The Woes of the Weather

As I grasped the safety ring of a grenade, mentally and physically prepared for what I was about to do, I found myself unable to shake the disappointment I was feeling. After days of excitement and practice for my Tekes Hashba'ah (swearing in ceremony), knowing that all of my friends as well as my brother had received off from the army to attend, I stood there with the deepest frown on my face. The tekes had been cancelled.

Wednesday morning had started brightly. I opened my eyes, smiled widely and said to the kita, “tomorrow is our tekes, tomorrow we're going home!” All was cheer around base. We'd been shooting throughout the week and we'd be heading out the shetach to throw live grenades before leaving on a masa in the evening. Things couldn't get better.

There we stood in the shetach when word trickled in that the tekes had been cancelled. I wouldn't believe it. Refused to believe it. A mere twenty-four hours before the tekes with no way to contact Darren and the rest of my friends and they had called off the ceremony due to an awful patch of rain and cold throughout the country.

Moments before throwing a live grenade, an experience I never thought I'd see, and I couldn't think of anything but the utter disappointment I was feeling. While the experience itself was interesting, tossing an actual grenade after learning about it inside and out, I left the shetach feeling absolutely upside-down.

As we arrived back to base, I rushed to my phone to contact everyone and let them know the news. In addition to the tekes being postponed, the masa had been called off. We wouldn't be marching to earn the Tzanchanim shoulder tags. We wouldn't be going to Jerusalem. We wouldn't be swearing our allegiance to our country in front of friends and loved ones. Not this week.

I woke up the following morning, knowing that in another world, this was the morning we would would want to remember. Instead, it was a morning we could only hope to forget. After carrying all of the equipment to the shooting ranges, the rain came in force, leading to the order to carry everything right back to base. Back on base, soaking wet, the rest of the day was filled with time-wasters, the mefakdim simply trying to think of what to do with us.

We were told that our masa had been rescheduled to that very evening, despite the awful weather. While the decision being up and down the throughout the day, it was eventually finalized and we prepared to go.

The masa marked our first real “big” march, not only in terms of distance (10+2), but also due to the fact that it was done in the capacity of a pluga (battalion) and not simply a kita (team). Hundreds of soldiers lined up in the brisk cold and off we marched.

After five minutes, the cold is no longer an issue. The rain seemed to have taken a break and the only thing left to worry about was the powerful pain of the shrir masa (hike muscles in the shins). The first thirty minutes of every masa are marked by that very pain, seemingly the only possible thing to think about. In this masa specifically, the pain was magnified due to the deep mud, every step being harder to take than the last.

As always, once the initial period of pain has passed, your legs slowly become numb (or maybe you just get used to the feeling) and you become like a zombie, simply walking and trying to pass the time. I thought back on the week, the disappointed I felt and how difficult and draining the army can be sometimes for a combat soldier. More positively, however, I thought to myself about the experiences I've done that I had only ever seen in the movies.

Where else could I have forced myself through an hour of kriya savlanoot? Where else could I have undergone training to successfully hit targets at high long distances in the darkness of the night? Where else could I throw a live grenade and hike twelve kilometers with the men who I train with to defend the Jewish nation? While often taxing and at times impossible to deal with, these experiences become the ones I look back on, happy and proud of the decision I've made to leave everything behind for something I so strongly believe.

After ten kilometers of marching, we reached the point to open our stretchers and continue on to base. Being the middle of the night, with darkness and mud complicating the process, we stood there waiting twenty minutes for all of the stretchers to be opened and the sandbags to be placed. While breaks usually bring down your body temperature, especially with your shirt wet with sweat, this was different. The very moment we stopped, the rain began to pour, our bodies began to freeze.

Worried, the commanders asked the madasnikit (sports trainer) of the base to come and go through various exercises to do while waiting in order to fend of hypothermia. The cold was bitter, though it was almost a fitting end to a bitter week. Finally, as the last of the stretchers were opened, we bolted off through the last two kilometers, running more often than not doing our best to heat up our bodies.

The feeling of finishing, as with every masa, was an unparalleled jolt of happiness and pride. While we didn't receive our tags, the rumor is we will be receiving them before our ceremony. We went off to an overdue hot shower and a decent night sleep, knowing the following day would mean home. As I woke up the next day and put on my madim aleph (dress uniform) to head home for the weekend, I thought back on the ups and downs of the week. This was a week to forget, though the type of week that builds you as a soldier and as a person.

My tekes has been rescheduled to Tuesday and if things stand, Darren will still be able to attend. Just a few more days until I am sworn in to defend the nation, hopefully this time for real!

Off to base tomorrow for chemical and biological warfare week, capped off by the tear gas tent! It should be an interesting week, hopefully a better one at the least.

-Brett