A Week That Broke Me

A common question I get, as a soldier in the IDF, is "what is a typical day as a soldier like?" The problem with this question is that implies each day is similar, but that isn't the truth. In reality, my service is split up on a week by week basis, where each week is dedicated to something different, and therefore the days within that week are similar, but might be completely different than the days of the previous or following week.

For example, my seven months of training were split up into different types of weeks. There were those in the fields, those in the shooting range, those doing work around base like guard duty or kitchen duty, and preparation type weeks where we did random things and prepared for something the following week. In each of these types of weeks, the days were different, some harder and more challenging than the next.

This past week we had "War Week," the second of my service so far, and probably not the last. These weeks, as one can assume by the name, are weeks in order to prepare soldiers for the event of a war, making sure we are ready for any situation.

Back in November I had my first "War Week" at the very end of training right before I got my red beret. This week was 9 days in total, 9 days of living out in the fields, but it doesn't even compare to what I just experienced.

The week we just had was three days in total, and I know what you're probably thinking. "Come on, if you can spend nine days in the fields undoubtedly you can overcome a small three days." That's what I thought, and wow was I wrong.

In the span of 72 hours we walked about 130 kilometers, over three marathons worth, with maybe 5/6 hours of sleep, carried 50-60% body weight (amounting to 80-90 pounds), ate field rations of food, and braced the freezing cold at night of the north during the winter. In short, this was a week that broke me.

This was a week that despite the days, we probably walked more than the nine days of my last war week. What made this week so difficult was that despite a short 7 hour break Tuesday night where we got to eat, organize equipment and sleep in the cold, the rest of the time we were moving.

We would walk to our first drill, perform the drill, finish, and then walk to the next drill. We would do this on repeat until the break, about 32 hours into the week. At hour 39/40, we picked up our equipment again and resumed the process. We finished our last drill at hour 64, and right when I thought we might be done, with my body aching all over, we walked a final 20 kilometers in what might have been the nightmare of a lifetime. Just when you think the week is coming to an end, a final 20 kilometers stands in front of you with the last 4 being an ascent up a hill called מוחרקה in Carmel Park. To make matters worse, these last four kilometers we had stretchers open with people on it, so we were carrying other people up this mountain through the last stage of this week.

To make matters more challenging this week, my specialization was the stretcher, which meant that when the stretcher wasn't opened, it was folded up and in my bag, adding an extra 16-18 pounds in an already heavy bag. However, that's not the hard part. Whenever we do a drill, everyone takes off their big bags and fights with vests only. This allows soldiers to be more mobile when they fight, and not focus on carrying their huge and heavy bag. However, the one people who don't get this luxury are those carrying the stretchers. Instead, we are closer to the back, but carrying our heavy bags not only on the walks between drills, but also during the drills themselves. We need to do this because if someone gets "injured" during a drill, we need to take it out and carry the injured away. This ultimately means that when everyone gets a break from their big bags, I had to carry it. Therefore I had very little breaks from my bag, and this caused my shoulders and back to hurt tenfold.

Despite the challenges and nightmares of the week, the feeling of finishing was nothing short of rejoice. When we reached the end I still didn't believe it. I thought there would be more, I thought that they'd tell us to get back up on our legs and continue walking, as they did so many times that week. The cold, aching, and tiredness were feelings I've never had in my life, and these 72 hours became nothing short of the hardest 72 hours of my life.

One thing that pushed us all through the week was that we were supposed to go home Thursday soon after finishing the week, but soon that changed. An hour before we we were supposed to leave, we got word that the army was keeping us until Friday morning at the very least due to the situation in Jenin that morning, and that there would be a chance we'd be on base for Shabbat as well, news that nobody wanted to hear. We went to bed Thursday night, woke up the next morning, and still there was no word if we were leaving or not. We heard there was an assessment of the situation, and at 8:30 that morning we get a text saying ״יוצאים הביתה״ "going home," and the crowd erupted. Everyone in the platoon went crazy and celebrated the news, finishing a week like that at home in our beds, and not in the army, could have been everyone's greatest wish.

*Everyone going crazy when we find out we're heading home for Shabbat

These are the types of weeks in the army that break us, and weeks we will remember forever due to the sheer difficulty. I was broken, my friends were broken, and even the commanders and officers were clearly broken; but we finished. What was a nightmare will now forever be a memory.