This continued for four hours. From 4:00 to 8:00 in the morning, I put myself through the hardest physical workout of my life. What was it all for? To get into Tzanchanim, the Paratroopers. A special infantry unit with a storied history: they were instrumental in Israel's victorious war against Egypt in 1956, and, most importantly, they were the unit that recaptured Jerusalem from Jordanian control in 1967 Six Day War. There's an incredibly famous (and moving) photo of three paratroopers at the Western Wall, the first time ever that the State of ISrael had a definitive presence at Judaism's holiest site. In remembrance of this incredible victory, Tzanchanim soldiers culminate hteir basic trianing in a 74km hike, ending at the Wall, with all of Jerusalem out to see their triumphant entrance after their daylong march. In addition, Tzanchanim, as paratroopers, learn to jump out of an airplane; they do this five times during their training. The final thing that distinguished Tzanchanim from the other infantry units is their gibbush, or tryout. THe only purpose of the gibbush is to keep with the unit's tradition. I'm certain that at one point they were a specialized or elite unit, but, especially since paratrooping is unlikely to ever be used again in wartime, Tzanchanim is seen as not unlike other infantry units. For example, even though hundreds of new soldiers attend the gibbush, Tzanchanim is not allowed to take only the best soldiers. They have to take the best of the best, the best of the middle, and the best of the bottom. Why? Because its demographic has to contain a range of soldiers, not simply the best; otherwise, the other units would be stripped of the best, as they would all be in Tzanchanim. However, there were certainly many soldiers who went through the gibbush simply for the experience, without ever intending to go into Tzanchanim.
Initially, that was my approach. I had heard that if I wanted Tzanchanim, I would have to extend my service to two full years. It's a decision I've been wrestling with for some time now. But I'll explain more about that later. For now, you don't even know if I survived the gibbush....
I arrived at base as usual on Sunday, just before lunch. That entire afternoon was spent rehearsing for our tekkes, a ceremony to be held that Wednesday as the culmination of our time at MIkveh Alon. Out marching went on for hours. Nothing exciting to report. That evening, after dinner, those who were going ot the gibbush the next day were given instructions on what to bring, when to get up, etc. We were to awake at 4:00 am, dress in our Bet uniforms, and bring with us our extra Bet uniform, as well as our Aleph uniform. I was pumped as this was actually happening. But then, my Mefakedet pulled me aside, away from the group, and sat me down. I knew this wasn't good. Then she asked me a rhetorical question, "Daniel, what's your profile?" I say it was rhetorical because they have always known that I'm a 72. "Why?" Because of my eyes. Don't you remember when I was gone for a full day to go see an eye doctor?! And you also asked me a bunch of questions a few weeks ago as part of the gibbush application and I specifically asked you about my profile, if it would be a problem! "Well, as of right now, I don't know if you can go." WHAT?! Hell no! I've always wondered how I can go; I've been told that a 72 cannot do infantry. "I want you to be able to go. I'll talk to my commander and then I'll wake you up and let you know." Wonderful. I love the last-minute ambiguity of the entire situation. The gibbush guys went to bed around 8:00 at night. As I was getting into my room, my Mefakedet told me to dress in my Aleph uniform to see the eye doctor the following morning. I really don't know what exactly I was expected to do, because I knew there was no way any doctor would be on base at four in the morning, and I also knew that if they looked at my eyes, they would definitely tell me I couldn't go. So I awoke with the rest of the guys and dressed in my Aleph. Essentially, I eventually made my way onto the bus, although my name wasn't on the list. I've ben told time and again, if you want something in the army, it's all a matter of getting on or staying off the bus. In this case, I wanted to go, so I just got on the bus.
We drove to Tel Hashomer, the same base where I had my Tzav Rishon and reported for my first day back in December. After arriving, we grabbed our Bet bags and sleeping bags, arranged them into pyramids, and formed a large chet in the center of the pavilion's basketball court. There was already a sizeable crowd sitting on the bleachers, mainly Israelis in civilian clothes. I have to admit, I gained quite a bit of confidence after showing up in my uniform. One of the good things about Mikveh is that I am a soldier, and I know how to act accordingly, what to expect, etc. Seeing the wide-eyed eighteen year old Israelis, with absolutely no military experience, staring at us in our perfect chet, shouting in unison, I got excited and pumped to begin the gibbush.
Unfortunately, things again took a turn for the worse. The Tzanchanim officers formed everyone into groups of twenty or thirty. Initially, all the Mikveh guys were put together--except a few others and me. I was eventually put with another group from Mikveh, but seeing all my friends together made me feel lost in the wind, to an extent. I was already in a different environment, one where if you didn't know the Hebrew it was kinda tough luck. Next, we went to see the medical team. They took my temperature and pulse. One of my friends, Mike, unfortunately, was sent home because he had a high temperature. Then the doctor fo the gibbush had to clear us. We had each previously been given our medical form, which the doctor had to sign off on. (A quick backstory is required here: my mom has developed a potential hereditary heart condition and I needed to got o a doctor for a test to see if I was at risk. I left base the previous Thursday, went to the hospital, got the test, and was cleared. However, my medical form still said I was going to a cardiologist for my heart.) When she looked at my form, she asked for the results of the test, which I didn't have. "Can't let you do the gibbush until I see the results." Not again! Long story short, I called the hospital, they faxed the papers to Mikveh, who then faxed it to Tel Hashomer. At this point, my unit had gone to eat and I was thrown into another group, this time with all Israelis. Talk about feeling like a fish out of water. And speaking of water, throughout the day, our Mefakeds ordered us to fill our canteens, drink the entirety, and hold it over our heads to prove it was empty. These canteens are .75 liters. I first thought it was one of the challenges of the gibbush, like they were going to make us run after, but the next day proved how thankful I was that we drank all that water the night before.
A few hours later, all 262 of us gathered on a basketball court, preparing to run the 2k. They read the first forty names in alphabetical order, and continued until everyone's name had been called--once again, everyone but me and a few others. Even though my last name begins with an "F", it is really a "פ, Pay" in Hebrew, the 18th letter. Still, they didn't call me. I think this all stemmed from me not really supposed to be on that bus. But anyway, I ended up being number 252, and ran an 8:21. The course was harder than the paved surface of Mikveh Alon when I ran an 8:07 the previous week. It was on soft dirt (it had rained for a few hours in the morning) and the trail rose and fell a significant amount. Regardless, I was pleased with my time. Everyone was to change back into their uniforms (we ran in sport clothes) and go to dinner.
The next morning, we were to report in a chet at 3:30, wearing nothing but our Bet uniforms. When I say nothing, I mean no undershirts or long johns. Needless to say, it was frigid when we woke up at 3:00. We were herded into an area where everyone at the gibbush stood in chet. They began reading off names, forming new units. Thankfully, I was in a group of 20 with some of my best friends from Mikveh. Finally, I felt my spirits lift after thinking for hours that I would only be with Israelis. We were given tags with numbers on them to hang on our shoulder epaulettes. I was number "two." The Mefaked in charge of our unit gathered us in a chet and we began.
Throughout the four hours, the Mefakeds would ask us our numbers. If you did something really good or failed, they wanted to know our numbers. They told us to each grab a sandbag from a pile. I picked one up and returned to the chet. The Mefaked looked at what I had grabbed, commented that it wasn't big enough, and then asked for my number. What a great way to start.
We then carried the stretcher, two jerry cnas, and our sandbags and headed off into the field. We stopped at a stretch of dirt road, tossed our sandbags into the grass and formed lines of there. There was one bag placed uphill on the road about forty meters away. "Spring there and back, form lines of three, fourteen seconds. Tze!" The road was too small for all of us to fit. If you were at the front of the line, you could make it first. Other times, I just sucked up the burn in my legs, and sprinted there and back, pushing past people as best I could. If you were first or last, the Mefakeds asked for our numbers. Then they wanted to know the top three people. Next, we sprinted there and back twice, with the first four people back carrying the stretcher for the second time back. This lasted a good forty-five minutes, sprinting there and abck thirty or forty times. If you drank from your canteen, the Mefaked asked what you were doing and took your number. You couldn't even piss without being given permission.
Next we were told to grab our sandbags and hold them over our heads. Just stand there and hold them. If you drop your bag or it falls below your head, they ask for your number and make you stand in the middle of the chet. This went on for five minutes. Then we threw them down, jogged back about twenty meters, and were ordered to crawl to the sandbag in the middle of hte path and back...go! At this point, I was thankful we didn't have any clothing on underneath our uniforms. I began to rethink this as I started to cut up and bruise my body with the crawling. In total, we crawled over two hundred meters throughout the morning. For the next couple of days, it hurt to rest my elbows on a table; I'm still finding scrapes on my body.
After a few rounds of crawling, we picked up all our materials and followed the Mefaked as he marched off into the bushes. When we arrived at some location, we were given five minutes to make a three meter by three meter Star of David out of branches, brush, anything we could find. Then we had to make the Tzanchanim logo. This was to see how we interacted in a group. Although almost all of us spoke English, we had to use Hebrew. During the day we also had to decide as a group three pros and cons of women serving in the military, money in professional sports, speak about any topic for twenty seconds, and other conversational segments. In addition, we had a challenge to complete: get everyone over a wall ten meters away, using only a wooden light post, an oil drum and a tire. It was impossible to accomplish in the allotted time, but, once again, the exercise was designed to see our interaction.
Finally, we were led to a location with a square pull up bar. Everyone was ordered up, eyes closed, and hold on as long as possible. You could hear thuds as people jumped down, although it was often the Mefakeds trying to make us think that people were falling. After a few rounds of this, we gathered our supplies and went on a last hike back to the entrance. Our physical tests were done.
Next was the interview. This was simple enough; for me, my interviewers said that they want to know all about me, my history, family, why I'm here, etc. I started to speak in Hebrew. They stopped me and said if I don't have the conversational ability to explain all that, then I should speak in English, and it wouldn't affect my score. Well, I trusted them and spoke in English. They were good guys who seemed genuinely interested in why someone from college would to Israel to fight. They asked interesting, exploring questions. They even seemed interested about this blog! What up, guys!! Let me in to Tzanchanim!
Then that was it for the gibbush. At the end of it, I was tired, bruised and dirty. But I honestly felt that, perhaps except for the crawling, I could do the whole thing over again, no problem. It was hard, but not really difficult. The main purpose of the gibbush is for the Mefakeds to test our mental toughness. I heard accounts of them kicking soldiers our of certain exercises, only to see if the individual would fight to get back in. That didn't happen with my group. Only one guy dropped, and I think it was because he was sick at the beginning. In other groups, up to half of the soldiers didn't make it to the end.
If you're reading this and are planning on taking the gibbush, let me say this: never quit, never give up! At the very least, don't give them the satisfaction. Also, it isn't overly difficult. Remember: the pain you feel is only temporary, literally only for those few minutes. Don't regret not giving it your all just to get back into your comfort zone. You're in the military now: you will never be comfortable. Just keep on trucking. And anything you try your best at, you feel great about later. A little pain now can pay dividends later. For me, even if I don't make Tzanchanim, I am proud of my performance. I tried hard and I think I stood out. Hopefully I'll find out in the next couple days.
We left a few hours later and returned to base. That entire afternoon we worked on marching for our tekkes. That evening was a fun event: soldiers from each country at Mikveh had come up with a few minute presentation about their country. The Americans had some dance moves, others just showed YouTube videos about their country, etc. It was a fun event.
We left on Thursday but are returning tomorrow for a few days of shmirah (guard duty). The following Sunday is supposed to be my first day in my new unit. I still don't know if it's Tzanchanim, Nahal, or Totchanim. There are a lot of things still up in the air. But I'm feeling good about the future. Our Mefakedet asked us last Sunday if we were excited to be leaving Mikveh. I answered with a resounding "yes!" However, as the last week went by, I started to think about not living with English speakers, not seeing the friends I've made over the past three months, and just being thrown into an entirely new environment. It's certainly going to be a challenge. And I welcome it! It's the ISRAELI DEFENSE FORCE!
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