Vietnam In Israel

We received our guns a few Mondays ago. I know it sounds all cool and what not, and every new soldier wants to get his gun and get on with soldiering, but I can tell you from just a short experience that having a big M16 to carry with you at all times is more of a bane than anything. And mind you, I've owned and shot guns my entire life, including the M16 (AR-15), which I've owned since I was 17. There's a big difference between army life and a civilian sportsman hobby.

So, we received our guns on the 27th, which had been a very rainy week. We had to sign a sheet or two, acknowledging our responsibility over the weapon, and then we were taken to learn how to perform a safety check. To be honest, I don't trust half the guys here with their guns, so I was just trying to stay out of everyone's way. Thankfully they hadn't trusted ammunition to us yet.

After the safety check we were sent to our dorm to get our combat vests, jackets, and sleeping blankets. Under the sparking clouds we ran to the rooms, struggled to throw on the awkward backpack/vests from the mid 90's, vests that were once used in real combat in scary places but now relegated to training courses, and finally ran out to our formation. Guns banging painfully against backs, hips, any sensitive area really - the guys just didn't know how to hold the things.

We set out on a hike to the shooting range, a drizzle coating our puffy olive jackets. The company was divided into two lines on either side of the road, commanders in front, back, and walking along the space between the two rows. The clouds grew thicker and thicker, the lightening and thunder rocked the sky, and the rain came harder and harder with each step.

I looked round to see our commander talk to his superior, who was on the phone with presumably his superior, and then we were ordered to stop. The commanders disappeared. The rain was coming in buckets by now. I looked round and saw the fresh recruits pulling their collars up, heads hunched down, guns resting awkwardly around their necks. We were hunkering down to a miserable day.

The commanders reappeared from the back of the line, looking not quite sure of the day's plans anymore, but nonetheless we continued. The dirt road soon turned to mud, chunky red clay that splashed against the inside of our legs and matted against the bottom of our boots and made wings of dirt on the sides. But we trudged on.

Our two single file lines continued. My head was lowered to guard against the penetrating rain and wind. I looked up to investigate my surroundings, and at that point the strangest and most preposterous feeling of deja vu engulfed me. The rain was coming in big, fat beads. It beat against our army greens. It plopped off our bucket hats. It came from the side. It came from the ground. It came from all directions.

Our long M16s bounced against our chests and stomachs. We were on patrol, two single file lines on opposite sides of a road. Walking in silence. Walking through a forest. Cows and farmland to our left. Trees and mountains to our right. The radio man up ahead with the commander, following close by.

We were in Vietnam. We were trudging through the soaking fat rain to attack a Viet Cong outpost deep in the Mekong Delta. We were tracking Charlie.

Though I smiled at the silly Vietnam deja vu, I was not a happy camper in the rain. I felt like a real soldier, though we got rained out and were not able to shoot our guns. Only half the group got to, and of course mine did not. So, there we sat in a miserable hut, miserably soaking wet, wind whipping against our shivering bodies. I felt tough, I felt really cool walking in the rain like a real man, but in all honesty I knew how green I was. I hadn't even shot my gun yet. I had an empty magazine. And when would we finally shoot the thing?

The quote of the day? "I just need some gummy worms." It's funny what people think of when they're miserably soaking wet from head to toe with a useless piece of metal weighing them down.

Army Beret - Shaving The Kumta

The easiest way to spot a greenhorn is an army green beret (kumta). You receive your first beret when you are inducted, and then you're sent to your actual unit, and then later on from the unit you receive that division's specific color beret. So, the paratroopers have red berets. Tanks have black berets. Golani, the unit I want, gets a brown beret. But, as I said, before you get the specific beret for your brigade (חטיבה), you are stuck at the bottom of the totem pole with the stock green Israeli Army beret.

The second way to spot a new soldier by their beret is whether or not it is shaved. Yes, you read that correctly. You actually shave your kumta. The unshaven kumta is, as you can see in the above picture, large, inflexible, and puffy. It sits on your shoulder like a dead cat, as they say in Hebrew (חתול מת). The dead cat is a dead giveaway that you have absolutely no standing in the army. It's only slightly more embarrassing than not having any pins or unit identification or anything on your uniform.

Some people put Ax Body Spray on the kumta and light it on fire very briefly to burn some fluff off. I put it in a cup in the freezer over night to get the leather band that fits around your head to be more flexible.



It's really pretty comical to me. Ah, the joys of being a green soldier. Here's the fluff that I shaved off, and I could have shaved even more.



And the finished product - not quite as 'green' as before:

Free Time In The Israeli Army? - ת''ש

Since I've had this past Shabbat off, and I'm back in Jerusalem around my friends, everyone has asked me what the most difficult part of the army has been. Is it the running? Is it the pushups? Is it the Hebrew? Is it the punishment? Is it being treated like property, less than human, less than your own man? Is it the yelling? Is it the fear of combat, the threat of what an army entails? What sucks the most about being a soldier in the Israeli Army?

I don't know how it is in other armies, and I suspect during basic training/boot camp it is very similar worldwide, but for me, an independent, mature (kind of), self-motivated young man, the by and far hardest bit is the lack of free time. You have just about zero time to do what you want, and quite literally zero time to yourself.

I guess you could say that your free time is when you're in the toilet, but that would be a stretch considering there are 50 guys using 2 of them. Literally. I mean, even in the shower you are not alone, and moreover there is always a line waiting for you to finish. Nothing is ever at your own pace. You are never physically alone, except from when you lock the door to the toilet - and of course that's no bubble either, nor is it a place to wile away the hours.

No, there is almost no free time in the army. But, we do get what is called TASH (ת''ש), which is yet another acronym. The full Hebrew is תנאי שרות, meaning "conditions of service." These conditions are that they have to give you some time at the end of the night before you go to bed to take care of various niceties. You shave, shower, brush your boots, organize your bag, clean your room, et cetera.

That is a lot to handle in about an hour, an hour and a half at most. Remember, you're not just doing these things in the confines and efficient space of your house. You are doing this in a tiny room with 10 other guys, waiting on 5 shower stalls, 2 toilets, and 5 sinks along with 50 other guys doing the same thing. Add to that the massive amount of gear we each have, keeping our gun with us at all times, and the need to keep everything compartmentalized and organized so we can avoid the "FIVE MINUTES OUT FRONT IN UNIFORM, SHAVED, BOOTS POLISHED, OR YOU'RE RUNNING ALL NIGHT" threat, well, there never seems to be enough time.



Can you imagine what the bathroom floor must be like? Well, here is an idea - and this is relatively clean.



Needless to say, there isn't much time to use your phone or write notes for this blog. Honestly, there isn't much time to be a human.

My 24th Birthday in the Israeli Army

My birthday was the 26th of October, and I was inducted into the Israeli Army on the 22nd. That was one hell of a birthday present. I've always wanted to be a soldier, especially for the only army in the world that I think is 100% imperative for the existence of the state it serves. So, ideologically I didn't need cake or toys or songs.

On the other hand, it was really tough spending your birthday getting yelled at.

On the 27th, a day after my birthday, my mem"mem (the commander of half the group of 100 soldiers in my course) pulled me aside and asked me why I didn't tell anyone that it was my birthday.

"Uh, I didn't want to get singled out..."

"Good idea," he said.

They did give me a break, however, and didn't put me on guard duty (shmira) during the middle of the night. On the upper left it says "mazaal tov to Daniel." On the right notice the times you have to do guard duty. The second night I had guard duty at 4:20 am.

The best present in the army is sleep, and I got exactly what I wanted this year!

What Unit Am I Actually In Right Now?

I realized that I forgot to actually say what I'm doing - I think.  Just a quick blurb here.  I am in a 3-week course for immigrants before we join our actual units.  I think we will be requesting our choices for units this week, but that's here-say.  So, the course is for immigrants, but everyone is fluent in Hebrew (except me, of course).  It's the army, it's boot camp-ish, but it's before your actual assignment.  Any questions, feel free to comment below.