroic teenagers gave up their futures so that every surviving Israeli could experience life in exchange.

During troubling times the Prime Minister of Israel Benjamin Netanyahu encourages his people to stay strong and united.

“We bow our heads to our fallen sons, who died so we could continue living in our country,” said Netanyahu. “We must stand together, united. We must be strong in difficult days, like this day and in days that might come. We are fighting for our home.”

I stepped into a not-so-glorious reality, choosing foreign immersion over roaming school halls like a zombie gasping for life. Be non-conventional, dodge the infectious ‘roamer’ lifestyle, and dare to step out of your comfort zone.