Wilderness

It's hard to accurately describe a challenging situation to the point where the listener can feel the hardships that the storyteller is trying to convey. This can oftentimes be frustrating, isolating, and nerve-wracking -- like trying to describe what the color turquoise looks like to a blind person. In this entry I will do my best to pinpoint the difficulties of Shetach, or wilderness, and why it is so many soldiers' nightmare.

The tension usually starts several hours or even a day before going down to the wilderness. Last minute preparations, equipment checks, and fixing malfunctioning weapons or sights. We know the approximate hour that we are supposed to leave the comfortable confines of the base but things never seem to go according to plan. The Tiyullit, or makeshift bus that can endure the rugged terrain of the wilderness, slowly backs up into the company barracks' parking lot. Everybody remains seated but blood pressures rise and a feeling of dread overtakes you. The doors in the passenger compartment in the back slide open and emit the familiar horrid sound similar to a space shuttle getting ready to take off. The soldiers form a chain and pile up all the equipment onto the back of the bus -- green bags with lots of pockets, green vests, slick black machine guns, ammunition, worn-out stretchers and jerrycans of water, AN/PRC-77 radios from the Vietnam era, and other treasures. It's cold outside and you think how it will be significantly more frigid at night time. This doesn't comfort you. You dive further down the rabbit hole of the thought and think about the 6 km walk that awaits you starting at 23:20 (11:15 pm). You'll be carrying somewhere between 80-100 pounds of equipment and your bag will favor your right side causing you to pause every 70 or so meters to adjust the heavy pack on your back. You reach your objective and start digging a foxhole to sleep in for the night. Just minutes before during the walk you were sweating profusely and very hot and sticky. Now your bag is set down next to where you are burrowing and although you still have your combat vest and weapon on you, just below the nape of your neck you feel ice. Your whole back is freezing cold and the terrifying thought strikes you that during the night your shirt will not dry. You'll be forced to sleep with a sheet of ice (your shirt) pressed against your back. When your foxhole is finished, you spread out your paltziv, or sleeping mat, and lie down. You throw the diseased-looking scratchy blanket on top of yourself and try to figure out how to cover your entire self. If you rotate the blanket 45 degrees so that it forms a diamond shape on top of you and then crawl up into a ball you might succeed. This is difficult however because your knees knock into your magazines in the front pouch of your vest and your weapon obstructs your thigh. You reach down to move your weapon forgetting that metal is a very effective cold conductor. As you grip the barrel of your gun you're not sure if the sensation is hot or cold. Giving up on this idea you try countless of other positions before passing out. Over the course of the night you wake up several times, unable to overcome the desert's cold. You have nothing in your reach to comfort or warm you. In the morning when the last man on guard duty wakes everyone up, it is still pitch black outside. Everyone is woken up and assembled for orders. 10 minutes to shave and polish your shoes. Much to your dismay the contents (water) of your 1.5 liter Nestea bottle is freezing cold. Being faced with no other option you splash the frigid liquid onto your face and proceed to shave. You have a horrible taste in your mouth, somewhere between liver and cigarettes, from not brushing your teeth for nearly a day and a half. You've been awake for nearly a half-hour completing your morning tasks, switching to day scopes, shaving, cleaning your weapon, and it's still pitch black and freezing outside. The thought strikes you that you won't go back to sleep for at least 19 or 20 hours. Your feet are still freezing cold and you start to think that maybe you got frostbite but there's no time to take off your boots and check. Keep moving. You take off your gloves to shave and clean your weapon and you wonder if you would have more mobility in your fingers with or without the gloves. An hour and a half pass and you have already eaten and arrived at your next objective. The sun should be shining brightly by now but there is inclement weather in the area. It should be self-explanatory by now why soldiers around the world despise winter. Your company conquers a set of hills in the company drill. The first drill without shooting and the second one with live rounds. At 16:40 (4:40 pm) you are walking and it starts to drizzle. 100 people are thinking the same thing -- NO NO NO! On the third "no" to yourself you hear thunder. It starts raining harder and you look at your dirty sleeve. It has dark spots on it from the rain. A drop hits your index finger and your neck simultaneously and they are cold. You grip your gun, once again forgetting that it is comprised primarily of metal, and once again it feels very hot or cold. By the end of the walk you are quite wet and everybody sits down on the muddy ground. It is still raining and you peek around. Every body is hunched over and squinting their eyes so that the rain doesn't get in their eyes or nose. 8 people out of the platoon must guard while the rest eat so you all take turns. You open up your field rations and take out the canned preserves. As you sink the can-opener into the tuna the oil spurt onto your vest and your pants. The process does not get any neater. 30 minutes is allotted for meal time, which includes opening all the canned goods at the beginning and stomping on them at the end so that the trash takes up less room in your bag. The hour is now 18:45 (6:45 pm). It is pitch black once again and freezing. The rain has let up but it is still drizzling. Approximately 5-6 hours until sleep. You toss the bag over your head and onto your back once again and you feel the damage it's done to your spine. The way you imagine it is like crushing the can of tuna. One blow from your foot causes an indentation, another blow a deeper indentation, and so on until the can implodes on itself. You leave the thought alone and start walking once again adjusting the bag to the left every 70 meters or so. You have been in the Shetach for about 48 hours. You have 120 hours left. Welcome to War Week.

I distinctly remember during my advanced training as a new recruit thinking to myself, "Thank God I won't ever have to do wilderness training in the training base again." Little did I know that a year and a half later I would be doing the same thing (and even a little more) with my soldiers. The things I described above have a different effect on different people. Some miss their bed, some miss their girlfriend, some miss Mom's cooking, some just want to smoke a cigarette with a coke, and some just plain want to get the hell out of the wilderness. I think the best way to go about all this wilderness business is to simply maintain an attitude of indifference. I spoke about this in my blog when I was a new recruit and I'm happy to say that I agree with everything I said back then. Everything is a mission; everything is a fact. It's cold outside. I'm hungry. My legs hurt. They are all facts and nothing more. If you don't assign to them a connotation they can't hurt you. With this attitude, the rain being wet and cold has no more significance than the sky being blue or the hill being steep. There is no question that the shetach is a humbling place -- some would even say holy. It's not a place for glory or for fun, but rather a place for learning about yourself and how you stand in the face of adversity.

Human APC -- Basic and Advanced Training for the second time

An Armored Personnel Carrier (APC) is a large armored vehicle that is used often by the IDF to transport infantry forces in battle. It is incredibly sturdy, like the soldiers it carries, and can hold up to 10 soldiers (8 soldiers, the driver, and the commander). While its durability and capability to endure gunfire are impressive, if the APC flips over the result can be catastrophic. If an APC flips with soldiers inside the soldier is instructed to do nothing but grab on for dear life to the strongest place within reach (preferably close to him). The symbolism of this event is profound.

I have not blogged for a while and much has happened since the last time I've written. I went home in June for a little over 2 weeks and very much enjoyed my time with family and friends. When I came back I went directly into staff preparations for my next job. Being a commander of new recruits turned out to be a much tougher position than I had ever expected and in hindsight I believe it has been the most difficult period of my service for numerous reasons. Being responsible for 15 adolescent, Israeli males acclimating to their new military surrounding is something like being a cross between a prison guard, a teacher, and a babysitter (in other words, a parent). Probably the biggest challenge of the job is the constant pressure being applied from both directions -- from the soldiers below and from the commanding officer above. On the one hand I am in direct contact with soldiers so I must take care of all their needs but on the other hand I have a mission to complete which is making sure that these new recruits become disciplined warriors fit to guarantee the safety of the Jewish State and its citizens. On one side of the balance is my humanity and attending to my soldiers requests and needs and on the other is my commitment to raising the next generation of the IDF's warriors in the proper manner. As a commander in basic training I enjoyed the pleasantries of between 3-4.5 hours of sleep on average, virtually 0 free time due to constant meetings and supervision of my soldiers, and the obligation to make sure that I sound and look professional at all times (leading by personal example is an important value of the Israeli Army). The difficulties of the job were a given and although stressful I managed. What really started to push me into trouble was the fact that I was not using my rights as a lone-soldier to take days off, get off early in order to get home before the supermarket closes, and many other things that are imperative for lone soldiers to do in order to stay sane. I talked with my family about once every 2 weeks and basically severed all my ties with friends from back home (as well as here). When I say there is no time, I mean to the point where if I had the choice of calling home or sleeping in an arm chair in the commanders' quarters for 10 minutes before I had to go out to the soldiers again, sleep won out every time due to over-exhaustion and stress. When I got home on weekends I would mostly sleep or go out to the pub to get drunk beyond what was necessary. Something I have not shared on this blog because of its taboo nature is that about a year-and-a-half ago (around the time of my advanced training) I started smoking cigarettes on a regular basis. At the beginning of this job, as a result of the overwhelming pressure, my nicotine intake skyrocketed to nearly a half-a-pack a day. I said in the beginning of this blog that I would be brutally honest about my reality here and so there it is -- honesty. My time off at home was no longer a luxury but rather an extended period of time away from my soldiers and officer that simply made Sundays dreadful. In short, the stress was mounting and I was headed for a breakdown. About a month ago, right before we went down for a difficult week in the wilderness, I got to the point where I smoked a pack in a few hours. I was becoming more depressed by the day and couldn't remember the last time I was happy. I would go days on end without smiling or laughing. My point is -- the APC was starting to tip and with not too many strongholds to reach out to I grabbed for the one place that no matter what has always been stable -- family. My Dad came to Israel for a few days and while I was getting things sorted out with myself after the trip, the following week I hit rock bottom. We had a tough week in the wilderness and I was nearly despondent that entire week. I had anticipated that the break would hold me over for a period and that things would get better. That week was one of the worst in my life. I couldn't bring myself to even fake a smile, I wasn't talking with the other commanders, I wanted nothing to do with my unit anymore, and more importantly, I just wanted to get out of this job and into somewhere else. I started to calm down toward the end of the week and since then I have returned to my old self. I've been analyzing what happened that caused this near breakdown and I've come to the conclusion that it's nothing too specific but rather accumulated wear-and-tear and I wasn't taking care of myself like I should have. The soldier is issued solutions to many problems: you have a cold -- take a sick day and these pills, your gun is dirty -- oil it and clean it, your equipment is faulty -- you'll be issued new equipment. The one thing the army does not have a solution for is Shvizut or what can be translated as Broken-Dick Syndrome. The unbearable Sundays when you have to fight hordes of soldiers with elbows and fists just to get on the bus, the incessant and cruel ringing of the alarm clock at 04:45 am that instructs you to get up and shave and polish your shoes even though you set the alarm only 3 hours before at 01:38 am, the soldier that refuses your order and says he hates you and doesn't care about this stupid army anyway, being chewed out by your officer for not remembering to send 2 soldiers to the kitchen for kitchen duty, the missed call from an old friend that you know you don't have time to return. In June 2010 I had the energy to not talk to friends and family all week, to do kitchen duty for 15 hours straight, to walk so many kilometers with 60 pounds on me that my feet would bleed and my shins would quiver and crack, to generally internalize everything no matter how bad it got. My mistake was that I did not recognize that this is not a lifestyle -- it's a method that when used for too long starts to take its toll. Jarhead is an excellent portrayal of the burnout of the average infantry soldier so if you've seen it you'll know what I'm talking about. My soldiers are now in advanced training and I only have another 2 months left until they finish. When they finish, I only have about 4 months left in teh army and what I have planned should not be too challenging. I think a lot about what I want to do after the army but I don't really have any concrete ideas yet. For the most part I'm doing a lot better than I have been for the past several months. Like the old saying goes, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

To be or not to be (an officer)

(Pictures of me with my Sargeant's Stripes!)
Good evening, world! Since the last time I wrote I finished commanders' course, moved back to my battalion, entered and finished my first job as a squad commander (or NCO), and am now going home (US) for a 2-week vacation. Commanders' course, as much as everyone complained, turned out to be a good course in my opinion. The course deals with weapons, different kinds of warfare tactics including jungle, urban, and open warfare, and leadership skills. As in most things in the army most of the graduates of the course will tell you that it's all bullshit and you don't really learn anything. Those of you who have been following this blog long enough will know how I feel about the genius and well-thought out opinions of the regular infantry soldier and how much I value their pessimism toward life (I'm being sarcastic). Commanders' Course endowed me with a sense of confidence that I could successfully command a squad of soldiers and handle the tasks thrown at me as part of the job. After the course, which ended on May 12, I went back to 202 (my battalion) which was then stationed in the Golan Heights at the base El Fouran. When all of us graduates of the course arrived at the base on Sunday morning, we found almost nobody there. It turned out that the entire battalion had been summoned as back-up to the Syrian border to deal with protests coming from Palestinian refugees from across the border. Eventually we each had our conversations with the Battalion Commander. I took three things away from that conversation. The Battalion Commander is a very serious guy, I would be going into the Maslul as a commander (the Maslul is the company of soldiers who just finished their training and entered the battalion recently), and that the CO (battalion commander) wanted me to go out to Officers' course in August.
The subject of officers' school is one I have been pondering for about 6 months now. On the one hand, I was honored that the CO wanted to send me out so early to officers' school but on the other I wasn't sure I really wanted it. At the time I was so taken aback that they were willing to send me out so early that I responded enthusiastically toward the idea. My company commander asked me a few weeks ago whether I want to go out to officers' school in August or November to which I told him I would prefer the later date in order to think about officers' some more. Presently I am placed as a Commander with the new recruits. I will be receiving a squad under my command a few weeks after I come back from the States. This will be completely different than the last job I had since these are not experienced soldiers -- they have virtually no military experience and I set the example for them and teach them everything. It's an extraordinary responsibility and I am very much looking forward to shaping part of the next generation of the IDF.
With regards to the subject of officers' school. I think the biggest problem I have with it is that I would have to sign on another 16 months of service. While relative to everything 16 months is not that much, when you analyze the little thorns that are twisted into that bundle of time things look different. All the Sundays when you have to deal with coming back to the army in the overcrowded train. All the weeks spent in the wilderness walking 15 kilometers then plopping down with your heavy bag trying to catch 20 minutes of sleep but freezing to death from your sweat that's turned to ice. All the friends you lose touch with and the isolation that the army thrusts upon you. These are only a few of the things that worry me about officers' course. Now the positives. I always wanted to get into a special forces unit and this could sort of be its replacement. Officers' course is extraordinarily difficult mentally and physically and you learn a tremendous amount about yourself and the army system. Also, many of my friends and family have told me they believe I would be a good officer and that it would be a great opportunity for me that would serve me well for the rest of my life. From the Zionist perspective, I think this would be the biggest donation of myself to the army. The army needs officers and while there are many lone soldiers in Israel, very few of them stick it out for an extra 16 months. The funny thing about my deliberation on the matter is that one day I will be absolutely 100% for signing on and feel very passionately about it and the next I just wanna finish my 30 months of mandatory service and throw in the towel. Either way, the next 2 weeks are for resting and getting in shape for my next job. The best advice I have for myself is to take it slow, don't get too excited in either direction, and keep thinking clearly.

1 Year in Service

So I'm just about half way through commanders' course and things are going swell. I was hoping to write this blog about a month ago but I've been pretty busy with everything in the course. Last month was my 1-year "anniversary" in the army. In Hebrew it's called a Pazamuledet. Pazam is an abbreviation for Perek Zman, or time in service, and the "uledet" part comes from Yom Huledet or birthday. I thought it would be appropriate to summarize and reflect on my army experiences until now.
I've gone through so much and learned heaps so it's difficult to summarize my service up until now. I came to the Paratroopers knowing virtually nothing about the army other than the bits and pieces of advice family friends had given me and the forums I read online. Before I was drafted I found it extraordinarily frustrating that whenever I would ask former or current soldiers for advice I would get broad and non-specific scraps of information that I couldn't grasp and would not help me in the slightest. I can now understand why they answered so vaguely...although it is still not excusable. Let me begin.
Most of the army is shit -- it's pain, it's suffering, it's not fair, and it doesn't take personal sob stories into consideration. This is where most soldiers become bitter and are therefore less willing to talk about their service. You can think of it as a sort of disillusionment. After dealing with all the difficulties of the army for so long, when someone young and inexperienced asks for advice about how to "go about the army", it's difficult to put into words and sentences the billions of scraps of wisdom that you've acquired. This is why I try to explain everything on this blog -- it's my opportunity to counter the cynicism that is carried like an anvil by most soldiers and causes them to simply shew away silly questions by younger soldiers.
During basic and advanced training, life was easy yet so hard. We were still fresh so we had the energy to run and jump and crawl and get beaten up. Also, our days were structured like an architectural masterpiece so we didn't have to worry about spare time -- there simply was none. Sure it was extraordinarily painful physically and exhausting mentally, but we had all found our own personal band of brothers and we were working through it together and becoming warriors. After training, we moved out to Kav, or border duty, and started the laborious and oftentimes unrewarding tasks that are included in protecting the border. It was a breath of fresh air to suddenly not have such a binding structure choking us every minute of everyday. I remember when we first got to Kav, one of my commanders pulled out a cigarette and lit up and said, "Well guys, it's official. We're on Kav." This is significant because during training the commanders would NEVER smoke any where near us. We were introduced to the older, more experienced soldiers in our battalion and unfortunately a lot of what many of them had to say was disheartening. The attitude in the battalion is that of something like a fraternity. The younger guys have all the hard tasks in addition to many restrictions such as: if an older soldier wants to watch TV, the younger soldier has to get up from the couch, or the younger soldiers are not supposed to ask the vatikim (older soldiers) what date they were drafted, etc. Kav is difficult because you don't get out as often as you did when you were in training. We did what was called 17/4 -- or 17 days on base and 4 at home. I actually liked it because the 4 days at home are heavenly after having showered just 4 times during the 17 and after having endured many sleepless nights. The next stop in my army journey was commanders' course. One of the most difficult aspects of going out to commanders' course is that after living without rigid structure for 3 months, I had to adjust back to the mentality of constant scheduled classes and activities and challenging weeks in the field. Also, and this comment won't be looked upon favorably by soldiers in other brigades, I find that as a whole the population in the paratroopers is more...how can I put this? Agreeable? As a whole, I have found that the guys with me in commanders' course tend to be a step down compared to the general population in my original brigade. This has made me somewhat socially isolated in the course but not because I don't interact with others but rather I choose not to. That might sound snobbish but at this stage in the game, I would rather invest my energy in the course and not in dealing with the bullshit that's thrown at me from the other soldiers.

During the stages of the army that I have just listed, soldiers undergo many changes. Some become quieter while others become more extroverted. Some get restless while others become calmer. In analyzing myself I have realized several things. I have become less attached to what others think. As a result I am quieter, more introspective, more serious, and have gained confidence. As a whole I believe the changes are positive and have made me a much stronger person although people have mentioned the army has made me a bit darker, more withdrawn. Maybe it's just me but I have found that in order to go through the army and truly become the soldier that the IDF attempts to mold you into, you have to turn to stone at times. There are so many disappointments in the army whether it be related to people, poor facilities, lack of food and sleep. In order to overcome these obstacles you have to turn off your emotions and become a robot that doesn't feel. The problem I have seen with some soldiers is that they have turned off their emotions for too long and have forgotten how to turn them back on -- how to feel, how to relate to others, how to empathize. They have forgotten how to empathize in the sense that when a younger soldier, scared out of his wits and not knowing how to tie his shoes, asks them a seemingly sophomoric question they retort with a blunt, sarcastic remark that leaves the new recruit bewildered and disheartened. This treatment of younger soldiers seems cruel but it's actually just a result of the stress of the army on the average 19-year-old Israeli teenager who would rather be intoxicated beyond comprehension at a frat party at Penn State than in dirty army fatigues with a sore lower back and calloused callouses on his feet.
My time in the army has taught me not to blame or hate these soldiers, but at the same time not to excuse their lack of passion and empathy. The army is difficult but I have gained immense knowledge and wisdom from it and have gained tools to help me deal with any obstacle life may throw at me. It's funny how much duality there is in the army. It has damaged me yet made me stronger. It has made me duller in someways and sharp as a blade in others. The most puzzling aspect of the army for me is its almost drug-like affect it has on soldiers. We want to be discharged tomorrow and never have to speak of the military again yet at the same time we need the structure and the challenges that it provides us with. The army is a beast that if you try to hunt it and kill it it will tear you into pieces but if you understand it and abide by its codes and rules, it will take you places.

Lessons from Gaza and Navigations

Since the last time I blogged I returned home for a 3-week furlough, came back to Israel (or more specifically to the Gaza border), and now am finishing up the preparation course for commanders' course. Let's dissect.

The vacation at home was truly wonderful and I valued every second that I had with my family. I especially valued my time sitting in front of the fireplace in our warm living room watching the embers crackle and enjoying the serenity of "Bayit" (home in Hebrew). While I was home I got to fulfill many of the things I'd been dreaming about during frigid 2-hour guard duties at the most ungodly hours of the night such as: watching one-and-a-half seasons of 24 and dozens of movies I'd missed over the last year, eating my Mom's cooking and spending time with everyone during Thanksgiving, seeing a lot of my friends and talking about where life has taken us over the past few years since we last saw each other in high school, and above all simply enjoying the tranquility and predictability of what is life in Potomac, Maryland.

Before I went home I had been doing border duty with the rest of my brigade on the Gaza Border for about a month and a half. When I came back I dove right back into the tiring schedule of protecting this country's borders but not before being welcomed back warmly by all my buddies. Warm embraces, kisses on the cheek and playful ridicule for "leaving them to rot on the border while I was living in the lap of luxury" were abundant when I returned. Everybody was very happy to see the bags of M&Ms and Reese's and other sweets that I unloaded from my duffel as well as the army supplies (army tape, para-cord, and other things) I had managed to squeeze into my suitcases. After only a few hours of being back on my outpost I was already back in the swing of monotonous guard duty, exhausting patrols, and never-ending kitchen duty. While Gaza is not as dangerous and turbulent as it was at the end of 2008 before Operation Cast Lead it is by no means just another quiet Arab village where you can fall asleep on patrols. More often than not we were under some sort of awareness level for mortar shellings, kidnappings, or other pleasantries that the Hamas had in store of us. Once you're in an environment like that for an extended period of time it changes you. It didn't have a profound effect on my core personality but I am different, even if only slightly, as a result of it. Loud sounds coming from the factory next to where I live on my Kibbutz in the North raise my blood pressure and keep me alert while others may just ignore it or not even notice it. Once you have had to wear a ceramic flak jacket while chopping onions or washing dishes in kitchen duty because of a mortar warning followed by the announcement on the loud speaker that there are mortars falling in the area, you seem to be more wary of the staccatos that occur in normal, everyday situations. Another hardship endured on the border is the lack of hygiene. Due to the need for there to be teams on standby to jump to the fence or neighboring Kibbutzes and settlements at all times, soldiers are prevented from taking their shoes off or taking a shower for up to a week at a time. You heard me -- one week without seeing your feet or your belly button. You not only feel the stress border duty brings when you hear someone yelling from a guard post on the radio, "Who's coming to switch me?!?! They're late a half-hour and I haven't slept in 2 days!!" but you also see the physical evidence of the tension. The outpost is riddled with thousands of cigarette butts that have been inhaled down to the last granule of tobacco right before the filter, the long and tired expressions on almost every soldiers' face resulting from not sleeping more than 3 hours at a time in more than 5 days is overwhelming, and the stuffiness of the rooms where 10 soldiers (who, as may be inferred from above, do not smell like roses) inhabit a space of approximately 6 by 5 meters is oppressive and nerve-wrecking. But having stated all of the facts of why border duty is unpleasant I feel obliged to counter with the fact that it is common knowledge throughout my company and most other combat companies and battalions and brigades that if we were not there doing this then the team of terrorists living in Khirbet-Akhzea, right across the border about 2 km from us, that has tried numerous times to plant large bombs next to the fence would surely cross the border and kill dozens of innocent civilians in the area. To paint the picture a little clearer, these civilians would include the ordinary people living on the kibbutz that is located right next to my outpost where we often use their supermarket to buy morale-raisers such as Bamba, or cookies, or tea and coffee. One of the victims would be the elderly Argentinian lady who moved to Israel about 30 years ago but still speaks with an accent who keeps the supermarket open when she sees me coming even though it closed 10 minutes before because she knows that because of us they are safe. Another victim would be the old man with his walker making his way to the Chadar Ochel (dining hall) for lunch who can't hear very well but smiles very warmly as if he were your grandpa every time he sees you. The final victim who is hard to think about would be the little girl of about 7 years of age with short pigtails and olive skin who dawns a devilish yet really cute grin that says in a chipper and slightly embarrassed squeak, "Todah Raba Chayal!" when I pass by on one of my runs.

Border duty can be very mind-numbing and as a result many soldiers feel neglected and broken after too long on the border but remembering what we are guarding and what is at stake, as corny as that might sound, is critical. Getting a grip of yourself and remembering why I am doing this always refocuses the picture and humbles me into continuing my service as best as I can without focusing on the difficulties of doing what I believe in.

The last topic I want to write about is commanders' course. I am now finishing up the preparation course engineered to help us pass the entrance exams into the commanders' course itself. The preparation lasts a month while the overall course (including the preparation) is 4 months. The first week of preparation we had about 13 hours of classes a day in which we went over all the material we learned from basic and advanced training as well as some new material. The second week was navigations, or orienteering. This was one of the most interesting weeks because you start to feel more comfortable with "getting around" in the wilderness although there is still a long way to go. Many people without military experience don't know this but going out into nature and feeling like you have some sort of idea of how the landscape flows is an incredibly empowering and calming experience. I am now finishing up my 1-week vacation and next week we have what's called the "Marathon Week" where we go over all the last minute things to prepare for the course.

I think I was chosen to go out to commanders' course mostly for my work ethic. While my fitness level is respectable it is by no means overpowering or intimidating. I was blessed with a healthy and well-functioning brain but there are definitely other guys in my unit who are naturally smarter than I am. What I have which I think is a quality the army appreciates is that I make the hard decisions based on rationality and what needs to be done rather than what will be easiest and what will hurt the least. This is an important trait in the army because there is no small amount of hardship in day-to-day life but somebody has to bite the bullet and do it. This means that at the end of a hard forced march where everybody is exhausted and you have shooting pains in your muscles in your upper-back, you offer to put the radio and the stretcher back in the storage closet. It also means that when someone has a family event on Shabbat but can't leave the outpost unless somebody else stays, you volunteer to stay even though you also had commitments. In order to be a good soldier I have had to sacrifice a lot and it has been very challenging at times. Some of those sacrifices have been relationships (with girlfriends and just friends in general), free time on weekends, my body (I've sustained numerous injuries that I doubt I will every fully recover from), and many other things. As I said earlier in this post and in several other blogs, my determination and love for Israel have made it all worth it. Every thorn lodged into my thigh and neck, every blister turned green, every freezing night I spent sleeping with my combat vest on me and my gun across my chest in the wilderness -- I wouldn't take any of it back because I know that I'm still doing what I believe in and what I love. I'll end the post with a metaphor from navigations. You have a starting point, an ending point, and several points in between that you must pass through. The trouble hits you between each of these point or even at the points themselves. You lose your orientation and you all of a sudden have no idea where you are. The best things you can do are the following: don't panic, find the north, go to the place where you last knew where you were located, and most importantly maintain a clear idea of where you came from and where you are trying to end up.

Reflections After 2 Years

I am sitting right now in the Ben Gurion Airport about 1.5 hours away from departure time. I, once again, scanned over all of my previous blog entries in order to see how far I've come since the beginning and since my 1 year reflection. I mentioned in previous entries that it's hard for me to chart my progress and changes but this time looking back I realize how much I've changed. I don't know even know where to start so I think the most appropriate way of going about this is just to state my present views and juxtapose them with comments and notions from earlier. First of all, my English has gotten rusty. Obviously it's still my native tongue, but I wrote so well and with satirical and rich style in my first blogs. What's happened? I think maybe this has to do in part with the "Israelis not mincing words" blog I wrote about 1.5 years ago. My day-to-day life over the past 9 months has been almost entirely in Hebrew in Israelis my age. As a result my Hebrew has improved exponentially and I am able to relate and communicate freely without almost any cultural or lingual barriers with my piers here. It's bizarre because 2 years I yearned so much to speak fluently and be Israeli and now that that has happened more or less, I hardly even notice it because it is routine. Catch 22? Looking back on my views and opinions from 2008 was exciting because it is as if I was reading those of another person; when I then shifted back to my present mind it was like seeing my accomplishments take place within seconds. Since I've come to Israel, I've learned to be much more patient and accepting.

One of the things that I most proud of myself is that there does not pass one day while I'm in the army where I regret the decisions I've made about making Aliyah and joining the army. I don't know a single person that loves and enjoys the conditions and situation in the army but there are two ways of going about it. One is that you can endure the hardships that are thrown at you and complain about it the whole way and tell everybody who asks that you are suffering and that the army sucks. This is the "gisha" or attitude of many soldiers. The second way is to know that you are going to suffer but to be okay with it. To embrace the hardships and not complain. Despite the fact I do suffer in the army, and it is difficult, and it is not glorious or rewarding most of the time, I am fulfilling something I believe in and whatever happens along the way is irrelevant. Of course I have my moments where I give in to whining and bitching with the guys but about 20 times a day I try to remind myself to stay positive and be okay with sacrifice I'm making in order to do what I believe in.

The things I used to comment on in my posts 2 years ago seem so trivial and funny now -- the rust on the shower head, the food in the Kibbutz dining hall, the lack of timely maintenance services on kibbutz, "only" getting 6.5 hours of sleep. All these things are not concerns of mine anymore. There are things that concern me now that in another 2 years I will probably laugh at. One thing I have observed about the army is that there is always someone more "vatik" or experienced than you. So how do you go about not coming off as an ass when talking to someone more experienced than you? You listen and ask questions and don't complain and don't act like a know-it-all. The way the chain of experience goes in the army is as follows: new recruits, soldiers in advanced training, soldiers in plugat maslul (once you have your red beret and are on the border but still not vatik), and then the various stages of older soldiers. Then there are the officers who sign on extra time, then those who have gone through and experienced war, and finally those who have experienced multiple wars. Sometimes when I think that I've gone through a lot (and I think I'm justified in saying I have) I then think of those who fought in the Intifada in 2000 and the Lebanon War and once again am humbled and grounded. Such is the chain of wisdom and experience everywhere in life, it is just a matter of adjusting the mindset to the present situation and realizing that to be quiet and observant and humble is the wisest approach in any situation at any stage.

End of Training -- From Soldiers to Warriors

I never thought the day would come when I would say, "I'm finished with my training phase of the army." Low and behold, it has arrived. It arrived about 6 weeks ago on a Thursday morning when we finished our Masa Kumta, or Beret March. I don't want to delve too much into the details of the march since I hope to at some point write a blog about it, but I will say that 77 Kilometers (nearly 2 marathons) with full gear on is an experience that nobody forgets. The focus of this entry is to summarize advanced training and more importantly the importance of our training.

We came into advanced training with a sort of relieved sigh. At the end of Tironut (basic training) we were all so sick of our commanders coming down on us and treating us like babies that the idea that there existed another kind of treatment sort of enthralled and excited us. Indeed they sat us down the first day back and set us straight as to what would change, what would not change, and what would change with time. The best way to summarize the differences between Tironut and Imun Mitkadem (Advanced Training) is that Tironut achieves its goal of turning out soldiers by brute discipline and a heavy focus on fitness and Imun Mitkadem produces warriors by focusing less on discipline and more on wilderness training and combat-ready fitness. Combat fitness is storming up a 2 km strip on a steep hill or walking 12 km with 43 kg (about 100 lbs) on your back. It's funny looking back now at how afraid we were of the intense wilderness weeks and the infamous war week that our commanders would frighten us about toward the beginning of our training because at this point we have finished all of it and we're still walking and talking just like before. Well, I think we may talk a little softer now but nonetheless still talking. One of the big highlights of Imun Mitkadem was earning our wings by parachuting 5 times. The course was a grueling 2 weeks of constant yelling and sand in your shirt and ears and underwear. Personally, the 3rd jump that we did (a night jump with our equipment) was the scariest for me. I managed to keep my cool pretty well on the first jump but there were those who definitely needed an extra knock on the back to remind them to jump when they got to the door of the plane. One thing I have enjoyed most about my experience in the army is how much symbolism and how many metaphors you can find in day-to-day life; there is one from jump course that always comes to mind. The hardest part about anything in life is waiting in anticipation of something. Once you get to the door and you have the opportunity, it's pretty simple to just jump. Once you jump, you experience the rush of a lifetime that makes you see things in a new light.

War week was probably the most difficult week of our entire training and it was ultimately the culmination of everything we had learned. I hope to blog about this individually so I will not waste too many words about it as well. We went out on a Monday night and started with a 9 km hike with all of our gear at 2/3 height on a hill. The point of walking at 2/3 height is to disguise yourself more -- when scanning an area you will notice the extremities, such as the top or the bottom of the hill, much quicker than the 2/3 point. Also, 2/3 is disastrous for your knees and ankles as your left foot has a longer journey to the ground than your right foot. Although the first walk was painful, there was another one later in the week that would become infamous in my memories. The routine of war week was Company-level ground exercise, retreat with stretchers, break (due to extreme summer heat), hike toward next exercise, ground exercise, retreat, night hike. We averaged about 1.5 hours of sleep nightly and during the day if you could overcome the intense heat and manage to sleep then by all means. We ate about twice-a-day which was not a lot but it was most definitely enough. Although we were all exhausted, hungry, and disgusting, I learned from war week that you really don't need that much to survive when you are in "combat" mode. And this was just a simulation.

My parents made it to my Beret ceremony and it was great to see them and Arielle and all of our family friends at the end. We were so dead after the march but it was so satisfying to get my red beret finally. It was the goal that we had been waiting for for 7 months. One of the things I love about the army is that in order to reach your goals you have to go through hell, but you do always manage to reach the end and finish. While the red beret was a glorious prize that only somebody whose endured IDF Paratrooper training can enjoy the David Citadel Hotel was also greatly appreciated. I was in desperate need of some rest and luckily I got it. After 77 km with a poorly-set ankle brace my right foot had essentially lost blood circulation. After only about 2 or 3 hours into the beret march I was in agony and felt excruciating pain surging in my ankle and foot every time I put weight on it. After the march I could barely walk on my right ankle and even now, 6 weeks later, I still have some numbness in my right foot.

Since the beret march, we have moved on and are now officially part of Battalion 202. We are in what is called "Plugat Maslul" which is a sort of "residency" for the battalion. We are considered battle-ready, just not as battle-ready as the older soldiers so we have 4 months of this. We are on the Gaza border and while it is not like it was in 2008 it is by no means quiet. Many people seem to be Shavu'z (Shavur Zayeen) or bummed out by the fact that all we're doing is patrols, guard duty, and kitchen duty but these seem to be the people that every step of the way in our training also had a negative outlook. I can imagine that after the army these people will also be complaining about their studies, their roommates, their mortgage, their blah blah blah. My trip home has been approved by the army and I'm thrilled that I'll have a few weeks at home in a little bit. While I know the changes I've undergone are gargantuan I still just feel like Ben and don't quite know what to expect when I go home. We'll see what's changed more, Potomac or me. I'll end this entry on something simple yet inspiring that my host dad told me a couple days ago on the phone. Daniel (my host dad on kibbutz) called my on Friday to see how everything is going and if I would be coming to dinner in the kibbutz dining hall that evening. I told him yes and that everything was fine and that I was just tired from not sleeping right for several weeks because of guard duty and patrols and the wretched sand flies that terrorize the soldiers at night time. He responded with the simple yet wise, "That's okay, that means you're doing your job. Because you don't sleep well at night, my family and I do."