Israel Defense Force's Tironut/Basic Training? Check

Demonstrating the MAG

I am done with basic training in the IDF!  Wow that feels great to say.  I have a full week ahead of me of relaxation, called 'regilah', a break soldiers are supposed to get about once every four months.  This is my first one since December.  December!  Seven months!  It is much needed, especially after the last two weeks of training, which turned out to be anything but a cakewalk.

The first of my last two weeks was another one in the 'shetach', in the field.  It's late June and the weather in the Judean desert has been heating up for weeks.  Israel maintains a heat index for the country; if it's too hot, soldiers (and people in general) are told not to be outdoors.  As will be explained, it makes for a very interesting training schedule.

We all knew that we had a week of field training ahead of us as we pulled into our base Sunday morning.  We just didn't know exactly when that week would begin.  The day was spent preparing our equipment and as night descended, it still did not look like we were to be leaving anytime soon.  We went on a few kilometer run around base, given an hour's break and sent to bed.  Then, at three thirty in the morning, we were woken up, ordered into our uniforms, grab all our gear and load a bus to take us into the shetach.  Our week had begun.

This week was called חוליה 'huliah' week.  It built on our previous shetach week; last time we learned to operate in two-man units, now we learned to operate as part of a four-man unit.  And these units of four in the larger citah (squad) are going to be our permanent units for the rest of training and operational status.  Each unit has a commander and then one or two specialty weapons, such as a sharpshooter, grenade launcher, rocket launcher, Negev or MAG.  As the MAGist of the machlekah (platoon), I am the specialist in my huliah.

So what do we do throughout the day?  Well, the 'day' has become a rather interesting concept.  I don't know exactly where to begin to describe a typical shetach day, but bear with me.  We wake up at four in the morning after sleeping in or on a sleeping bag for two hours.  If we need to move camps, we pack up our gear and walk the few kilometers to the next platoon's encampment, and they also rotate camps.  The morning is spent preparing the assigned hill for the 'targilim' (practices) for that day.  Since that only requires a few individuals and the officer, everyone else does 'yevishim.'  (See the video at the end of this post.)  These are 'dry' drills where our commanders yell the distance of the enemy and we jump into the proper firing position.  Then they shout that we have a problem with our magazine, gun, bullet, something.  We crawl.  We roll.  We don't stop.  And with the MAG, it's just all the more hard because of the weight of the weapon.  Yes, I had the MAG with me the entire week, although I never fired it once.

Once finished setting up our training course on the hill, the officer explained the drills and safety measures, then the rest of the morning was spent rotating huliahs into the 'retuv' or 'wet' area, meaning live rounds are used in our work to capture the hill as a four-man unit.  It's fun to begin to imagine what it's like to operate as a team with a common goal and purpose in mind.  It's exciting to feel a part of this military, knowing that it is comprised of your friends with faces and personalities and lives, not anonymous and distant individuals that you may hear about on the news back home.

It takes most of the morning for all of the huliahs to get their training in on the hill and we eat lunch from our field rations and then are sent to bed.  Yes, you did read that correctly.  Around one or two in the afternoon, the platoon gathers underneath a large tarp that provides (some) shade and we sleep for about six or seven hours.  In reality, it's never that long.  There always has to be two people awake to guard us while we sleep, which we rotate every twenty minutes, and you're sleeping on a thin mat on rocks and hard ground, and the sun shines brightly through the tarp, and the heat, and the flies....not a lot of fun.  But there is certainly a difference between one o'clock heat and seven o'clock heat.  You go to sleep sweltering and wake up somewhat cool.

Then the sun begins to set around seven thirty or eight and we do the 'rituv' drills again but at night.  This goes until two in the morning and we sleep (or nap) until four and do it all over again.

By Wednesday, we knew that the week was ending and that it was likely we were to have a masa (hike) that evening.  The other gduds (battalions) in Tzanchanim had completed their masa Sammal, the Sergeant's masa.  It is supposed to be one of the hardest masas because, as I've heard, the Sammals will kill themselves just to kill us.  They're in charge of discipline and their masa will reflect that.  Of course, a lot depends on the Sammal himself, if he's in shape, has the endurance, the will, etc., to put us through punishment and hell.

It quickly became no big secret that we were to have our masa Sammal from the shetach that Wednesday evening.  This was our first time going on a masa straight from the shetach as opposed to from base; it just provided an extra element to deal with.  All of the machlekahs gathered in the central encampment as, amazingly, we had a decent dinner brought in from base.  I didn't know if I was to bring my MAG along for this masa, and thankfully was eventually told to leave it aside and just carry my M-16.

We started the masa well after midnight.  As the third machlekah, we were last in line to begin.  Ahead of us, I could hear gun shots and the thunder of boots and shouts as the others began.  I looked at my friends in line and smiled, excited with the anticipation.  Eventually, only we were left.  Our Sammal appeared at the head of our two lines and spoke a few words that were difficult for me to discern.  But I caught the gist: no one stops.  Then he quickly turned, loaded his rifle, and took off at a dead sprint, firing shots into the air.  We didn't hesitate: we all let out our own "Rebel yell" and ran after him.

It was a tough masa.  Every so often, the Sammal would sprint for a hundred meters and we would all have to keep pace.  It was pitch black outside and earlier in the week I had lost my contacts, so I was wearing glasses, which kept fogging up.  After about fifty minutes, we had a ten minute break.  Six kilometers down.  A fellow lone soldier who was carrying one of the three water packs for the machlekah was having difficulty with it and I took it off his shoulders.  Add about fifteen kilograms of weight.  A plus, however, for me to have the water is that now I am at the head of the column.  I have long legs and am generally able to keep up with the Sammal, the Mem Mem, or whomever is leading the masa.  I don't have to run every few feet, which is a terrible drain.  As our break ended, we reformed our lines, and again the Sammal let out a yell, fired and ran.  And I ran with him, for the entire hundred or so meters.  I looked behind me and there was no one around us.  He eventually stopped running and told me to stop yelling.

The terrain was tough, with the dirt and gravel road winding up and down, potholes and tire tracks pockmarking the path the entire way.  I had a friend behind me the entire time who would help push me every time we ran if I slowed down at all or failed to keep pace.  People were tripping and falling.  And one time I did too.  I went down with a bang and struggled to get back on my feet because of the weight of the water.  My knee hurt a lot but there was no stopping.  We kept going.  After another kilometer or two, the Sammal got on his stomach and started to crawl.  It wasn't for long, only about twenty meters.  I think I did a quarter of the distance.  The weight of the water shifted terribly every time I moved one side of my body.  By time I got going, the Sammal was back on his feet and sprinting.  I needed to get back to the front of the line.

We had another rest after an hour.  We opened the three stretchers and put sandbags on them.  I tried to check my knee but didn't feel anything.  The water was starting to break my back, but there were only about three kilometers left, I couldn't give it up now!  The base, the end of the masa, and the end of the shetach week were all in sight!  Just a little more effort and we would be done.

And the the last few kilometers was a piece of cake.  The Sammal still ran every time he heard people talking in the column, and we went up steep hills and down steeper ones.  But we sprinted the last couple hundred meters in the base to our quarters.  It wasn't punishment sprinting; it was an adrenaline-filled energized run to the finish of a tough week and the completion of another landmark.  It was 3:30 in the morning.  13+3: thirteen kilometers plus three with the stretchers.

We stretched and were awarded our infantry corps pins, another piece of hardware to denote your time in service.  I finally inspected my knee and saw that my pants were torn and there was blood on them and running down my leg.  After showering, I went to see the company medic and he said I would probably need stitches but would have to wait to speak to the doctor.  Went to bed at 4:30 am.

Conveniently, the doctor the next day said that I probably did need stitches (note the past tense) but since it was six hours after cutting myself, it was too late for sutures.  Instead, she just bandaged the gaping hole on my knee.  It still didn't change the fact that no less than a few layers of skin were missing.  With it, I received bettim, medical leave from physical activity.  I needed it; I couldn't bend my knee and putting pressure from standing for a while made my leg ache and my cut burn.

The next day was Friday, and Shabbat in the evening.  We closed and then started the new week.  This was to be our last week in basic training, and spent doing more work in the kitchen, guard duty, and other cleaning work around the base.  To be honest, all I can remember from this week are two things: my Yom Siddurim and the Mem Mem masa.

On July 4th I got a Yom Siddurim, a day to take care of personal items.  Lone soldier are entitled to one a month and they offered to give it to me on the 4th, which I was willing to take.  I went back to my kibbutz to put contacts back in, returned to Tel Aviv and pick up my mom's Blackberry that finally arrived, and talked with my family for a few hours on the phone.  Had a beer in the evening on the beach and went to bed.

I returned to base at noon, barely had enough time to grab a small bite to eat from the cafeteria, and went to my plugah.  We organized all our equipment in preparation for advanced training.  We had a quick dinner around six thirty and prepared for our masa.  This time I would be with the MAG.

Before each masa, the medic checks every soldier for his pulse and asks how he's feeling.  After inspecting my knee, he told me I was not to do the masa.  The scabbing had just started, which kept a lot of the wound exposed, and my swelling had not gone done.  I pressed him that I was prepared to go with everyone and do it.  At my insistence, he inclined.

I'm not gonna lie: this was by far the hardest masa.  I replaced a 3.5kg weapon with a 10.85kg one.  But it's not just the weight itself that makes the MAG difficult.  The Negev is a light machine gun that weighs  about seven and a half kilograms, but its much more compact, about the same length as the M16.  The MAG, by comparison, is 1.2 meters in length, and the weight is not distributed evenly.  Thus, it is cumbersome and difficult to carry.

The first six kilometers was...ROUGH.  I honestly thought that I might not make it the entire masa, which was to be a total of twenty-one kilometers, the last three with stretchers.  We had fifteen kilometers to go and I was already sweating like a pig, my arms ached and my back was tired.  I couldn't keep pace with the Mem Mem even though I was at the head of the column.  I had to run every few feet.  I had been holding the gun against my chest, resting it on the top of my magazine clips.  While it takes the strain off my back temporarily, it was not working for the masa.  At the break, a commander helped me tie the legs down so they wouldn't flop around.  Then I decided to just let the gun hang and try to let the strap hang around my shoulders.  That, and as we started walking, I began to sing songs to myself.  And boy did it help the time pass.  Without even concentrating I was able to keep up, thanks to "American Pie", "Kol Ha'olam kulo", Shinedown, and other songs and artists.

The rest of the masa was certainly hard, but not as difficult as it at first seemed.  I survived the next few hours and dozen plus kilometers.  The last six were the hardest.  My feet started to hurt.  My legs got tired.  We had stretchers and not everyone helped out carrying them.  It was rough.  But we eventually finished and the we assembled behind the plugah building, still holding the stretchers at our shoulders.  The Mem Mem called me to the front to do the honors of ending the masa.  I stood before everyone, held my MAG above my head, and shouted, "Machlekah shalosh! Alei! Alei! Alei!" At each shout, the group raised the stretchers above their heads in a last effort of adrenaline.  The masa was over.

Lone soldiers after the Mem Mem masa.
Our shirts were at one point the same color as our pants.

We had a nice barbecue for the end of basic training ready for us at the end of the masa.  It was after midnight.  The masa took four hours.  We were tired, hungry, sweaty and now cold.  Still, we had a great meal and awards were given for the best soldiers in the machlekahs and the plugah.  Finally, an hour break and went to bed around two.

Woke up at five to work in the kitchen for the day.  Long day.  We worked half the next day in the kitchen as well.  That evening, Thursday, we had a fitness test of pushups, situps and a two kilometer run.  I banged out the maximum pushups and situps (75 and 86, respectively) and ran 8:13.  My knee was really bothering me from the masa, still recovering.  This was actually the second fitness exercise that we need to pass basic training.  The other is called the "bulkan maslul", an obstacle course.  It combines a 600 meter run, obstacle course, then another 500 meter run.  A total of 2k, but the course includes climbing over a wall, tire runs, climbing a rope, crawling, and negotiating other obstacles.  I did it all in 8:30, the second best time in the machlekah.  Most people had to do it one or two more times to pass.

Thursday night, to end basic training, was our "misdar" Mem Pay.   The entire day was spent organizing our equipment on our beds in preparation for an inspection by the company commander.  That evening, he spent a good twenty minutes questioning random soldiers in my squad about the different specialty weapons, had me answer about the MAG, and explained why this is this way and that is that way.  Overall, it was an official inspection, and so another very military-esque thing, which is fun and exciting.

The week ended, I'm at my kibbutz but planning on returning to Tel Aviv for the week to be with friends.  I had planned on going to Eilat, but doesn't look like that is going to happen.  We'll see.  There are some people I want to meet up with in Jerusalem.  Pretty much going to take advantage of the time off to relax, relax, and relax.

(This video is on YouTube.  At 2:10 is a clip of the MAGists practicing 'yevishim' drills, I'm at the end on the right.  Then I have a cameo at 3:07 and 3:14.  Most of it is pictures of 'pakal' week, when we learned our new weapons.  Towards the end are pictures of the 'bulkan maslul.')

Helmet for my pillow: my first week in the field

My body aches.  Every part of it is cut up, scratched, bruised and beaten.  I just finished a week training in the shetach (field) (for glossary of Israeli military jargon, click here).  This was nothing like my few days in the field during my service at Mikveh Alon.  Or rather, Mikveh was nothing like this.  Actually, Mikveh was really nothing like anything.  Even the Tzanchanim gibbush (tryout) was absolutely nothing like the past five days.  I was warned beforehand that this past week would probably be the hardest of my training, not necessarily just the physical aspect, but being our first field experience would make the week a trying experience, to say the least.  But from the beginning...

In the Diaspora (outside Israel), Jews observe two days of holiday at the beginning and end of Pesach.  As an American, I, and other lone soldiers, was able to return to base on Wednesday, a day later than the Israelis.  What was the first thing I did for my first day back on base?  Initially, we learned about chemical, biological and atomic weapons and attacks.  We learned how to use a gas mask in the event of such an attack.  And then we did a little more than that.

The entire plugah gathered just outside the base's fence near a tent filled with a form of tear gas.  Every few minutes, a soldier or two would be seen scrambling out, clawing at the ground, coughing, slobbering, trying to regain control over himself.  Just being within twenty meters of the tent made my eyes sting and start to tear.  A few soldiers at a time were ordered to put on their masks.  First, however, I had to take out my contacts and since glasses don't fit inside the mask, I pretty much did this exercise blind.  Then, with a partner, our Sammel (sergeant) tells us to do ten pushups, then run to a pole and back, then some more pushups.  The point?  To get us out of breath and panicked.  I was certainly already there.  For one thing, I literally could not breathe with the mask on.  Secondly, I knew I was going into a tent filled with tear gas.  

I pulled aside the flap and stepped inside.  The gas that filled the tent and the few Mefakeds (commanders) in full chemical protection regalia made the scene very eerie, like something out of X-Files.  My Mefaked turned to me and knocked me on the arm a few times, trying to pump me up.  He told me to just start talking in English, tell him a lesson about anything in English.  I could only think of one thing: the Cubs.  After a minute, in which, surprisingly, I found it relatively easy to breathe, he told me to take my mask off.  Now, I hear that the Commanders then ask for you to repeat your personal number.  I didn't get that far.  I ripped the mask off and the gas rushed to my face, my eyes, inside my mouth.  I couldn't hear or see anything; I didn't want to be in there.  My Mefaked tried to grab my shoulders and keep me inside but I shoved him off and stumbled outside, falling on my hands and knees, eyes streaming tears, nose running, saliva drooling from my mouth.

It took my a good twenty minutes to recover from the intense gas concentration.  The smell of the gas stayed with me for the rest of the day, it was in the fabric of my clothes, in my hair, in everything I did and everywhere I went.  It was not a fun experience, but it was certainly pretty cool.  I would probably do it again, but just one more time.  It's just another thing that you can do in the army but never outside.

That night we had another masa (hike).  These six kilometers were harder than the previous four kilometer masa, not because of the extra two kilometers, but because I was in front of the unlucky guy who had to carry the twenty or so liters of water on his back.  He was struggling.  The entire three kilometers on the way back, I told him to hold onto the back of my combat vest for support.  I was practically carrying him the entire way.  But he's a trooper and made it through.  For completing the masa, everyone in my plugah received watch covers with our draft, plugah and Tzanchanim logo on it.  It's one of the pieces of swag every soldier looks forward to receiving to prove he's less and less of a rookie; it indicates experience.

Thursday and Friday were two very forgettable days doing kitchen duty or practicing marching for hours.  But again Friday night came and the formalities between soldiers and commanders went.  After services and before dinner, our plugah, as usual, formed a chet outside the dining hall, getting ready to go in.  Some guys started singing what has become our plugah's anthem: כל העולם כולו/Kol Ha'olam Kulo/The Whole Wide World.  (Please, click here to hear it.)  This is one of my favorite songs: it's short, simple, and has a great message:

כל העולם כולו         Kol ha'olam kulo               The whole world
גשר צר מאוד           Gesher tzar me'od             is a very narrow bridge

והעיקר                  Veha'ikar                         And the main thing to recall
לא לפחד כלל           Lo lefached klal                is not to be afraid at all

And people get riled up when they sing it (click here).  This time, we start singing and before we know the commanders are egging us on and have brought out a Tzanchanim flag and they give me an Israeli one.  And we're all jumping up and down in a huge dog pile, like a football team getting pumped up before a game.  The scene is a crazy frenzy.  Another gdud comes by, and we go back and forth, shouting all our songs at each other.  A friend picks me up on his shoulders and I'm waving the Israeli flag furiously back and forth, shouting at the top of my lungs words I don't know to a song I've never heard.  It was a great time.  Finally, a pep rally that means something.

Shabbat came and went.  And then a hell storm came, and didn't leave for five days.

All day Sunday was spent preparing for the upcoming week in the field.  That evening, the entire plugah gathered in a large chet to be inspected by the MemPay (company Commander).  He came around and would speak a few words to a couple soldiers.  He stopped when he saw me and asked how everything was.  I replied 'it's all good, but I can't feel my left arm.'  And that was certainly true: the bag's straps are bly (ruined) so they don't hang on the shoulders properly, thus putting undue pressure where the padding ends, and cutting off circulation.  Within minutes of putting the bag on my back, I couldn't feel my arm.  The MemPay moved on, spoke a few words to the entire plugah, emphasizing the difficulty of the week ahead, and offering encouragement to each soldier.

So, what exactly is shavuah sadehoute (week in the field)?  It is...

• carrying over 45kg of weight on your back for kilometers at a time
• not changing uniforms for the entire week, and never taking your boots off except to change your socks one time
• after wearing your combat vest every minute of every day, even to sleep, having it start to feel constricting 
• being woken up after sleeping for ten minutes by rifle fire and your commanders screaming at you to get your packs ready to leave camp and hike to a random spot on a mountain, dig yourself a hole, and sleep in it with three other guys
• getting the worst, coldest, most sleepless nights of sleep of your life
• trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in, even with the canteens in your combat vest digging into your kidneys
• using your helmet for a pillow, and shifting it's position every thirty seconds to make something that can stop a bullet a suitable substitute for a soft pillow (I feel a link is necessary here, to a book I read when I was younger about a Marine's experience in the Pacific during WWII, from which I took the title for this post)
• not taking your contacts out from Sunday night to Thursday night, not brushing your teeth and certainly not showering
• being able to identify the six or seven different types of foliage of the Judean Desert by how much pain they inflict on your body when you crawl through or over them
• having foreign bugs crawling over your clothes and packs, and starting to say 'hi' to them
• suddenly appreciating the thick leather of your boots when dozens of thorns penetrate the soft fabric of your running shoes as you go for a 4k run, the last 2k carrying someone on a stretcher
• crawling 200 meters up a mountain to get to your breakfast
• realizing that nighttime crawling is better than crawling during the day because at night you can't see the rocks, thorns, spikes, roots, depressions, inclines that will hurt you, make you cut, bleed and bruise 
• learning different troop formations while on patrol, learning hand signals, how to conceal one's self, how to build a firing post, how to capture a hill, how to cross a road, how to determine your direction...all in Hebrew
• suddenly fearing the sight of your Sammel because you know he will make you do things you don't want to do, like crawl for hours up and down a mountain
• having a friend tell you that his machlekah's Mefakeds laughed at my citah for how hard my Mefaked was making us work compared to the rest of the plugah
• learning how to operate at night, with strict silence observance, donning camoflauge face paint, keeping tighter formations
• fourteen people getting ten to twelve minutes to ration food from a box, with always four people on guard duty
• being paired up with another soldier so you share a personal bag, sleep together, and if one went off to relieve himself, the other had to follow
• hiking kilometers a day, sometimes just for the sake of hiking, going up mountains and down mountains
• learning how to handle hiking with heavy load on your back, learning to cope with weight, learning to put the pain and discomfort out of your mind and focus on something, anything, maybe the mission, the country/desert, a song lyric, trying to grasp how it is you came to be doing this, anything
• after being asked where would be be right now if you weren't here, responding, 'איפושו יש בירות קרות ובחורות יפות/Anywhere there's cold beer and beautiful girls'
• being conditioned to the point that whenever a Commander picks up a stone, you automatically spring from the lulled slumber you've drifted off to into a crouched position, ready to sprint if he tosses the rock and shouts "'Aza" to mimic a grenade
• learning to pick up your wounded buddy from the ground and carry him up a mountain, which, let me tell you, you won't be able to do your first dozen times
• being on a patrol or hike, and ordered to jump into schiva (prone) position, try to find a comfortable place for your elbows amid the thorns, reorganizing rocks so they don't stab you in the groin, stay there for fifteen minutes, then get back up, all with over 40kg of weight on your back
• being outside, in the beautiful land of my people, with my military gear, praying with other soldiers
• always sweating, constantly, and consequently being freezing at night, but knowing that at any given hour, you will be doing physical work again that'll get your body temperature back up
• trying to climb a mountain with your partner during the day to steal a Commander's hat, or at night to grab a stick light; doing it stealthily, crawling slowly, not attracting attention
• laughing when your Commander tells you on the last night at 8:30 to go to sleep, knowing that it's crap and he will 'unexpectedly' wake you up within minutes, which happens and you have to carry all the citah's gear, hike a few kilometers, and gather with the rest of the plugah for the beginning of a physical test on what we learned during the week
• waiting almost two hours because we are the last numbered citah in the plugah, grabbing some shut-eye, and then starting to hike at 2:00 in the morning
• two hours of constant physical work: crawling, trying to navigate walking up, down and across steep mountain sides, only seeing dark and light shades, not knowing what you are stepping on, not caring, constantly twisting your ankles, keeping your gun cradled in your arms high up on your chest, which provides the best support for your back with the heavy weight, but does not provide the best balance
• sprinting the last few hundred meters as you walk into the base at 3:00 in the morning, full of energy and excitement for completing the test
• taking off all the gear, resting, stretching, being given an hour's free time before bed
• stripping down and getting in line for the shower when all of the Sammels and Mefakeds in the plugah suddenly run crazy all over the building, gas masks on their hands, brandishing sticks, beating walls, poles, beds, people, tell us to get the hell out of the bathrooms, the bedrooms, get our gear on and be downstairs with our masks
• wearing the masks and carrying the stretcher with sandbags to the gate of the base, then hiking back into the field, and up into some woods behind the base, finishing there at 5:15 to sleep as a citah under the pine trees
• waking up at 6:00 for morning prayer, eating breakfast, falling into an uncomfortable sleep for a few hours, then eating lunch and returning to base at 2:00 in the afternoon, finally ending the week

But our work didn't end.  All I wanted to do at that point was take off my clothes and jump into a nice long, cool shower.  That wouldn't happen for another five hours.  Over that period, we had to organize all our equipment, return items, take stock of what we lost, what's broken, put everything away properly in our lockers and bags, thoroughly clean our guns (even though we didn't shoot even one bullet), have our feet, legs and arms inspected by a doctor, and, of course, each citah in the plugah went on a four kilometer jog around the base.  (I mean, why not, right?  It's not like we were just on our feet for 20 hours a head the past five days.)  Finally, we were given an hour to calm down, shower and change.

Throughout the week, I was constantly pulling tiny thorns, some no longer than a few centimeters, out of my clothing.  I could feel them scraping against my body, against my arms, my elbows, back, legs, ankles, some even poked through my boxers!  Every time we sat down in the field or jumped into schiva, whenever we stood up, we would quickly brush off any twigs or anything in our uniforms and equipment.  During our lessons, I would found myself absentmindedly feeling around my clothing and my skin for thorns.  Not until I got into the shower did I realize how much damage the week had done to my body.  I found bruises high up on my legs, a line of cuts around my ankles where the boots end, splinters galore on my palms, and raised welts from thorns or bug bites all over my legs and arms.

Fortunately, I didn't have any serious problems during the week.  My feet weren't overly cut up; some people had popped blisters, skin peeling on their heels or Achilles' tendons, or other serious issues.  About halfway through the week, standing up and sitting down started to become a struggle.  Late Wednesday, my feet began to let me know they didn't want to keep moving.  On Thursday, simply moving any part of my body brought pain and discomfort.

After the jog and shower, my citah gathered to discuss the week in a sort of end-of-the-week therapeutic review session.  Then we had a half hour before dinner.  What better to do than let the Sammel have his way with us and make us do countless pushups.  But it was ok, but the dinner experience was nothing short of spectacular.

Special for my plugah, our Rassap (a position under the Rassar [Master Sergeant]) had managed to host a nice meal outside our building.  There were long tables with red and white table cloths.  It was like a Shabbat meal, with better-than-usual food: hummus, pitah, different kinds of meat, juice and pop.  Oh, and did I have pop.  For some reason, I was absolutely craving the sugar and carbonation; I easily drank at least a liter.  And then, just like on Shabbat, we started singing our gdud's songs.  Quickly, one of the commanders rushed in to shut us up.  "Stop that singing!" he yelled at us with a serious face.  "What do you think you are doing?  If you are going to sing, I want the entire base to hear you!"  We laughed and gladly shouted at the top of our lungs.  Again we sang Kol Ha'olam Kulo, among other anthems, which I am still learning.  It was a great end to the week!

This was certainly a very trying week.  It was the hardest in Tzanchanim, the hardest in the army, and probably the hardest in my life.  I learned a lot of things, but perhaps the most important weren't about where to stand in formation, or how to capture a hill, or how to stay quiet at night.  Yes those are all very critical, but I can and will learn them anyway; in fact, they are all things I can learn in a classroom.  Instead, what I gained most from this week was a better sense of what my body is capable of: how much weight I can carry, how I can press on when I don't want to, how I can split hikes up into ups and downs of mountains.

There were plenty of times when I was like: I don't know why I'm not sitting comfortably in some library right now study for a law school final exam.  But you don't focus on that.  You focus on the guy in front of you and the mission at hand.  I'm no longer fearful that my back won't be able to handle over 100lbs of weight.  Suddenly, the masas of the future, with its increased distance, don't seem as daunting.  I can do this.

It quickly became mentally difficult to constantly wear my combat vest, constantly sweat, constantly be in discomfort from the heat or the cool evenings.  But there were those times during dusk, when the sun was setting and the temperature cooled, the light was less glaring and you could look at a mountain top and see the silhouette of Israeli soldiers practicing formations, just like in the propaganda pictures and videos you've seen dozens of times.  Then you think that those same soldiers are looking back at you and thinking the same thing about you and your group of guys.  And the world makes sense.

tobealonesoldier II

It's good to be in Tzanchanim (for glossary of Israeli military jargon, click here).  Apparently, the city of Ramat Gan has adopted us and is more than willing to shower us with gifts and goodies.  For all of Tzanchanim, they gave us two workout shirts and a pair of shorts, complete with the Tzanchanim logo and the phrase "!אחרי לצנחנים"/"After the Paratroopers!"  Now, when we go for a run, everyone sports the red shirt and black shorts.  Unit pride and cohesion or effective uniformity and conformity?  For the lone soldiers, we got a little bit more.  There was a special lunch held for the lone soldiers with all of the top officers on base in attendance.  The food and decor was appropriate of a meal for the bigwigs, and not simple soldiers.  At the conclusion, the generous group from Ramat Gan gave us more presents.  We got a nice analog watch, a wallet, a thermos, a pocket knife set, all with the Tzanchanim logo, and a fleece.  The items are all fine and good, but what really matters to me, us, to the lone soldiers is that they show that there are people, Israelis, entire cities who care about the lone soldiers of the IDF.

A few days later, again the lone soldiers had another event.  This time, the head of the New Jersey chapter of Friends of the IDF came to visit his Tzanchanim brethren.  He read a letter from a former lone soldier on the difficulties of being a lone soldier compared to an Israeli soldier.  He told us that there are people all over the world thinking and praying for us.  "Even when you are by yourself, doing guard duty in the middle of the night, know that you are never alone.  We are always with you."

We also celebrated four soldiers' birthdays with cake and drink.  A few of us spoke before the group on how and why we came to be in the IDF.  A little while later, all of the lone soldiers on the base gathered in the auditorium to hear from the head of the base, the FIDF guys again, and were given a comforter and bed sheets.  One of my friends commented that we should quietly put our gifts into our lockers and not tell the other soldiers in our units about them because they may get jealous.  I think he's right in a way, but "jealous?  Do you think they think to take their conversations with their mothers, their families, their friends outside of the room so I don't hear because I may get jealous or upset that I can't do that because my life lives 6,000 miles away?"  But still, I put my presents away without fanfare.

The New Jersey man asked me at one point where I live: קיבוץ המעפיל Kibbutz HaMa'pil.  "You're a lucky soldier."  And he's right.  At this kibbutz, where I am right now, in the clubhouse, sitting in a comfortable sofa, my feet up on the coffee table and my computer in my lap, the lone soldiers are provided with so much.  We each get a large room with a double bed, table, television, large closet, mini kitchen station with utensils, cooking ware, refrigerator, microwave, and a bathroom.  It's essentially a fully furnished studio apartment.  Lunch is provided for us every Friday afternoon and we have time before Shabbat to take whatever food we need from a collection the kibbutz provides from a grocery store.  We do our own laundry.  And every Sunday morning at 6:30, a man drives us from the kibbutz to the Hadera train station.  As with most kibbutzim, it is difficult to get to places; there are few buses, and no direct line from here to the train.  The best way is by car, and usually that means "tramping" or hitch-hiking.  My commanders tell us every Friday not to tramp while in uniform, that it is very dangerous and could land us in a world of trouble.  (And they're not without reasons.  It's not safe to get into a car with a stranger while in uniform because in the past, terrorists, posing as peaceful Israelis, have captured soldiers who hitch-hike.)  But when leaving from inside the kibbutz, its ok to catch a tramp.

Which is what I did on Sunday.  Because of Pesach, we're given a lot of time off from the army, and I wanted to take the opportunity to see friends who I haven't seen in a while.  A lot of my friends from Mikveh Alon have moved to kibbutzes, and myself being at a kibbutz now, I don't see my friends who live in and around Tel Aviv so much anymore.  But like last week when I went back and forth between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, this time it was good to know people in the area to have rides and a place to stay.

First thing that happened Sunday morning, was my MemMem (platoon commander) came to my kibbutz to look into my living situation.  It's something that every soldier is subject to: either the Mefaked (commander) or the MemMem comes to make sure his soldier has proper living conditions.  I showed him my room and the clubhouse.  We sat down and had a nice conversation; I explained to him how I started to learn Hebrew, and even showed him the book I had dug out of my basement this past summer; it's from my Hebrew school I attended when I was ten or eleven and first starting to learn the Aleph-Bet.  Our conversation was, surprisingly, pleasant and casual and we even shook hands at the end of it.  As we walked back to his car, he even joked with me about how my childish Hebrew level is comparable to his childish English level when he went to the States to work for a year.  It still amazes me how different the "real" army is compared to Mikveh Alon; as Ben, my Israeli friend, commented, "in kravi, it's family."  In the combat units, there isn't the kind of distance between commanders and soldiers as there was at Mikveh, which is essentially a jobnik base.

After the meeting, I caught a tramp from inside the kibbutz to the train.  The man who drove me was real nice and talked about wanting to bring his kids one day to see the great wheat silo of the world: America's Midwest.  It was great to speak of home.  I took the train to Tel Aviv and went straight to David and Amy's apartment.  They were on vacation in London and I have a key to their place and am able to stay there whenever I need it.  It's another place I can always go if I can't make it back to my kibbutz or want to be able to sleep later and catch a train from Tel Aviv south to my base as opposed to Hedera, which is a good forty-five minutes north.

I met up with one of my best friends from Mikveh who I don't see anymore because he moved from Tel Aviv to a kibbutz and is Nahal, another infantry unit.  We ate, drank, and caught up on each other's lives. On Monday, I hung around the apartment and Sam, an Israeli friend, picked me up and we went to Netanya for dinner.  Then we went to Ben's family's place in Renanah for a Moroccan feast to end Pesach.  I slept in Ben's place in Herzliya and he drove me back to my kibbutz, where I am now.

My point with all of this is that life is certainly difficult, foreign and full of uncertainty as a lone soldier.  But when you have places around the country where you know people, living becomes easier.  I can always crash at David and Amy's in Tel Aviv.  I have a friend in Jerusalem where I can stay if need be.  Sam and Ben have been the greatest help in the world to me; whenever I meet their friends or family, they explain how we knew each other from Birthright, and since I've come to join the army.  Their proud to have me as their friend and I am more than thankful to know them and have them in my life.  From driving me places to giving me tips and equipment for the army, they have been the best.  Not to lessen the sophistication of this writing and my blog, but to quote Wedding Crashers, "people helping people.  It's power stuff."  I'll add, "it's a beautiful thing."

And now I am going to have a relaxing day before tomorrow.  I return in the morning to base and am there until the following weekend.  We are closing this Shabbat ('closing': we're on base, we don't go home) and then we spend the entire next week in the shetach (field).  Living, eating, sleeping, operating, learning, everything.  In the field.  It'll be hard, very hard, but I'm looking forward to it; it's like legit soldier stuff.  Living in a building with a locker and bed is great and all, well, really great, but, as I alluded to in my very first post a lifetime ago, it's not how soldiers throughout history have lived.  I am going to learn what they all know.  The military isn't supposed to be a place of comfort and ease because war never is.  My base is one of the nicest in the country.  But now we go forth into the wild, into the field, to learn how to be soldiers.

Be back in two weeks!

שטח Shetach: the End of the Beginning

Cold. Rainy. Windy. Chicago? Nope. New York? Uh-uh. London? Not at all, well, actually maybe yes. But those three words describe the weather for me in Israel this week. I could also add cloudy, tired, dirty, fun, different, exciting, adventurous, legit-military stuff, and so on. Not exactly the adjectives I would have used for the previous three weeks, right? So why was this week different than previous weeks? Because it was the climax of Mikveh Alon's tironut, basic training. For three days, the entire base went to the Golan Heights to train on a Golani base for a shetach, like military exercises. So what exactly did we do? Well, most of the time we did absolutely nothing. Like I wrote about in a previous post, we all enjoy this down time. It's a time to sit on our asses and do nothing; nobody telling us to run somewhere or form two lines or a chet; nobody yelling at us not to move or talk; nobody telling us what we can or can't do.

But let me start at the beginning.

I leisurely awoke on a quiet Monday morning at the pleasant time of 3:45 am. I had a spring in my step, a twinkle in my eye, and a bright moon waiting to greet me outside. As usual with every morning, it took us the better part of two hours to clean our room. Then we were told to get our Bet bags and clothing for our trip north. Every soldier has two sets of uniforms, with a corresponding bag: Aleph א and Bet ב (the first two letters of the Hebrew alphabet). The Aleph uniform is like a dress uniform, which is only worn off base. The Bet uniform is more like a combat uniform, is worn only when on base, and each base has their own stock of Bet uniforms and equipment. I received my Aleph uniform and bag on December 15th and will have it throughout my service; my Bet gear changes with each new base.

Anyway, we were told (many times each day over the previous week) that we were going to Golani and should prepare appropriate warm clothes. Sunday night we got our clothes in our Bet bag and were ready to go. The ride took about an hour; we arrived late morning, ran off the bus and into formation. The main purpose of the next three days would be to learn how to shoot and be introduced into life outdoors, military style. Three tzevets (units) comprise one machlakah (company). Each machlakah was assigned to a firing range. Now, don't be mistaken. These are ghetto ranges. They are positioned alongside each other on a hill, with high earthen embankments separating each one; essentially, the ranges are level depressions cut into the slope of the hill leading up to the Golani base. And, in true IDF style, the targets were anything but state-of-the-art: we hammered stakes into the ground at the 25 and 50 meter lines, used twine to attach wooden poles and then stuck the appropriate cardboard target onto the pole through precut lines. Clearly, truly an indication of one of the greatest armies in the world.

The first time I fired a gun was a year ago August, when Eric and I visited Kimberly in Los Angeles for a week. There, we fired a few handguns (including a .44 Magnum) and an M1 Garand rifle. But firing the M16A1 (M16) is a completely different animal. First manufactured by Colt in 1963, it made its way to Israel in 1973 and has been a staple of the IDF. It was originally 97 centimeters in length, although a newer model features a shorter barrel. The M16 weighs 3.5 kg (about 7.5 pounds) and fires a 5.56 mm NATO caliber bullet. The IDF sports a 29 round magazine while in the US and other militaries use 30 bullets. Why the difference? Because Israel reuses its magazines and recycles its bullet casings and, from what I understand, a magazine with 30 rounds fits too tight to make the mags reusable. The rifle has three safety settings: safe, semi-automatic, and automatic. For more information, see Wikipedia.

We had received intense and elaborate instructions on protocol for firing our weapons. We are only to point the gun at a certain direction, cannot put our fingers on the trigger until a commander says so, can only fire when told, and so on. We first fired from schiva (prone) position. Each soldier got down on his stomach and we had a commander walk us through each step, where to exactly place the gun, how to breath, where to aim, etc. I felt very comfortable for my first shot. I remember being nervous when Eric and I went to the gun range. We had never handled a gun before; after we selected which guns to fire, the guy at the counter pointed us to a different room and said "have fun." Needless to say, we had the guy walk us through how to actually fire a gun. In total, I had 30 seconds of actually holding a gun and learning how to fire before popping off my first rounds. Here, I've lived with the gun on my body for three straight weeks and feel very comfortable handling the assault rifle.

I slammed the magazine into the bottom of the gun, locking it in place, and pulled back on the charging handle, loading a single round into the chamber. I placed my hand firmly on the grip and with my thumb switched the safety to semi-automatic. I tried to slow my breathing to minimize involuntary bodily movement, but my heart, beating rapidly with excitement, negated any attempt at absolute stillness. I looked down the gun at the yellow sheet of paper twenty-five meters down range and aligned the rear and fore sights at a spot immediately below the black semi-circle at the top of the page. After holding that position for a few seconds, I curled my forefinger around the trigger, gave a quick smile, and fired.

In total over the three days, I fired about forty rounds over five or six sessions. I think we were going to shoot a lot more but the weather wasn't too cooperative. Either way, the first day we just practiced schiva. The second day we mixed in kria (crouching) and amidah (standing) positions. Sometimes we fired at a cardboard silhouette of a full person, or just the torso, during the day, or at night, from 25 or 50 meters; sometimes they loaded six bullets, but the third one was an empty casing or loaded backwards: we would fire the first two from amidah, when the gun intentionally jammed we quickly kneeled into kria, had to pull out the magazine, eject the extra bullets in the chamber, reload the magazine and fire the remaining few rounds. After each round of firing, we would run to our targets and a commander would come around and mark off our shots: how many we hit and their spread across the target. My first five shots were spread 6.5 centimeters across at 25 meters. I got that down to 3.5 centimeters distance the next round. Most of the time I didn't have any particular spot to aim, just a general area on the target (like I'd rather hit the torso or face of the target than the legs), so I didn't often concentrate on creating a tight circle of bullet holes.

Shooting at night was really fun, and difficult. We moved closer, to about 20 meters and were simply told to hit the targets. My last shots I fired were at night; out of a ten round clip, I hit all ten! Not bad for a guy with a health profile of 72 because of my eyesight! The row of twelve rifles being fired rapidly at night is quite a thing to see. The M16 has a flash suppressor at the end of its barrel, but still, inevitably, a small flame bursts out as the bullet is fired. It's so quick, in fact, that I didn't always notice the flame on my gun as I was concentrating on the target. But when I finished my clip, I looked to either side of me and marveled at the beautiful sight of small fireworks jumping out from the incredible machinery each soldier wielded.

Most of the rest of the time in Golani was spent repeatedly practicing getting into the three firing positions. When one tzevet was shooting, the other two were either on break or practicing. But the other purpose of our shetach was to learn how to be a soldier in the field. We learned eight different ways a soldier can stealthily approach an enemy. Most of it is obvious, like not leaving footprints, not using light and hiding reflective objects, wearing camoflouge, etc. We also went for a two hour hike one night where each tzevet was lead by its mefakedet in two lines. At random times, the mefakedet would pretend to spot a terrorist, assume the amidah firing position and we would go to kria, or kria and schiva, respectively. Other times she would shout "grenade!" and we would fall to the ground, cover our heads, and count a few seconds.

It's interesting to note, and I think this may be the case of perhaps only the IDF, that whenever we practice firing our guns or we when we went on the hike, there isn't any mention of "enemy soldier." Instead, what springs us into action is the shout of "terrorist!" And that, unfortunately, is true; Israel doesn't face the threat of war with any of its neighboring states. It has peace treaties with Egypt (1979) and Jordan (1994). The last time it fought Syria was in the Yom Kippur War in 1973 and since Israel invaded Lebanon in the 1980s, the only threat from its neighbor to the north has been Hezbollah, the terrorist organization that is currently running a state-within-a-state in southern Lebanon. True, Israel invaded Lebanon in 2006, but it wasn't to fight the Lebanese army; instead, it was to stop Hezbollah from continuing to fire rockets into civilian populations in northern Israel. In my opinion, Israel did the world a favor (although unsuccessfully) by trying to root out the parasitic group that currently creates amusement parks glorifying its victorious wars of resistance against Israel (and no, I'm not kidding, see my entry on November 15th, "One Month!!!"). Be that as it may, it's always a little unnerving, off-putting, and exciting/realistic to hear "terrorist" as opposed to "enemy."

A major element of my experience in the Golan was sleeping in a tent outside. Doesn't exactly sound like a big deal right? I'm sure plenty of you guys have been camping before, where you slept in tents, too. Haha, well, the similarities, my friend, end there as the differences in our experiences are enormous. These military tents are essentially two sheets of some heavy material, like leather but not leather (sorry couldn't be more helpful, haha), and we snap or button them together, hold it up by two slim pipes at the front and back, and drive stakes into the ground, using twine to connect at the corners and front and back. They are about four to five feet in width, three feet tall, and seven feet deep....for two people. And we're not sleeping on some soft forest floor, but rather the rocky and sandy top of a hill, unprotected on all sides from wind or rain. And it did rain. We went to sleep around 11 and my tent-mate and I had guard duty at 2 am. A mefakedet came to our tent, shined her flashlight through the flap and told us to wake up. We had to be in combat attire, complete with equipment vest and gun. Although our guard duty was only twenty minutes, it was in the middle of our sleeping time. We were sleeping by 2:45, and up again at 5:00 am.

At the end of our guard duty, it began to rain, and didn't stop for a few days. The rain wasn't constant, but it was hard. In fact, oftentimes it would rain heavily for a half hour, then the sky would completely clear for an hour, then back again. Other times, half of the sky would be as dark as the night with imposing rain clouds, and the other half would be sunny, with a rich blue sky. Only in Israel.

The shetach wrapped up the tironut. Overall, the shetach was fun. A little rough and unexpected because of the weather, but enjoyable. We had to sleep with our guns, constantly wear equipment vests where we carried our canteens and mags, and lots of layers of warm clothing. We got back to Mikveh Wednesday night and were told to dress in our Aleph uniforms the next day. We thought it was because our Bet outfits were completely dirty and/or soaked from the Golan. After lunch on Thursday, they told us we were going home. What an incredible feeling! I'm getting four straight nights in a legit bed, where I can go to sleep and wake up as I please. However, I hadn't planned on that, and wasn't exactly in the best hygienic state to return home. I showered Sunday morning before leaving Tel Aviv. My next shower was nearly five days later, Thursday night, after coming home. I'd say for sure the longest I've gone without a shower.

What's more is we already have a long weekend as it is. We're given Sunday off for a yom siddurim, a day for lone soldiers to take care of personal matters such as bank accounts, apartment contracts, etc. As I already have everything in order, it's a free day! This is real nice because there have been rumors on the base that we're going to have to stay next weekend for guard duty for the base. I hear everyone has to do it once a month, so its been about that long. On Tuesday night, we have a swearing-in ceremony where we take an oath of allegiance and are finally recognized as soldiers of the State of Israel in the Israel Defense Force! It's a relatively small ceremony taking place in Acko. There'll be a bigger, more important loyalty oath at the conclusion of the tironut of whatever combat unit I join beginning in March.

So, unless we get next weekend off, I'll write again in two weeks. From what I understand, as our basic training for Mikveh is now over, the main purpose of our time at this base now begins: the ulpan, Hebrew learning. Our days will become easier; we get to sleep for longer hours, maybe don't have to carry a gun around all the time (although that seems like wishful thinking), and I'll let you know more when I know more.

One final thing. On Thursday before leaving the base, all the lone soldiers were given care packages. (I've included a link to the provider company on the right, under SUPPORT THE IDF/LONE SOLDIERS.) Inside was warm clothing, chocolate bars, and letters from individuals around the world. Two are in English, and one in Portuguese (I think) and another in some script I've never seen, but turns out to be Ethiopian (it says so in Hebrew at the top of the page). "Dear Soldier, There would be no Israel without you, שנה טובה Happy New Year." I like to think that my time at Mikveh Alon is directly leading to the preservation of the country. Haha, a little wishful thinking right now!

The other English one is from an elderly woman: "Dear Soldier, My daughter told me that I could help send a package to an Israeli soldier and I wanted to let you know how much I admire you and wish you well. I am almost 88 years old and I had hoped that by now we would not have to be fighting for our Homeland. I remember when Israel was founded and I remember all the wars trying to annihilate Israel. I wish you could be home with your loved ones and not fighting. My prayers are with you and with Israel. Please be careful and be safe. May there be peace in my time."

Amen.