Jump School

“Holes in the parachute! Fix the error,” came a voice from below as I yanked the pin of the reserve chute, zip-lining closer to the landing point. It was another routine drill after a long, fascinating week of training at the Israel Defense Forces Parachuting School.

After a week of mostly uneventful guard duty in the West Bank, we packed our gear on base and departed for two weeks of jump training. Five grueling months of training later, the moment we had all been looking forward to had arrived.

Throughout a week of eight hour training sessions each day, we've all become physically and mentally more prepared for our impending jumps. Each day consisted of learning about the plane, the parachute, the proper techniques of exiting the plane and landing safely on the ground, and finally the appropriate time and method for opening reserve parachutes.

With each new piece of information, we were sent to practice. Each one of us spent numerous hours suspended by ropes in the air, jumping off of platforms into the proper landing technique, rolling in the dirt and doing it all in full equipment. My body is fatigued to say the least. The typical aches and pains from the course (rope burn on the neck, sore muscles, scrapes and cuts) are a small price to pay to learn how to jump safely and in one piece, however!

Thinking back to family visits or school trips in Israel, I'm still shocked to think that I once looked at the wings of Paratroopers, in awe by the experience they all went through to earn them. Even more shocking to me is the fact that I'm now one of them. This time next week, I will have jumped out of a perfectly good airplane at 1200 feet and earned wings of my own. Like many experiences so far in the army, this one can be perfectly described as surreal.

Nervous and excited, I go into this week ready to finish my jumps (with two feet firmly together!) and see out the rest of my training. We have about a month and a half left, three weeks of which being shetach weeks before we finally receive our red berets and officially become a part of the Tzanchanim family. Things have been moving really quickly and although it will be difficult, the final push to the end of training will arrive with the wings.

It's a short post for today. I'll be returning to base tonight in order to be on time tomorrow for the craziest few days of my life. Wish me luck!

-Brett

The Flame Has Been Lit

Generally speaking, the Americans who make aliya to join the Israeli army are an extremely passionate, idealistic group of people who strongly believe in what they're doing. With that said, through the difficult times in the army, it's very easy to forget the ideals and beliefs which brought us here. Reminders are scarce, but when they come, they make an impression. I've just had the most powerful weekend of my army life so far, one of these very reminders that will me to move forward and become a better a soldier.

After completing a fairly simple week on base (a competition against the other four infantry units), I was promised I could leave for the weekend, despite my unit closing. About three weeks ago, I received an e-mail from the director of the “March of the Living” southern region, a man with whom I have a strong connection from my time on the trip in 2010. He informed me that this years region would be here on the weekend and that he'd love to have me come speak to the participants.

After begging my commander and explaining the significance of the trip, he pulled some strings and arranged for me to exit for the weekend.

I met with the group on Friday night at the Kotel, recognizing may familiar faces from my days in high school, and meeting plenty of new faces, educators and Holocaust survivors alike. I spent the evening with them, catching up and hearing about their stories from Poland. On Saturday afternoon, we were invited to form a panel of alumni from the program currently living in Israel to explain or decisions and answer questions from the students.

Standing there in front of a room full of eager, newly proud and passionate students who had just seen the hell of what remains from the Holocaust in Poland, answering their questions about the army and what it takes to be in the army was entirely surreal. It brought me right back. It brought me back to that very room, when I was the newly motivated student listening to soldiers speak to me about why they made the “crazy” decision to move overseas and fight in the army.

For those of you who have been keeping up with the blog from the beginning, you'll know that my trip to Poland was a major factor in my decision to make aliya. Talking to these kids and seeing how strongly they felt about everything now, how strongly they appreciate the country and how strongly they want to get involved made me remember exactly how I felt when I was in their shoes. I was the most empowered I had ever been in my life when I was sitting in their seats, and speaking to them now lit that very flame in me once more.

I was privileged to be given Sunday off as well, a Yom Siddurim, and therefore joined the group on a tour of Ammunition Hill, a symbol of the reunification of Jerusalem and a personal symbol of victory for the Paratroopers. Not five minutes would go by without someone I had never met coming up to me and telling me thank-you for my service and how much they appreciate what I'm doing.

It's important for me to note that I'm not the type of person who likes too much attention, and I'm certainly not doing any of this for the praise of others. With that being said, however, the fact that these strangers all took time to tell me how important what I was doing for them really made me remember the reasons I'm here. It inspired me to become a better soldier.

As the day drew to a close, I was honored and privileged to have met Michael Levin's parents. For those of you who are not familiar with Michael Levin, he was a lone soldier who drafted to the Paratroopers at the age of 19. While on leave in the United States, the Second Lebanon war broke out and he cut his leave short in order to fight with his unit. During a battle in Lebanon, Michael gave his life for the state of Israel.

His story has become widely-known in the Jewish community around the world. His documentary, A Hero in Heaven, has touched me time and time again, and was even shown to us by our commanders during our first month in the army. Meeting the parents of a personal hero of mine, parents who paid a huge sacrifice to our nation and gave away their only son, yet continue to keep him alive with their words every day, was simply an honor for me. I have never been so inspired.

I'm on my way back to base now, invigorated and renewed as a soldier, ready for what lies ahead. The flame has been lit, so to speak, after having one of the most incredible weekends of my life.

This week, we spend some time in the West Bank before moving into an air force base on Thursday to begin our jump course, something I'm ecstatic about. There are some great weeks ahead and I'm looking forward to writing about them.

-Brett

P.S.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that today in Israel is Yom Hazikaron, Israel's memorial day. In this country, memorial day is certainly not about a sale at the local mall. Memorial day is about the entire country coming to a stand still to reflect on and remember the 23,085 lives lost defending our right to be Jewish in a Jewish homeland. May their sacrifice never be forgotten.

Masa Samal Number Two

I clenched my teeth, my shoulders shaking under the weight of the radio and the heavy machine gun, each muscle in my leg clinging to itself after nineteen long kilometers. Only four more to go...

After finishing our Passover weekend on base, we were given Sunday and Monday to relax as the holiday drew to a close. This was fantastic. We had gone weeks now without any serious work...a weekend and a half of relaxing in bed, our bodies turning to mush. What could go wrong?

Before we could even come to grasps with it, Monday night came around, and with it came the Masa Mem Mem (march led by the platoon commander). After recovering from the initial shock that we'd be headed out on a masa, we were all actually rather excited to be getting back into the swing of things. As the night grew later and later, the weather starting to take a dip and a case of the yawns starting to set in, the excitement faded a bit, but nonetheless we prepared ourselves for the long night ahead.

It was revealed to us before we left that the platoon commander was injured and would not be joining us for the masa. Instead, our samal would be leading us once more. Great, this was going to be masa samal number two. Furthermore, since the samal would be leading the group with his radio man, my commander filled in to close the group and needed to choose a radio man for himself.

“Brett, put the radio in your vest. You're coming with me.”

Great, more weight on top of everything else. Plenty of running to be had. Last time I sprained my ankle!

I heaved the outdated radio onto my back and as we lined up ready to go, I knew it would be a long night. The first hour, as per usual, was unbearably painful. Muscles that you never knew you had scream at you as powerfully as they can. While that faded after some time, the unbearable pace of the samal and the sprints up and down being ordered my commander stayed very constant.

Hours later, we had lost soldiers due to injury along the way, covered the most difficult terrain to date, and saw the lights of the base in the distance. Only four more kilometers to go. At that point, one of my closest friends, the heavy machine gunner, was struggling to finish under the weight of all his equipment. Doing what was necessary for him to catch up to the group, I took the mammoth weapon off of his shoulders and placed it on mine, beginning the most difficult hour of any masa to date.

I hobbled along, the weight of the radio, my weapon and the heavy machine gun attempting to will me down until the end. As with everything in the army, the masa ended and I had reached a personal high along the way. As a reward for finishing the grueling challenge (over six times the length of our first masa, and only about a third of what's to come in our hike for the beret!), we received the coveted fighters pins for our berets, a symbol that shows we are warriors.

As quite the opposite of a reward, we were told that we would not be sleeping and would be trekking down to the shetach the following day for activities as a kita. Exhausted, we prepared our bags for the rest of the week in the field, grumpy but motivated.

The following day dragged on in classes until we were ready to move down the field. This week, unlike any to date, was entirely operational. That mostly meant for us carrying much heavier weight in much bigger bags down to the activity areas. The week itself was difficult, though not as bad as the previous week in the field.

With very few hours of sleep on the week, our bodies fatigued to the fullest extent, we found ourselves back on the base on Thursday, ready to relax at home for a much overdue free weekend.

-Brett

This Year in Jerusalem: Pesach

The past few weeks have gone by quicker than most in the army. As you all can tell by the reduced frequency in which posts are going up, things have become a little bit more difficult in the army and time is quite a bit tougher to come by. With that in mind, I hope to maintain a normal pace in keeping you all informed in what's going on, a pace faster than I've been able to recently.

When I returned to the army a few weeks ago, I was told to report to another base in the country. Being one of only three soldiers in my entire pluga not on my week-long vacation, I had no clue what I'd be going to do.

Upon arrival, I was told by event organizers that before the week of Passover, I would be there to assist a group in preparing packages for families from an extremely low socio-economic background. Despite going into the week thinking I'd be guarding for two hours a day and sleeping the rest (something entirely rare in the army), I was pleased to be afforded the opportunity to be doing something productive before the holiday.

The group of soldiers there worked with an amazing attitude from pre-dawn until post-dusk, smiles on our faces understanding that the work was going to a family who otherwise wouldn't be able to have a holiday meal. When all was said and done at the end of the week, we were personally responsible for 10,000 packages of food...10,000 families. It was amongst the most rewarding weeks of my life, certainly the most rewarding of my army service. It's important to realize that even with it's own work to do 24/7/365, the army is always willing to lend an extra hand to an organization that needs help, and that to me is simply inspirational.

I closed the weekend on base before leaving for the pesach seder, spending the holiday with Darren and the incredible family of our Garin Tzabar Mashakit that we've become incredibly close with.

The first seder in Israel was a powerful experience for me. I specifically remember sitting at the Passover table this time last year, enjoying in the company of loved ones, yet knowing that “next year in Jerusalem” would not just be a mantra. Being here, now a part of the army, now defending the freedom we swear to protect while chanting about the suffering of our people as slaves under the hand of the Egyptians, it's a difficult feeling to explain. Overwhelming, exciting, moving, or all of the above, it was an experience unlike any other.

Pesach on base was more or less like any other week, despite the food being entirely free of chametz. We had another week of guard duty around the base as the holiday continued before closing the weekend more and welcoming in another difficult week of advanced training (more on that later).

-Brett