Operation Tzuk Eitan (Protective Edge)

Two weeks ago started as a normal week for us. We spent Sunday and Monday navigating in the North of Israel, which proved much more difficult than the desert in the south because of the trees and brush, which make it nearly impossible to see sometimes. About an hour after we went to sleep Monday night (Tuesday morning) we were woken up with an order to pack everything and be ready to leave. We knew what this meant. We were being called to take part in Operation Tzuk Eitan.

We arrived at a place where the entire brigade was preparing for the operation. At first the atmosphere was fun. All of our old commanders were there with their teams so we got to catch up with them. Overall there wasn’t much too do. Every now and again we had a task but besides that we just say around waiting.

On the second day we packed our bags and drove to an area near he Gaza border, where everyone prepares and waits for the order to go in. The atmosphere there was also very chill- we didn’t do much of anything. In the beginning the worst part was having to wear Kevlar vests 24/7, even though it was unbelievably humid. The vests are to protect you from shrapnel if a rocket or mortar falls near you. We were all half asleep, when the first sirens started to go off. We sprinted to take cover in big cement pipes. This was he first time I had ever heard the sirens when a rocket is about to fall. I never really understood how scary it is. The whole week we were back and forth, and I dreaded every time we boarded the bus to the border.

One night there was a warning that there would be heavy fire. We were told to sit in the Nagmashim (armored personnel carriers). In all honesty, the Nagmashim would only protect us from light shrapnel. If there was a direct hit- it would kill everyone inside. We didn’t even close the top hatch because even if it was closed and a mortar hit it, it would go right through. Every now and again the siren would go off, we would duck down, and wait for either the rocket to hit the ground, or the Iron Dome defense system to blow the rocket up in the air. Earlier that day Hamas announced they at 9 PM they would launch rockets directed at Tel Aviv. At about 9:15, we watched as four or five rockets soared north.

At one point my friend and I really had to go to the bathroom. We waiting for a break in the fire, and decided to go for it. We made our way to a group of trees and went about our business. Of course right in the middle the siren went off so we sprinted to a nearby cement wall to take cover. Two minutes later on our way back to the Nagmashim, we heard the siren once again, this time accompanied by a piercing whistle of the mortar shell diving towards us. The boom was louder then ever, and we could feel the ground shake. We turned around to see smoke rising out of the trees we had been in five minutes beforehand. Talk about luck.

For the first time I felt like I really knew what it is like to live near Gaza and live in fear of rocket fire on a consistent basis. It sort of reaffirmed for me why the army is so important to Israel and why I’m here. I do not want anyone to live in fear of rockets and mortars, and I need to do my part to make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.

After about a week and a half of back and forth, highs and lows, nerves and uncertainty, we were told that we were leaving and returning to our normal training. We have to do a 2 month course to learn my unit’s specialty. The course cannot be moved, and so we had to leav everything and come to start the course. When we heard that a ground operation had begun, and we were not going to take part in it, our hearts dropped. We felt like absolute shit. Why have we been training for 8 months? We want to be fighting alongside our brothers, protecting our people and our home. We are here waiting for the course to start-not doing anything-while our friends are putting their lives on the line. Even though everyone tells me they are happy I am not there, that it’s one less person to worry about, I feel guilty that I am not there. Every time someone messages me to make sure I am ok, I feel bad telling them I am not taking part. When we stopped at a gas station on the way to base, and hoards of people came to take pictures with us and bought us sodas, food, and ice cream, we felt bad taking anything from them. We don’t deserve it. As bad as I feel about not being involved, I can tell our commanders are hurting. Their friends, who they trained with for over a year, for exactly this moment, are fighting without them. They have a job to do here of course, but I know they are struggling and feel way more guilty than any of us. Every time I hear about someone who was killed I clench my teeth and close my eyes. Why him? It just as easily could have been me. What about his family? His friends? His girlfriend? Never have I been so close to so much death. One of my friends lost someone from his grade in high school. A lone soldier from Texas was killed. I cannot imagine how his parents must have felt when they received that call in America. One of my friends from the neighboring Garin Tzabar and kibbutz was hurt. It all feels so surreal, yet it’s so fucking real.

My thoughts are with the families that have lost their sons in this operation, and everyone that has been injured. I hope everyone fighting stays as safe as possible, and finishes the job like we know we can and have to. For all the moments that people ask themselves why they’re in the army, this is why. To make sure the little girls can go to sleep at night without having to worry about anything besides what they’re going to wear to school the next day. To make sure the little
boys can play basketball outside instead of being locked inside to be near the bomb shelter.

Return home safe and soon.
Shaul.

Masa Kumta!

Hello everybody

About two weeks ago we had our masa Mechin Kumta, which is the march that is supposed to prepare you for the final one. This march was about 45 km long, a little longer than a marathon. The march itself was very difficult, but I won’t go into detail as I’ll talk more about the Masa Kumta shortly. After 40 km, we opened two stretchers, tied two of our friends down, and started carrying them, for what we thought would be 5 km. After about 2 km, we reached the base, put everything away, and started doing stretches. We could tell something was up because it was too easy, and there was a huge pile of heavy sandbags in the middle of our tents. Suddenly, our company commander came out of his tent screaming, “Are you serious? Did you really think that was it?! Four minutes everyone on full gear, ready for movement!” We scrambled to put our vests on, and this time we had to open 3 stretchers, and ins tead of people, we had to load 5 sandbags on each stretcher, about 100 kg (220 lbs). Even worse, we had many people that were not participating in the march, so we had about 17 people to carry 3 stretchers, where as we usually have about 28 for 2. With 4 people under each stretcher at all times, it meant that when you raised your hand to get switched out, you basically had to run to a different spot and switch out your friend, many times even using the same shoulder. Before we began the march, our platoon commander said to us, “After this masa, there are 2 words you are never allowed to say again…..Maklaha 3 (Platoon 3)”. We knew what this meant. At the end of this masa we would become a tzevet (team). Since I am in the elite unit of the Nachal, we fight as teams. The tzevet is a completely independent force, that can go out on missions by itself. The march was very difficult. Our commanders kept pushing us to run faster and faster, but everyone was struggling under the weight. After about 3 km, we saw a table stacked with hats with our units symbol and out tzevet’s name. We started sprinting and yelling until we reached the table, everyone panting and barely holding up the weight of the stretchers. We are now a tzevet, and we can say all sorts of words that we “were not worthy” to say before, such as the name of our unit, Palchan, the name of our new base, the word for explosives in Hebrew, and even the word for can opener, Potchan, because it sounds similar to Palchan. We walked back to our tents singing the songs about our unit at the top of our lungs for the first time. It was a really awesome moment. 

The week after our Mechin Kumta we had Nivutim – Navigations. Basically what you do in navigation weeks is you spend all day learning your navigation, and then at night you go out and navigate. You get a list of coordinates, that you then plot on a map. Once you have plotted all the points, you basically try to connect the dots through valleys, rivers, mountain ranges, ridges, any topographical feature that will be easy to walk along and easy to remember. Once you’ve drawn out your path, you start taking angles from various points so that once you’re in the field, you can check yourself to see that you’ve reached the points you needed to reach. Then starts the hard part. You start memorizing everything. You need to know exactly where you are at all times, because during the navigation the only tool you are allowed to use is a compass. No map, no iPhone, no nothing. When night falls, you set out, hitting each point. You are expected to do this as fast as possible, running up mountains and down rivers. In the field, when you reach the points, you must write down everything you see. Each point has all sorts of scribbles and drawings on it, that previous navigators have written. When you finish, you show your commander the description of each point, and that is how he can approve that you reached the correct points. The first week of navigations was with open maps in groups of 4 with a commander, more of a learning week. From here on out, it becomes much more difficult. Now we navigate in pairs, then when one partner knows half the route, and the second partner only knows the second half. At the end of our training we will be expected to navigate around 30 km alone. Our commander explained to us why navigations are such a big part of our training. He said that it is the ultimate test of self discipline and honesty. There is no one around during the day to make sure you are memorizing your route. When you are in the field, only you can make yourself run from point to point rather than walk. No one will know if you bust our your iPhone and cheat. When you finally reach the final point, only you can force yourself to stay awake a few more hours and plot your points for the next day, rather than sit down and fall asleep right away. 

This past Sunday we began preparing for our Masa Kumta, our final march to get our green berets. Here is a breakdown of the day and march.

10 AM – Everyone puts on their vests and re-adjusts all the straps to make sure it is fitted correctly.

12 PM – Lunch. We eat lots and lots of pasta, bread, and potatoes so we have energy for the march.

1 PM – Drink first canteen. Before each march, we have to drink 3 canteens of water, each about 800 mL. Every break during the march (every hour), you drink another. I usually get headaches during these marches, so I choose to drink way more than I have to. I usually drink 3 or 4 extra liters before the march. 

2 PM – Second canteen. Everyone starts peeing. A lot.

3 PM – Everyone puts dried fruit and nuts in their vests – our main source of food for the next half day. 

4 PM – Third Canteen. If your pee isn’t clear as water by now you’ve got a problem. At this point, everyone has drank about 2.5 Liters, while I have drank around 5.

5 PM – Everyone tapes their hips with lykoplast – big adhesive bandages that help diminish rashes, known as shawarma (will explain more later. Everyone takes their shoes off, pours about a quarter of a bottle of talc/baby powder into each shoe, and the remaining half bottle down their pants to avoid rashes and blisters. For the next ten minutes, every step someone takes, a small white cloud comes puffing out of their shoes and pants.

5:30 PM – Everyone puts on their vests, and paints their face in green, black, and brown.  

6:00 PM – We set out for a 60 km march. 

 

 

Checking our gear before leaving. You can see me with my extra water bottle.

 

Drinking the canteens

During the march, there are two stretchers that need to be carried in backpacks, and two backpacks filled with water bottles in case someone gets heat stroke and we need to cool them down. The water packs weigh about 15 kg, or 30 pounds. You are supposed to carry the pack for 6-12 km, and then switch with someone who hasn’t carried it yet. This time, I wanted to push myself and see if I could carry more. I ended up carrying it for the first 24 km of the march, which ended up hurting me because I was exhausted for the rest of the masa. 

 

The packs with water and stretchers

You march at a 6 km/h pace, which is a fast walk. Flat, uphill, downhill, the speed is consistent, unless you need to run to catch up or run ahead to pee and then run to catch up again. Every 6 km, or one hour, there is a 10-15 minute break, which in the first few minutes you spend drinking another canteen and refilling it. The rest of the time you eat a few dates or raisins, stretch, and think about how badly you want to sit down. Each step you take in a masa hurts. In the beginning, your feet are fine. Then they begin to ache. Then they begin to hurt. A lot. Eventually, if you’re lucky/unlucky, they go numb. It is now almost a week away from my masa, and I still don’t have full feeling in my toes… As the march goes on, you get tired. As hard as it is to believe, I have a very hard time staying awake during these marches. I am exhausted and bored, as you are not allowed to speak. I start falling asleep, literally sleep walking. If you’re lucky, you will just keep walking and wake up a few minutes later. Unlucky? You hit a rock and fall on your face. Mostly you swerve from side to side and fall on your friends, slap yourself, and keep going. Once your shirt is soaked through, your vests starts rubbing against your stomach and hips. After a few hours, your skin is raw and feels like its on fire. This is known as shawarma (which is actually a Middle Eastern dish of roasted meat on a rotisserie). For the next few days even wearing a shirt hurt because of the cuts, scrapes, and burns. At the 30 km stop, I was feeling pretty shitty, and ended up throwing up, which was basically only water. For the next few stops my head was spinning, I’m pretty sure I was dehydrated despite the ridiculous amounts of water I drank. Every kilometer we marched, I kept thinking about the previous marches we had done to build up to this one – Our first march of 4 km, which felt like the worst thing ever, our 7 + 1 march, when I was put on the stretcher for the final kilometer and then promptly dropped, the 14 + 3 march in the rain, which I didn’t finish because I was mildly hypothermic. Once we reached the 55 km mark, we opened stretchers, loaded one person on each, and continued marching. At this point everyone was absolutely dead. We were walking on asphalt which was horrible for our feet. Our commanders starting singing our unit’s songs at the top of their lungs and we joined in. For the next hour, everyone was jumping up and down, screaming, singing, and chanting. It was a ridiculous adrenaline rush that made me forgot I couldn’t feel my feet. 

When we finally reached the base of Masada, I looked up, and all I could think was how badly I didn’t want to go up. It took a very long time for me to get up, and the way back down was even worse. I was severely dehydrated and had to stop a few times to avoid fainting. Without stretching or drinking, I sat down on the bus and fell right asleep. 

 

On Thursday we had our Tekes Kumta, the ceremony where we receive our green berets that we marched for. This ceremony is the pinnacle of basic and advanced training. For the normal units, this marks the end of their training. However since I am in a special unit, I have 7 more months of grueling training. The ceremony itself was brutal since it was ridiculously hot and we were in the sun for hours with our sleeves rolled down. However when the moment finally came when my commander put the new green beret on my head I felt incredibly proud. I was looking around, when suddenly my friends told me to turn around. My officer, in charge of my entire tzevet, came up to me, took his kumta off his head, and switched it with mine. Every commander can choose who he wants to pass down his kumta to. It is a big honor to receive a kumta from your commander. It is an added bonus that it is worn out, and makes you look like you’ve been in the army for a while, (known as Pazam in the army). I was shocked and honored to get his kumta. It was a really awesome moment. 

 

My commander putting the new beret on my head, soon to be replaced by my officer’s beret in the picture below

We also broke distance with three of our commanders, and so we got to beat them all up which was fun as usual. It’s sad that they are leaving though, but hopefully our new commander will be good as well. 

 

 

After they beat the shit out of us for 7 months, we got our revenge.

Till I gather the strength to write another post – Shaul. 

Preschool, War, and Doors.

I’m back, sorry.
Since I haven’t written in a while, there’s way too much to write about, so I’ll only really go into detail about a few topics.

A quick summary of the past weeks:
-Urban Warfare week was very cool. Imagine Call of Duty but real.
-We drove in Nagmashim (Armored Personnel Carriers)
-One of our medics practiced doing an IV on my arm. It was bloody.
-My commander and I spent a day in a preschool singing and dancing with three year olds.

One of these weekends we were guarding in Hevron again. We did the 12 hour guard duty from hell, as always. Only this time something semi-interesting finally happened. I was standing on the road when a group of six Jewish, religious, teenage boys walked past me. As they went by several Arab stores, they started yelling and threatening the kids working outside. They started cursing two little girls, whose fathers promptly came out and started yelling at the Jews. I yelled for the boys to stop walking, but one yelled “I’m not stopping” and they kept going. My friend further down the road approached them and made them stop, and I caught up to the group. “Which one of you said you won’t stop? Was it you?” I asked angrily. One of the boys said it was him. “Why didn’t you stop? You don’t listen to soldiers?” I asked. “No, I don’t. Soldiers help Arabs. Soldiers are leftists!” The second the boy said this, my friend got very close to the boy and started to tell at him. “You ungrateful little shit! Do you know why we are here? To protect YOU!” The boys kept yelling and arguing that the Arabs started it, to which I responded that it doesn’t matter who started it, they shouldn’t get involved at all. We angrily told the boys to keep walking. Later down the road they got into a fight with a group of Arab kids and started throwing rocks. My friends called the police and the boys were taken back to their houses.

Last week we had War Week. I had heard that you basically walk a lot and don’t sleep or eat a lot the whole week. This was very true. We set out with lots of water and not very much food in heavy backpacks. Every night we walked around 15 kilometers till about 5 AM, fell asleep for an hour with our boots, helmets, and vests still on. We spent all day conquering mountains as a company, and they even brought in a few tanks. You feel absolutely useless when you shoot side by side with a tank. Your small gun does no damage compared to what those things do. Our food for the week was pre-prepared sandwiches with about three peanuts, four pieces of corn, and a spoonful of tuna. The problem was that after a few days of being in a stuffed, hot backpack, most of the sandwiches went bad. Theres not too much to tell about the week except that at the end I was very tired and hungry and in pain.

This past week I spent on a different base in a course to learn how to break in locked doors. It was a really awesome week overall. We spent it with some guys from Givati, which was cool to meet kids from a different unit. It was much more physical work than I thought it would be. It was a really interesting week and I learned way more about doors than I ever thought I’d know. We even spent a day in Yaffo, because the doors there are very similar to the doors you find in Arab villages. We spent the day standing outside doors, deciding the best way to break into them. Every once in a while the person who lives in the house would come by and we would all stop talking for a second as we got awkward looks.

I have one month until my Masa Kumta, the long march (somewhere between 60-70 km) that you do to earn your kumta (beret). I can’t wait.

 

Why did I wake up at 4 AM in a police station?

After sleeping for about 18 of the past 24 hours, I have enough energy to write a new post. This post is just gonna be a bunch of random experiences and thoughts with very little coherency so bare with me. 

One night a few weeks ago we were sleeping in the shetach. (By the way we no longer sleep in the tiny two/three person tents since it is summer, we just sleep on the ground with sleeping bags. Surprisingly comfortable.) Every time you go to sleep in the shetach you know you are going to be woken up very soon for a hakpatza. This is when your commanders wait just until you fall asleep, then they come screaming at us, telling us to get dressed and put on our combat gear. A hakpatza can include any number of things, just waking us up for the sake of waking us up, running, crawling, carrying each other, you name it. This time the hakpatza was more intense than others had been. We had four “injured” people, but only 2 stretchers. We loaded one on each stretcher, and the other two were carried on someone’s shoulders. I am not sure if it is worse to carry someone or to be carried. Of course carrying someone sucks because you are carrying twice, if not more, of your weight and a human is not a simple, stationary object. But it is also a very painful experience to be carried. Imagine a seesaw with the pivot point in the middle. Only the seesaw is your femur, the pivot point your friends shoulder, and all of your weight teeters back and forth. Every step your friend takes buries his shoulder deeper into your thigh, or if your lucky and he bounces you up for better positioning, straight into your groin. Luckily for this march I was holding up a stretcher. Unluckily, we did not have enough people to switch, so I was under the stretcher the entire time. For about an hour our officer marched up and down a hill. Every time we got to the top I prayed we were done, foolish. Finally we reached the end. Our officer then told us this was no normal hakpatza. Now that we have started Imun Mitkadem (Advanced Training) they expect more of us. With that, there is a bit of a change in rules. Any night we are on base (which is not too many anymore as we are always in the shetach) we are allowed to go to the shekem (convenience store on base where you can buy candy). We are allowed to bring sauces to the shetach, like ketchup, chili, etc to make the food more bearable. But most importantly we can now address our commanders and officer by their names. It was very weird at first but I’ve gotten used to it. 

Later that week we had a two day hiking trip, for fun! During those two days, the entire Nachal brigade was hiking the entirety of the Israel Trail (a trail the crosses all 1000 or so kilometers of Israel.). This means each unit was assigned a certain portion of the trail, and so there were Nachal soldiers literally on every part of the trail. The trip was very fun, not too much to say, so I’ll just put up some pictures.

 

The next week we were in the shetach for Shvua Kita, learning how to fight in groups of a dozen or so soldiers with our commander. We walked all day, and every now and again our officer would pop out of nowhere, pretend to be a terrorist, and we would have to attack the way they had been teaching us. This was one of the first times we shot live rounds not in a controlled shooting range, which makes it much more dangerous. If anyone is in front of you you are not allowed to shoot, naturally. One time I was lying down in the front line, with one eye closed and the other in my scope. Since my scope enlarges the image, I cannot see what is close to me from either side. With the safety open and my finger on the trigger I was preparing to shoot. Suddenly I saw something in my scope, looked up, and saw my friend run across our firing line. It was a very stupid move that could have ended very poorly. That really showed me that when there is no war, which is most of the time, the real danger of being in the army is stupid accidents. 

On that Wednesday we had a 25 + 3 km masa, which means that we march the last 3 kilometers carrying people on stretchers. I realize it may be difficult to understand exactly what a masa looks like so I will try to explain. Three or four hours leading up to a masa we have to drink a full canteen every hour. We wear our full combat gear the entire time. This past masa we started carrying extra weight, so each person had to put a certain number of water bottle in his vest to weigh him down. The masaot are almost always at night as to avoid heatstroke – the army’s worst nightmare. You march in two lines behind your officer. No talking. Everyone must keep up with the fast paced walk. Anyone who falls behind is pushed and dragged to the front. It actually makes a huge mental difference to be in the front of the line versus the back. Every 6 km or 1 hour there is a 10-15 minute stop, which of course includes drinking another 800 mL canteen. While you can’t wait for the breaks to catch your breathe and stretch your legs, you are soaked from sweat and the cold desert wind sends shivers through your body, and you want to just finish the damn thing already. The whole masa I wasn’t feeling well. My head was throbbing and I was super dizzy. My friends told me I was slurring my speech and walking in zigzags, two symptoms of heatstroke. This masa I was the one lagging behind and being pushed to the front every time. The whole masa my friends were pushing me, forcing me to keep going, even though it was just as hard for them. Every break the medic asked me if I wanted to keep going, and I said yes even though I really didn’t. In the end I was able to finish so I was very happy, but still felt like crap. I’m pretty sure I was just dehydrated. We finished around 5 am, and went to sleep as the sun was rising. Every masa gets longer and longer. We started with just 3 km, and our last one will be in about 2 months, in the 70 km range. At the end of the one we receive our green kumtot (berets). 

That weekend my whole pluga went to Hevron for guard duty. Every time this happens, one makhlaka stays back on base. However this time they needed almost everyone, so only half of out makhlaka got to stay behind. My commander played rock-paper-scissors with the other class’ commander, and luckily he won so we didn’t have to go to Hevron. 

Unfortunately we did not get to go home for the Seder and the first half of Pesach. Instead they took us to a base in the West Bank. We guarded in nature reserves and major gas stations where there were lots of tourists because of the holiday. There was no real threat, it was more just to show a presence. We started our Seder at 10 PM on Monday night, and very quickly I was told that at 11 I had to go with another friend to the front gate because we were going to a shift with the local cops. The cops in that area take a soldier around with them at all times to serve as a body guard of sorts. As the seder dragged on and on, we got impatient. Finally the food was served around 10:45, and we stuffed our faces and ran to the gate. We were supposed to stay with the cops until 8 AM, and then go back to base for a switch. However when we returned, everyone was still asleep, so we were told they would bring us back around noon for the switch. While I was on duty, we stopped a couple kids who broke into a car and stole some things. My job was basically to stand outside the kids’ houses and make sure they didn’t run away. When we drove them to the police station, about 45 minutes away, I sat with them in the back. A bit nerve racking… Later on my friend switched me and I got to sleep a bit. When my friend was on duty, there was a pretty ugly car accident, and my friend had to help to responders lift a dead body up into the ambulance. I am very thankful I wasn’t there. In the end we were with the cops for 24 hours, running on about 4 hours of sleep, our last meal being the Seder a full day ago. Finally on the drive back to the base, my friend played two great songs that were terribly ironic in the situation. One called Freedom and the other Lev Chofshi (Free Heart). Not only are we soldiers who have not even finished a sixth of our service, and are by no means free, but we were sitting in the back of a cop car, doors and windows locked. Not exactly freedom. It was a very weird day, especially when I woke up at 4 AM after a nap in a police station, forgetting why I was there for a second. Hopefully that is the last time I find myself waking up in a police station… Again as we always do, we got bored, so we took some pictures to pass the time. I got a few days off from Pesach so it has been good to sleep a lot and see some friends I haven’t seen in a while. By friends I mean my grandparents. Well I saw friends too. The worst thing about this weekend, since it was Pesach, I couldn’t buy beer! Why do you hate me God?!?! When I go back to the army I will be closing 21, which means I will stay in the army for 2 weekends aka 3 weeks aka 21 days. It’s gonna be super fun.

If you know you anyone who has not donated, but may be interested in doing so, please share the link with them 🙂

https://shaularmony.wordpress.com/donate/

On a less annoying note, I have posted many more pictures on Facebook that I can’t fit into posts. check them out, HERE. 

Till I gather enough strength to write my next post…

Always hungry, somehow still tired, need beer, Shaul. 

 

Basic Training, Done.

Hello everybody,

I am writing this new post with a breathe of fresh air, a brighter outlook on life, a feeling of superiority. Why, you might ask? Well, just last week, the newest draftees of the Nachal brigade came scampering off a bus, faces pale, eyes open with shock, legs trembling. Yes, young draftees, you are now the lowest of the low. You are the fresh meat. I have been where you are now, and it is not pretty. As my good friend Jonah likes to say, sucks to suck… With that being said, I have plenty of training left, and have barely moved up the food chain. If the new draftees are the freshest meat available, straight from the butcher shop, I’m like a steak that’s been sitting in your fridge for a week. Grill me already!

Two weeks ago we spent guarding the base. There are a few guard stands scattered around and outside the base. You guard for three hours, rest for six. Repeat. I explained a bit about this experience in my Easy Living post. This time around I did a few days of normal guarding, but was also taken for guarding some areas outside of base that we use for training. Each time we packed a bag for 24 hours, took whatever food we could find, and made our way out of base. In one location I was with a commander and two of my friends. In the second location we were only four soldiers without a commander, which really surprised me that they trust us. Both places were awesome because we could just hangout with the guard when we weren’t guarding, so you were never alone, except at night. One night one of my friends was talking to his mom on the phone with one hand, and with the other hand managed to catch a pigeon. I don’t really know how…

At some point we got pretty bored and did a small photo shoot.

Later in the week when my whole unit was together, we had a Krav Maga hakpatza, where we have seven minutes to change into our Krav Maga clothes, get a canteen of water, and run to the basketball courts. Only this time there was an added assignment during the seven minutes; find and bring as many wooden poles as you can. For a second I didn’t understand the command, hoping we would be learning how to attack an opponent with a pole. As I offered this thought to a friend he quickly made me realize I was being hopeful. “They’re going to hit us with them, you idiot!” Shit… It only got worse when the commander yelled, “Everyone bring an extra T-shirt”. When we got to the court, our commander started sprinting us back and forth. We were standing in a ling shoulder-to-shoulder along one baseline, and had 7 seconds to form the same “wall” on the other baseline. Basically impossible. After probably twenty tries, he told us to get in three rows, and blindfold each other with the T-shirts. Then we started hearing our commander hit the ground with one of the wooden poles. “Do you know where you are?!”… The silence was only broken by the eery tapping of the wood on the asphalt. “You’re in an absorption practice!” As I swallowed the lump in my throat, I realized my friend was right. This was going to suck. “Volunteer!” As badly as I wanted my hand to be down, it shot up. I wasn’t first. The first “volunteer” was chosen. “Are you ready?” “Yes” “Are you ready??!” “YES!!” For the next fifteen seconds, all anybody heard was the sound of a wooden pole being hit and broken across my friends stomach, and his painful, terrifying yells. One by one, each one of us got his turn to suffer. After a dozen or so, with my hand shaking in the air, I felt a hand grab me by the back and push my head downwards. I was lead to a telephone pole and told to put my hands above my head, and hold the zip-tie behind me. With my stomach as flexed as possible, I answered my commander “I AM READY!” Legs shaking, there was a weird pause, and I heard my commander whisper into my ear, “When you hear me hit the ground, scream.” HOLY SHIT Thank GOD!!! To say I was relieved would be a gross understatement. As my commander snapped the pole on the ground, I let out the most realistic yells I could muster. After a few more terrified souls met their fate, our commander told us all to lay down in a circle. He started playing some song, and started talking about how all things come to and end. Then he said his full name, which we obviously knew, but signaled that he was breaking distance with us. This time none of us were in shock, and we all knew what was about to come. We sprung up and started beating up our commander. All of the pent up anger we had built for the past four months towards him came out in these few minutes of pure bliss. Someone started pulling us off of him, and there was about thirty seconds of calm, until one of my friends went back for seconds and then we all jumped back on him. Finally we let him go and hugged him and got to sit down with him and talk as friends. He is going back to his team, and we got two new commanders. Let’s see how these ones will be.

That weekend, instead of staying on base and doing nothing, we were taken to Hebron to do guard duty all weekend. Basically our job was to make sure the Jews walking from Qiryat Arba (A Jewish settlement in the West Bank) to the Cave of the Patriarchs (In Hebron), were not bothered on their way to pray on Friday night and Saturday. There was a six hour shift on Friday evening, and a twelve hour shift on Saturday. Having only guarded for three hours at a time before, I was not prepared for that weekend. I would like to share with you a few small incidents that happened during my shifts. One fun thing about guarding is when little religious kids walk by you and hand out candy to all the soldiers. Even though I was not allowed to eat it while guarding, it was a nice gesture that goes to show that at least these people appreciate that we are protecting them. The kids are usually pretty cute too. One thing that happens that is probably the most exciting thing that happens during these shifts is when American religious girls walk by in huge groups. With glowing smiles these teenage girls say “Shabbat Shalom” in heavy American accents, eyes glowing, admiring the big, brave Israeli soldiers. Can’t say I didn’t enjoy that. However I also had some not-so-pleasant experiences. One family approached me, wishing me a Shabbat Shalom like everyone else. The father then backtracked, and whispered in my ear to “make sure that Arab kid wasn’t breaking the fence.” The kid was playing with a hammer he found and tapping on a cement fence. Another man later told me to make a few Arab kids get off of a fence they were sitting on. I smiled and said I would deal with it, but these kids were not doing anything wrong, so I let them be. A second experience that I had was when a little girl was walking hand in hand with her grandfather on the way to pray, and she pointed out some dog poop on the ground. “Ew grandpa, kaki!” Her grandfather responded “And they are kaki, and they are kaki…” pointing at houses where Arabs live. The girl laughed and kept skipping along. I was so disgusted by this man’s words, but there was nothing I could do. It is so sad that this girl will grow up hating Arabs because her grandfather (and likely others in her life) brainwashes her with his discriminatory and narrow-minded ideology.

To finish Basic Training, each one of us had to pass a set of tests about everything we have learned. We had to prove we knew how to use/take apart/put back together a few different weapons, and had a few more tests about first aid, communication devices, etc. There was also a very long test on the computer that we had to take. I could barely focus on the tests because the next day I was supposed to fly home to America! I rushed through all the phases, and luckily passed them all. At about 9 PM my officer told me to check if there were any buses this late. When I returned and told him there were buses, we told us (the other lone soldiers who were also flying home) we had about five minutes to change into our nice uniform, pack our bag, and make the bus that was leaving base. As we sprinted with boots untied and shirts untucked, we reached the bus where our entire makhlaka (company) was standing in a perfect chet clapping and cheering. They were all so happy for us that we finally get to fly home. It was an awesome send off and a great start to an even better two weeks at home.

I have been spending my time (without a stopwatch!) in America reconnecting with friends, eating burritos, and most importantly sleeping. A lot.

God Bless America

Nearing the End of Tironut (Basic Training)

Hello friends

I am writing from my grandparents house, surrounded by my mom, dad, brother and sister who came to visit me for my birthday. As cliche as it is, being a lone soldier, it doesn’t get better than waiting at the airport for you family to depart the plane. This was the first time I was reunited with all my family at the same time since September. 

Last week we slept in the fields along the shooting ranges, so that we could save time and shoot as much as possible. It basically means we just don’t shower, change socks/boxers, or eat normal food for the week. Kinda sucks. Unfortunately for us, our commanders decided to be extra strict this week. Any small thing we did pissed them off and they made us run. At one point on the second day, they made a rule that we are not allowed to talk until further notice. At all. Not when we wake up, during meals, during breaks. Never. Personally I was able to deal with the restriction. The hardest part for me was how many of the other guys handled it. Many were unable to control themselves. The kids would talk when the commanders weren’t there, then they’d come back, ask who spoke, they would raise their hands, and then we would do sprints. I could not understand why these kids cannot control themselves. Why is it so hard not to talk! Just shut your mouth and we won’t have to do stupid sprints and pushups. Anytime that we broke the rules and we weren’t punished on the spot, the commander would simply say, “No problem. We’ll deal with that later.” And they certainly dealt with it later…

Thursday night when we returned from the shetach, right after a dinner of oil-soaked pasta and gray, chewy, meat-discs, my personal commander took us the the basketball court. We all knew that we weren’t about to play 5 on 5. “Do you know why I brought you guys here?” “Cuz we worked like shit…” Then hell started. He sprinted us back and forth six times, timed the run, took five seconds off, and every sprint after that we had to make in that time. It took about 10 tries until we were able to make it in time. Then my commander walked by every single soldier and reminded him what bad things he did this week. It made me feel terrible. More sprints. More push-ups. “Chet in front of me, now!” (A chet “ח” is the Hebrew letter for the sound that no American can make, the khhhh/chhh throat sound like when you have something in your throat that you need to get out. The chet is the formation we stand in when a commander is addressing us, like a rectangle without the fourth side, or like the Greek letter Pi.) Since we were all exhausted, we walked to the chet. Big mistake. More sprints. “Chet!” Time time we sprinted. “Close your eyes. Can I even trust you to close your eyes?!” Then he was silent for a minute.

My Mefaked and I

All of a sudden he ran over to one of my friends (Ram) and shoved him. We thought he had gone crazy. “Ram! Stop being in shock! Shvirat Distance!!!” (Breaking of Distance). In the army there has to be a certain level of distance between the commanders and the soldiers, especially when many times the commanders are the same age as the soldiers. They pretend to be mad, treat you like crap, etc. But it is all a big game. It is a tradition in the Israeli army that right before a commander is about to leave his soldiers, he will make sure they suffer one last time, before breaking distance. Before he even finished his sentence, two of my friends grabbed him and threw him to the ground. To put it nicely, for the next few minutes we kicked the shit out of him. This is the tradition, after months of your commander making you suffer, you get to beat him up. Once we released him, he came to sit with us in our tent. He told us we aren’t allowed to call him commander anymore, only by his personal name. He told us all about himself, the funniest part, that he is 19. Most of my friends in my unit are the same age as him, a handful older than him. It was a really cool moment, but it is also sad that he is leaving us as I really liked him. I wish him the best in officer’s course.

This week was a week where all the specialists received training on specific weapons. Some people were trained on small missiles, some on big machine guns, while I was chosen as sharpshooter. They chose four of us from my company who had shot fairly well up until this point to go to the training. We switched in our guns for a slightly modified version with two poles that stick out to provide stability. We also received a scope and night vision. We spent all week in the firing ranges, shooting hundreds of bullets a day. We were in a computerized shooting range, where the targets pop up and move around and count hits, so you don’t have to run to the targets at the end and count how many you bullets hit the target. We did all sorts of interesting rounds, standing, sitting, moving targets, shooting from behind tables, etc. Unfortunately it takes some time to figure out exactly how far to hold the scope from your eye, so every bullet I fired, I got a hit to the eye and eventually I was walking around with a black eye.

This week, like every week, we had a Krav Maga lesson. We learned all sorts of punches/kicks, and also started learning how to use our guns as a “cold” weapon. While beginning to explain a move where you have to bend down and gain momentum from your hip, the instructor was struggling to relay his message. He paused, thought for a minute, and asked with a straight face, “Who here used to watch Dragon Ball Z?” Clenching our teeth, trying not to laugh, four of us raised our hands. “Four? I’m disappointed…” We couldn’t help it, and each laughed for the shortest time humanly possible, fearful of our punishment. Then, for probably the first and last time in history, a Krav Maga instructor smiled. WOAH. Then he explained that the move he was trying to teach was very similar to a move that a character from the show does. He went into a weird amount of detail but it was hilarious.

The next hour of Krav Maga was very different than what we had had up to this point. This was an “Aggressive” session. We went into a room with a padded floor and put on a wrestling helmet, boxing gloves, chest pads, and the lucky few got groin pads. The point of this session was to “flip a switch in our minds, prove how f*cked up our minds are, to be insane!!” The instructor would throw a rubber knife in the center of the room, and each person’s goal was to retrieve the knife. At all costs. Dozens of friends started hitting each other, throwing one another to the other side of the room. Pig piles four people high. This was nothing. Next, a gauntlet, two rows of people facing inwards, one person at the beginning of the “corridor”. His object, to get to the other side. Except there is someone with a punching pad pushing against him, the instructor pushing the person with the pad, and everyone on the sides is punching his stomach. I volunteered to go through the gauntlet. Next, a circle of everyone, shoulder to shoulder would be an understatement. One person in the middle. His goal, to get out. Everyone else’s goal, to keep him in. Finally, for rows of defenders, first 2, then 3, etc. Same goal, get to the other side. I volunteered again. At the end of every drill, the volunteer had to blast a punching bag for thirty seconds with every move we have learned. Your eyes fill with burning sweat, your legs tremble, your arms bruise instantly, you gasp for air through the tight helmet. And yet, every time the instructor asks for volunteers, everyone’s hands shoot up, everyone hopes he will get the chance to prove that he is “f*cked in the head”.

If you haven’t had the chance to donate to my unit yet but would still like to here’s the link: https://shaularmony.wordpress.com/donate/ and don’t forget to meet the other lone soldiers in my unit! https://shaularmony.wordpress.com/lone-soldier-stories/

This week is a week of guard duty, and moving on to the Imun Mitkadem (Advanced Training) base.

With an aching knee, a bag of clean laundry, a full stomach, plenty of hugs from mom, and anticipation/fear for whats to come, I thank you for reading.

Till next time. Much love as always.

Shaul

Easy Living

Hello everyone

These two weeks were probably the most relaxing ones I’ll have in the army. We did almost nothing. But I’ll try to expand on a few topics, bare with me.

The first week we had two days of lessons about basic first aid. The highlight was learning how to treat a patient who had his leg/arm blown off. We learned all sorts of knots using different types of bandages to cut off all circulation, so that the patient would not bleed out. Short story, it really hurts, but it saves lives. We basically spent two days torturing each other and laughing at each other’s pain. We also had a bunch of classes about Syria, Lebanon, and Egypt. We learned all about the countries economic, political, and cultural situations, as well as almost everything about each countries military, and terror organizations. It was very important to learn how to recognize our enemies, and understand what drives them. 

The most exciting moment of the week was throwing a grenade for the first time. We put on a ceramic vest, ran up to the bunker, did a few run throughs with the fake grenade, and then it was time for the real deal. I pulled the pin, stretched my arm back, launched the grenade as far as I could, saw it hit the ground, and ducked. Unfortunately, it was more of a boom than BOOOOOM like I expected. We were wearing ear plugs, and couldn’t see the explosion, but it was still the biggest rush of the week. 

For some reason once you throw a grenade, you are allowed to begin guarding the base for real. So logically, this past week was dedicated to guarding the base. Yippee. Each shift is 3 hours, and you usually got 6 hours between each shift. I spent most of each shift singing to myself, trying to pass the time. To be honest I was a little worried that my fantastic singing voice would attract Bedouins and they would come steal stuff, but I guess they were tired that night. 

One night of guarding a few of us were sent to a construction site outside of base, where they are building something for the base. Basically our job was to make sure that the Bedouins didn’t steal the heavy machinery used on the site. We built a bond fire to keep us warm and so that any potential thieves would see that we were there from far away. Every now and again we would hear a rustle, and would walk around the site and flash our flash lights to ward off the thieves. It was a fun yet slightly stressful night. Each one of us slept about four hours. Unfortunately the half-tent I brought did not match my partner’s half-tent, so we ended up sleeping in a shipping container. Another one of those – only in the army – moments. But hey, it certainly kept the wind/sand storm out. 

On Tuesday morning I woke up ready to put my work uniform on, when suddenly my commander told me to put on my nice uniform. The commanders have visited every soldiers’ house to meet with their parents and see the conditions they live in. Since my commander can’t meet my parents here, I came with him to my kibbutz. We spent all day riding busses, and he got a taste of how long it really takes me to get to base every week. It was cool to see a different side of my commander in a more relaxed setting. After seeing my room and meeting with my Rakezet, we started our way back to base. Soon after we got on the bus, my commander received a call from my officer, telling him that I could sleep at home that night! I quickly said goodbye to my commander, and got on a bus the opposite way. 

That’s about all that happened, not too much. Now on a different note. I have added a new page to my blog, called Donate. My unit is in need of all sorts of gear (that the army does not provide) that will help us train to our highest capabilities. This gear ranges from warm winter fleeces, to head lamps, to hiking boots, etc. If you would like to donate even a small amount, I would really really appreciate it. Please follow this link to the Donate page. https://shaularmony.wordpress.com/donate/

Thanks so much in advanced. If you cannot donate, sending good vibes also helps :). 

Shaul. 

Into the Wild

After being totally disconnected from all civilization for two weeks straight, I’m alive and back to tell my tale.

On Monday we had a masa to get to our campsite, which was led by our Samal (the commander in charge of being scary and strict). Excuse my language, but he tore us a new one. At one point he started walking so fast that none of us were able to keep up with him as he disappeared over the top of a hill. When we got to the top we couldn’t find him, so we stayed put, hoping to catch our breath. Immediately we heard our Samal screaming from the bottom of the hill – right where we had come from – “Why are you standing still?! Why are you in shock?? Wake up!! Ten seconds, two lines behind me.”

The overall idea of the field training was to introduce us to basic concepts of camouflage, survival, etc. We also spent a while learning how to conquer small hills in small groups. This was the first time that we really started felling like soldiers, running around, rolling, ducking, and diving in full gear. It was also the first time we were allowed to shoot in an open area, and not in the firing ranges, which required far more responsibility and awareness. It also meant our commanders and officer have begun to trust us more.

One of the hardest parts of the two weeks was the food. We ate combat rations for every meal, everyday. My normal meal consisted of: 1/2 can of tuna, a handful of corn, 1 stuffed grape-leaf, 7 peanuts, 5 pieces of pineapple, 4 slices of bread, and a teaspoon of Halva (a sesame dessert). Everyone was constantly starving. If anyone dropped any peanuts on the ground, I promptly picked them up and ate them. One day we were given the left overs from dinner for breakfast, and then when lunch came, we didn’t get anything. Essentially, we didn’t eat for 24 hours even though we were running around and sweating all day. The best thing to happen all week was when we got bananas, and we made banana-pineapple-peanut-Halva sandwiches. You can really see people’s true colors when they are hungry and there is a small amount of food to go around. There are those who eat their portion, those who distribute and make sure there is food left over for anyone not there, those who eat less so others have more, and those who eat as if they were sitting at the Thanksgiving table. These people are the easiest to recognize. They will volunteer to open the canned pineapple, and quickly drink all the juice and stuffed a couple mouth full before anyone notices. Then they’ll pass the can around, and ask for it, saying they hadn’t gotten any yet. It is absolutely infuriating.

Another terrible part of the two weeks was the night. All you want to do is sleep forever, but every night when you crawl into your freezing sleeping bag, you know you are about to be woken up by brutal yells and gun shots. We had a Hakpatza every single night, one night we even had a special treat of 3 Hakpatzot. In addition, every night we had to guard for 45 minutes in the freezing cold. Everyone left the two weeks with black-cold burns all over our hands. One night I was on guard duty, and I noticed two people walking along the ridge line of the hill across from our campsite. I asked for them to identify themselves. After not receiving a response, I yelled a little louder. This time they heard me, but I did not get the response I expected. “ALLAH AKHBAR!” (God is Great in Arabic). Then I heard shots fired in the air. Very startled, I saw the two run towards our campsite. When they got closer, I recognized two commanders from a different unit. In retrospect, it was a hilarious moment, but at the time I was pretty scared.

However the main purpose of guarding our tents at night is not to protect against terrorists, rather to ward off Bedouin thieves. The Bedouins are nomadic Arabs who historically made their money by being sheep herders and merchants. In recent years they have become notorious for stealing everything possible. Our base is surrounded by small Bedouin settlements, usually consisting of a few houses or tents and a field for sheep. After shooting in the firing ranges, we have to go around picking up the casings of the bullets, otherwise the Bedouins will come and pick them up to sell. They have stolen our bags, flashlights, etc. During this week our campsite was about 500 meters from a Bedouin settlement, so we had to be extra vigilant. At the end of the week when we packed up our site, we saw a ten-year-old boy come running down from his tent to scavenge our site for anything we might have forgotten. This was one moment that was the opposite of most of my experiences during the two weeks – it was funny at the time, but the more I think about it the more serious I realize the situation was. This boy likely has no choice but to try to sell anything he can find, but at the same time you don’t want to let him take any of your equipment.

Another one of the Hakpatzot involved knocking down our tents and carrying all of our units gear for a short trek. I was wearing my combat vest and helmet, my personal bag, a backpack filled with 9 big water bottles, two sleeping bags, and three wool blankets. All of this weight was on my neck, so i walked slowly with my head down. I guess I was last in line, and at some point I lost balance and fell over. When I looked up, nobody was around me. I was lost in the middle of the desert. We are taught that if we lose the group to stay in place until someone notices that we are missing, which is exactly what I did. Again, funny now, not so funny then.

I had two experiences this week that I never had before, but probably won’t be the last time they happen either. The first was another not-so-comfortable in the moment type deal. Well long story short, I didn’t have any toilet paper, and the only thing around me was a pile of rocks… You get the picture. The second thing happened on Friday night, when the skies opened up and it started pouring. Unfortunately, my tiny, two-person tent has “ventilation slits”, which are not so rain-proof. My tent quickly filled will water and mud, which made it impossible to sleep in. Soaking wet and caked with buttery mud, I joined two other friends in their tent, and we somehow managed to fit there. Never thought I would spend my Friday nights spooning with two other guys…

Being an elite unit in the Nachal Brigade, we require certain gear to be able to train to our fullest potential. This gear ranges from hiking boots, warm winter fleeces, gloves, hats, head lamps, etc. Unfortunately, the army is not able to provide us with everything that we need. I have volunteered to take on the project of collecting donations for my unit. In the near future I will be posting a link to a donation page. If anyone is interested in donating any amount, all of my friends and I will be incredibly grateful.

Tomorrow morning I go back for two more weeks of fun and games.

Much love. Shaul.

New Stuff for the New Year

Here we are, two more intense weeks have passed. I’ve learned a lot, done a lot, and lost lots of sleep.

Two weeks ago we slept in the “shetach”. This means we left base and went out to the desert. We built and slept in small, two-person (for the unlucky – three-person) tents, ate bland, repetitive combat rations, and mostly forgot about personal hygiene. We spent the week at the firing ranges, trying to improve our aim with every bullet. We also learned what to do in case the weapon jams and does not fire. Every night we would go to sleep, only to be woken up ten minutes later for a “Hakpatza”. We had seven minutes to get dressed, tie our boots, run outside, and put on full combat gear. Then our Samal, (our officer’s second-in-command, mostly in charge of discipline and instilling fear into us), would walk around and check that everyone was dressed properly, had enough bullets and magazines, and had enough water in his canteens. If you were missing anything, a punishment was heading your way.

That week we also had a whole day dedicated to learning about chemical warfare. I spent hours in the class trying to jot down notes while the instructor sped through the material in fairly difficult Hebrew. As good as I think my Hebrew is, it is very hard to try to write and listen and watch at the same time. That day was culminated by the much talked about Ohel Abach. Basically, we put on gas masks and were told to run around and do push-ups, so that our heart rate would rise, and we would be breathing heavily. If you’ve never worn a gas mask, it is very difficult to breathe through. Next we were sent into a tent filled with tear gas, and told to take the mask off. Since you’d just been gasping for air, and your mask was finally off, the natural instinct is to take a huge breathe in; big mistake. My officer, wearing a full gas mask and suit, told me to say my ID number. I managed to get the first digit out before starting to cough, cry, and my nose running everywhere. It was not the most pleasant thirty seconds of my life, but it was an experience I’m glad I had. I am not totally sure why they make us do that drill, but I can imagine it is to understand the power of these chemicals that enemy forces can use. Of course the tear gas is nothing compared to what happened/is happening in Syria, but it gives you a small taste.

I spent the weekend with my dad who came to visit, which was so awesome. Sunday at 4 AM he drove me to a bus station in Qiryat Shmona, a city very close to the Lebanese border. Later that week I found out that an hour or two later, rockets were fired from Southern Lebanon onto Qiryat Shmona.

This past week was very weird. There were only two/three days where I was actually on base training. On Sunday my company had Tarbut Yom Aleph (Culture Sunday). Instead of taking the bus to base, we spent the day in museums in Tel Aviv. We went to the Hagana museum and the Independence building. The Hagana was one of three underground militias before Israel declared independence, that later joined forces to become the IDF. The Independence building is an art studio where the State of Israel was officially declared into existence by David Ben-Gurion. While almost everyone fell asleep and didn’t pay attention, I was very interested by the stories and pictures. It is very important for me to know what I am fighting for, and that includes the history of the country and the army itself. At the end of the day we were supposed to have a fitness session along the beach. Our Samal told us to get our watches ready, surely he would give an unreasonably short amount of time to rip through our bags and change into our running clothes. “Forty five minutes free time, you are ALLOWED to buy food”. No one was expecting this at all and it was a very unnecessary, nice thing to do.

On Monday I had to go to Beer Sheva for a doctor’s appointment which was at 12:30. For some reason, I was told to go on the 8 AM bus from the base, to make sure I didn’t miss the appointment. Well, that meant I had three hours of free time to do whatever I want – unheard of in the army. My appointment lasted about fifteen minutes, but then the busses didn’t work out well, so I ended up getting to base only around 6. Any day not spent on base is a coveted relaxation day.

Tuesday was fairly normal as we spent the day in the firing ranges, but one thing was different. We were given a new kind of combat rations. This cardboard box came with the normal tuna, corn, and pineapple, but instead of the beans and pickles, came peanuts, grape leaves, and “eggplants”. These are golf ball sized, fluorescent-magenta orbs with absolutely no flavor, and probably equally no nutritional value. Their sole purpose is to provide some liquid to the terribly dry, and always sandy tuna sandwiches. My newest concoction is the tuna, eggplant, grape-leaf, corn, and peanut sandwich. It’s all about efficiency.

Wednesday my class spent all day at the Advanced Training Nachal base. No, not for advanced training, for kitchen duty. As you can imagine it wasn’t the most exciting day, but it was fairly relaxed. At dinner, our commander came over to us with a plate full of Israeli white cheese (yogurt/sour cream) and told us we have a long night ahead of us, and that we have to finish everything. We all knew what this meant; Lila Lavan. Lila Lavan means white night, I don’t really know why. Basically, it means you won’t be sleeping that night. At all. Once we got back to base at around 10 PM, I was called for a conversation with all of the other lone soldiers. We were told we had four minutes to gather all our personal belongings and sleeping bags and move them to an empty tent. “Why?” “Not relevant, you’ll find out later.” Classic. Finally we were told that the next day we were going for a surprise lone soldiers fun day in Jerusalem. Immediately we all cheered, as this meant another day off base. But as we processed it a bit more, we realized it was a thousand times better than just a day off base. Since it was Thursday, it meant we would get a Chamshush (when you go home on Thursday instead of Friday – possibly the most coveted thing in the army. An extra night at home makes an enormous difference). It only got better. The army has a rule that if you are going home the next day, you must get 7 hours of sleep the night before. This meant that we wouldn’t participate in the Lila Lavan. Incredible. So when I woke up at 7 the next morning, one of my friends from my class came in and said they hadn’t slept yet, and in fact, they didn’t get to sleep until 11 PM that night. That means they were awake for about 40 hours straight.

On Thursday all the lone soldiers went to a “special” breakfast in the dining hall, and we also got fleece jackets. Then we drove to Jerusalem for rock climbing and some lesson about a weird form of martial arts taught by two creepy old men. Then we had lunch in an American bar/restaurant, where some American guy sang terribly cliche American songs while he played the guitar. It was a very corny event, but it was somehow super comforting to listen to songs in English, speak English, watch hockey, and probably most importantly, eat real HEINZ ketchup. If you didn’t know, Israeli ketchup is terrible. Heinz for life.

New Years. During high school New Years always meant a party and hanging out with friends. This year was a stark contrast to what I am used to. At exactly 12:00 AM on January 1, our commander came into out tent, and we welcomed him with “Happy 2014!” The response was not what I expected. He quickly made sure we realized that our year is not changing. We have only just begun. The work has been hard, and it will only get harder. With a weird, empty, upset feeling, I buried myself in my sleeping bag and went to sleep. Exactly seven hours later, as the ball dropped in New York City, we were woken up for a day of kitchen duty. I was designated as dishwasher for the first half of the day, which gave me too much time to think about what my friends were doing back home at the exact same time.

I have found that the hardest times for me have not been during workouts, sleeping in the freezing desert, or digging trenches in the pouring rain, but rather when I have free time, or time to think and reminisce. When my mind is not occupied, it wanders to past experiences. To vacations with family. To meals at favorite restaurants. To parties with friends and girlfriends. Anything even slightly related to everything I loved and enjoyed doing before I came to Israel, puts me in a weird mood. I try to snap out of it as soon as I realize. Sometimes my friends in my unit realize before I do and come talk to me. Even though free time is the part of day I wait for the most, it often leaves a lump in my throat.

We are spending the next two weeks in the shetach, which likely means not too much, if any, contact with the outside world. Hopefully there will/won’t be a lot of free time. Weird.

Shaul

Shout-out to Micky, she’s been waiting long enough for it.

The Week That Was

Well another week has passed in my 3 year journey, not that I’m counting down yet…

Note: I apologize for the terrible punctuation/format of this post. I will never understand how to overcome the Hebrew settings installed on computers.

Last week during a Krav Maga session I hurt my shoulder, had X-Rays, and have been in a sling since. Unfortunately it kept me out of all physical activities this week. Any time the group would go for a run/workout, I would be designated as gun-watcher. It put a sort of frustrating cloud over my whole week.

Sunday started off with the routine 6 hour bus ride to base. When we got there, we had to deal with the ruins of the storm from last week. Our tent was on the ground, half torn, chimney broken, steel poles ripped straight out of the ground. My friends took apart our tents and put new ones up, a process which took a good few hours. Of course I was standing on the side watching my friends work hard, while all I could do was make sure no one touched the neat stack of Micro-Tavor weapons.

The main focus of this week was to learn all about different communication devices, as well as a few types of weapons. Every day we spent hours in a classroom, rapidly scribbling notes while trying to watch our commanders operate a weapon. As you can imagine, very little sleep, lots of exercise, and warm classrooms are a recipe for falling asleep. Anytime someone’s eyes dropped down a little, they were promptly met with a firm “You, Stand!” The repeat offenders were invited to drop for twenty push-ups, or the more amusing twenty squats.

We were shown four types of communication devices. Two of them looked like big walkie-talkies, while two of them looked more like microwaves. We had to learn how to operate them, set the correct channels and frequency, as well as the language one uses when operating one of these devices. For example, there are multiple different words you can finish a broadcast with. While each word signals the end of your sentence, each one has a different meaning. One means you are done and don’t expect a response. One means you expect a response. One means you want what you said repeated back to you. Of course every single communication device has a different frequency range, a different way to set the frequency, and a different operating panel. Some are in English, some in Hebrew. On Tuesday we had a test about all the things we learned about communication that week. It was a miserable failure. Out of my whole machlaka (28 people) only three people got a passing grade (above 75). I was very disappointed with myself.

We also had lessons about a few types of weapons. The Mag, a big machine gun, the Matol, a grenade launcher which attaches to the Micro-Tavor, the LAW, Light Anti-Tank Weapon, and the Matador, another type of missile which blasts holes in walls. We had to know everything about these weapons. We learned how to operate each one, how to check for bullets, how to load the weapon, how to fix the weapon if it jams. We had to learn how to take apart each weapon. We had to know the caliber of the bullets, the maximum and ideal ranges for the weapons. We had to memorize all six types of grenades the Matol can fire, their color, shape, size, and what each one is used for. How heavy is a Mag machine gun, you might ask? How many bullets does a Magist (a soldier whose specialty is operating the Mag) have to carry on him at all times? Want to know the maximum ranges of the Mag when using a two-pronged stand versus a tripod, while aiming at a single target versus a group of bunched targets? We had to memorize all these numbers and more. We were also given an opportunity to “fire” the Matol and the LAW in a simulator, complete with the actual sounds and recoil of the weapon. Yet again, I had to stand by and watch as my friends played the coolest video game ever. Wednesday we had a test about all the weapons. This time, almost everyone learned their lesson and studied all day. The test also had a surprise section about the communications from the day before, to see who wanted to atone for their unforgivable sin of failing the test the day before. This time the rule was anything less than 100, you had to reach 100 in pushups. Scored an 88? 12 pushups. Luckily I was the only one who didn’t have to do any, (no, not because of my shoulder), but because I got a 100!

Wednesday morning the whole Pluga went on a 6 Km march, with full war gear: helmet, weapon, knee pads, and vest complete with two canteens and 7 full magazines. Yet again I was disappointed when I was told I couldn’t go on the march, and instead had to stand guard on the base for a total of 7 hours that day. At the end of the march everyone was awarded with the tag of the Nachal brigade, which we wear on our Madei Aleph (fancier uniform). Even though I didn’t do the march, I was still given a firm punch to the chest and the tag.

The Nachal Brigade Tag

On Thursday morning we left base early for Jerusalem, where we were going to have our swearing-in ceremony. Before the ceremony started I had a very funny interaction with a group of tourists. I was walking with my friend, who immigrated to Israel from Ethiopia when he was young, and we ran into a group from Nigeria. The tourists asked my friend in thickly accented English, “How you get a brother here? Are you Nigerian? African?” My friend didn’t understand their question, so I translated, and he responded with “I’m from Ethiopia.” The group loved him and wanted to take pictures with “[their] cousin!”

Before the actual ceremony, there was small event for all the lone soldiers in the November draft of Nachal (Which is around 50, a huge number!) We were given pizza and a few presents, such as thick socks and neck warmers, much needed things for the cold desert nights.

The ceremony was pretty cool to be a part of. The ceremony was at the Kotel (The Western Wall) which was a very cool scene. Lots of important commanders gave short speeches, were officially given our weapons and a Tanakh, and of course, after a commander read the official text of the oath to the IDF, we all responded with a booming “Ani Nishba! Ani Nishba! Ani Nishba!” (I swear! I swear! I swear!). Probably the most exciting moment for me was during the singing of the national anthem, HaTikva. Hundreds of soldiers, with a crowd of well over 1000, packed into the area in front of the Kotel in the freezing cold, with the Kotel lit up in the background. My heart raced as I belted out the words “Lehiot Am Chofshi, Be-Artzeinu…” “To be a free nation, in our land…” As I sang this line, I realized that this is why I’m here. To be a part of something bigger than myself. To be with so many others doing exactly what I’m doing, working hard and suffering, fighting. To be a free nation, to protect my people, in their land, in my land. It was a moment I won’t forget. Here are some pictures from the ceremony, as well as more on the Nachal Facebook page:

My friend Dor officially receives his weapon and a Tanakh

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.406246412841543.1073741892.139585926174261&type=1

The night was made even better when I got to catch up with my friends from school who came to watch the ceremony. It really means so much that they all took three hour long bus rides (besides Hannah, who had it easy with a twelve minute walk).

Thank you to Elie, Max, Hannah, Gabriel, Michael, and Sam!

Right now I’ve got the Saturday night blues, knowing I have to wake up at a painfully early hour tomorrow to go back for another intense, grueling week on base.

Just keep going.

Shaul