Turning the Page

As I was resting after a guard duty in the heart of Hebron, I went to page one of this blog on my phone and began to read. I met a different me once again and followed along with his motivation and vision to serve his country. Young, naive, but idealistic and insistent. As that different me aged in the army and was catching up to the present-day me, the reflection and soul-searching had begun.

I used to read blogs about the army and the different journeys taken to fulfill the very dream I was desperate to pursue. I spoke to the authors, asked questions and learned the hard truths with often the same recurring message, “it’s the biggest mistake that you’ll never regret.” As the output of the posts on those blogs started to dwindle before finally coming to a complete stop, the disappointment was always the same. It was something I could never understand and I told myself I’d never do.

On one hand, I’m disappointed in myself looking back at the blog, that I let myself follow the same path I had previously been so against. On the other hand, it’s a perfect representation of how the army changes you and served to be a refreshing reminder for me as I was reading along. I finally understood.

I can’t hope to catch everyone up with each and every big experience since my last posts. I could write hundreds of pages about life in the army, the operations, the action, the close calls and the aftermath; I wouldn’t know where to start. Instead, this will serve as an update about our lives today and a possible farewell to the blog. Each time I write, I like to believe that I’ll never let it fall by the wayside again, but as history shows, that’s not entirely the case (something I’ll try to explain throughout this post). So instead of leaving open the journey we started with you all years ago, I’d like to do my very best to sum it up and finish it in some capacity with you all today.

For those who prefer to skip to the end, I offer a quick spoiler: 

Darren was honorably discharged from the 50th Battalion of Nachal after his two year service came to a close. He served in a massive operation and continued on to finish his service exactly the way he started it, a warrior (quite an uncommon feat in the army). He has begun his life in the “real world,” and is currently residing in the States. 

  At the time of writing, I have 15 weeks left in my service and this tremendous chapter of my life. I served in two major operations and remain a warrior in the 202nd Battalion of the Paratroopers. I am currently participating in an army identity course, a relaxing close to my service.

Now on to the slightly more detailed summary.

It’s difficult to explain the turning points in an army service. It’s easy to remember each and every point exactly and how it changed me. I could see that I was changing, I just couldn’t understand why. The typical army drama contributes, when you realize just how different you are culturally to everyone else. The time certainly contributes, when you’re feeling down and realize just how much more still lays ahead. The combat contributes the most, the close calls and the massive realization of what it means to be a soldier and fight for a country. Explaining any of these one points specifically wouldn’t do justice. The combination of all of it certainly shifted my perspective of my past, my present, and my future.

While constantly facing such huge challenges in my service, I, like others, began to forget the reasons I came to Israel. I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again: an army service is hard. Very hard. I chose to stick it out and fight, force myself to remember that I came here for an ideal that I so passionately believed in. Among the many other new immigrants facing the same dilemmas as I’m constantly navigating, my choice to keep pushing is not the common one.

There are many who choose to throw in the towel to some extent, either through leaving a combat unit, leaving the army, or leaving the country. The morals of any of those options are easy to debate. More black-and-white, though, is a soldier’s driving factor into a situation where he needs to make that very big choice.

Israel’s culture is exquisite in so many ways. There are so many things that can, and have been, said about my appreciation of the beauty that is the Israeli people. Having said that, it can also be a ruthless culture, one that chews up and spits out anyone unprepared to deal with it. Like in any rocky relationship, those who choose to stick it out can often leave a bit jaded and cynical of the situation.

The perspectives, philosophies, and beliefs were challenged and transformed over and over. With that, the desire to discuss the experience seemed to fade away and the blog suffered as a result. Once more, I offer an apology for that.

This chapter of my life has been an absolute Pandora’s Box for me, every day a brand new surprise. The challenges massive, the accomplishments mind-blowing and surprising, the relationships forged everlasting. My pursuit of a dream and following what I believed led me down a long, winding journey of self-discovery and identity. 

I look back on the shimmering spots of my time in Israel with the fondest of memories. The Garin experience started my transformation, offering me a new group of friends who would ultimately become some of the best friends I’ve ever known.

I’ve been so privileged to build onto an incredible relationship with my family. Something as precious as family can often be grossly taken for granted and I feel honored to have had my eyes opened during this experience. My family are my best friends and I’m so very lucky for that.

The army’s given me the very unique privilege of looking back on experiences that were so difficult at the time, but so warm and often funny to think about now. My only tears of happiness have been shed in the army. The rest of the blood, sweat, and tears shed were the tests and obstacles that allowed me to finally answer to myself, “who am I?”

No wiser words have been said. “This is the biggest mistake that you’ll never regret.” Leaving a blessed life overseas to come start a life in the Wild West that is the Middle East is an enormous decision. Yes, it can feel like a mistake. But never for one moment have I regretted any of it.

I know what it means to be a Zionist; it’s coming through the challenges with a miraculously unfazed belief at the end. Though the relationship can be somewhat bittersweet, I believe more today in the miracle that is Israel than I did three years ago. Yes, I’ve changed and I’ve grown, but the ideals are still there. Like spouses in an old, married couple; there is a lot of bickering, a bit of resentment, but they never fall out of love for one instant.

I’d like to end this post to you all with a thank-you, the biggest yet. Looking back at the comments and the messages, from the well-wishes to the simple greetings, I often felt revived in the army at times when I needed it most. The community created here always gave me a constant sense of support and love, the most important recipes for success. I can remember so many specific points in my service where the words of friends, family, and strangers alike from all over the world helped me through.

I realize now how words of kindness should never be taken for granted. They can often change someone’s entire world.

Thank you for the support. Thank you for the love. Thank you for coming along for the ride.

Life on the Kav

-Wake up at 7:00 A.M.

-Prepare breakfast

-Wash dishes, begin preparing lunch.

-More dishes. Dinner preparations.

-Even more dishes.

-Clean the kitchen, wash the bathrooms, take out the trash.

-Bed at 11:00 P.M.

-Spend the rest of the week guarding 3-6 (3 hours on duty, 6 hours of rest).

-Repeat.

And so went week one of my deployment, kav Hermon. A typical week on the kav can be mentally draining, compensating for the often lacking physical involvement. The guard duties are mindless and while there are plenty of hours to sleep most days, there are never more than five in a row.

The tasks can vary greatly, but each week usually consists of the following: kitchen duty, guard duty, emergency response team, and the occasional operation (more on that later). Between the many menial hours of guard duty, the quality of life is actually much improved on kav to anything I've experienced before in my service.

:'( Another kitchen duty, how sad.

Exhaustion during another guard duty.

Living on a base with far fewer soldiers (one company or less) means better food, better relations with commanders and officers, and generally a less rigorous “army” lifestyle. Walking around in civilian t-shirts, having phones on us whenever we'd like, more free time during off-hours and a generally more relaxed demeanor are a few of the more pleasant changes we got used to.

Some friends and I catching up on some smiles during free time.

Going from being screamed at endlessly for months during training, having every minute of our days planned for us, literally being given one hour of free time to use cellphones a night, and the general kader (pointless physical work), to the lifestyle of the hapash (simple soldier) on the deployment is a huge change, but certainly not an unwelcomed one.

Being the new platoon in the vatikot also means receiving lots of slots to different courses. These can include commander school, sniper school, medic school, or a variety of other shorter courses. It means saying goodbye to plenty of friends and can also mean lots of dissapointment in not receiving a specific slot you were expecting.

Something of a “turning point” in my as well as the other Americans' service came in the form of one of these dissapointments. I was informed that I was going to be sent to sniper school, something I had always been interested in and was thrilled to have received. Another American and I happily stood during standard equipment checks before our leave from base to the course when our lieutenant summoned us to his office.

After over a year in the army, it's easy to sense when bad news is coming and this was one of those moments. “I'm thrilled to have chosen you two to become our snipers. You two are exactly the type of soldiers I want in this position and I'm glad you're so eager to go,” he began. “The thing is...” oh, the ever-present catch, “I can't send either of you unless you sign an extra six months onto your service.”

While not entirely surprised at receiving bad news, I was certainly gutted. I'd never heard of this happening in any other unit in the army. In fact, friends from the garin had left to sniper school that very month from Nachal and previously from Kfir. “There is no way to go around this. It's not just sniper school. In Tzanchanim, a decision has been reached that we can't send the Americans to any courses unless they sign on extra time. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but I hope you strongly consider signing.”

Surprisingly enough, even to myself, I considered the options. I offered to sign on two months (the time of the course) and was turned down. In the end, I couldn't bring myself to sign an extra six months of my life for a two month course, effectively bringing an end to dreams of commander school or really any life other than that of the hapash.

And so began the disillusionment of the Americans in our unit. To us, it simply did not seem fair. Leaving our entire lives at home to join the unit, working the hardest of everyone with determination each and every day, quite literally carrying the platoon on our backs on many an occasion, and then this. We are bombarded with requests for donations and to recruit Americans to the unit, we oblige, and then this. After all we give to the unit, we are told that unless we sign more of our lives away, we can never aspire to be anything other than a hapash.

Unfortunately, it was a breaking point for many of the Americans (myself included) and things simply have not been the same since. While many of us drafted for idealistic reasons, ones we still hold closely and dearly, it's exceptionally difficult to give the same quality of work with the same perseverance when you are receiving no recognition or thanks in reward. You receive nothing in return while soldiers who deserve it far less are being rewarded and advancing in the army. It's a massive pill to swallow and quite frankly, it still hasn't gone down easy.

It took a lot for us to get used to the idea that this would be our lives until the end of our service, but in time we got there. The deployment was mostly eventful (I'll touch on it a bit more later) and there were good days to be had as well. I hope I haven't given too harsh an account of things here, just trying to be as honest as possible with myself and with you, the readers.

Things don't always go the way we plan, but we adjust. We don't throw in the towel. Like every dark night, there is always hope for a brighter morning.

More to come!

-Brett

Welcome to the Vatikot

“Hey, where is guard station 'blue'?” I asked a fellow soldier. Looking at me, he simply pointed, no response. Frustrated, I continued walking, before stopping another soldier, one I've never met, “Can you tell me how to get to 'blue'?” He pointed at a sign on the wall, but a word. We were the new tzairim (youngsters) in the vatikot, and the older soldiers had started their games.

Rewinding just a bit, I'd to like to explain the process of being absorbed into a new company after training. As I explained quite briefly, once training on the bach is finished, the entire draft moves together into what's known as the plugat maslool (training company). This company is considered the youngest of the warriors and spends a period of four months learning on the job, so to speak.

After the four months are over, the company is broken up and each soldier is absorbed into one of the vatikot, a new company with a specific specialty, made up of soldiers from a few different drafts. There, he will remain for the rest of his service.

After our Tekes Sof Maslool (a brief ceremony recognizing the end of your first year in the army), I, along with half of my pluga (company), were assigned our new pluga. Each platoon in the company has a specific task and needs to go through a course learning this specialty accordingly. I won't disclose the nature of my new company nor what we do, but after a short course learning the basics of our specialty, we joined the rest of the company on our new border.

We arrived to our border rotation, the Hermon mountains in the north, as the youngsters of the company. While we had to deal with the unique operational challenges of watching arguably the hottest border of Israel, we also quickly found out that each company has it's own traditions of seniority and games. After being essentially ignored for the first couple of weeks on our border, we understood entirely what was happening.

While the severity of these games differs everywhere and can sometimes cross the line in certain units, it can also be a fun aspect to the service, passing the time between mundane mindless tasks.

As youngsters, we were tasked with kitchen duties and the worst guard duties, essentially pulling triple our weight for our new company. Whenever there is work to do, it immediately falls on the shoulders of the tzairim, considering the vatikim (old soldiers) have already done their fair share. While it can sound unfair, the workload is certainly not unbearable and each platoon, old or young, still executes a large number of tasks. The youngsters simply receive the less appealing ones.

After some frustrating interactions, I found the “blue” station and finished one of my many guard duties to start my time as a deployed warrior. We understood why exactly we were being ignored. In the eyes of the vatikim, we had yet to truly sacrifice or “sweat” for the company, and therefore were not worthy of joining the family yet.

The sacrifice came soon after, during our masa aliya. Yes, another masa. After being entirely convinced I was done with the dreadful, torturous task known as the masa, we were told we needed to do one more, this time to earn our way into our new family.

And so it began. We arrived at the lowest point of a Hermon peak selected by the company, and up we climbed. We climbed and we climbed, exhausted, until we reached the top with our base in sight. Smiling, I exclaimed to a friend, “very hard, but we're done!” I was wrong yet again.

The officer in charge of the company arrived and led us to the ski lift. “Everyone on the ski lift, you're going back down.” We were shocked, but mostly amused. We rode the ski lift to the bottom, smiles on our faces due to the absurd change in course.

Still in good spirits riding the ski lift.

Up we went again, this time starting with three stretchers. We huffed and puffed, exhausted as we climbed, finding yet another stretcher. 

Before finding eight stretchers!

We continued, finding another along the path, then another, until we were up to eight stretchers. Everyone carried and no one could switch, we simply did not have enough people.

Our shoulders searing with pain and the legitimate thought on our minds that they may break, we persevered, once more climbing the mountain and edging closer to our base. As we were within a short run's distance, we noticed fire leading our way, our companies name spelled out in flames.

Then came the smoke grenades. Before we knew it, the vatikim, who had until this point been ignoring us, came running out, singing songs of the company and pushing us to the finish line, congratulating us as we went and hugging us as we finished. We had paid our first dues. We had been welcomed into the family.

-Brett

"Lonely" No More

Until this past October, I had the trying experience of being a chayal boded, a lone soldier. As I've touched upon more than once throughout the duration of this blog, being a chayal boded, despite the perks, is incredibly challenging. Whether it's after what can be considered an “easy” week in the army or after two weeks of being in the field, seeing the Israeli soldiers go home to their parents, home cooked food and already-done laundry, can make the perks pale in comparison

As of October, I am happy to announce, I am no longer a chayal boded. My mother has made aliyah. While her reasons are plenty, both common and unique to all new immigrants, she has settled into her new life with her partner rather quickly and the past few months with them have been incredible.

Understandably, most of the readers of this blog will be interested in how this massive and wonderful change will affect my service as a soldier, so I will do my best to keep on topic.

Gone are the double salary, the money each month for groceries, and the stipend for rent. I've also lost my right to a mandatory yom siddurim (errand day) each month. Considering my father still lives overseas, however, I've retained the right to fly once a year, albeit for twenty-one days instead of thirty.

Losing what were admittedly major benefits has been but a small price to pay. My quality of life has increased ten-fold. Being able to come home and hug my mother after a brutal stretch in the army, kick my shoes off and relax, used to be somewhat of a dream for me. All of that has certainly become a reality and I couldn't be happier.

While the benefits have dissapeared, so have the usual challenges I used to face on my typical weekend off: making it to the grocery store before it closes for shabbat, battling with twenty other soldiers for the use of the laundry machines, finding time and the energy to make food over the weekend, and just generally spending the entire time off trying to get by rather than recovering from the army.

I understand that until this point, my blog has been a story told through the eyes of a “lone soldier,” something some of you may have considered pursuing. While the story is now one of an American living with his brother AND a parent in Israel, it is still an entirely unique perspective, one I hope will be interesting and relatable to many of you. There are still many ups and downs to be had, and many challenges to be overcome.

The adjustment has been huge and I think it will reflect as such on the blog. The changes until now have only been for the better, however, and the difficulties of an army service will certainly be far more bearable as a result.

More posts coming soon!

-Brett

Coming Home

From the foggy airplane window, I gazed at the skyscrapers as they kissed the New York skyline, still half sure that I was dreaming. As the wheels scraped down on the tarmac, my heart skipped a beat. After ten grueling months, I had finally arrived home for my first approved visit.

The trip started as perfectly as I could have hoped, being that the ticket was paid for by the army! A short domestic flight later and I was back in Florida. It all seemed unreal. I was starting my month of freedom at home with friends and family. No commanders, no masaot, no guard duty, just being a civilian.

I would be lying if I said things weren't strange for me in the beginning. For the first few days, simply waking up on my own with no schedule planned for the day was an adjustment. More than that, however, was noticing that life at home had moved on despite my absence.

I'm sure anyone who's ever lived overseas can relate, but it's completely odd and slightly disconcerting to see how everyone's lives have simply gone on without you. It was certainly awkward for me to try and insert myself back into life at home, especially with the knowledge that I'd soon be leaving it once more.

After the initial shaky few days, however, I realized just how easy it was to slide right back into the swing of things. My best friends are still my best friends, my favorite restaurants still make my favorite dishes the same way, my dog still shakes when it rains. Everything was different, yet exactly the same, and I found my way back into life at home painlessly.

A visit to college definitely gave me a pang of nostalgia and a pesky case of the “what ifs,” but not regrets. I often entertain thoughts and daydreams about coming back to school, partaking full time in the life I experienced during my trip; studying the classes I'd like to study, partying with best friends, living on my own and making my own decisions. The visit undoubtedly made me run through these thoughts all over again, but never for one second have I regretted my decision.

While I had the time of my life living the “college experience,” it was plainly clear to me that my obligation right now is finishing my service, the meaningful commitment I've made to this country. College will always be there, but it's safe to say what I'm doing right now is a time sensitive, once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Time was also made on my trip for family and friends at home, as well as an unbelievable vacation cruise to Mexico. This was the complete opposite of the army and was everything I needed to reset myself before coming back and jumping right back into the grind that is my combat service.

My only regret from my month off was not maximizing my time to see everyone and do everything as planned during my ten months in the army. So I took a couple of vacation days to sit at home and do absolutely nothing, who can blame me?

In true closing cliché fashion, all things good must come to an end. Before I knew it, I was sitting on the flight back to Tel Aviv. While I had expected it to be an upsetting flight, I actually came back with excitement and a bit of a spring in my step. I came back excited to see friends and resume my life (even the army). Most exciting, however, was the massive news that my mother would be arriving the following day, after making the huge decision to live in Israel, something I'll touch upon extensively in the next post.

The month off afforded to lone soldiers is simply indescribable. It's both desperately needed and entirely earned. I am constantly amazed at the rights afforded to those who give up their lives at home to serve the army. These are the things that keep us going.

Until next time!

-Brett

A Sincere Apology

This post will not be one about experiences over the past couple of months in the army, but rather an apology to the readers of this blog.

I understand that the usual excuses for not writing on a timely fashion (being unusually busy, no access to computers, etc) are tired and not entirely valid, so I'm going to refrain from those. Rather, I'd like to do my best to justify my absence to my readers, and myself if possible, in the most honest and sincere way I know how.

The army, as I've tried to touch on previously, is an experience full of ups and downs. As a combat soldier, you physically and mentally exert yourself to the fullest on a daily basis and can experience the highest of highs as well as the lowest of lows. Your perspective on life and everything in it can change two hundred times over the span of one day, or even over the span of a two hour guard duty.

My point in mentioning this is that you can often find yourself in a place you've never found yourself before. You can learn things about yourself that quite frankly, you never wanted to learn. This can and usually does cause many issues, notably a significant decline in motivation, in the army as well as other areas of your life.

I've found myself in somewhat of a rough patch over the past few months.... Okay, in the spirit of being honest with myself and my readers, there have been periods of time over the past few months in which my shvizut (army sadness), and general outlook on things have reached extremes and there's no shame in admitting that at times, it's caused a bit of depression. Any combat soldier who has spent months cooped up in an outpost on a remote border doing static guard duty all day with no sleep can relate to this. If he can't, he's usually lying.

With this has come, as I've mentioned, a big lack of motivation which reflects both in my army work and how I feel about it when I come home for the always welcomed weekend off. I've been generally reluctant to discuss the army with family and friends, as thinking about it has just spurred on the negative feelings that I've been having. Over the past few months, I've seen my time at home as a complete break from everything and any army talk has been pushed far out of the equation. Regretfully, that has included writing about my experiences, despite this journal being followed by friends, family, and strangers alike at home.

I've thought about this issue quite a bit recently. With the ever-changing perspectives that come with my army experience, I've learned from these difficult lessons and moved forward a stronger person. I understand that from darkness comes light and in true army roller coaster fashion, much better experiences have emerged as a result of the negative ones. I'm continuing to learn and grow as a soldier and a man.

While I regret that this blog has fallen by the wayside, I've decided to revive it to the best of my ability for any of the readers still out there. The good andthe bad, the sadness and the elation, I will be documenting the rest of my service as honestly as I can. As a blogger, it's important not only to earn back the trust of my readers, but also rely on these posts once again as a form of therapeutic reflection for myself as well.

I have to apologize one last time, this time for the very negative tone of this post. I assure you since the last time I've posted, there have been plenty of joyous occasions and I will be filling in all of the blanks.

Wishing a perfect start of the summer to all of my readers and looking forward to a new start.

-Brett

Imun and Injury

Hours into a now routine walk through the shetach, I begin to limp once more. The familiar weight of gear on my back digs deeply into my shoulders, pressing down on the injured right foot and gradually slowing me. It's not long before I'm separated from the rest of my machlaka. Within the night, the doctor orders me back to base. For my health, I cannot finish the targad.

As we arrived in imun kayitz (summer training), excitement was in the air. We were all finally lochemim (warriors) of Tzanchanim and despite being loaded with all of the less-than-glamorous jobs due to our status of Plugat Maslool, we had “arrived.”

As I touched upon briefly, the imun is basically many weeks of shetach, a refreshment course in the basics of war. The weeks, like on the bach, begin small with a simple week of excercises in the kita, before building up to the notorious and dreaded Targad, essentially a war week involving the entire brigade of 202.

To rewind just a little bit, the masa kumta pushed everyone to the point of injury in some form or another, whether it be muscle strains or something more severe. A few days after the masa, I found that I was taking longer than most of my peers to recover, a nagging injury in my right foot being the culprit.

The injury was not new to me, being one I hadn't been entirely forthcoming about before from fear of missing the masa. What had changed was the pain, which was certainly worse now than it had ever been. With all that in mind, I decided to see the doctor before the imun and was told that I was suffering from a stress fracture in the foot and that only time would heal it. I was placed on bettim (army ordered exemptions from strenuous activity) until further notice.

And now to fast forward back to the imun:

Being on bettim, my days in the beginning of the imun were fairly monotonous. Charged with watching equipment while the rest of the soldiers were off training got very old fairly quickly. After about three weeks of rest, I began to feel deeply shavuz. Seeing your friends return from the shetach, despite being battered, bruised, and tired, while knowing you weren't there to take the beating with them and further bond with them can really affect you as a soldier. I was shocked by actually WANTING to go back to the shetach.

Feeling left out and mostly useless, I decided to give up on my bettim and hope for the best. I returned to regular activity despite not really knowing if my foot had healed or not. The first few weeks back were difficult, to say the least. Constantly thinking and worrying about my foot drove me insane. I went through odd phases of shvizut, due to the fact that I was still not healthy and most likely further injuring myself, though knowing that the alternative would be sitting on the side, a glorified security guard.

A depression truly came some time into the imun upon hearing the news that a good friend from the Garin was rushed to the hospital from the army in very serious condition. Times like these in the army are the most trying, when you wish you could be anywhere but where you are at that very moment. When you wish you could be there by the side of your loved ones. The sacrifices we make to be here are often harsh, and this was another clear sign of that.

Never one to argue with superiors or army authority, the circumstances had brought a totally different side out of me. For two weeks, I fought with commanders who refused to let me out to be by the side of a best friend. Trying times can bring upon our darkest of states and this was certainly true for me. The reason behind the rules keeping me on base just were not so reasonable to me. I became familiar with a side of me I had never known.

I've mentioned it before and I'll no doubt mention it many a time in the future; The biggest thing you gain from the army is seeing yourself in a thousand lights you've never been able to look at before. Thankfully, to their credit, the commanders understood that it was mostly brought on by distress and frustration and they were very patient with me.

Thankfully, after two of the roughest weeks I've ever had, the news came down that my absolute warrior of a friend made a miraculous recovery. Feeling blessed and motivated, my spirits were lifted and it was back to work.

Everything seemed to be sorting out health-wise until the dreaded targad finally arrived. The targad is essentially the most expensive week for an infantry batallion, with the gdud usually exercising every resource at hand to make the week an authentic simulation of war. Known to be harder than most “War Weeks” in many cases, the targad surely lives up to the reputation.

Walking close to thirty kilometers per day, the difficulty of the task at hand was gargantuan. After thirty-six hours, I was fully certain that my injury was back and with a vengeance at that. At the end of each walk, I found myself at least a kilometer behind, struggling to carry along the equipment with all the weight on one foot. Letting nothing in his sight go unnoticed, my officer sent me immediately along to the doctor.

He glanced at my face, his eyes quickly recognizing me. The discussion was short before soliciting the response, “If you want to give yourself a decent chance of staying in this unit as a fighter and being able to have normal use of the foot again in your life, I'm ordering you to leave the targad right now.” And that was it. That was the end of my imun.

With a month-long visit home approved for the following week (more on that later), I crossed my fingers that over thirty days of rest would allow me to heal fully and return stronger than ever (spoiler alert: this story has a happy ending).

I understand this isn't exactly a post about the imun. One can only write about the same weeks of shetach so many times before the topic gets a bit jaded. Rather, this is a post about injury and the struggles that can come along in the army when you least expect them. Things aren't always as we plan them to be, but we play the cards we're dealt.

More posts to come.

-Brett

Life After The Bach

I would like to preface this post with a quick apology:

As my army service progresses, I have found myself busier and busier each step of the way. The increased pressure on time, especially during those precious weekends off from the daily grind, can often cause a bit of procrastination (or a lot in my case). I've certainly fallen victim to this, having not posted in over a few months. For that, I apologize, and hope to be quickly forgiven by all my readers. The blog holds a very special place in my heart and I will be working on updating it more often throughout the next phases of my life in the army.

Without further ado, back into it!

After completing the grueling masa kumta, the lone soldiers of Tzanchanim were invited back to the training base for a two week ulpan. With no complaints over the two weeks of relative calm and relaxation after our insane eight months, we arrived back on the bach, the red berets displayed proudly on our shoulders.

It's a bit strange to explain the first time walking on the training base with the beret. Shedding blood, sweat, and tears for the eight long months ahead, the one thing that always kept us motivated throughout our time as trainees was looking in awe at the red fabric on our commanders' shoulders. I constantly looked so desperately into the future, thinking just how long it would be until I had one of my very own. Arriving onto the base to the longing eyes of the current trainees as you walk by, after knowing that you were giving that very look so soon before is simply an unreal feeling.

The two weeks of jokes and laughs (and also a bit of Hebrew!) flew by and before long, we were reunited with our unit on a base in the north to begin “Imun Kayitz,” summer training. Yes, right after our basic and advanced training, we were taken with the rest of the Paratroopers Brigade to yet another training regimen.

The detailed explanation of our imun will be dedicated to the next post. In this post, I'd like to give a detailed explanation of how life works after the bach:

Within each gdud of the brigade, there are four different plugot (companies) which each have a different specialty in combat. The draft ascending from the bach is the plugat maslool, or training company. Being the only company without a specialty, the job of the plugat maslool is essentially to put to use everything learned on the training base for the first time on the kav, sort of an on-the-job training.

The entire draft stays together during this period, including most of the commanders and officers. After a period of three to four months, after the end of our maslool in the army, the plugat maslool is broken up into the vatikot, or older, specialized companies. The company a soldier is absorbed into becomes his home for the rest of his service, with an entirely new group of commanders and officers unique to that company. The three possible companies are the Palchod, Mesayat, and Mivtzayit companies, each with a different specialty, though that's not entirely important for now.

Based on the draft being released from the army at the same time as mine being absorbed into the vatikot, the two possible destinations for me were the Palchod or the Mesayat, but more on that later.

Now, moving on to what the companies actually DO during the service.

Infantry units, Tzanchanim included, serve the borders of Israel in rotation. Each deployment on the border can last anywhere from four to nine months. Between each border is a specialized training regimen specific to the upcoming assignment and lasting anywhere between one and three months.

Having just finished up a six month deployment on the Gazan border, Tzanchanim would be heading into a three month imun for our next assignment, the northern borders. The imun is very much like many of the weeks of advanced training are. The schedule is loaded with time in the shetach, working in kita, the machlakah, and even “War Week”. More dreaded than “War Week” is the targad, basically a war week for all of the companies of 202. As you can imagine, I was less than pleased to be hearing that after eight months of training, we'd be headed right back into it.

Having explained all the small details, the next few posts will detail life in the imun and beyond.

Keep reading!

-Brett

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

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!