Krav Maga Or An Excuse For A Beating?

Krav Maga is a form of close quarter self defense created in the 1930s by Imi Lichtenfeld in order to help Jews in Europe protect themselves from Nazi and anti-Semitic attackers.  From there Lichtenfeld moved to Israel, and in 1948 Krav Maga became the official form of self defense of the Israeli military and police force.  In short, it's a technique based on the assumption that the attacker will give no room for escape, thus requiring either a lethal or near lethal response.

So being in a course that was to prepare us for the real deal army, we did a couple sessions of Krav Maga.  The second session was really Krav Maga, like learning how to use our rifle as a close quarter combat (CQC) weapon.  In the army there is a defined method of using the M16 in CQC.  It's devastating.  Have a look:



That video only shows the second of six specific strikes that are done one after another. You can actually see the six moves in the very beginning of the video. After about 10 minutes of doing each move separately, we finally began the entire attack with a partner. The instructor was screaming at us as we were slamming the rifle like lightning into our partner's sleeping bag, trying desperately to both be aggressive but under control. I can't even begin to tell you how into it I was. I'm generally a very laid back person, not really getting too hot under the collar even in situations where most guys would turn on the animal instincts. But during the second session of Krav Maga, with the M16 feeling like "an extension" of my arms, I felt like a Roman Legionnaire laying waste to a savage Carthaginian.

But that was just the second session. The first session involved Krav Maga only in the way that we had to keep our hands up in the punching position, "putting my dukes up," if you will. I showed up about five minutes late to the paved outdoor basketball court that the session was held on only to find the guys lined up along the length of the court in punching position. I quickly ran to stand next to my friend who was near the far end of the court.

"What are we doing," I asked as I looked down the row to see if my hands were up properly.

"Um, they're killing us I think."

Down at the other end stood a commander with a title that I still cannot remember. Malgash? Malbash? Malshah? Not sure... let's just call him the "Malshash." Earlier in the week he grabbed me by the collar and jerked me out of my seat during a lecture inside a classroom because my sleeves weren't rolled up according to army regulations. "This isn't a kibbutz!," he screamed. The commander took on the role of Krav Maga Instructor, a position I'm sure he relished. He is, not exagerating, insane.

"PUT YOUR HANDS UP! HANDS UP! KEEP THEM UP!" He paced up and down the court, seeing if our hands were truly capable of punching and protecting.

A commander of Moroccan descent, a special forces soldier, who was in charge of the First Company stood in the back corner, watching, while holding a wooden stick.

The Malshash stopped his pacing, standing still for a moment, and then his face contorted and he yelled, "SIX SIX SIX!!!" I had no idea what that meant, but I soon caught on as everyone flew from the baseline of the court to the other end and back.  That counts as two. Three of those equal six. As soon as we finished we jumped back into position on the baseline and put our fists up. I looked down the line to figure out what was happening, but all I could see was the back of the line. One by one a guy took a few steps back. What was going on all the way down there? Why were they falling back one by one?  I took the moment to catch my breath.

Before I knew it the Malshash was four guys down from me. As hard as he could he slammed his fist into Guy #4's chest. Guy #3 got a gut punch. The maniac Malshash pump-faked a punch into Guy #2's chest, and then with his left he nearly broke the poor kid's arm. Guy #1 almost got a punch to the arm, but then the Malshash kicked his thigh as hard as David Beckham would send a corner kick into midfield. It was brutal.

I know you may be thinking along the lines of lawsuits and abuse scandals, but at the time the only thing on my mind was survival. I just had to get through that torture. And in the process of mentally preparing myself for abuse, I finally clicked into animal mode. Primal instincts. Survival. Cave Man.

Bring it on! I tightened my face and kept my eyes on the Malshash, trying to intuit where he would hit me.  All of a sudden there was a crunch in my chest, and when I thought that was it he landed another punch on my upper arm.  

Stinging.  Burning.  Like a miniature train wreck inside my muscles.  But it felt good.  It felt empowering, somehow.  And then without a warning...

"SIX SIX SIX!!!"  And we took off for the baseline three more times again.

Back to the original stance, hands up!  They started to feel a little bit heavy at that point.  I looked down the line, trying to figure out if this was it.  "Is this Krav Maga?," I wondered.  Apparently it was.  

For the sake of brevity I won't recount the rest of the "conditioning" we suffered, like running in the dog position at full speed - on our hands and feet - and crawling like a crab at full speed - hands and feet only, again.  How many times did we do SIX SIX SIX?  I lost count.  It generally was a welcome break after the dog/crab crawls, though.  They may have been the most physically trying event I've ever done in my life.  Honestly.  You want to know how hard they are, or do you think I'm exaggerating?  Get down in these positions right now. 

I'll give you 30 seconds...

Now try to run full speed across a paved court and back multiple times with the threat of having to do it again if you're in the last five people.......  did you do it?  Of course not.  Why?  Because it hurts and sucks and no human should be subjected to such mandatory punishment for no reason.  But this was our "Krav Maga" session, so what could I do but listen?  (I cursed the 'injured' people sitting out).

Now here's the interesting bit:

The Malshash had us back on the baseline, and he was coming in for more punches and kicks.  This was probably the fourth round of it, and my body was already screaming from the crawls and punches.  As the maniac got close I readied myself, and then he was one person away so I figured I'd brace for the crushing blows.  I sucked a half-breath in, tightened my muscles, clenched my jaw...

CRUNCH CRUNCH - two instantaneous fists to the gut.  The Malshash continued to the next guy in line, my buddy Isaac, but then quickly stepped back into my face.  I braced again, thinking he was coming back for more from the tall guy, but then he asked me something in an uncharacteristically normal voice.

"דכגדנ דיצמן ישדראץ יחללף?"

"What," I asked.  My mind wasn't exactly in the foreign language mode.

"Did you גרטהני בכלםר?"

Considering that I had flexed for the hit, I figured he was asking me if I did just that.  At the time it made a lot of sense:  if you flex for the punch or attack because you know it's coming it isn't realistic.  I knew he was going to hit me because that was the exercise we were doing.  Maybe we weren't supposed to flex or brace ourselves.  That made sense.

"Yes," I replied.

"Give me 30 fist pushups," he whispered calmly.  I dropped to the ground and with fists grinding against the pavement I pushed out about 15.

Then he started kicking me, repeatedly, in the ribs.  Over and over, hard, as I pushed out the last 15.  I couldn't feel my knuckles past the throbbing in my side.

"Good," he said quietly and softly, with a sinister smile on his face.  

I got back into the punching position, standing straight and tall, strong, but feeling close to reaching my physical limit.

My buddy Isaac turned his head to me, trying hard to not be noticed by any of the other commanders, and questioned, "Do you know what he asked you?"

"Yeah, he asked if I braced for the punch."

"Uh, no..."

"What?"

"He asked if you tried to punch him back."

I didn't say anything for a second, just soaking in the obviousness of the situation, because honestly if you didn't brace yourself for the wrecking ball of a punch to the stomach you'd die the painful death of Harry Houdini.  That makes sense.  Finally I replied with the only suitable response.

"Oh."

And then, and I am not lying to you or exaggerating, the special forces commander standing in the corner with the wooden beam came over to me and told me to stick my leg out.

"Put your thigh forward!," he screamed.

He slammed the processed wooden stick against my quad as hard as he could, trying to break it in half.  It didn't break, but was split heavily down the center.

"Pity," he lamented.

I can still feel where he hit me, and that was a few weeks ago now.

Golani Sheli

Last week I informed my loyal readership that I was finally being drafted into my actual unit. For the previous month I had been in an army course for immigrants to acclimate us to the "army mentality," as they put it. I'm pretty sure it's just an excuse for special forces guys to get a month vacation of kicking the crap out of people who speak funny Hebrew. Honestly though, it was a great course, and the physical training has already helped me in my new unit.

So, where am I in the Israeli Army? Where did they place me? Did I get accepted into the unit of my choice?

חטיבת גולני

That's right. I, somehow, got my first choice and got into the Golani Brigade. According to a more than year old article from an Israeli newspaper, Golani is the number one most requested combat unit among new draftees to the Israeli army. In the March of 2007 numbers, 2.7 inductees competed for each available spot in the brigade. I would venture to say based on the buzz around town that those figures have only gone up. It seems that just about everyone who wants to do combat wants to do Golani.

And I got in. Why? Because of my status as an immigrant, in part, but mainly because I volunteered to serve for a longer time. Because of my advanced age (I am a true grandpa for the army) I only had to serve 6 months, but I requested a 1.5 year service. In the interview with the officer who decides your unit he originally tried to place me in a less than desirable brigade, but then I reminded him that I volunteered for more time and could be doing other things.

"If you volunteered for more time, then you'll get Golani," he said with authority and no expression.

That was music to my ears. After being told to wait outside while he checks on some things, and I should give you context and tell you that this was with my entire group from Michve Alon as we waited at the processing base outside of Tel Aviv the night before being shipped to our respective units, he called me back in and looked very serious.

"It's my sorrow to tell you... that you got Golani."

Just one more word about the selection process. Though they really screen people to make sure they are put in the right units, and that the army gets the right person for the right job, it seems they haven't yet perfected the system. I have a friend from Michve Alon who is going to be one hell of a soldier, but he was rejected from Golani. This guy tried out for the paratroopers brigade, a grueling 2-day mental and physical test that I wasn't even about to attempt, and the only reason he failed was because he fell and hurt his knee. He requested Golani, of course, but was told that there were no spots left. It was full, they said.

And yet there is a guy from Michve Alon who was accepted who speaks very little Hebrew and just seems like a nutjob. Let's put it this way: the first week that he got his gun he took the expensive M16 and with two hands lifted it above his head and slammed it down on the pavement, breaking the steel barrel in half; he kicked a pipe in the bathroom repeatedly until it burst, flooding three rooms; he frequently screamed at his commanders, including threatening his female officer that he was going to "f***ing kill you"; he went to jail three times in the course of three months at Michve Alon, a preparation course for the real army; he is currently homeless, literally.

So, the bottom line is not that I am awesome and the army knew it and decided to hook me up, but rather that I got lucky.

Now that all that anxiousness is out of the way I can focus on becoming a real soldier. I know it might be something of a stretch, but getting into this unit has reminded me of getting into a top-tier college. I tried so so so hard for so long to be accepted, and then once I got in I took a step back and thought, "Oh... now I've got a lot of work to do." And again, I've got a lot of work to do.

For now let's sit back and try to imagine this being me:

More Shooting Drills

We did another day of shooting on the 11th of November. The sky had long darkened, and the moon was covered by clouds. Only Cassiopeia was visible, but it was so dim that it took nearly five minutes for a friend to realize what I was pointing towards. The night was nearly pitch black.

They want us to get used to shooting in the dark, so we did a drill where we shot at a cardboard soldier who happens to be a very dark green. No lights. No illuminated sights or red dot scope or night vision goggles. No nothin'. Just us, a gun, and an enemy.

No one was doing very well. Hell, you couldn't even really see the commander telling us what to do. We had to have sticklights (glowlights) set up so we even knew exactly where the entrance was to the shooting range so those waiting wouldn't wander in. It was the dead of night. I wasn't nervous about a thing, but I still wanted to hit the target at least once.

I got down into the laying position as instructed. I took my time. I squinted as hard as I possibly could, and I felt like I could kind of make out the top of the target. Kind of. The drill wasn't just plain shooting, though. The commander would countdown to zero, and then yell "FIRE!," but he would wait at some points, skip numbers at some points and just yell "fire" anyway, or not even count at all. And, as per the drill, the point was for everyone to shoot together. That simulates the army experience: if your commander has a reason to yell "fire," everyone should fire together.

Another twist in the drill was that the commander was walking the line of those shooting, and if he kicked your boot you had to shoot right away. Remember, everyone has to shoot together. So, he kicked my boot once and I fired automatically, but it took a second for everyone to pull the trigger. For those that haven't really gotten used to shooting a gun yet there's a lot of hesitation. You don't hear "FIRE!" and there's a gun shot? Did someone mess up? Should I actually fire? I understand that.

I figured I did pretty poorly considering I really couldn't see the target. After we finished we ran down the field to the targets and waited for the commander to make his way towards us and individually check for holes with his flashlight. He got to me and I searched with him for the holes.

Five in the face. Two in the chest. One in the stomach.

That's eight out of ten. Don't even ask me how I did it. I just kind of saw the target, shot exactly when the commander said to, and prayed to get one. I like to think that at least one that I missed was when he kicked me and I just shot, but who knows.

What really boosted my morale for the day, which honestly was the lowest that day that it has been during my entire time in the army (nearly a month), was that the commander really complimented me. It's cool to have one of these battle-tested guys be nice to you, but this particular commander is in the special forces reconnaisance unit Palsar 7. He is a total badass. Let's put it this way: I'm thinking about going to the Special Forces Tryout just so I can blog about it. I have absolutely no allusion that I could ever pass that three-day torture marathon where you literally do not sleep. Imagine hell. That's Yom Sayerot.

Hey, if it seems like I'm bragging remember that I'm also telling you that I feel like an idiot half the time because my Hebrew isn't quite good enough. I've gotta hold on to the good parts.

I'm Not The Only Immigrant Israeli Soldier

You think I'm doing some unheard of crazy thing by becoming a citizen of Israel and joining the army here? Think again!

Last week I met a guy in the same course as me who is eerily similar. Here's the breakdown:

He's 24; I'm 24.

He's from Richmond, Virginia; I'm from about 1.5 hours away, and my parents met and spent many many years in Richmond. It's kind of a second home for us.

His name is David; My name is Danny.

He went to a Virginian college; I went to a Virginian college.

He's orthodox; I'm orthodox.

He wants the same brigade as me.


That's all I've got, but I'd say that's pretty close. So, don't think I'm the only crazy one out there! There are an estimated 250,000 Americans living in Israel, so don't worry about me, I'm in good company. And considering I'm from a town of about 2,000 people, I think I meet more Americans here in Israel than I do in America!

The Army IS A Game Sometimes

(Picture is an American soldier sleeping before guard duty)



I've been talking to people about what it's like in the army for a couple years now. "Oh, you did that? What was it like? Was it hard?" "What are the boots like?" "What do they feed you?" "Do they yell at you?" "Is it weird for a Westerner?" "Do the uniforms fit well?" "What do you sleep on?" You know, the stupid little stuff.

The response I always hear, and the best advice I ever received about this thing, was that the army is a game. Yes, it is real in that you are doing serious things with real weapons and there are lives at stake, but the day to day b.s. stuff you think of when you think of an army, the yelling and the rules and the demands, all that is a game.

What am I talking about? I'll be more specific.

We have a rule for nighttime called kav mita (קו מיטה), which really just means "bed line." The bed line is the footprint of the bed frame. So, you have a bunk bed, right? The rectangular frame is off the ground, which leaves some room to put stuff underneath the bed. Everything has to be 100% under the bed, with nothing sticking out and violating the kav mita. Basically, everything has to be out of sight, with no gear or anything in the way during the night.

We violated the kav mita a couple times in my room of 10 guys, and the violation was the heel of a shoe that was sticking out an inch, literally. The commander burst into the room unexpectedly about 5 minutes after lights out. Probably half the room was asleep, and I heard three guys actually snoring already. So, what was the punishment? We had to jump out of bed and do matsav shtayim right there.

That's one of those game things. Do you think he really cares if the heel of one shoe is an inch over kav mita? Please. It's a game!

So, I'm writing this post because the other night we had our sichat M"M (שיחת מ"מ), or "platoon commander discussion." Among other things, we had to each individually stand up and tell the commander what 'warnings' we we had received throughout the week. It's kinda embarrassing if you take it seriously, but these events are the times that I just smile. Think about it...

The point of the "discussion" is for 20-year-old commanders to instill discipline in 18-year-old new recruits. I'm 24. Moreover, I received two warnings this week (with subsequent physical punishment, of course) for being 30 seconds late to formation. That's not an exaggeration. So, as you can see, I've learned to just let it slide. I try my best, I am very serious, but when I inevitably don't do everything perfectly I can only sit back and remember these are kids and this is a game.

The sichat M"M wasn't a total waste, however. It's usually good for a laugh, as some of the guys have done some really stupid things. You've got the usual talking back to a commander, being late, and bad attitude warnings. But then you have the really good stuff, the golden moments that make a really tough day much lighter. Not that I like to laugh at the suffering of others, but... ok, yes, I'm human, sometimes I laugh at others.

A really funny guy from France had his turn about 20 minutes after mine (these things take forever), so by the time he stood up with his hands behind his back and at attention I had let my mind drift off. I was pulled back when I heard how serious he sounded.

"Eh, Platoon Commander, I received a warning the other day because I ... I fell asleep during guard duty." Dead serious.

I was looking over my shoulder at him, not really thinking about anything in particular but just listening to him. When he said that he fell asleep during guard duty I lost it. I let a laugh out that was only suppressed in that my head was turned in a way that my neck was constrained so it wasn't a full-throated laugh. Otherwise, it would have been disastrous. I laughed very quickly once, my heart dropped instantly, and then I hastily tried to cover it up with fake coughs. I figured I was busted. I thought I was going to have another warning, which would mean I would have to wait an hour after everyone else leaves for the weekend before I got my chance. I figured I was done for.

I turned back around and looked at the tiled floor for a few seconds, and then I lifted just my eyes to see who was glaring at me. Six commanders sat up front in a row, so I was sure at least one was waiting to see what I had to say for myself.

"What, is this funny?," is the common question when someone laughs at the stupidity of another.

Luckily not even one commander was looking at me. I had a hard time controlling myself after that, though. You know the feeling when you're in a place where you're not supposed to laugh but someone else is laughing with you about something stupid and you get in trouble and you and the other person are trying SO SO SO hard not to laugh but then you look at each other or think about it or smile and then you uncontrollably laugh together and feed off each other's laughter and you're so totally unable to stop? Well, that was what I feared. That was how I felt. If one other person would have made eye contact with me and smiled or if I heard someone laugh even a little, well... I'd have been a goner.

I really lucked out. After the feeling passed I realized just how exhausted I am. It was funny, and yes it was a "you had to have been there" moment, but it wasn't that funny.

So, if there are any guys out there looking to join the Israeli army and want good advice, just remember this: It's all a game in order to instill discipline! Sometimes you have to laugh, just don't do it when it'll get you in trouble.