Masas in the IDF

At every step of an IDF soldier's journey, from the very beginning, he is expected to achieve certain levels of physical fitness. Besides for the everyday workouts, krav maga training, and a dreadful thing called the bochan maslul, which can all wait for later posts, a main way of judging you and moving you along in this aspect is through masas.

A masa is a march done at long distances and at an incredibly difficult pace. Depending on the masa itself, and whether or not it has a uniquely special significance (which some do), these distances and paces vary. Traditionally, and maybe quite obviously, each one is supposed to be harder than the one before it. Another added difficulty is the sheer weight and discomfort of all of the equipment you carry with you. While each soldier carries his own personal equipment, which is more than heavy enough, many in each citah are also expected to take on extra responsibility (re: weight), and are given special roles with unique equipment. For example, there is a radio guy, who carries a heavy, clunky broadcaster on his back, and is expected to maintain the same rhythm and speed as the commander leading the march.

I have had some of my most difficult moments as a lone soldier during masas, as well as some of the most rewarding. There is no way to describe what it feels like to be at the end of a multiple-kilometer uphill sprint, the guy in front of you, a complete stranger, cursing and screaming that he can't go anymore, your own muscles giving out, and your mind unable to conjure up the Hebrew words to comfort him, so you decide to just push and pull him to the finish. Or on the same masa when the biggest guy doing the masa falls down and hurts his leg, so you and the guys around you have to figure out how to carry him on top of the rest you have weighing you down, so that nobody is left behind.

The most lengthy masa I had was the most recent, a six-kilometer march uphill. The weekend before, I was chatting on the phone with another Nahlawi from my Garin, another best friend named Noam, walking around my beautiful kibbutz, when a nail went through my foot. Needless to say, I limped my way around base all week, and when it came time to do the masa insisted that I participate. My commander allowed it, trusting my instinct, and I threw my equipment on and hobbled my way through the desert hills. It was the first masa we've had that felt as official as it did. There were flags of our units set up beforehand, and as we went, it was clear that the way had been planned carefully. The views on the march were gorgeous. It felt like we were walking on the surface of a different planet somehow, climbing closer to the stars. You pass a point relatively "early" in these marches where you just keep moving automatically. You don't think about what hurts, what's uncomfortable, what's heavy, you just go. You ride emotions and you go through waves. It's actually possible to think about a lot of other things! When the march came to an end, my commander barked at me to come over to him. He screamed, "Darren! How is the leg!?" I mumbled the best Hebrew response I could to indicate that I was okay. "Does it hurt!?" I nodded, smiled, and again said I was fine. Suddenly, he swung wildly and punched me hard in the shoulder, a huge grin on his face. "Kol ha kavod, Darren." "All the respect."

The masa that takes the cake out of them all is the famous masa kumtah or "beret march" which is said to take upwards of twenty hours and will totally dwarf any of the ones we feel are so difficult now. The prize at the end? The neon green beret that Nahal is famous for.

In the meanwhile, at the end of this week, we will have a masa also renowned for its difficulty, called the masa samal ("the Sergeant's march) and, for us, also the masa hashba'ah ("the Swearing-In March"). It will be seven-plus-one, meaning seven kilometers plus one extra grueling one with stretchers open, meaning extra weight for the team to carry that last stretch. We have been told that there will be a "surprise" at the end, and, considering it is the day before our tekes hasba'ah or "Swearing-In Ceremony" at the Western Wall, we are hoping to earn the shoulder tags of our unit.

The ceremony itself is extremely important for me and I have started to become really excited about making my oath to defend Israel at such a significant place for our people. Until then, we have another big week ahead of us beforehand.

               -     Darren

The Things You Think You'll Never Do

In my first month (and a bit) of my basic training in the IDF, I have had experiences that I would never in my life have anticipated having. You often wonder what you will take away from your army service. If it were only ever one month long, I would already be taking away some incredibly unique knowledge and have participated in some very extraordinary activities.

A wonderful part about the Israel Defense Force is its double function as a social and educational institution. While there is an incredibly physical part about being in the IDF ("obviously," you're thinking), you do often find yourself in a classroom. Sometimes, you are listening to very impassioned debates about the use/abuse/danger of drugs and alcohol after watching a one-man play with your unit on the subject (true story), while other times, you are learning critical information about your job as a soldier.

It is also true that before we are expected to use any equipment for the first time, we are taught at-length, and tested, on it. The army goes to great lengths to make sure that you understand the bigger picture about what you are doing, that all of the possible dangers and malfunctions attached to what you are about to do have been extensively covered, and that, at the end of the day, its soldiers have good heads on their shoulders.

Two of the more interesting subjects that we spent time learning about were battlefield first aid and lessons on our enemies. These were covered in the same intense week! Toward the beginning of the week, I was able to have the first aid classes with one of my best friends from my Garin, Matt, and we did the physical portion of the examination together. I have to admit that it felt a bit strange to be learning about the many possible wounds, conditions, and cures that we could face in operation. At the same time, it was actually enjoyable, and being with a friend meant that there were many laughs to be had. When it came time for us to show what we had learned, for a grade, we both performed well, and Matt has actually been chosen by his unit to exit basic training to attend the IDF Medics' Course. I'll take some credit for being such an outstanding patient. (Congrats Matt!) Learning about Israel's enemies was also fascinating, but in a totally different, more hands-off way. I am not entirely sure how much I am allowed to write about the subject, so I will keep it minimal, but it was a very interesting course that taught me a lot about some of our "friendly" neighbors!

Another intense week brought two very hands-on experiences in our first experience throwing grenades (!!!)  as well as training in biological, atomic, and chemical warfare. Yep. As I have written above, the IDF really does want you to feel as prepared as you possibly can be for these types of things, but I can't remember a time I have been quite as nervous as I was running up the hill in full gear, grenade in my vest, running over the steps in my head to safely throw. Waiting for me was my company commander, who went through a few drills with me before instructing me to do the real thing. I let go, shouted, "Rimon!!!" (grenade) and ducked down, covered by my officer, and counting before hearing the explosion. It was totally exhilarating. As I stood up and saw the smoke, the commanding officer reminded me that I forgot to look where I had hit before ducking, but ensured me not to worry, that the "target was neutralized." I couldn't help but laugh.

For the rest of the week, we learned about the dangers of chemical warfare against Israel and how we prepare to deal with this unique threat. The culmination of the week, as was well known to us, was the "ABACH (HAZMAT) Tent," an experience inside a tent of teargas. You are run around and worked out in your gas mask before charging inside, at which point a madricha (instructor) dressed in an outfit best described as an alien suit has you remove it. She leads you in a few light physical activities before beginning to ask you questions. Tears fell quickly from my eyes, my throat struggled to allow words to exit comfortably, and my nose ran, but I stuttered my way through the answers. That is, until she asked me what my favorite soccer team was. Who was this girl!? Tear gas or not, I am always ready to talk enthusiastically about Manchester United and Wayne Rooney. When she realized I was not going to stop any time soon, she laughed and allowed me to run out!

             -   Darren

The First Week(s) in Unit 50

When I returned back to Bach Nahal, we were re-connected to our units from Trom Tironut for lunch on-base before the commander read out each soldier's name and where he would be going. Much to my happiness, I was given the unit I requested, and was one of the very first from my group to head off to my new section of the base.

On arrival, it was instantly different to the atmosphere of Trom Tironut. I immediately was made to stand at attention for an equipment inspection with my Sergeant, a figure I would become very familiar with over the time to come, and shortly afterward, given orders to my new "Citah" or group. I sat in the tent, unsure of how and where to start conversations with everyone... each person seemed a bit more nervous, a bit more reserved than the group had been at the beginning of our absorption week. I began to feel it, as well. I had interviews with both of my main commanding officers as well as my commander himself, though, and felt at ease after meeting them. It was clear these were people who had something special about themselves and would be good role models to follow and learn from throughout my basic training. It also turned out that one of the guys who I had become close to during Trom Tironut was placed into the same citah as me, which provided some comfort, even after we found out that we were one of the two units who were going to be closing the first weekend. "Closing Shabbat" in the army means staying on-base over the weekend. It is a very dreaded thing, especially when you "close 21," meaning two weekends in a row. 

The first week was hard. Suddenly, our lives began to consist of very little sleep, guard shifts during the sleep we did get, and days filled with running from activity-to-activity, each usually done numerous times. It was interesting to see each person in the group react to the shock in different ways, especially knowing that, unlike most of the other units, we would have two straight weeks without the weekend break.

The Flag of Unit 50 "Bazelet" 

By the first weekend, when we finally had a chance to breathe for a moment before Shabbat started, I realized there was so much I had experienced and learned, hardly noticing. Even so, I reflected on a week that was entirely difficult for me. Sore, getting to be a bit sick (something you learn to live with in the army), and still barely getting to know the guys in my group, the break would be fully welcomed. Before we could have dinner, we had a few drills dealing with how to react to fires and other emergencies on base, and then all had time to relax and change into our dress uniforms before the meal. 

Lining up outside the dining hall, I started to feel the spirit of the combat unit. Standing across from us, like a rival gang of some kind, was the other unit "closing" the weekend, 931. Before I knew what was happening, both units started to sing and chant at each other. The atmosphere was amazing... our commanders would teach us a new chant and we would take to it easily, jumping up and down, suddenly so much prouder of our new battalion. 

Minutes later, a soldier from my citah was saying the blessings for the Friday night meal, the rest joining in for the singing bits, and everyone answering "Amen." I looked around and thought about where I was for a moment... the Jewish army, in the Jewish state, observing even one small tradition of our people. The next night, after a long day of sleeping (glorious), we were right back to work, harder than ever, until we were brought to a standing formation as an entire company. Suddenly, a huge, steel Menorah was brought out before us. The company commander, a very high-ranking figure, arrived as it was lit with flames, and began to walk around to the soldiers under his command. As he arrived to each, he said that person's name and where they came from... some 36 people without a stutter. He then stood in the middle of the formation and gave a passionate speech about the meaning of Hannukah, the holiday of Miracles. He said that he looked out and saw the continuation of the Jewish warriors who protected this land and delivered that miracle, how we were the descendants of the Maccabees. My heart swelled with pride. 

        -    Darren

Trom Tironut (Absorption Week)

Fresh from a comfortable weekend back at Kibbutz Malkiya, I arrived at the Tel Aviv Central Bus Station (the last time I would ever have such a convenient arrival point) to meet up with my team for Trom Tironut. I spotted my commander for the week as soon as I got there and made myself comfortable, waiting for everyone else to arrive. In one of the craziest coincidences to ever happen to me, I bumped into my commander from Gadna, who has been made famous on this blog for the horrendous punishment she gave me in my week of mock army. It was a totally strange thing, but it was actually nice to be in uniform, on my way to my actual unit, and see her! 

The guys in my team took their time (naturally) but as they each arrived, they introduced themselves and made quick work of getting to know me and one another. I thought to myself that if this is the way people in the army were going to be, I should consider myself lucky. Each new soldier was friendly and talkative, all the while clearly excited to get going in this journey we were all starting. 

The week itself began with a rough landing for me. Our first day on base was the Bar-Or (the standard fitness test for the army) which would decide who was fit enough to attend the Gibush (tryout) for the special forces units of Nahal. Each infantry unit has attached to it something called "Gadsar" which is separated from the "Gdud" or regular forces. It had been something I was interested in trying for and I performed well enough on the Bar-Or that it would not have been a problem for me at all to attend if I wanted to. However, I was told earlier in the day that if I were to be accepted into one of these units, I would definitely have to sign on more time than what I currently have in the army, and it caught me by surprise. I felt very torn and my perspective of all the regular things we were doing was ruined a bit because I was dwelling on making a decision. Ultimately, with the help of a few good "advisors" talking it out with me, I decided to defer my opportunity to try out until such a time where I feel ready to make such a big decision as an extra year in the army. 

After deciding not to attend the gibush, I started to enjoy my week much more. I was able to keep it in mind that I could take things slowly and get used to this idea of the army, this sudden transition I had made from civilian life to the military. I got to know the guys in my team really well and, although we were basically doing chores around the base in-between getting a taste of army discipline, I had a smile on my face and grew into this new situation I had found myself in. We spent much of our time digging… and digging… and digging. It seems to be a favorite "we have nothing to do with you" activity. I also learned how to march 

Throughout the week, everyone talked about the units that they would request. In Nahal, there are three "Gdudim" (regular units). Gdud 50 "Bazelet", Gdud 931 "Shacham", and Gdud 932 "Granite." I paid close attention to who wanted what and the reasons they gave for what they would request when it came time to do so. It was important to me to hear where I thought the more level-headed, good guys would want to go as well as the more obnoxious, crazy types so that I could gather more or less who would be with me where I would end up! For Trom Tironut, I was in Gdud 931, which was just by chance, as you are just there for your absorption week… in fact, nothing is permanent about Trom Tironut. Even if you go to the same Gdud that you were in for Trom, you cannot be with the same commander you had, and chances are you won't be with anyone from your team. I found myself as one of a handful of guys who had an interview with the commanding officer of Gdud 931 and after a long, really interesting interview, he asked me if I wanted to be there for my service. In a very awkward moment, I informed him that I decided to request Gdud 50 and was hoping to end up there. He had a hilarious reaction, and certainly let me hear his opinion (a negative one… go figure) on the matter. 

Later that same night, we had a closing circle with our team. I thanked them all for having patience with my Hebrew and helping me as much as they did and formally requested to be in Gdud 50. 

        - Darren 

"Bakum" The Soldier Factory

Having read about the "Bakum" for many years before enlisting to the IDF, I always anticipated this day of transition from citizen to soldier. I arrived at the Lishkat Giyus (draft office) in Tiberias, a place that I have written about extensively here. All of the soon-to-be Nahlawis (Nahal soldiers)  from the North of the country were given orders to report there for transportation to the main recruitment base. It was strange to see parents and girlfriends see off the same boys who would soon be fighters alongside me. I also thought it was a bit strange that the unit didn't do anything for the occasion - there were no flags, no informational tables, not even representatives from the unit, but I was informed that it has always been this way and that for the draftees who arrive at the Bakum directly instead of a draft office elsewhere, there is a bit more ceremony. In any case, the moment was still incredible for me, and, along with two good friends from my Garin, I tried to prepare myself for what was about to happen. 

The day then sped up completely and, long lines notwithstanding, is now a big blur in my mind. You hop off the bus when you arrive and are already referred to as "soldier" by the people placed immediately in charge of you. There is a sense of discipline, as if to start to get you used to the idea that you are no longer just a citizen. You check your bags in and are handed a sheet of stickers, which are later used to document which stations you have and have not visited. 

We arrived straight to lunch (still the best food I have received in the army) and it is at that point that I will offer my best tip to all future draftees: Take as much food as you can before you sit down (you will not be allowed back up) and enjoy. To this day, my friends and I joke about the food at the Bakum, still in disbelief that the wok stations and salad bars were ever really there! Sitting and eating was my first experience in the army where I looked around and realized exactly what I was doing… I felt the magnitude of enlisting into the military as a lone soldier. I had been separated from my friends for the meal and all around me was… Hebrew. Lots of it. People made small talk with one another and I tried to understand them, but mostly kept to myself and tried to keep calm and assure myself that the language, like everything else, would work itself out. 

From then, it all really started. Documents, pictures, x-rays, bank information, injections, and interviews… stations and more stations. Throughout the day, I became more comfortable with everything, helped in large part by the friends I had with me and the fact that what people have said about Nahal all along was already turning out to be true… everyone was just extremely friendly and helpful. That is, besides the people who work the stations at the base, who could really use something to brighten their moods!!! 

As the day went on, everything fell into place… before I knew it, I was standing in uniform, with shoes a size too small (do not make this mistake!) and my choger (army ID) in hand showing a big smile. We were then sorted into teams of around 20 (who we would find out were our teams for "Trom Tironut" or the week of pre-basic training that would follow) and taken to a separate part of the base. 

We were then greeted by speeches from different higher-ups in the unit and had confirmed what had been rumored all day long… that due to the situation in the south of the country and the high amount of reservists on our base, we would be headed home for the weekend! Exhausted, excited, and many things in-between, I took the first of many long journeys home from the army as a lone soldier in Israel. 

       - Darren 

The Not So Lonely Soldier

I'm home on the beautiful kibbutz after just completing my first two weeks of regular tironut (basic training).

When I arrived back on base after Trom Tironut, we took care of some errands and chores before going to sleep early for what would be a long following day. That Monday morning, we were all taken to the basketball court and sat down to find out where we would be serving for the rest of our lives in the army.

Known as the “Ceremony of Tears” to some, due to the heartbreak many feel for not being placed in Maglan or Duvduvan, the ceremony is also exciting for those wishing for a specific gdud. There are three gdudim in Tzanchanim: 101, 202, and 890. From the start, I maintained a desire to be placed in either 101 or 202, even preferring the former quite a bit.

As the ceremony got underway, the names of the Maglan and Duvduvan teams were called, followed by the specialized units of Tzanchanim and then gdud 101. I eagerly listened, hoping to hear my name. As the names of 101 were finished, I still hadn't heard mine. Then came 890, thankfully not with my name. Finally, as they read the names for 202, mine was called and I went to meet those I would be spending the next eight months of my life with.

When we arrived at the building for our pluga (company) in the 202 Tzepha (viper) battalion, we each had interviews with our new mefakdim as well as the mem mem and mem pay, the commanders of my machlakah (a group of three classes) and pluga, respectively.

My first impression of my mefaked was certainly a good one. He took extra care to find out what difficulties I was facing as a northerner and a lone soldier and made it understood that he would do everything in his power to ease those difficulties. My meeting with the mem mem was no less uplifting, concluding with the officer actually thanking me for choosing to come and do service in the Israeli army.

My initial disappointments about not receiving my first choice were quickly allayed and I began to feel at home at 202. Those feelings were only magnified the first time I met my kitah (a group of thirteen soldiers who live and train together). Many were interested in my story, but more importantly, many took it upon themselves to include me in the group from the beginning despite the difficulties with the language.

The first week in the pluga was exciting due to the fact that we actually began real training, most notably receiving and shooting our M16 rifles. My shooting is surprisingly good and I can now confidently say I'm proficient in the basic use of the rifle, including cleaning and maintaining it.

More important than the activities and training, however, is the way my kitah bonded throughout the week. Each one in my kitah saw to it that I was coming along okay in the gun lessons or that I had everything I needed, and each of the commanders made sure that I was connecting with the group.

I can see now why friends from the army become the closest friends one can find in life and I look forward to maintaining the friendships throughout the hardships of the next weeks and months.

After the first week, a relatively easy one, I had a short weekend at home before returning to base for shooting week. While shooting week generally takes place on base, my pluga was chosen to go out into the shetach for the exercises.

Living in the shetach is the epitome of the physical difficulties in the army. Chilled to the bone and sleeping in the harshest of elements, eating far from satisfying combat rations and carrying insane amounts of weight in equipment everywhere you go are some of the main features of the experience. Each day consisted of shooting for hours on end, usually fun but often tiring, and each night consisted of huddling up next to the thirty other soldiers in the pluga for a break from the fierce cold.

After two nights, all without enough sleep due to the uncomfortable elements and waking up multiple times for guard duty, we finally packed our things and headed back to base. While I usually can't wait to be off base and at home, I could only wish of being back in the comforts of base while living in the shetach. Those feelings of wanting to be on base will not last for long, I'm afraid

This weekend was an incredibly short one, as I'm headed back tonight on a Saturday to begin Shavua Sadaoot (a week in the shetach, often considered the hardest week of basic training). Following the week, I'll be closing two weekends in a row which means three weeks on base. I'm not entirely looking forward to these upcoming weeks, but I'm sure I'll have a lot to write about when they finally come to a close.

I won't be home again until 2013, so to all the readers out there, have a happy and healthy New Year! This year has brought a lot of change for me, as I'm sure the next year will, too. The change has been good, however, and I'm incredibly grateful for everyones support throughout it all.

Until 2013!

-Brett

Lunar Bach: Week Zero

After a relaxing free weekend, I was dressed in my Madim Aleph (dress uniform) and on the bus to base for the first time. Given a meeting time of 9:00 A.M. in the south of Israel, I had to spend Saturday night at my mashakit's home. Nonetheless, I made it just on time.

Again, to the bus station in uniform. This time, however, it was a very different experience. On Sunday mornings, the busses are almost exclusively used by soldiers. Each bus packed to capacity by those in uniform struggling to make it to their bases on time, you almost forget you're using public transportation.

 

When I finally arrived at the meeting point for Tzanchanim, I met with my temporary mefaked (commander) and machlakah (company), before boarding yet another bus and headed to the base.

Though I've seen pictures of Bach Tzanchanim in the past, driving into the gates for the first time was a truly surreal experience. The red wings at the entrance, the stone buildings and walkways, here I was at the base I had always dreamed about. Nicknamed Lunar Bach because of it's unusually high standards relative to other army bases, Bach Tzanchanim is an American built base which looks almost more like a college campus from the outside.

After setting our gear down in our temporary rooms (Tzanchanim have the privilege of sleeping indoors during training), we proceeded off to have lunch, unusually good as far as the army goes, and began our week of Trom Tironut (orientation to basic training).

 
Trom Tironut, also known as Shavuah Efes (week zero), is the week leading up to Tironut (basic training). Included in the week are talks by main officers of the base detailing everything from rules of conduct, how to get dressed, to life as a soldier in Tzanchanim.

Among the most exciting of these typically mundane speeches came on the first night, with the head of the entire base giving a speech about friendship. He informed us that we haven't known friendship like the kind we'll see at the base, in our units, where we will become brothers with those we fight with. A short video about the upcoming few months followed, and my excitement for what to come was at an all-time high. 

We filled out forms, including our preferences of Gdud (battalion), something I'll discuss more in detail in the next week or two, and underwent routine tasks such as medical checks and paperwork before the gibbush the following night.

As I've mentioned in the past, each infantry unit has three specialized branches attached to it: anti-tank experts Orev, reconnaissance experts Palsar, and explosives experts Palchan. Anyone within the brigade can attend an optional gibbush to the aforementioned units. Unique to Tzanchanim are two other units attached to the gibbush: Maglan and Duvduvan (a unit you need to be specifically invited to try out for).

I've always maintained a desire to be in the gdud (regular battalion) of Tzanchanim for a number of reasons. The lifestyle and spirit of the gdud is something unique, often not found in more specialized units. The Tzanchanim gdud is given the privilege of jump school, something usually only afforded to specialized units in other infantry brigades. Joining a specialized unit would mean signing on an extra six months right now, something I'm certainly in no place to do at the moment given that I've just begun my service, and I've already fulfilled my dream by earning a spot in Tzanchanim. For all of those reasons, I elected not to participate in the gibbush.

Along with the others who chose not to participate, as well as the hundreds who dropped from the tryout, I proceeded to do tedious labor around the base for my first week. 

While the only thing I'm really trained in at this point is painting walls from beginning to end (hole sealant, sanding down, applying paint thinner, etcetera), I've also become used to the lifestyle of a soldier. Waking up at 5:30 A.M. and having seven minutes to be dressed and outside in a chet has become secondhand knowledge to me, as has speaking to superiors and running from place to place.

The week certainly had its difficulties, but not the usual ones you'd associate with being in the army. The language barrier was beyond difficult for the first few days, given that everything (including speech) is much faster in the army and I've never learned specific army terms which are used on a daily basis. Therefore, establishing connections with the other guys in the first few days was difficult, making the beginning of the soldier life that much more trying.

However, after a few days, I began to connect with the guys I was with on a new level after opening up to them and doing my best to speak. Every soldier I met gave me his name followed by a “Kol Hakavod” (all the respect) for doing what I'm doing, as well as an invitation to Shabbat dinner at his home.

While the first few days were tough, my freedom as a civilian being traded in for the structure of life as a soldier, things improved drastically over the week. By the time I got home on my second hamshush (leaving on a Thursday, a very rare treat), I was excited and ready to go back to base this coming Sunday.

In the coming week, I'll be placed into my gdud and my group of ten guys who I will be training with for the next eight months. I'll begin the real training of the army in my more permanent home on the base. I'm excited for what's to come, and look forward to filling everyone in on my next open weekend.

-Brett

The First Day: Life at the Bakkum

On November 22^nd, years of dreaming and planning culminated in me heading to the Bakkum (recruitment base) in Tel Hashomer. With around 400 other Tzanchanim, I was officially drafting into the army. The process, like any other in Israel, is agonizingly long and tedious.

We ate lunch in the Bakkum Cheder Ochel (dining room), which lived up to its reputation of being delicious by army standards, before beginning with the day. Much like the process of the Tzav Rishon, the Bakkum comprises of several stations and tasks to complete.

The first: a photograph for my Teudat Choger (army I.D. card). A wide smile on my face, I was photographed a few times before headed off to the next station, x-rays of my teeth. Following the x-rays, my teeth were photographed and I was sent to do a cheek swab for the volunteer bone marrow donation agency.

Up until that point, things had gone unusually smoothly. Surprised as I was, I walked happily to the next station, bank information. And there I stood for two hours in the most unorganized, most “Israeli” line, if you will. Naturally, the two hour wait was for a five minute chat with a soldier to retrieve my banking information and answer a few questions. Among the more bleak of the questions: what should happen to my army salary if something were to happen to me. A gloomy question, asked in the most casual of manners by the soldier on the other side of the desk.

Off to the fingerprint station from there. Fairly straight-forward, besides for the computer crashing halfway through my prints and the next computer giving an error message, “Soldier is already in the system.” Lovely, now the army will forever only have four of my fingerprints on file. They found a way to fix it in the end, after another half an hour wait.

From then on, the lines were relatively short. I proceeded on to the placement officer on base who ensured that I was happy with my placement. My ear-to-ear grin gave it away. He happened to recognize me, his first question being, “You have a brother, correct? He was with me yesterday as well.”

I moved along to the D.N.A. station, perhaps the least “fun” of the day. First, a simple finger prick to draw some blood. Of course, a small amount of blood won't do, but rather the proper procedure is shading in two large circles on a page from the small nick. Then, four shots, two in each arm. I'm no fan of needles usually, but given that the draftee who went before me fainted during his shots, I was extra weary of them. Regardless, I took them (thankfully no fainting), and moved on to the exciting stuff.

After receiving my diskiot (dog-tags), one worn around the next and one in each boot, as well as my teudat choger, I joined the line to officially receive my uniform. Walking into a large changing room, I signed for equipment and was handed sizes based on the judgement of the soldiers working in the back. Surprisingly, each size (including the boots), fit perfectly the first time. I took a few minutes to learn how to tie my boots and wear the gummiot (rubber bands to keep the bottom of your trousers neat). I took a moment to glance at the mirror for the first time.

Red boots, the Tzanchanim shirt with the belt on the outside, a green training beret on my shoulder...I looked directly at the image of someone I had always imagined but never met. I was finally a soldier.

I proceeded on to the busses with my new Tik Aleph (army bag), containing extra pairs of uniforms, a winter jacket, army t-shirts, socks, and underwear, as well as a few small gifts (razor, dog tag cover, etcetera). We were told to head home for the weekend and report to base on the following Sunday, so off we went to our respective bus stops.

I was ready to head home, my new life well underway. At the bus station, calls of “Chayal!” (soldier) from the shopkeep to get my attention were certainly a strange thing to hear, something I'm still not used to...Chayal.

The bus ride on the way home was mostly normal besides for the fact that being a soldier, I didn't need to pay for it, a refreshing change.

Finally, hours later, I dropped my army gear in my room and took off my uniform before a free weekend for the first time. A delicious Thanksgiving dinner with those of the Garin who were home for weekend followed, and back to base I went on Sunday (something I'll talk about in detail in the following post).

Signing off for the first of many times a soldier!

-Brett

Crawling to the Next Step: Gibbush Tzanchanim

Just over one eventful week ago, I participated in the gibbush for Tzanchanim, the paratroopers of the Israel Defense Forces. While I had completed a gibbush previously, Yom Sayerot, this one was a completely different animal.

After years of waiting for this very day, I arrived at Tel Hashomer, believing that this tryout would be far easier than the last, as I had been told. The wakeup call slowly arrived. After hours of extensive paperwork, we were divided into small teams. Fortunately, I was assigned to the same team as Darren and another friend from our Garin.

The teams went through the usual logistical tasks: signing in, being examined by the doctor, and receiving uniforms. We were led to the cafeteria and given lunch, far tastier than anything given to us at the previous tryout! Eagerly awaiting the Bar-Or test, we continued on to our tents and set down our belongings and uniforms on cots, another huge improvement over Yom Sayerot. The improvements, unfortunately, would stop there.

Before embarking out onto our run, we were instructed to drink our entire one-liter canteens at once, before turning them and holding them over our heads when finished. This would become a recurring theme. As we approached the run sight, we were told to sit and wait. Another recurring theme.

Finally, as the sun set and the night drew closer, my group prepared for the run. When the word came, we were off again. Another gibbush, another two-kilometer run. This one followed a hilly track, the sand remaining in the air from the previous groups. On the narrow trail, returning runners from the last group collided with us as we attempted to pass, while each one of my group struggled to get himself ahead.

Pushing ourselves until the very end, we reached the finished line. As we all waited in line at the end for our numbers to be taken down, each runner placed his head and hands on the back and shoulders of the person in front of him. Struggling to catch my breath, I saw this as a shining example of brotherhood only found in Israel. Despite competing with one another for the few spots left in the unit, each participant assisted another in recovering.

We were put to bed, once again at 8:00 P.M. due the early morning wakeup. At 3:00 A.M., we were up and divided into new teams. Somehow, I ended up in a team with Darren again, a comfort in the face of a very long day ahead. The twenty-five of us in the group were given numbers and had a short warmup before heading out to the field behind our commander.

Slowly we arrived at a long, narrow trail. As expected, our commander gave us the order to sprint to a point up the trail and back. “Tzeh.” My favorite word....

We sprinted and sprinted some more. This was not unexpected, though it lasted far longer than the previous tryout's sprints and far longer than I ever could have imagined it would. At the end of each sprint, another round without breaks. After about forty minutes, our numbers started dropping and four of our guys had left. It was only the beginning.

We continued the routine for some time longer, completely reduced to rubble by the end. When our commander finally showed some mercy and allowed us to stop, he gave us about two minutes to drink our canteens before starting again. More sprints, this time with stretchers.

At each round of sprints, I exerted myself much more than I did at my first tryout. It's been my dream to be a Paratrooper since I made the decision to make Aliyah, and my way of proving that was giving everything I had. While certainly not in the top few physically, I gave it my all through each sprint and earned a place under the stretcher a few times.

After what must have been an hour, we set down the stretchers and caught our breath for a minute. The commander, his face bearing the mischievous grin of the plan he had devised, instructed us to walk to the other end of the trail. When we arrived, he looked us all over, our uniforms dark with sweat, and instructed us to lay on our stomachs. “Crawl to the finish line and sprint back. First three people will have their numbers written down.”

I honestly cannot put into words how difficult army-style crawling is, especially in the capacity of a race. Whether it's the feet kicking into your shoulders and face, the sand caking your teeth and stinging your eyes, the muscles in your torso screaming to rest, or the rock and glass on the trail piercing your arms and legs, I was ready to quit by round two. But I persevered, and although finishing near the bottom each round, I gave everything I had to drag my body an extra few inches and move along.

After an eternity, the crawls were finished and we gathered in a chet (open rectangle) for a group game. We were instructed to come up with a few reasons for why women should or shouldn't serve in the army. After the discussion, we were given orders to navigate a small obstacle, getting our entire team from one point to another through a puzzle. These activities were especially difficult for me, given the language barrier. While the commanders were looking for the leader who stepped up to calm the team down, I could never have competed with an Israeli's mother tongue understanding of the language.

We continued the group games (albeit with punishment each time we made mistakes), and designed a map of Israel using only items found around the trail. I'm sure this one can go down as a failure for my group in the commanders' books, our map looking more like the state of Texas than anything else.

Then, at long last, our final exercise: the masa (hike). We gathered our equipment, including the stretcher, shovels and jerrycans, and proceeded on to a hike back to the base. Parts of it were jogging, parts walking, parts uphill and parts down, and by the end of the three kilometers, I was exhausted.

We were told that we had completed the physical section, about five hours after we had begun, and given some time to shower before the interviews. Lines for the shower were out the door, leading many to use the sinks as a substitute (never a dull moment). Nonetheless, when I was finished I proceeded to my interview and waited.

When my name was finally called, I had already prepared myself. I sat down and fielded the usual questions: where did I come from, why did I move to Israel, etcetera. When they asked me why I wanted to be in Tzanchanim, I was ready. I had been ready to respond to that very question for three years.

I spoke to the two stone-faced interviewers with passion in my voice, determination and desire in my words. I described how long I had dreamed of that very interview and just how much the history of the unit, being able to participate in the tryout, and the volunteer nature of Tzanchanim meant to me. By the time I had finished, they were both smiling. It was exactly the interview I had always dreamed about.

A few days later, I received word that I had been accepted into and will be drafting to Tzanchanim!

So what does it mean?

For starters, I've always wanted to be in Tzanchanim. I've really started to feel like I've realized my dream now, earning a spot in the unit. It's still surreal to me!

The history of the unit is unbelievable, most notably being the unit to capture the Kotel during the Six-Day War in 1967. Due to its impressive history, Tzanchanim has received a lot of money in donations over the years, leading to its relative wealth among the combat units. Because of this, training facilities and conditions are generally quite a bit nicer, something I'll touch upon in the very near future.

For a soldier in Tzanchanim (as well as the other infantry units), training is eight months long. Unique to the Paratroopers are the jumps which come in advanced training, something I've looking forward to for years. The unit is also unique in the uniform its soldiers wear, the shirt being untucked with a different design.

Then, of course, training culminates in a ceremony to receive the famous red beret, something given to Tzanchanim and the elite units of the IDF at the end of a grueling masa, also something I'll discuss in the near future.

Because of an issue with my Hebrew score, something Darren touched upon very briefly in the last post, I was unsure of whether or not I would be drafting now or in March. Thanks to the incredible hard work by my mashakiot, however, an appeal of my Michve Alon (army Hebrew course) assignment was successful and I will be drafting to Tzanchanim this Thursday, the 22^nd of the month.

My last few days as a civilian will be spent relaxing and watching movies, anxiously looking forward to the days ahead...

On a very serious note, a big thank you to everyone who has checked in with me and given me words of support due to the escalation of the situation with Gaza. I appreciate the fact that so many stand with Israel and are aware of the seriousness of the issue developing on the border. I think I speak for everyone who has served, is currently serving, or will be in the very near future when I say, we will defend Jewish lives, whatever the cost. We cannot live under the constant threat of rocket fire and danger to the lives of our brothers and sisters.

Anyways, I apologize for the length of the post! I had a lot to update.

Until next time, most likely the night before my life as a soldier begins!

-Brett

On My Way to the IDF

I should first apologize for my very inconsistent blogging habits over the last month or so. There really have been many moments that would be worth writing about, but it has been difficult to find the time to get it done! Whenever I would read blogs of lone soldiers in the IDF, I would always wonder why it took them as long as it did to update, promising myself to never be that way... well, I finally understand it. I will do my best not to fall into the trap in the future! Usually, I have written (and will write) posts about specific moments and topics in our journey, but this time, I hope you will forgive me for doing more of a "catch-up" entry.

A couple short months ago, I went for my "Tzav Rishon" or "First Notice" at the IDF draft office in Tiberias. It was a day I had waited years for (yes, a running theme on Brothers in Israel) and had been told about, in detail. It was never lost on me that this day would be extremely important in determining the rest of my army service!  After many long hours, random interviews, tests, and a medical check-up... I was free to go home, with my medical profile a perfect 97 (the highest you can get), pending the results of an eye exam I would, much to my dismay, have to come back for at a later date.

A few days later, I was informed that I was one of many in my Garin who would not be eligible to draft directly into my regular unit in November, because of my Hebrew level. While it wasn't a totally unexpected development, it was still disappointing, given how ready and eager I was to "get started" in the army. The score I got, rumored to be a 5 out of 10 (you need a six), meant that I would draft in December and do three months of army ulpan at Michve Alon as the first part of my service. However, we were also told that there would be an opportunity for the few of us who were very close to passing to re-test in November. Despite our pessimism that we would improve enough, it was something we agreed to work toward.

The next few weeks in our Garin were hectic and very busy, with everyone attending to different things the army needed them to do, sandwiched in-between Garin trips and events for all of Garin Tzabar. For example, there were "Gibushim," tryouts for specific jobs in the army, interviews, and other appointments. For my part, there was my eye exam at a completely different draft office (go figure), where I wasn't even tested, just asked about my medical history with my eyes for a few minutes. The doctor himself was infatuated with the city I came from in America, so we chatted about that, and his granddaughter (who he insisted he introduce me to), and then sent me on my way.

As the critical Hebrew re-test drew near, and our nerves escalated, we had a trip in the South, where we were able to spend some final quality time with all of the people we had been with every single day in our Garin, now getting prepared to head off to their jobs in the army. It is well-understood that, especially for the guys, many weeks can go by before we have the same time off and see one another. It was a valuable time to reflect on some of the incredible relationships we have built over our time there. At that point, not knowing where I would be going in the army (nor where many of my friends would be going), I wondered who I would see the most, and how different life was going to be in a few weeks.

Finally, the day arrived for the Hebrew test and so did my now third trip to the draft office, this time back in Tiberias. Butterflies in my stomach, I took every opportunity I could to show the girl interviewing me that I did know how to speak. On the written "fill-in-the-blank" style sentences, I must have written paragraphs, not caring whether or not I made mistakes, just trying to throw everything I knew onto that paper. With a little bit of luck, my score improved, and I was told that I would not have to go to Michve Alon after all.

This point is where a roller coaster of a week started for us... for some reason, Brett's score remained the same and he was told that he would still have to go to Michve Alon. I can't begin to describe the mix of emotions I had at hearing the news... for so long, we envisioned our paths in the army to run parallel, that even though we would more than likely be in different units, we could relate to the point in our time in the army that we were sharing. Even more disappointing was that he certainly did not deserve to stay at the same level as his first exam. We began to think of solutions and Brett started to work on them (which I'm sure he will detail), but nevertheless, on the ride home, we both sat in shock, trying to wrap our minds around what had happened. I would be drafting in two weeks now, to the unit I would spend the rest of my time in the army with, while he would be drafting in December, to Michve Alon. To make everything far more interesting, the very next day we had "Gibush Tzanchanim," the tryout for the Paratroopers.

I will save the details of the gibush for a separate post, but I will say that it was, so far, the most physically and mentally challenging experience of my life. I feel completely privileged to have taken part in it, and even had Brett in my team, against all odds, the whole way through. This meant that through sprinting and crawling the hours away, I had him to look toward for motivation and encouragement. We both had the honor of finishing, and that night boarded a plane back to the States for a pre-draft visit.

Because I only tested out of Michve Alon so late in the game, I never had the opportunity to fill out my preferences for where I wanted to go in the army. This is a standard thing that everyone does, listing their choices and hoping for the best. Garin Tzabar is well-known for ensuring that many people get their first or second choices. For me, all of my top choices were infantry units, even though there were some that I ranked higher than others. Passing the tryout for Paratroopers would have meant that I would automatically gone there, while if I didn't, I would hopefully end up in my first or at least second choice in my preference list (called a "Manila" in Israeli slang). While in America, though, I was told that due to how late I had to submit my choices, the likelihood was that I would not be able to draft into an infantry job. I will be the first person to advocate for the importance of every job in the army, but I couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed that my dream of being a combat soldier in the IDF's renowned infantry was all-but-faded. Things just weren't going the way we had expected, as we have always been told is the case with the army.

After a few very long days of reflecting on the situation, I came to terms with the fact that wherever I would go, I would have a meaningful service, giving all of myself, and taking everything possible I could from the job I would have. Not going into an infantry job would not mean less of a fulfillment of my dream to be a soldier in the IDF. I researched all of the things I had chosen after infantry, enthusiastic about my future, no matter what. Then, just as it all became more than okay, I was told that I did get my first choice! The happiness I felt was overwhelming, a sudden upturn on the ride we had been on, and a very-much renewed appreciation for just how much I wanted to go to the place I had been assigned.

To top it all, against all odds, Brett is no longer required to go to Michve Alon and will be drafting one day after me.

So where am I going?

The Nachal Infantry Brigade 

I will report to my draft in six short days to join a unit that I am really excited about. It is known for being a welcome home to lone soldiers and for having great people among its ranks, in addition to its military history. 

It would weigh heavily on me if I didn't take the opportunity to urge anyone reading to keep Israel in your hearts and minds today and in the days ahead, due to the ongoing operation in the South and the constant terror from Gaza. Any loss of life is totally regretful, and Israel did not ask to be in the position it is in, but something has to be done for our citizens who live under constant attack. 

I promise a TIMELY update after my upcoming enlistment. Wishing a successful and easy draft to all of my friends over the next week or so! 

          -   Darren 

Yom Sayerot

At the beginning of the last month, I participated in a tryout for the elite special forces units of the Israel Defense Forces, a day known as Yom Sayerot.

Taking place over the course of twenty-four hours, the tryout is said to be one of the most difficult a draftee will participate in before drafting officially. A participant who completes the tryout is eligible to receive an invitation to a later tryout in one of three units: HaYechida ("The Unit"-also known as Sayeret Matkal), Shayetet 13 (the Israeli equivalent of the Navy SEALs), and Chovlim (ship captains). From there, the participant can succeed in the later tryout and proceed onto the training for the aforementioned units, or can be dropped into a number of other special forces units.

For my purposes, I've always maintained a desire to draft into Tzanchanim (paratroopers), so Yom Sayerot was never really in my plans. After some persuasion from the Mashakiot, I decided to attend for the experience with a desire to complete it.

As I arrived at the Wingate Institute, a premier sports facility located near the beaches of Netanya, I proceeded on a long walk with a few others from the Garin to the Gibbush site. We checked in, received our numbers and marked them boldly on the front and back of our t-shirts, before having a final check with the medical staff.

Being in the first sixty people to arrive, I was sent to do the Bar-Or (fitness assessment) first. Generally consisting of a 2000 meter run and as many push-ups and sit-ups as one can do, our Bar-Or only included the run. I lined up along fifty-nine other eager draftees awaiting the word to move, and once it came, we were off. The nerves and excitement to begin quickly fade as the sand from below is kicked in the air and the elbows find their ways to your ribs by those jostling to be first. My time was slightly below-average for me, unfortunately, but was still acceptable enough to move on to the rest of the tryout (a portion of people were cut for their run times).

We were put to bed, 300 kids in one tent laying shoulder to shoulder on the floor, at 8:00 P.M., as the army is required to give us seven hours of sleep in the tryouts. Yes, we were woken up at 3:00 A.M.! After some light group stretches, we were divided into teams of about eighteen and headed out to the sand dunes. For those of you who aren't familiar with the Wingate Institute, the tryout takes place on large, steep sand dunes, overlooking the gorgeous blues of the Mediterranean.

After carrying our entire load of equipment (backpacks, stretchers, jerrycans, shovels) to the top of a dune under the watch of three commanders from the elite units, we began the test. The bald, stone-faced commander with the aviator sunglasses casually pointed to the bottom of the sand dune. He looked us all over, followed by a quiet order, “Twenty seconds to the bottom of the dune and back. Line up in threes when you return. Tzeh (go)!” And off we went.

Naturally, no one can finish the sprint in twenty seconds. “Tzeh.” Off we went again...and again. The exercise lasted for about forty minutes, each sprint more tiring than the last. My goal for the day was to finish the tryout, something that become increasingly more difficult with each passing minute and the sight of many giving in to the desire to leave.

After the first exercise finally came to end, we were instructed to drink. Apparently, our jerrycan had been previously used to transport oil, so our water was tainted in the beginning. While many became instantly sick from the taste and texture, it proved to be a blessing as we were given permission to tap into the exercise jerrycans, meaning we wouldn't carry them on our later runs!

The next exercise was much like the first; sprinting to the bottom and back. This time, the first four back would hoist the stretcher onto their shoulders, lugging it down beneath the weight of many sandbags to the bottom and back. Those who weren't in the first four continued sprinting until the stretcher returned.

“Just finish,” I thought at the end of each sprint, wearily glancing at the commander, “Please don't say it again.”

“Tzeh.” … “Tzeh.” … “Tzeh.”

 

“....just finish.”

After another forty minutes of the stretcher sprints, we were given somewhat of a break from the grueling portion, as our next assignment was to simply each dig a whole with a meter in length, width, and height. I quite enjoyed the activity and when the commanders came around to ask my strategy when digging the whole, I think they were pleased with my makeshift Hebrew response!

Our final exercise was walking up and down the dune with a sandbag on our shoulders, an exercise more in honesty than physical capacity. The commanders claimed not to be watching us, as it was our responsibility to let them know how many turns we completed.

As we finished and threw the sandbags to the ground, lumbering down the mountain, our commander looked at us with his first smile of the day, “You've completed the physical portion of the tryout. Kol Hakavod (all the respect).” A smile formed on my face, my goal completed.

The remaining 150 or so participants who completed the tryout were all gathered eventually as the numbers of those who would be receiving a tryout were read. The first group, HaYechida, was read, then Shayetet, and finally Chovlim. I was in the fourth group, the group who completed the tryout but wouldn't be receiving an invitation to one of the special forces tryouts. While I was slightly disappointed, I refused to let it take away from the feeling of completing the tryout, a lofty goal I never thought I'd achieve.

All in all, Yom Sayerot proved to be a worthwhile experience, one I'm glad I took part in. Since the tryout, I've also participated in Gibbush Tzanchanim (the Paratroopers tryout) and received information about when I will be drafting with regards to my Hebrew level. I will describe both in length in the coming posts!

Exciting days ahead!

-Brett

At Last, An Army Draftee: The Tzav Rishon

During the last month, I finally completed my long awaited Tzav Rishon. To summarize what it is before I delve into more detail, the Tzav Rishon literally translates to the “first draft.” For Israelis, this day takes place during the junior year of high school and is designed to determine which units the draftee is fit for. Being that we're with Garin Tzabar, our Tzav Rishon took place a mere two months before our draft dates, as most everything is expedited for us.

The Tzav Rishon consists of a few different tests to measure your mental and physical health, as well as your intelligence and motivation.

Upon arriving in the morning, I was directed to the Hebrew testing station. For months, this station was my most feared, as the results determine whether or not I need to attend Michve Alon (a three-month army ulpan in the beginning of the service). The first component of the test was a bit of general conversation, designed to gauge spoken level. Following the oral test came the reading portion, in which I was given lines to read and translate. Of course, after feeling slightly confident about the spoken bit, the lines appeared to be gibberish to me. Thankfully, that section was short. Finally, the written component consisted of reading a few words in a sentence and completing it as I wished. Overall, I felt that the written was my strongest portion.

I can't say I felt confident as I left the Hebrew test. At this point, my biggest obstacle to conquering the Hebrew language is a lack of confidence when I speak, something I feel easily shines through in an examination. I was told a few days later that I wasn't given a high enough score to get out of Michve Alon. A few days later, however, the mashakiot (army social workers) informed me that my score was borderline, meaning I'd have another chance to test out of Michve Alon in the beginning of November before the draft. Whatever result I get at that point sits fine with me. I'm happy to draft into the army ulpan if I need it, though I'd much prefer to draft straight into a combat unit this November.

Moving on...

Directly after the Hebrew test came the health examination. This consisted of a urine sample, eye exam, and a general check-up with the doctor. He checked for the usual issues and specific problems that might hold someone back in a unit designed for fighting and physically strenuous work. A health profile is given at the end of the exam and is a major factor in determine which units one is eligible for, especially men.

A 97 health profile is the highest a soldier can receive and means he's eligible for any unit. An 82 is given for specific small issues (very flat feet, strong seasonal allergies, etc.) and limits a soldier to regular combat units. A 72 is the next profile, given for more serious health issues, and limits a soldier to very specific combat units (tanks, artillery, field intelligence). Anything below a 72 eliminates a soldier from combat contention.

Thankfully, I was given a 97 and proceeded on to the next test.

After the intelligence test, a series of shape patterns and analogies (thankfully given to me in English), I sat through a short interview to determine my lone soldier status. I completed the day far sooner than expected and left the Lishkat Giyus (draft office), satisfied with a productive day under my belt.

About four days later, I received the results of my Tzav Rishon. Three scores are given to each draftee: the physical profile, the intelligence score, and the Kaba. The Kaba is the overall score the army gives a draftee and represents their evaluation of the future soldier as a whole. The highest possible score is a 56. The score helps determine eligible jobs for the draftee and possible entrance to officer school in the future, as well as opening up doors such as Yom Sayerot (special forces tryouts), something I'll explain a little bit in the next post.

Thankfully, I received good scores in each of the sections and now patiently wait to find out where I'll be heading as a soldier.

Signing off for my first time as property of the Israel Defense Forces!

-Brett

Gadna and the Garin

Since beginning the Garin Tzabar program in the middle of August, my life and experience as an Israeli have come a long way.

From the first moments of excitement upon driving into the gates of our gorgeous Kibbutz Malkiya for the first time, to developing deep and meaningful friendships with members of the Garin I hadn't yet met, it's been a period of thrilling change and adjustment.

With twenty-nine of us, it may seem a bit difficult to build a cohesive group, but it's been the complete opposite (something I'll delve into a bit later on). The group-building games and exercise the program are well known for always seem to work in the end!

After the first week came to an end, we participated in a program called Gadna. To summarize, Gadna is a pre-military program for Israeli youth as well an army simulation program for tourists. We arrived at the Gadna base in Sde Boker, deep in the heart of the Negev. Unfortunately, due to the size of our Garin, we were not all put in the same tzevet (team).

The first day consisted of mostly logistical tasks, meeting our mefaked (commander) and learning the base and procedures we'd need to follow for the remainder of the week. As the day was actually too hot to legally have us perform serious physical activity, running and push-ups were at a minimum (though it wouldn't stay like that for the rest of the week!). We received our uniforms (well-worn and ill-fitted) which we were instructed to wear for the rest of the week. Although Gadna is not officially a part of the army, but rather a simulation, it felt fulfilling to be putting on the uniform of the Israel Defense Forces for the very first time in my life.

The next few days consisted of mostly physical work. We sprinted from location to location, considering the obscenely short amount of time our commander would give us to cover a large distance, and every small offense resulted in push-ups. Apart from the tedium of doing sprints and push-ups just for the sake of doing them, we were often rewarded with fascinating classes and tips for our upcoming lives as soldiers.

I've become well-versed on a few particular topics, one being about the neshek (weapon), after several classes with detailed instructions about the M16, one of the most commonly used rifles in the IDF. It all culminated in a day firing the rifle at the range. While firing didn't feel particularly special, the idea that this would most likely be the first of many shots I fire at the shooting range donning the uniform certainly resonated with me.

I've been educated about army procedure and pieces of information which may prove useful to me in the army. While many overseas groups participate in Gadna on a weekly basis, this particular session was designed slightly differently, as every participant was a future soldier. With that considered, the classes were far more in-depth than they usually are, and therefore far more interesting.

The big highlight of the week, however, was going out into the shetach (the field). A combat soldier trains for weeks in the shetach, which could be anywhere from the hot, endless deserts of the south to the snowy mountains of the north. We completed a one night simulation of life in the desert as soldiers, sleeping in small tents, eating combat rations, and learning about stealth. Despite waking up with sand-caked eyes and thorns in my clothes, the experience proved to be a positive one I won't soon forget.

I became significantly closer with the members of my Garin who were in my tzevet, understandable considering we lived together for five days and spent every waking moment together as a group. Throughout the week, I came to miss each of the other Garin members in the second tzevet. Obviously, I came to realize that the games and tasks our program staff constantly have us do are vital to us. We aren't merely a group of twenty-nine soon-to-be soldiers living together for a few months. We have become a family. We have grown to love and support each other, each of us understanding that to succeed as a group, we need each other. The strength of the bond that's been built is difficult to explain, though clear for anyone to see.

As the program came to an end, I returned home to Malkiya for a quiet weekend. I took advantage of the usual breathtaking views and perfect weather while getting ready for my Tzav Rishon (the first draft), which I'll discuss in depth in the next post. It's been a meaningful few weeks here so far with a few more like them to follow.

-Brett