At
the beginning of the week, instead of arriving on base, I was told to
arrive at a synagogue in Jerusalem for a lone soldier event. Not one
to complain about a later than usual Sunday wake up time, I began the
week with a smile on my face, completely oblivious to what awaited
us.
The
lone soldier event, like all, was not short of food and jokes with
English-speaking friends. This event was different, however. In
attendance were the three paratroopers from the famous image of the
unit staring up at the newly captured Kotel in 1967. I stood in awe,
in disbelief that the subjects of the image I had come to know so
well were there in my presence. The most well-known contributors to
the most well-known contribution in Tzanchanim
history were standing in front of me. I was inspired.
With
reignited motivation, I returned to base late that night, prepared
for a week in the shetach.
We woke up the next morning and immediately went to lessons about the
tear gas tent, something I had been personally dreading for weeks.
When the moment finally came to walk to enter the tent, I suppose I
was as ready as I could have been.
After
some sprints and push-ups (a measure to make sure we breathed in the
gas!!!), I entered the tent. Immediately, despite the straps of the
gas mask tight around my head, my face began to sting. This wasn't supposed to happen until AFTER I took my mask off.
I did my very best in half-choking, limited Hebrew to explain to the
instructor that gas had entered the mask. I took it off upon her
order and stood there for the requisite time, naturally forgetting to
close my eyes. After finally being told to leave, I ran out, choking
and unable to open my eyes once I shut them.
It's
difficult to explain the pain of tear gas exactly, but suffice it to
say, it's a truly awful substance. The training and experience made
me realize how unpleasant and dangerous potential chemical weapons
are, if nothing else. Certainly a scary concept to think about.
Despite
the uncomfortable morning, we were told that we would be leaving on
our Masa Samal
(sergeant's march) that evening. From what I had heard, this masa
specifically is one of the hardest a soldier will do in his training,
being that it's led by the stone-faced, disciplinary sergeant. I can
confidently say it lived up to it's notoriety.
The
first kilometer was done without the samal
in a pace slightly faster than usual. We arrived to the top of an
incline about one kilometer later, already out of breath. Suddenly, a
smoke grenade went off, blocking our view. The samal
appeared through the thick, white cloud, staring us down. “You've
all annoyed me this week. When you go home this weekend limping and
your mothers ask you what happened, feel free to tell them that you
pissed off your sergeant so he broke your legs.” On that pleasant
note, he ran off into distance, leaving us to catch up to him.
The
pace was almost unbearable. Despite being short on numbers and almost
all of us carrying an extra item on our backs, we finished the first
six kilometers in a blazing forty minutes (the usual pace for six
kilometers being an hour). The speed simply did not let up, even after
arriving back to the base after fourteen torturous kilometers and
hearing the samal
inform us, “We're back at base. We're not done. Open the
stretchers, we have another three kilometers to go.” And out we
went into the shetach once
more before finally finishing later that evening.
Crawling
into bed was a gift, even with the knowledge that we would be heading
into the shetach for
combat exercises the following morning. When we woke up, we lugged
all the equipment on our backs and trekked out on foot into the
shetach for the first
time (having exited on shuttles all previous times).
The
week itself was fairly difficult, the commanders taking every
opportunity to make someone “fall injured” and be carried around
the entire day by the rest of the team. Though difficult, it was
tolerable until the final night. We crawled into our sleeping bags
after a long day of work, exhausted and ready to return to base. And
then there was the hakpatzah.
A
hakpatzah (emergency
wake-up) is a soldiers worst pre-sleep nightmare. The idea is to go
from a state of being completely unprepared (sleeping) to being ready
for battle in a matter of seconds. This time was different, the
commanders throwing in the lovely addition of gas masks. For the next
hour, we crawled over rocks, ran up mountains with stretchers, and
sprinted, all with masks restricting our breathing and vision, making
things nearly impossible.
“2:32
A.M.” Forcing my body to continue up the hill one last time to get
to our sleeping bags and finally go back to sleep. Struggling for
breath and strength, carrying an “injured” friend on my shoulders
without being able to see the rocks bushes waiting for me in my path.
I've heard that advanced training is difficult and the first week of
it proved to me that I had heard an understatement.
I
left the base the following day, after a painful trip back carrying
roughly 60% of my body weight, to begin an early regila.
A regila is a
week-long vacation given to combat soldiers twice a year. Volunteers
were needed to take the week early and miss the education week in
order to watch over the company once everyone else was gone. I
volunteered and enjoyed every minute of my week at home, doing my
very best to re-energize for what lies ahead.
I've
just completed another guarding and toranim
(base errands) week and am home on a Yom Siddurim,
despite the fact that I am closing a 21 at the moment. When I return
to base tomorrow, I will be one of only nine at the company, the
schedule being mostly non-existent making for a very relaxing week.
As I
mentioned before, we are now finished with tironut
(basic training) and have moved on to advanced training. We will
mostly be in the shetach,
doing unbearably difficult things, though we are now really being
groomed as fighters ready for battle. They say advanced training
turns a soldier into a warrior and it's certainly not going to be an
easy transformation.
-Brett
