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
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