"It's been a few weeks, but I have some time now and I wanted to write about a miracle that happened to me during those first few days of hell.
My unit was called in on Shabbat (Saturday) morning. No official emergency call, no paperwork sent, no official order, nothing. Our brigade commander saw that the South needed a battalion to respond ASAP, and he told us to come in. I quickly got my gear together, said goodbye to my wife, and ran to the car.
Some hours later we boarded humvees and headed straight to the Israeli border community of Kfar Aza.
Our weapons had been handed to us on the spot. We had never shot them, didn't have time to clean them, we had no idea if they worked and the sights definitely weren't zeroed in.
The weapons in the reserve units are notorious for being unreliable and usually don't even shoot properly before a good clean, or in some cases, a visit to the armory.
That's how we went in to combat.
We walked into the village and were engaged by terrorists within the first few minutes. Minutes later, we encountered one hiding in a bush with an AK-47, waiting to ambush us.
My rifle worked perfectly, firing every shot, cycling every round, hitting what I was aiming at. Not a single jam.
I thanked God for giving me a rifle that worked right without delay. After three days of fighting, I had learned to rely on my rifle completely.
On Tuesday night we finished clearing Kfar Aza, were switched out by another battalion, and were sent up to a base so we could rest, shower, and finally clean and check our weapons.
We went to the range. Immediately, my gun jammed. Another round, another jam. And another. They were getting worse. I had to take out the pliers on my utility knife to clear them.
We ended up having to take the gun to the armory so all the internal parts could be replaced. The gun basically needed a total rebuild from the inside. The gun just didn't work.
It was a broken rifle, and it was broken from the moment it was handed to me on Shabbat morning. But for me, in those few days in Kfar Aza, it had worked to perfection. So we could do what we needed to do.
I heard similar stories from many other soldiers in our battalion. I look forward to the day where I can stand in my synagogue on Shabbat and express my immense gratitude for this miracle and the countless others that God performed for us."
My unit was called in on Shabbat (Saturday) morning. No official emergency call, no paperwork sent, no official order, nothing. Our brigade commander saw that the South needed a battalion to respond ASAP, and he told us to come in. I quickly got my gear together, said goodbye to my wife, and ran to the car.
Some hours later we boarded humvees and headed straight to the Israeli border community of Kfar Aza.
Our weapons had been handed to us on the spot. We had never shot them, didn't have time to clean them, we had no idea if they worked and the sights definitely weren't zeroed in.
The weapons in the reserve units are notorious for being unreliable and usually don't even shoot properly before a good clean, or in some cases, a visit to the armory.
That's how we went in to combat.
We walked into the village and were engaged by terrorists within the first few minutes. Minutes later, we encountered one hiding in a bush with an AK-47, waiting to ambush us.
My rifle worked perfectly, firing every shot, cycling every round, hitting what I was aiming at. Not a single jam.
I thanked God for giving me a rifle that worked right without delay. After three days of fighting, I had learned to rely on my rifle completely.
On Tuesday night we finished clearing Kfar Aza, were switched out by another battalion, and were sent up to a base so we could rest, shower, and finally clean and check our weapons.
We went to the range. Immediately, my gun jammed. Another round, another jam. And another. They were getting worse. I had to take out the pliers on my utility knife to clear them.
We ended up having to take the gun to the armory so all the internal parts could be replaced. The gun basically needed a total rebuild from the inside. The gun just didn't work.
It was a broken rifle, and it was broken from the moment it was handed to me on Shabbat morning. But for me, in those few days in Kfar Aza, it had worked to perfection. So we could do what we needed to do.
I heard similar stories from many other soldiers in our battalion. I look forward to the day where I can stand in my synagogue on Shabbat and express my immense gratitude for this miracle and the countless others that God performed for us."
