Congregation Ohav Sholom

The Israel Experience - Basic Training In the Israeli Defense Forces

The Israel Experience - Basic Training in the Israeli Defense Forces

by Michael Rosenbloom (spidermr@aol.com)

Basic training in the Israeli Army in many respects is similar to basic training in other armies. The rules are the same: keep a low profile and don't ever volunteer. However, for an immigrant in Israel, in his mid-thirties, basic training is unique. The Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) is the ultimate melting pot for the country. No different for thirty year old immigrants who are called to serve together. I spent 24 hours a day, seven days a week for three months with Jewish immigrants, my age, from Iran, Argentina, Romania, Spain, Russia, England, Uruguay, France, The United States, Chile, South Africa and Brazil.

It's no secret that one of the main aims of basic training, is to break down the individual's psyche, so that it can be molded and built up again. The goal is that the soldier will have no qualms about endangering his life for his unit, his fellow soldiers and ultimately his country. The breaking down of the individual's psyche is achieved by both mental and physical strain: sleeping only three hours a night, constant line-ups, no free time, keeping to rigid time schedules, long exhaustive marches while lugging bulky and heavy equipment, not being able to shower every night, a scarcity of hot water for washing, and much more.

How well one copes in basic training, I believe, is directly correlated to street smarts. You may imagine that the Americans of the group fared best of all nationalities. We like to think that we Americans have seen it all. Not so! In fact, those fellow Jews who came from countries of dictatorships, communist regimes or countries where the secret police was pervasive and feared, like The Soviet Union, Romania, Iran, and Argentina, had the least trouble. They were used to keeping a low profile, not standing out. Americans and other "Anglo-Saxons," as those from English speaking lands are called, had the most trouble surviving basic training. Sadly to say, it was the Americans who complained most during those long hikes, some of which were made with four of the soldiers carrying a fifth aloft on a stretcher for the duration of the march; each soldier taking his turn lifting one pole of the occupied stretcher.

It was a Sunday morning, after a second consecutive Shabbat without leave that I forgot one of the two basic rules, mentioned above. During a morning line-up, the staff sergeant asked the unit: "Who has a driver's license?" At that point, I needed a good buddy to slap me in the head. I thought maybe it was a chance to drive a vehicle and finally get off the base, since he was asking if anyone had a driver's license. Like a fool, I raised my hand, at which time the sergeant said: "OK Rosenbloom, go around the base and empty all the garbage cans." Truly, a dirty and thankless task. I reminded myself never again to volunteer or raise my hand for the duration of basic training.

Another memorable moment occurred the morning of Erev Pesach. Our sergeants and commanding officers had a certain curriculum and schedule which they had to adhere to. One week, we'd be drilling on how to advance on the enemy in an olive grove, diving, crawling with simulated shooting behind trees and large rocks. Another week, a lot of target practice. Evidently, we had to learn how to throw a hand grenade by Pesach because despite the morning of Erev Pesach being rainy, damp and miserable, our commanding officers insisted that we learn grenade throwing before being granted leave for Pesach. We used live grenades. A narrow winding concrete walkway with walls about four feet high led to a position above a huge pit into which the grenade would be tossed. Because the grenade was real, so was the danger. We were taught to pull the pin, keep our finger on the button, so the timing device wouldn't be activated and then toss the grenade far away from us into the pit, while ducking. Yosef was an American immigrant trying hard to survive the ordeal of basic training. He was built as thin and as unsteady as Ray Bolger in the Wizard of Oz. Well, Yosef was one of the last to try throwing a hand grenade. Unfortunately, after he pulled the pin, the grenade fell out of his hand. Luckily it did not fall on the walkway. Rather it fell into the pit below. Nonetheless, the sergeant came away from the incident, white as a ghost as he saw his young life flash before his eyes.

The most difficult physical trial was a twenty-mile "stretcher" march, over the hills of Shomron. It was during the end of that hike that Solomon a big, burly, bearded Spanish Jew broke down completely and wept like a baby. He simple couldn't take it anymore. He was broken. Needless to say, we all rushed to support him literally and figuratively

The last night of basic training our unit threw a party to which the staff sergeants were also invited. It was a memorable evening as Alberto, a cherubic Uruguayan, Michelle, a mischievous Frenchman and I (coming out of my shell on the last evening of basic training), took turns doing imitations of the various members of our unit, including our commanding officers and recreating in short skits the memorable moments of the previous three months. Oh what laughter!

Basic training is something every person should go through once (but only once) during a lifetime. You despise it while you're going through it. But after it's over, you are glad you experienced it. Experiencing basic training in Israel in my thirties, with a unit of immigrants in similar circumstances, taking three months away from our families, jobs and our lives, was a unique and unforgettable experience, one which actually taught me valuable lessons about surviving in the real world. And, till the end of my days, it will always be one of the things I'm most proud of, completing basic training and serving in the Israel Defense Forces.

August 2000.

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