The First Year

This past week marked exactly one year from the day I boarded a plane and said goodbye to my old life, making aliya to Israel.

I still don't quite believe that writing this post, to be completely honest. I remember carefully planning out the post I wrote the night before my flight, having gone over every detail in my head hundreds of times. I could never have planned out this post even if I tried, having just finished one of the most unpredictable, crazy, amazing years of my life.

Looking back on my first year in a new home, the highlights seem unreal to me. I've done things this past year that I could never have imagined doing in a lifetime:

I moved to a new country, absorbed into a new culture, and learned a new language.

I enlisted in a foreign army, trying out for the unit of my dreams and earning a spot.

I've shot rifles hundreds of times, thrown grenades, been tear-gassed, climbed mountains and done multi-brigade level combat exercises.

I've walked hundreds of kilometers, in the capacity of masaot and training weeks in the field.

I've jumped out of planes five times on my own, two of the jumps being at night, earning the wings of the Israeli Paratroopers.

Finally, on Wednesday this week, I will be marching to earn the red beret I've dreamed of for years, the true culmination of this past year.

It's hard to describe how it feels to watch the first year come to a close. Along with the accomplishments, I've dealt with struggles far beyond the ordinary, homesickness, physical and mental stress beyond explanation, and the general challenges of living independently. All of the struggles have only proven to have made me a stronger person, a stronger soldier, and I hope to be better off for them.

While many people ask, I don't know if I've changed. On one hand, I'm still the very same person who boarded the plane one year ago. I like the same foods, I laugh at the same jokes, I get along with the same friends, and generally live the same way (with the exception of the whole army thing!). On the other hand, I think it's very difficult NOT to change in some way after going through some of the challenges of training and being exposed to life in the army, even if it's just in life perspective.

I've learned to trust a group of guys my age on a level I've never known, as well as have their trust in me that I will protect their lives at all costs. I've witnessed the love a country has for it's soldiers, evidenced by civilians who consistently make everything worth it; from the cab driver who refuses a soldiers fare to the man at the gas station who comes up just to say thanks. If trust and the pride and love of serving a nation are the only changes I've seen in myself, I can't complain.

I look back on the year with the fondest of memories, with pride for what has passed and motivation for what's to come. I'm looking forward to see which new highlights I'll add in the next year. If it passes by as fast as the last did, I could be writing the year two post sooner than I expect.

The next post I write will be after the Masa Kumta, the march to earn our berets followed by the ceremony in Jerusalem. This is still very surreal to me, just how quickly everything has happened.

I want to conclude this post with a quick thank-you to all of you, the readers. Whether you read the blog occasionally, regularly, have glanced by once or twice, left comments, or have any other connection to these posts, thank you. I can't count on two hands the number of times I've struggled through serious challenges in the army, pushing myself through by looking forward to writing about it. While the blog is obviously a tool to inform friends, family, and strangers alike about my life and experiences in the army, it's also become an introspective tool for me. The reactions from all of you and simply knowing you're out there reading and supporting us helps keep me going.

Once again, a big thank you.

Until next time for the first post in red!

-Brett

The Longest War Week(s) in History

Battered, blistered, bruised, and exhausted, three hundred other Paratroopers and I sat on the thorn-covered dirt as the magad (officer in charge of the base) spoke, “I hope you're all enjoying your Shabbat and resting well. Sleep tight tonight...War Week is far from over.”

No, it wasn't our first Shabbat in the field. It was weekend number two. It was day nine and we had just been informed that it was becoming the longest brigade level War Week in IDF history. Little did we know, we weren't even close to the end.

We arrived to base not knowing when and how War Week would be sprung upon us. Unique to the week, a culmination of everything learned in training, is the fact that the commanders and officers are also left out of the “know,” unlike other shetach weeks in training. With that in mind, our first week back was one of preparations for the impending hakpatzah (emergency call-up) to “war.” Filled with packing combat bags, checking equipment hundreds of times over, patching up all of the existing injuries from training, everyone was constantly on edge.

Thursday night came around and along with it came the idea that perhaps we'd be going home for the weekend after all, War Week only to come the following week...

...and then there was the hakpatzah.

Gathered in a chet, our commanders walked around with camouflage face paint. Delivering pump-up speeches along the lines of, “this is it, we're going to war...in two, three weeks, we'll stand here beaten-up but victorious after finishing this together,” they did their best to excite the soldiers. And it worked.

Although disappointed not to be heading home for the weekend, we hoisted our equipment on our backs, smiled and chanted the songs of our unit, warriors headed to “war.”

Of course, the excitement only lasted until our first long walk with the gear. With each of us carrying close to 60% of our body weight in equipment, the inclines, uneven surfaces, and long hours of the walks in the shetach all slowly chipped away at the initial good vibes.

The first week followed a very specific pattern: long walks ranging from eight to twenty-six kilometers with all of our gear, a company-wide combat exercise, repeat. And repeat again.

While we struggled with the abnormal distances covered on foot and the virtually non-existent hours of sleep, we did our best to keep our spirits up and laugh. We pushed forward, always assisting each other in fighting the urge to quit and fighting through the injuries until the second weekend, our time to recover.

We had to earn the second Shabbat, working tirelessly throughout the week which culminated in another jump. As I touched upon earlier, our fifth jump was scheduled for War Week and as the end of our first week came, we found ourselves sitting on the runway of an Air Force base once more, boarding the Hercules and launching ourselves out at 1200 feet in the pitch black of night.

While similar to the last jump, this time we jumped “commando style” (combat vests on us underneath our parachutes) and with all of our gear in the sak haze (equipment bag). When I say all of our gear, I'm not just talking about a gun and vest like the last time. This gear included everything we were carrying for two weeks; clothing, water, food, etcetera. The weight was unbearably painful to lift, and that was almost enough to make me want to throw myself out of the plane and into the weightlessness of thin air!

Another difference was the fact that the entire plane jumped in one go, as opposed to the pilot flying rounds. Once landed (safely with two feet together, thankfully!), we all gathered and began a nineteen kilometer walk over the sand dunes of the desert to our next combat exercise the following morning and finally Shabbat.

We slept, ate, prayed, and recovered on Shabbat. As quickly as it came, however, it ended and we were thrown right back into the grind of War Week. The ending of the second Shabbat was a personal low point for me during the week. It got to a point where we all knew no regular brigade had ever been in the field for so long during training. We had done everything we had been asked and we had absolutely no idea when we would be going home. Two weeks is a long time to go with no connection to the real world. I was close to breaking, but like the physical walls in the army (in War Week and in everything else), the mental walls have to be overcome.

After a few more days of the tiring routine, we were finally told that we had finished. It had been fourteen days and we were exhausted. Fourteen days of walking, fighting with tanks, helicopters, drones, and some other “secret” units. Fourteen days with little to no sleep and plenty of injuries. And then it finally ended.

I want to mention that while it was the most difficult thing any of us had ever done, it was also one of the most fun experiences for many of us in the army. Obviously we would be absolutely defeated throughout our days, but during those odd minutes of free time during the heat of the middle of the day or during Shabbat when the jokes came out, so did the smiles and we had no choice but to enjoy in the company of each other and our commanders. It was a unique experience.

True to our commanders' word, we arrived back to the chet two weeks later, beaten-up but proud. Nothing could take that away.

I wanted to mention that during the week, we dealt with our first truly “classified” activity, something that gave us a sense of accomplishment and advancement in the army. We've reached a new point where we are trusted to do things at a higher level than the simple trainees we were for the past seven months. While I'd obviously love to write about every experience as well, I hope you'll forgive me if I occasionally need to leave a thing or two out!

The end of War Week also marks the end of our training. We are now considered “warriors” by the army and if there is ever a conflict, we can now officially be sent in by the army, a bit of a crazy thought to consider.

Ending training also means that our time on the beautiful base we've called home for seven months is coming to a close. This coming week, we will be turning in all of our gear and preparing to move bases (something I'll touch upon in a later post). The only thing that remains is our grueling 60 kilometer Masa Kumta this coming week.

Sorry for the length of the post, doing my best to catch everyone up!

-Brett

One More

Pain searing from the arch of my foot through the side of my shin, I limped gingerly behind the stretchers. Desperately pushing myself to keep up until the finish, I clenched my teeth and forced myself forward, willing myself to complete the masa on two feet. It was the last masa before before the big one, nine hours of walking a daunting 42 kilometers.

For some reason or another, the Masa Mechin Kumta (preparation for the beret march) was amongst the most difficult things I've done since drafting. I suppose everyone has a bad day physically every now and then in the army and mine happened to come on the day of the march.

Keeping in line with the policy of close to 40% added body weight in the Mechin Kumta, I departed with the stretcher on my back. For 25 kilometers, I lumbered the added weight on me without complaint, giving every bit of effort I had to push my way up the inclines and balance my speed during the declines.

The problems came after I offloaded the stretcher, however. I've heard that marathon runners often hit the proverbial wall at some point during the run. It was fitting that this masa was the exact distance of a marathon, because my wall came after that 25 kilometer point. The pain began as a dull irritation at first, gradually increasing each step until it was no longer ignorable.

While usually I find myself helping others during masaot, lending a hand pushing someone up a hill or grabbing the stretcher, I quickly found myself on the receiving end during this masa. It's important to mention that in the army, you're not always the hero there to save your friends. Sometimes its your friends who come to your aid and while I certainly didn't feel proud of it at the time, there's absolutely no shame in it.

I learned a valuable lesson during the masa; even on the worst of your days in the army when everything counts against you, you still need to find the finish line. In those moments, you can count on the individuals you've shed blood, sweat and tears with to come to your aid and help will you to that finish when you need it the most.

I finished the masa on my own strength, though with a renewed faith in many of the men I've learned to fight for and with.

Though finishing was a challenge and I wasn't entirely in the best mood at the end, one thought kept coming back to me.

The next time I do this is for my red beret.

It was the penultimate masa. I couldn't stop thinking about our upcoming and final march, the Masa Kumta. Only one more time would I be lugging the equipment on my back and bolting through the fields at a rocket's pace for hours on end. The reward would be the greatest one yet.

The Mechin Kumta was not the only penultimate task of it's kind this weel. It immediately followed our second-to-last week of shetach, the last being war week. This was also not lost on me and certainly made getting through the week much easier.

It was definitely one of the tougher weeks I've had up until this point, but the theme of “one more” certainly resonated with me until the finish. The red beret we've all been looking forward to for so long is inching closer every day.

More posts to come!

-Brett

P.S. As of May 22^nd, I have been in the army for six months, meaning I am now a corporal. While the increase in rank doesn't really mean anything, it's certainly fun not to be at the bottom of the ladder. Until next time!

Landing Feet First

I sighed a breath of relief, my back against the ground as I stared up at the star-lit sky. I briefly looked over my still-in-tact arms and legs, a smile on my face; I had safely landed my final jump of the IDF jump course.

The rush of excitement the first time jumping out of a plane is difficult to explain. From the pre-flight jitters sitting on the runway when the massive Hercules arrives to taking your seat on one of the benches lining the inside of the aircraft, my memory of my first jump is one I'll always hold close.

Seated shoulder-to-shoulder next to your best friends as the aircraft ascends from the runway, the butterflies start to flap their own wings in your gut.

I can't believe the only way out of this airplane is jumping out that door.

The order comes in to remove your seatbelt and attach the cord of your parachute to the steel cable running through the plane.

Left door, attention! Nervously, you stand up, gripping the cord as your row of paratroopers slowly edge towards the gaping door. Step-by-step, you sense what's coming and have absolutely no idea what to expect.

The light next to the door turns green and bodies start flying out into the open. Soon, it's your turn as you stand centimeters away from nothingness. “Kfotz! (jump!)” comes the scream of the instructor to your left as his hand slaps your back. Without hesitation, you launch yourself out the door.

For three seconds, your body is pulled like a rag-doll horizontally through the air. You gasp, doing your best to catch your breath. Then, like a gift from above, you hear the parachute folding open above you and your body smoothly evens out. Glancing up to check for errors in the chute, you say your thank-you that everything is okay and you enjoy the view.

For one minute, you glide seamlessly through the air, gazing over at the shoreline of the Mediterranean and the skyscrapers in the distance. As the ground comes closer, you estimate your direction of landing, hold your legs tightly together and hope for the best.

Boom! Unexpectedly, you crash into the ground with enough force to shake you up. A rough landing perhaps, but you're safe and that's the most important thing.

Such was the routine of each one of my four jumps during the jump course. Each one was unique in it's own way, the first being the only jump done without any combat gear, the following three done with the sak haze (equipment bag).

I thoroughly enjoyed the course. From the adrenaline rush to the views to standing at the door (being the second one of the plane) waiting for a full two minutes for the order to jump into the pitch black of night during our night jump, the course was the most memorable week I've had to date in the army.

It's worth mentioning that the week did have a negative aspect or two to it. The first jump is certainly exciting due to the unknown, but I can speak for everyone who jumped when I say that each jump afterwards is gradually more scary. Knowing how hard the impending landing will be and seeing friends get injured due to the jump leads to a fear that's difficult to explain, though the adrenaline quickly sees off the anxiety.

The injury bit leads me to the second negative aspect of the week. After each jump, there were always a few who had been injured, sometimes seriously. From broken legs to torn shoulders to small sprains, improper technique or even simply bad luck led to some very unfortunate injuries, ending the combat careers of many soldiers, an awful sight to see. I, along with all of my friends, thankfully made it through the week in one piece.

While usually five jumps are included in the course, only four were scheduled for us (the fifth being scheduled for a later point, but more on that in a later post!). After safely landing for my fourth time in the dark of the night, I knew that the following morning I would be receiving something I had always dreamed about: the Paratrooper wings of the Israel Defense Forces.

Receiving the wings was honestly a dream come true for me, a moment I had always imagined and couldn't believe had arrived. It capped off a perfect week for me in the army, cementing my place as an Israeli Paratrooper and fueling my motivation to push forward towards the end of training.

After jumping, we returned to base for a week of urban warfare before embarking on a 25+5 KM masa, one I actually happened to find quite easy. While spanning over six hours, I finished strongly with a smile on my face, receiving the gun strap of my unit at the finish.

It was amongst the best two weeks I've had since drafting, certainly a shift in morale as the end of my time on the base draws closer.

More posts to come very soon!

-Brett