This Canadian Zionist is one of the IDF's few women combat paramedics

“My identity? I am a Canadian and an Israeli,” she says. “I would say I am an English-speaking Israeli. It is difficult to define yourself when you come from two places and when your identity is ingrained in two cultures. Ultimately, I feel I am Israeli – the clothes I wear, the food I eat, the music I listen to, my experiences, the languages I speak.

“It is not possible to immerse in any culture without learning the language. Hebrew is the language I speak every day at work. When I was in the army, I learned the nuances of street-slang Hebrew.”

Shira was eight years old when she moved from Toronto to Israel with her family in 2005.

“I was excited to move to Israel. My whole family wanted to move. I remember, after we visited in 2003 for my uncle’s wedding, we kept asking when we were going to live in Israel.”

Shira’s parents, Yocheved and Yossi, were both born in Toronto into Zionist families.

“My father was a native Hebrew speaker from birth and was connected to Israel all his life,” she says. “Growing up, we felt like we were an Israeli, Zionist family, and in our consciousness we knew we were going to make aliyah.”

Learning the language was part of the challenge of acculturating. Shira describes her arrival into a predominantly English-speaking community in Beit Shemesh.

“I knew zero Hebrew when I began grade three at Orot Banot,” she says. “I distinctly remember sitting in the school assembly, and I knew nothing that was going on. It was discouraging. It was not an easy time for me in elementary school. In grade four, I went to an ulpan after school, four times a week for three months.”

After she graduated from high school, Shira joined the IDF in 2015. She signed a pre-army contract acknowledging that din isha k’din gever – the law of the woman is like the law of the man. This states that women accept the same obligations to the army as men and are required to fulfill the same basic duties.

“I willingly gave up my rights as a female to become a paramedic,” she explains. “This means instead of the required two years for women, my service time was increased to two years and eight months. And then I signed for extra time and did a total of three years and two months. The screening was rigorous. I am obligated to do reserve duty once a year.”

Shira was one of the few female soldiers in the male-dominated combat paramedic unit. Becoming a paramedic was important to her. It is necessary to train as a combat soldier in order to take the paramedic course. She served in the Givati Brigade and Artillery Corps and was stationed everywhere in the country, at every border except Jordan. She was also responsible for training new soldiers.

“I am happy I served my country. I had a good service,” Shira says. “It is special work to be a paramedic, to be there to treat people who are in emergency situations and vulnerable. But it isn’t easy to serve. It was even hard for me, and I am a super motivated Zionist.

“It is difficult to have every minute of your life, down to the second, controlled. It is exhausting. You need to be emotionally prepared for the frustration and for the waiting. Some rules and consequences feel more severe than they need to be. You lose a sense of innocence. You lose a sense of justice. That is part of army life.

“But to keep your spirits strong, to survive, you need to make friends,” she reflects. “You have to have friends, and you have to be a friend. There needs to be genuine caring and concern for others.”

Shira feels it is a place of privilege in the IDF to be able to complete a course that is also professionally beneficial. After her army service, she works as a paramedic at Terem, an emergency medical center that provides urgent care for Jews and Arabs. Although she learned some Arabic in the army, she plans to study the language further.

“We live in the Middle East,” she emphasizes. “We should all speak at least some basic Arabic.”

“Working at Terem is interesting,” she says. “It is an honor to be in that space, to see so many different people, different types of people in many different types of scenarios. It is meaningful for me to be there and to be a compassionate, positive presence.”

SHIRA’S VISION is clear. “The unity government gave me hope. I am waiting for the unity of our country. I believe in it,” she says. “I am waiting for a government that cares about the good of all the people. I believe we can unite with a common ideal and purpose and work together. As [Theodor] Herzl said, ‘If you will it, it is no dream.’

“My guiding principle,” she says, “is the principle of empathy. When you are empathetic, your life is easier. You are good to people. Looking at a person in front of you, seeing the person, and extending the same kindness you would want to be given, that is empathy. The kindness will reflect back on you.”

“We need a healthy land,” she says. “I feel a deep connection to the land and a desire to protect it. We have a duty to take care of the land for ourselves and for the coming generations so everybody can have a place here. I can see the Seven Species growing. Last year, I experienced shmita, the Sabbath of the land, for the third time. Jews in the Diaspora have to make an effort to separate themselves from society to lead a fuller Jewish life. Socially and culturally, they make fewer connections.

“I feel I have more space here. You have more personal and social freedom to figure out who you are. In Israel, Jewish life is second nature. No, not second nature. It is nature. Natural.”

Shira opens her heart to people, to her country, to ideas, to a dream. ■