Marching to the Red

Wearing shirts soaked with sweat after only twenty minutes of marching, my comrades and I beamed with pride. We had finally just begun our masa kumta, the march for our red berets. The smiles would soon vanish, only set to reappear at the end of the hardest sixteen hours of our lives.

Throughout the days leading up to the masa kumta, it was easy to notice the different attitude around the base. Smiles and laughter helped us through even the most tedious tasks of scrubbing down our company's rooms, knowing full well that at the same time the following week, we would be fully-fledged fighters in our unit. We would no longer be trainees. We would be warriors with the famous red berets and the elation was contagious.

Finally, the day arrived after a restless night sleep. We gathered our equipment and bid our farewells to the base we had served faithfully for eight months. We boarded the busses and departed to the starting point of the masa.

There we stood, ready to begin the sixty last kilometers of training. The culmination of eight of the most grueling months of our lives. The test of all tests. Our final masa.

We began at 7:30 P.M., our spirits at an unusual high. Smiles were wide and laughter filled the air. We all knew what we were doing and we all felt entirely invincible.

Carrying the stretcher on my back, I proceeded along with my peers, noticing ahead the mountain I feared would be ours to climb. I was proven right and up we went, our eighteen first kilometers digging deep within ourselves to force our bodies up the incline. The smiles quickly disappeared. The sky grew dark, the muscles tired, and the weather chilly.

While it's not unusual for muscles to cramp, they usually only do so towards the thirtieth or fortieth kilometer. Due to the incline and weight on my back, my calves chose to do so after kilometer eight. Physically shattered already, I was in worse shape mentally, wondering just how I would be able to walk over fifty more kilometers with cramped legs. I worried that even after the torturous eighteen kilometers, we still wouldn't be anywhere close to finishing. With no other option, I clenched my teeth and pushed forward, forcing myself not to think about. After only a few hours, it had already become the most difficult thing I've ever done in my life.

Throughout the black of the night, the trend for everyone seemed to be just trying to make it another kilometer and not think about the unbearable pain in all parts of the body. When the sun came out, the mood shifted a bit.

We battled our injuries and moved ourselves forwards and up and down until we finally spotted the hills of Jerusalem in the distance. While we had been desperately dragging ourselves forward until this point, the end was in sight and it gave everyone a major boost in needed motivation.

A few hours later, we finally reached the entrance of the city. We marched forward, cars honking their support and civilians clapping as they marched alongside us. This was a special finish to an unbearably difficult sixteen hours.

The memory of arriving to Ammunition Hill, the location of our impending beret ceremony, is a bit of a blur to me, the exhaustion taking it's toll. The memory of hugging my peers a short few moments later to celebrate, however, is absolutely vivid.

We finally sat down, our legs screaming for rest, closed our eyes for a long overdue nap and simply waited until finally being called for the ceremony to begin.

I limped gingerly into place, not really knowing if I was still dreaming or if I was actually standing to receive my red beret, the realization of the very same dream. I looked out into the crowd and spotted my family and friends from the garin. The ceremony began and my tears welled in my eyes. Somehow, after years of imagining this very moment, I was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the greatest individuals I know, ready to receive the beret of the Israeli Paratroopers.

When the kumta was finally placed on my head by my commanding officer, the shock and disbelief were replaced with a pride and emotion I've never known on such a scale. As the ceremony ended, I ran (well...limped at snails pace, I should say) to my guests, the smile still fixed upon my face. This was it, everything I have ever dreamed about, and it's something I will never forget.

I'd like to finish this post in mentioning the lessons reinforced once again by the masa. Despite the seeming impossibility of a task based on its sheer difficulty, the mind time and time again proves to be more powerful than the body. Friendship and teamwork prove to be more powerful than over-independence. The belief in something proves to be more powerful than the fear of the unknown. And the pride felt as you realize that you've learned one of these lessons is simply indescribable. After eight months of training, these are the things I will take with me for the rest of my life.

The next post will detail the next step in my army service, exactly what I've been doing since the ceremony and the end of training. Sorry for the delay, I've been very busy, but more on that in about two weeks.

Signing off for the first time in red!

-Brett