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May 17, 2013

The three-day march

Author recalls her time serving in the IDF.
DANIELLA GIVON

We checked our shoes one more time. Yes, they were shiny. Not a speck of dust. The shirt collars of our uniforms were stiff and well ironed. My cap visor was at the exact angle, the same as those of the other 44 women soldiers of the unit. The pouch containing a shoe brush and a water canteen were buckled, each on the opposite hip, a little to the back.

“Time to get into formation!” cried one of the instructors. All of us scrambled to our feet, groaning and moaning. It was the third and final day of the three-day walk to Jerusalem. The unit was competing for best platoon against other female army units.

The judges’ post was half a kilometre away. We checked each other one last time to make sure that the water canteens’ caps were turned to the same direction, the uniforms were clean of grass blades, and every hair was in place. We had to look like peas in a pod. What were the judges looking for? Uniformity? Spirit? Formation?

The order to march was given: left … left … left-right-left…. Then the officer began singing and, after four notes, all the girls joined. The unit had practised singing in harmony, and now sang as we approached the judges’ post. Left-right-left-right, on we marched. The group moved in three columns arranged by height from the tallest to the shortest and back to the tallest. The fisted hands rose only to the height of the waist of the girl ahead and to the back. The eyes were fixed to the neck in front.

Hearts pounding, a big smile on every face, singing in harmony, we approached the judges. We forgot the blisters on our toes, the sun burns on our swollen lips, the hoarse vocal cords. The song carried us as we marched in unison, at once all heads turned to the right at a 90-degree angle, with the commanders saluting the judges smartly. Left … left … left-right-left!

Those who could not march in unison – there are always those who are less well coordinated – stayed behind to clean up after the meal, to straighten the campsite ready for inspection and prepare the next snack. We did not to think about them much. Too bad they had to stay behind, but somebody had to – and I was glad it was not me – although, at some point, it was touch and go. The threat of staying in the camp hovered just above my head, pushing me forward when I felt I could not keep up.

There was one more judges’ post before we entered Jerusalem. We broke for lunch even though it meant feeling the pains and aches again, which usually disappeared during the march, with so many more important things to which we would pay attention. I barely made it to the bathroom, with the blisters making each step a test to my willpower. But then the break was over, and the marching and singing began anew.

In the city, people lined both sides of the road and cheered the marchers. One after the other, the army units alongside groups of civilians strode toward the finish line. I could hear the army orchestra playing military marches to help the thousands of participants with the last metres.

As the unit passed the finish line, the results of the competition were in. “We won!” I heard. “We won!” I repeated hoarsely. “It was totally worth it.”

Daniella Givon grew up in Israel and has been living in Vancouver since 1979. Currently, she enjoys translating Hebrew/English writing and telling short stories, delving into family history and volunteering in the community.

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