After twenty minutes, a bell rings and a commander jumps to the end of the line of us and takes the yellow cord from the packs on our back and hooks it up to a cable running the length of the plane. He quickly checks our helmet and reserve chute, then moves on to the next one in line. A few more minutes later and the side rear doors of the plane open, kicking up dust and leaves that were tracked into the plane. The breeze cools us temporarily, but then another commander looks down the line and raises his arms for the first ten guys to stand up.
We shakily get to our feet; suddenly the rocking of the plane seems amplified, but it could be a lack of strength in our legs for what we are about to do. I grab the yellow cord with my left hand as the commander shouts for us to check our equipment. Left foot forward? Check. Right hand forty-five degrees down and to the side? Check. He then shouts to sign off. I look at the guy in front of me, making sure the yellow cord is over his left shoulder and his feet are good. I feel a slap on my shoulder: "shteim bseder/two ok!" I slap the guy in front of me: "shalosh bseder/three ok!" Then "arbah bseder/ four ok!" "chamesh bseder/five ok!" "sheish bseder/six ok!" and so on until the guy standing at the door. We wait for the light to turn from red to green, then to jump out of the plane...
It never really dawned on me exactly what it means to be a part of Tzanchanim until two weeks ago. Tzanchanim translates into "Paratroopers" in English. But what does it mean exactly to be a paratrooper? Back in March, when I passed the gibbush and fought to get into Tzanchanim, I told my parents that it entails jumping out of a plane (obviously, right?). I mentioned that I have more than a slight fear of heights. "How will you deal with having to jump from a plane?" they rightly asked. "I don't know. But when the times comes, I'll figure it out. I mean, its just two weeks of my life, so it can't be that bad, right?" In truth, the two week jump course was so far away that Tzanchanim didn't mean being a paratrooper as it so much meant being a coveted unit in the IDF (coveted, of course, because they are paratroopers!). I think my brother had the best reaction: "are you kidding me? That's so not fair! I have to pay to go skydiving but Daniel gets to jump out of a plane five times for free!" Kimberly, my sister, probably the leading daredevil among the Flesch children, was impressed and excited for me.
Fast forward to September. We had finished a few hard weeks and were ready to go to jump school. It's a great two-week break from our usual routine of days in the field and the hard life of being a foot soldier. That Sunday, we didn't go to Tel Aviv or Beersheva to go back to base. Instead, I took a short bus ride to Rehovot and then another bus ride to the paratrooping base. Life on the base was different. For one thing, our commanders were not with us; instead, the madrichim (leaders) are all men and women fulfilling their reserve duty. They are my age or older and come for two weeks at a time to teach soldiers how to jump. Simple jobnik reserve duty, if you ask me.
Life was pretty chill but also very serious. We needed to learn how to properly jump out of a plane and land safely. It's serious work. That entire first week was spent practicing jumping and landing. We would stand in a field of sand (Shmuel noticed it looked a lot like a large sandbox said he wanted to bring shovels the next day and build sand castles), helmets on our heads, and fall forward, backward, to each side, and roll properly. Then we would run up a short ramp and jump off. Joseph Cooper, a lone soldier from California, commented that we look like toad from Mario, with our green uniform and extra large looking heads, stupidly running up ramps and falling down.
We practiced how to sit in the plane, the procedure and routine, and also learned how to properly wear the jumping harness, attach your combat equipment, fold your parachute at the end, everything you need to know. We went back to the Tzanchanim base for Shabbat and then returned to the jumping base on Sunday, hopefully feeling ready for five jumps.
Tzanchanim is not the only unit that jumps. Sayerot (special forces) do it to; Nahal, Golani, Givati, etc., their special forces learn to parachute as well. But they only jump twice; we jump five times. At the end of your jumps, you receive the coveted "confats", the parachute and wings pin that you display on your uniform. As I've been told, it's the sexiest thing you can wear on your chest. Damn I want it!
We trained a little bit on Sunday, then were split into our jump groups for Monday. Unfortunately, my citah (squad) was split up, with me and three other guys joining a jump group from 890. It's not really a big deal, just more fun to be with your friends.
On Monday, my jump group met at its assigned time and we walked to a building where we picked up a harness and parachute and a reserve chute. It all weighs about twenty kilograms. Then we boarded a bus that took us to the adjacent air force base and we unloaded at the end of an airstrip. Other groups were already there; we were to be the third group to jump. Long story short, we had our equipment on, sitting down waiting for the planes, when we were told they weren't going to come; no jump for that day. It sucked after waiting in anticipation for more than an hour.
The next day, we again went to the airstrip, waited, and a plane came to take the first group, then returned for the second group, then we saw it on the horizon as it flew back, but never landed. There was a problem with the plane. We got screwed again!
(This kind of reminded me of Operation Overlord during World War II, or better known as D-Day. The original mission was supposed to be conducted on June 5, 1944 but bad weather postponed the operation. Eisenhower knew that he could not keep putting the mission off because the men would lose hope and morale would quickly slip. So, despite less-than-favorable weather, he decided to initiate the biggest operation to date the following day. Ok, so maybe we weren't exactly in the same situation (but it's fun to talk about history, right?), but having to be told twice that we our first jump was not to be that day didn't leave us feeling all peachy inside.)
Finally, Wednesday, was to be our first jump. We drive out to the airfield and stand in two lines for our jump order. We lay out our equipment then the commander gives us a last lesson on everything to know and remember when jumping. We return to our harnesses and put them one, clipping the reserve chute to hooks on the front. Our commander checks everyone and tells us to sit and wait.
The C-130 Hercules lumbers towards us. If I was a few feet taller, I could touch the tip of its wing, that's how close we were. It stops in front of our group and we enter through the back, the first guy in being the last guy out. We're packed in like sardines, sitting on red cargo nets that form seats. There's about thirty of us for the left door and the same number for the right door. Each door is split into three groups, with one group jumping each time the plane passes over the drop area. I was second to last in the last group.
The rear ramp closes and we're off. I can't even believe what I'm about to do, trying to remember what I'm supposed to do when I jump, praying I don't have any problems. As we get closer, the doors open and the first group stands up, then jumps. You can feel the tug of the yellow cords on the cable as it follows them out of the plane. After the last guy has gone, the commanders pull in all the cords and tell us to stand. We do and slowly inch our way towards the back of the plane, signing off that we're ready and ok.
The first guy stands at the edge of the door, waiting for the light to turn green, signaling the ok to jump. We wait, and wait, and wait. Then bam! Green light and the first guy jumps and disappears. Then the next guy jump and disappears. And the next. As they jump we walk forward, as if being pulled by some force that you can't and won't break free from. I look at the walls of the plane, reading the English signs, feeling comforted by something familiar, until Shimon, from my citah, is ahead of me, in the doorway, then disappears. I'm next.
I throw my yellow cord past the commander at the door and enter the doorway, putting my hands on the outside of the plane. We practiced jumping when you feel the commander shouts "cfotz" and slaps you on the shoulder. For the real thing, I don't remember if he shouted. I do remember not receiving a slap; instead, I was literally pushed towards the open air. Either I jumped, walked, stumbled or fell, but somehow I was outside the plane.
Immediately you become disoriented, with your body being twisted around and your legs flying even with your head. A tug lets you know the chute has opened and you look up and see the absolute most beautiful thing in the world: an open parachute. I stared at it for a good twenty seconds, making sure it was real and didn't fold in on itself. I could feel my body weight pulling down on the harness. I looked straight ahead and found myself staring at the horizon instead of the ground. I was paratrooping!
You jump from the plane at an altitude of 1200 feet. Really, it's supposed to be 400 meters, but because the plane was American, all of the instruments are in feet. So, what does that mean to jump from such a low/high altitude? For one thing, you instantly realize that you're not so far off the ground and feel comforted. You don't have that far to go and it'll be over soon. But then you realize that you're not so far off the ground and you don't feel so comforted. You don't have that far to go and it could all be over soon! What do I mean? Well, a paratrooper's worst nightmare is getting a "neir/candle." It's when your chute opens (as it naturally will when the yellow cord pulls on it) but doesn't expand. In essence, you free fall. If that happens you have one Mississippi....two Mississippi....three Mississippi....four Mississippi....five Mississippi....six Mississippi....seven Mississippi....eight Mississippi....nine Mississippi....ten Mississippi....eleven Mississippi....twelve Mississippi....dead. Twelve seconds before you hit the ground! It's really even less, because the first three seconds out of the plane you're supposed to count and then look up. If you see that you're chute didn't open, you need to pull the reserve chute, which is at least another second. Then just under two seconds for the chute to open and catch the wind. That's already about six seconds gone by. So if you hesitate....just don't hesitate.
Other problems can be holes in the parachute, a cable wrapped around the top or twisted straps. In these cases, you're falling faster but have plenty of time to open your reserve chute and land safely. If everything is ok, you float down to the ground in about thirty-five to forty seconds. In all, you go from the plane to the ground in less than a minute. You hit the ground and try to roll as you were taught, then lay on the sand for a few seconds, not believing that a few seconds ago you were on a plane flying through the air.
We jumped again later that day, but this time with our equipment on us. We wrap our combat vest and gun in a special bag that hangs from two clips on our harness. It also weighs about twenty kilograms. When you're floating down, you release the clips and the bag falls four meters, held on by a strap so you don't land on it.
The next evening we had a night jump. This was something else. For one thing, as we near the drop zone, the inside of the plane is light by only red lights, definitely amplifying the military feel of the whole operation. Then when you're in the doorway, you can't see the ground of anything. Thankfully we had a full moon that evening, so after jumping, being twisted around, reoriented and checking the parachute, I could see that I had no problems. The lights of the cities in the distance remind me at the same time that I am well off the ground, but not all that high up; the stars still seem to be closer at hand. The sand below shines white. I know it's getting closer but can't exactly tell how fast. All of a sudden, the weight of the equipment bag disappears, my feet hit the ground with a thud and I fall backwards, my helmet hitting the sand. I stare up as my parachute falls gracefully around me, the last, slow dance after such a violent beginning. The soft fabric glides down and envelops me. My heart and mind race, but the peaceful stillness of the night is complete and absolute. I slowly calm down and take a few moments for myself before standing up and refolding my parachute.
It takes a long time for everyone to gather at the rendez-vous point, check our parachutes and walk out of the area to the buses. The planes continue to fly overhead, dropping soldiers every pass. It's an incredible sight seeing little figures exit the rear of the plane. I pray every time for everyone's chute to open safely without problems. As they descend slowly, you can hear people shouting in excitement or warning, as they may crash into each other. As they near the ground, you remind people to keep their feet together, "you're thirty meters away. Ten meters! Feet together, feet together! Nice landing, you alright?"
After the entire group has gathered and been checked, we put the forty plus kilograms of weight on our back and tramp off to the buses. As we get closer, we see parents and family members waiting for us at the gate, shouting in excitement. Mothers running up to kiss their sons on the cheeks, fathers slapping them on the back, asking about this or that. We're given a few minutes break and I was able to meet Shimon's family and other friends. The lone soldiers kind of stayed together, not sure of what to do, waiting for someone to tell us to eat some of this or some of that.
And that was the week. I jumped a total of three times so far. Everyone is returning tomorrow for one more jump before starting the most difficult week of training, Shavuah Milchemah/War Week. Eight straight days in the field, mimicking actual combat and war conditions. Don't know when I'll do my final jump, but hopefully I'll get the confats pin after tomorrow.
So, at the (almost) end of jumping, how was I able to do it, given my fear of heights and extreme trepidation? You just do it. That's how I love roller coasters; I know that I'm strapped in and nothing could happen, so just do it. Yes, this is much different. But hundreds of soldiers do it every year without complication. And when you're in the plane and the guys in front of you are being shoved out the door, you have literally no time to think. One second you're safely inside and the next you're being hurled through the air. In reality, you have no control over what happens. You try to jump strong and far, but that may or may not happen. Your chute opens and if it has problems, deal with it. If not, enjoy. You can do this.
I want to end with this. A few weeks ago, I read "Blink" by Malcolm Gladwell. It's a decent book, you can skim a bunch. But he includes the following quote from Sigmund Freud:
"When making a decision of minor importance, I have always found it advantageous to consider all the pros and cons. In vital matters, however, such as the choice of a mate or a professions, the decision should come from the unconscious, from somewhere within ourselves. In the important decisions of personal life, we should be governed, I think, by the deep inner needs of our nature."
In many ways, that's how I made the decision to come to Israel to join the IDF. It didn't require a lot of thought or weighing of the pros and cons. It's just something I needed to do. And in Tzanchanim, sometimes you have to go outside your comfort zone to be a part of something bigger and better than yourself. You do it for others, not for yourself. The decisions of "the deep inner needs of our nature" may not always lead us to a safe or comfortable place. But it'll certainly lead you to a better place.
If you have Facebook, check out this link for lots of photos (but I'm not in any of them, sorry).
If not, you should check out this website, Mako, they had photographers.
I'll hopefully get some of my own photos up for my next post.
I hope you've gotten your pin!
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