The army can be an insular place. The things that you find important during a military service can often be seen as useless, or even strange, by the ‘real’ world.

For example, at my beret ceremony at the end of training, instead of receiving a brand new pale yellow beret like most of my friends, my platoon commander gave me her own beret, as a form of recognition for my work throughout training. Whilst to people in the army, something like this is seen as something big, to my friends outside of the army, they couldn’t understand why I was excited about it.

This feeling of disconnect is amplified tenfold when you leave the army life behind, even for a bit, and return to your previous one.

For the past two weeks I have been in England, celebrating my brother’s wedding. Whilst it has been an incredible time of catching up with family and friends, it has also been a strange time.

They ask about the army, I ask about their lives back home.

They’re busy studying at university, moving out, working on the weekends, and I am sitting on the Egyptian border watching sand.

Some people ask me if it’s exciting.

“Not really” I reply.

Some ask me if it’s boring.

“Not really” I reply.

So then what is it?

What is the army?

And the best way to describe it would be, for all intents and purposes, as an insular bubble.

Of course the military is responsible for guarding Israel’s volatile borders. And of course every job, no matter how far from the borders they may be, all work towards that ultimate goal. But, more often than not, it doesn’t feel like that.

It’s not everyday that a soldier finds themselves in war (and long may that last) and it’s not everyday that I find myself staring at my computer screens, doing anything valuable with my time. I often in fact, spend my shifts with my eyes flicking to the bottom of the screen where the clock is, willing the seconds to pass faster until the end of the shift.

The goals we work towards in the army are often less noble than the ultimate goal of an army.

Just get through basic training. Just make it until the end of this ceremony in 40 degree heat. Just stay awake until the end of this shift. Just two more days until the weekend.

But somehow, in all the tediousness of “just making it to X” we find ourselves collecting prizes, so to speak, on the way.

A shiny pin here. A coloured beret there. A pay rise, a new rank, days off.

And sometimes you find yourself working towards the prizes, rather than the goal that they signify. And this is what makes the army a place that’s hard to explain.

Once a soldier finishes their training, they will receive a uniform pin to signify their particular job. Most soldiers, rightfully so, are proud of these pins.

But if I were to say to a friend back home that one of the proudest days of my service was the day I received my uniform pin, they may be confused. Why am I so proud of a pin that costs roughly 75p at an army surplus store?

But it’s not the pins or berets that we’re proud of. What we’re proud of are the achievements that will last long after my 75p uniform pin has rusted.

And so maybe instead of saying that the proudest day of my service was the day I received my pin, I should say the proudest day was the day that I received a pin which represents the end of months of training.

The lessons I learnt, the navigation classes I successfully made my way back from, and the rigorous tests I passed.

In a way, this is true of many institutions that have their own rules and their own language.

So when reentering the real world over the last couple of weeks, and when asked about the army, I’ve realised that it’s not the pins and it’s not the berets that matter.

It’s the things that I’ve learnt and the experiences I’ve overcome, these are the things that are important. The things that will last long after my ID card has been discarded, and are the things I can bring to my regular life with me. The berets and the pins may hold no significance, but the things that come with them hold a value far above 75p.

Shira Silkoff is a 20 year-old Lone Soldier in the IDF. She grew up in Golders Green