I got promoted recently. Rasap of my unit. Logistics Officer. The title sounds administrative until you realize what the job actually involves.
My phone hasn't stopped buzzing since the appointment went through.
I'm on group chats with the officers and commanders all day now. The conversations move fast and cover everything. Who just finished their four months of advanced training. Who is rotating out of service. Who needs a temporary transfer approved. Who we're recruiting to fill the gaps. The unit has to stay connected even when the guys aren't physically together, because when the call comes, there's no time to figure out who's where and what shape they're in.
Tonight we're hosting a celebration. The soldiers who completed advanced training deserve recognition. Our base commander is being promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, and that matters to the guys who serve under him. These are the moments that hold a unit together between deployments. The shared meals, the ceremonies, the acknowledgment that what these men did over the past four months was hard and they showed up anyway.
So one phone call this afternoon was about ordering food for the event. Catering. How many guys are coming. What time does it start.
The next phone call was about ceramic plates and ballistic vests.
That's the job. That's the reality of being a reservist logistics officer right now. You toggle between party planning and war preparation in the span of sixty seconds. You confirm the shalach manot order for Purim because the soldiers deserve something for the holiday. Then you get back on the chat about night vision equipment for the guys pulling guard duty on the base perimeter.
The Iran situation sits in the background of every conversation. Nobody has to say it out loud. The officers talk about training schedules and equipment readiness, and everyone understands why. We discuss who is available for the next rotation, and the subtext is clear. We review what gear the unit has and what it still needs, and the urgency has a specific origin that doesn't require explanation.
One thread in the group chat is about the event tonight. The next thread is about whether we have enough protective equipment if the phone rings at 3 a.m. and we have six hours to report.
The dichotomy is strange. Ordering hamentashen and body armor in the same afternoon. Coordinating a promotion ceremony while quietly making sure the guys have what they need to survive a deployment that might come in a week or might not come at all.
But the strangeness of it is also the point.
Benjamin Franklin is credited with saying, "By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail." The origin of the quote is debated. The truth of it is not.
A unit that only celebrates and never prepares is a unit that gets caught flat-footed. A unit that only prepares and never celebrates burns out before the call ever comes. The Rasap's job is to hold both of those realities at the same time. Keep morale high. Keep the equipment stocked. Make sure the guys feel like a family when they're together so they fight like one when they have to.
Tonight I'll stand in a room full of soldiers who just proved they can handle four months of advanced training. I'll watch a commander get the rank he earned. I'll eat whatever we ordered and make sure the logistics came together.
Tomorrow morning I'll be back on the phone, checking inventory on ceramic plates and following up on the night vision delivery. I'll review the roster and confirm who's current on their training certifications. I'll answer messages from commanders about readiness levels.
What we can control is whether we're ready.
So we prepare. We celebrate the wins and we stock the vests. We order Purim gifts and we order night vision. We hold the ceremony tonight and we check the gear list in the morning.
Failing to prepare is preparing to fail. And in this unit, failure has consequences that go beyond a missed deadline or a lost client.
The guys are counting on each other. The families are counting on us. And the Rasap's job is to make sure that when the call comes, the only thing left to do is show up.
If you want to help ensure our soldiers have the equipment they need to be ready, visit Smiles for Chayalim or donate directly at givebutter.com/smiles-for-chayalim.