What applied to the armored corps was even more true of the other pillar of modern warfare, the air force. As we saw, the 1956 conflict had not been a proper test either of the IAF or of its Egyptian opponent. The former was made to operate against its professed doctrine; apart from the Israelis, the latter was engaged by the air forces of not one but two “great powers” of the time. In 1957, Ezer Weizman took over as air force commander. Young—he was born in 1924—brash, and charismatic, he too made a decisive contribution to morale by means of his reckless enthusiasm and leadership. In spite of his colorful language and occasional antics, however, Weizman was a thorough professional who had gone through every step, from fighter pilot to staff officer to base commander. He knew what he was doing and how to get his way, particularly in the face of a government inclined to be stingy.
With him at the helm, the last remaining piston-engine combat aircraft were withdrawn from service (later joined by the old British Meteors). The remainder of the Mystères purchased from France reached Israel, making the full contingent of seventy-two available. Later additional French aircraft were acquired, including Super Mystère and Mirage fighters as well as Vautour light bombers. Roughly equivalent to the American F-100 Super Saber and F-104 Star Fighter respectively, the former two were first-line combat aircraft even though their engines, following a well-established French tradition, tended to be weak and fuel-thirsty. They were thus less able to carry air-to-ground ordnance than, perhaps, they should have been; yet they were aerodynamically very well designed. Unlike the fighters, the twin-engine Vautour could exceed the speed of sound only while diving but could carry much more ordnance and had the range to reach the most distant Egyptian airfields—the precise reason it was purchased. The IAF also retained its Ouragans, smaller and lighter aircraft that, thanks to their straight wings (the others were swept-wing or delta-wing craft), possessed excellent maneuverability and provided very stable platforms for ordnance in the form of cannons and rockets. They in turn were supplemented by Fouga Magisters, the French training jets that were built in Israel under license and that, put into the ingenious hands of IAF technicians, were equipped with machine guns and rockets for air-to-ground work.
Having attended staff college in England, Ezer Weizman, according to his own subsequent account, came back convinced that the IAF had nothing to learn and should concentrate on doing things its own way.29 In fact it molded itself into a tactical force (the order of battle comprised nothing heavier than twin-engine light bombers) and planned an offensive campaign centered on first strikes against enemy airfields. To make sure that the enemy air force stayed on the ground, a special runway-busting bomb was developed by the IAF’s technical office and manufactured by the French company Breguet. Known as Durendal after Roland’s sword, a parachute slowed it down, and a rocket engine drove it deep into runways.30
Planning for air-to-ground strikes, Weizman refused to equip his Mirages with first-generation air-to-air missiles then becoming available. Instead he insisted that they come equipped with older but trusted 30mm cannons more suitable for ground attack; to provide room, some of the more sophisticated electronic gear was removed (unnecessary in a geographical area where the weather is generally good and conditions clear). At the time, it should be noted, other air forces tended to neglect air-to-air combat training, considering it outdated. Not so the IAF, which was compelled to engage in this kind of training by its choice of equipment—a most important advantage, as it turned out.
As the plan for attacking Egyptian airfields was put together and perfected, 31 constant practice familiarized the pilots with their tasks. It also resulted in an extraordinarily rapid turnaround rate, which was essential if the offensive was to be sustained. Instead of one to two missions per day per aircraft the IAF, thanks partly to the excellence of its ground crews and partly to the short distances involved, was able to fly six to eight missions and sustain that pace for a number of days. 32 By 1967 enough planes were available, and the teething troubles that affected the Mirages had been overcome. The air force knew what it had to do and was ready to the last detail. This readiness meshed perversely with the manifest unreadiness on the Arab side. When the day came the Egyptian radar proved defective; they did not even have teams of engineers standing by to repair their damaged runways. As the German chief of staff, Alfred von Schlieffen, had once put it, for a great victory to be won it is necessary for two sides to cooperate, “each in its own way.”
Compared to the very great progress made by the air force and armored corps, the navy remained backwards. Just before 1956 a couple of old British destroyers had been purchased. Later they were supplemented by three German-built submarines as well as several smaller craft supplied by the same country. During the mid-sixties the inadequacy of the surface fleet came to be recognized, and plans were devised to revolutionize the navy by equipping it with French-built missile boats and new, Israelideveloped and -built Gavriel ship-to-ship missiles.33 But bitter infighting developed between the ministry of defense, which pushed the missiles as hard as it could, and the IDF high command, which did not trust Israel’s native military industries and operated under the motto af mil la-til (not a penny for the missiles).34 Partly as a result, neither missiles nor boats were ready for the 1967 war, so the navy played only a minor role. Yet the upshot of the war was to increase the importance of the navy by lengthening greatly the coastline that had to be patrolled and defended. In October 1967 their negligence was to cost the Israelis dear, as one of their antiquated destroyers was sunk by Egyptian missile boats operating from Port Said—without being able to return fire, no less.
Though the borders with Jordan and Egypt calmed down considerably after the 1956 campaign, the atmosphere surrounding the IDF and Israel as a whole remained nervous. Typical was an incident on April 1, 1959, when the IDF proceeded to carry out a public mobilization exercise.35 Inexplicably, no prior announcement was made in the newspapers; instead advance notice was served at 8:05 P.M. in the form of a radio broadcast that alerted people of an “important message” to follow. When the message came it interrupted a concert; all the state’s dignitaries were attending a musical performance in Tel Aviv in honor of the queen of Belgium. The broadcast started in no fewer than nine languages—Hebrew, Arabic, English, French, Yiddish, Polish, Hungarian, Romanian, and Spanish—thus giving the impression that something dramatic was about to happen. Later, when the panic subsided it became clear that all the IDF had done was to call up three small reserve units. Since one of these happened to be codenamed “water ducks,” the expression “the night of the ducks” entered the Hebrew language as synonymous with much ado about nothing.
Then in February 1960 the Egyptian army, which since 1957 had been confined to its bases west of the Suez Canal, slipped one armored and one infantry division into the Sinai without Israeli intelligence noticing what was afoot. When the move was finally discovered, two Israeli brigades were rushed to the border and two more called up; made wise by their previous experience, however, this time the Israelis mobilized in secret as much as possible for such a small country. Perhaps the Egyptian intention had been to put pressure on Israel at a time when the latter was engaging the Syrians in a renewed series of border incidents around the Sea of Galilee (since 1958 the two Arab countries had been formally joined together in the so-called United Arab Republic, with Nasser acting as president of both). In any case on February 29, a mere five days after they had arrived, the Egyptians inexplicably turned tail and left.
Once again, in any other country the two episodes would have given rise to a major scandal. Not so in Israel, where the media cooperated in putting a damper on what had taken place and where the IDF was widely perceived as incapable of doing wrong. Did it not incorporate all that was best in society and state? After the first incident two of those responsible, the chief of the General Staff Division, Meir Zorea, and the chief of intelligence, Yehoshaphat Harkavi, were fired without public fuss. Laskov, a betterknown figure, could not b
e treated in the same way, however, and when the time came Ben Gurion contented himself with refusing to extend Laskov’s appointment for another year. Thus ended the military career of the most professional and most civilized chief of staff the IDF had ever possessed, albeit one who (perhaps for that very reason) never quite struck the chord in the public mind that his extroverted predecessor had.
Major General Tsvi Tsur, who took over in January 1961, made so little of an impression that his name is not even mentioned in two earlier accounts of the IDF’s history, and a third merely says that he later became deputy minister of defense under Dayan.36 These were the years when German scientists were active in Egypt, helping Nasser to develop two different surface-to-surface missiles, a small, delta jet fighter and a previously unheard-of contraption known as a cobalt bomb. In the event these efforts led to nothing more dangerous than a number of wooden mock-ups that were displayed on parade.37 A few of the scientists involved in the program received parcel bombs, compliments of Mossad.38 Others apparently went home under pressure from their own government. Shimon Peres, then serving as Israel’s deputy minister of defense, was informed about the failure at an early date and believed that the Egyptian efforts represented a sheer waste of money.39 Instead of disclosing his cards, however, he used the occasion to press the West German government into delivering additional arms40—then and later a typical Israeli gambit.
While the Egyptian program failed, Israel’s own development efforts went ahead. To Ben Gurion the immense disparity between Israel and its Arab neighbors had always been obvious.41 Trusting to “Jewish genius”—after all, Albert Einstein was only the most famous of many leading twentieth-century physicists who were Jews—he sought solutions in the nuclear field. Immediately after the war in 1949 ended, prospecting for uranium started in the Negev. Later, Israeli scientists apparently developed indigenous processes for producing heavy water and enriching uranium; armed with these advances, as well as some outstanding work on computers, they were able to tempt the French government to cooperate.42 From at least 1956 on, the latter engaged in negotiations about the supply of nuclear technology, and indeed Peres later claimed to have extracted a promise for such technology as part of the deal that led to the Suez campaign.43
In 1957-1958 there seems to have been some debate inside Israel’s defense establishment as to whether a nuclear program was needed. The principal arguments in contra were as follows: First, developing nuclear capability would cause the Arabs to follow suit, thus possibly increasing the danger to Israel’s security (the Arabs were regarded as irrational players) rather than reducing it. Second, the nuclear stalemate that would eventually emerge would rob Israel of its greatest single advantage, namely, the quality of its troops, which in turn rested on the socialist organization of the state and was responsible for its superiority in conventional warfare.44 In the end, however, Ben Gurion and Peres prevailed. A horde of French technicians arrived, settled in Beer Sheva, and, relying on local labor, began work. In late 1960 the construction of Israel’s nuclear reactor became public knowledge when the U.S. government used the New York Times to release pictures taken by high-flying U-2 spy planes.45 Not disclosed until much later was the simultaneous construction of a plutonium separation facility concealed forty meters below the floor of a separate building.46
At the end of 1961, Egypt and Syria went their separate ways, though the former continued to call itself the United Arab Republic. Two years later the Egyptian armed forces became bogged down in Yemen, further relieving the immediate threat to Israel. Whether accidentally or not, during the same year the long reign of Ben Gurion came to an end. For years he had been regarded by many as “the one and only” expert on defense (and everything else); in a dispute with his ruling MAPAI Party he resigned, remaining as a member of the Knesset. In June 1965 he founded his own party, known as RAFI (Reshimat Poalei Yisrael, or “Israeli Workers’ List”). He took both Dayan—who was serving as minister of agriculture—and Peres, whose career as deputy minister of defense was thus brought to an abrupt end. Peres’s place was taken by a competent but longforgotten bureaucrat, Tsevi Dinstein; Levy Eshkol replaced Ben Gurion as prime minister and minister of defense.
Russian-born like the rest, Eshkol had immigrated to Palestine in 1914 and was an old Hagana veteran. However, his specialty had always been organization and finance; his operational experience was limited to one episode in 1948, when he had commanded a convoy that made its way from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. Yet he was ready to learn. He systematically toured units and bases, immersed himself in the kind of detail that was beneath the dignity of his more visionary predecessor, and delighted in playing devil’s advocate by asking questions that went against the conventional wisdom presented by the IDF’s intelligence division.47 He also took a personal interest in the appointment of each aluf on the General Staff—a good way to keep people on a tight leash.
Eshkol’s years as minister of defense lasted from 1963 to 1967 and were perhaps the best that the IDF, and the state of Israel, ever had. Always tending to be vindictive, Ben Gurion had never forgotten the long period of prestate conflicts when, not being in charge of a government organization, he had been unable to impose his authority and deal with “the dissenters” (ETSEL and LECHI) as he wanted. Perhaps in reaction, he had developed a fierce, high-handed style of leadership; he would fire people without so much as telling them of his decision, leaving them dangling in a vacuum and often making for acerbity and tension. Not so Eshkol, who was blessed with a refreshing sense of humor and whose methods were much more relaxed. He eased restrictions on the freedom of the press and depoliticized the security services; in 1966 he even felt sufficiently confident to cancel the system of military government under which Israel’s Arab minority had been living in a sort of permanent curfew. But the 1967 war had not yet broken out, and so the terrible political dilemmas arising out of conquest—whether to regard the Occupied Territories as sacred, and thus to be retained at any price, or simply as bargaining chips—were still in the future. Precisely because the consensus was largely unspoken, more than ever (before or after) there existed consensus among the Israeli public concerning the objectives of the state and its military instrument, namely, to ensure survival at all costs.
Dictated by geopolitical circumstances, the IDF’s basic doctrine, which staked everything on a short, rapid offensive, remained very much as it had been. What changed was the thoroughness and professionalism the high command undertook in its day-to-day work of planning, training, and preparation. Much had already been achieved under Laskov and Tsur, the former quiet and methodical and the latter more technically minded. Still, the real harbinger of change was Yitschak Rabin, whose term as chief of staff opened on January 1, 1964. Born in 1922, Rabin was the neglected son of “Red Rose,” one of those Socialist Party activists who preferred dabbling in politics to looking after her family. Having joined PALMACH in 1941, during the first months of 1948 he commanded a brigade. Later, as Allon’s chief of staff, he took a critical part in the operations that eventually led to the defeat of the Egyptian army. During the immediate postwar years he held various training posts; if Peres may be believed, Dayan prior to the Sinai campaign had appointed Rabin CIC Northern Command, “so he won’t get in our way.”48 Later he served as chief of the General Staff Division under both Laskov and Tsur. By 1963 he had become the IDF’s most experienced soldier (some would say even more so than the chief of staff himself).
Like Laskov, Rabin was uncharismatic—almost to the point of autism, his enemies said—clearheaded, and methodical. Unlike Laskov, who with his Oxford education and pipe tried to act the British gentleman, Rabin affected neither high culture nor foreign mannerisms but was native through and through with the kind of dugri (unsophisticated bluntness) many Israelis admire. Later in life his experience with politics was to turn him into a hard man who could be remarkably callous to the suffering of others. (Acting as minister of defense and “Mr. Security,” he combated the Palestinian U
prising in 1987- 1990 by ordering troops “to break the arms and legs” of unarmed demonstrators.) But during his tenure as chief of staff he did not yet have that quality and if anything was inclined to be bashful. By all accounts he worked well with Eshkol, who saw him as a sort of military oracle.49 Rabin’s main mission was to take the IDF, which at that time still consisted of independent brigades (a proposal for establishing permanent ugdas had been considered in 1959 but was rejected) as well as the various arms and services, and mold it into a single, cohesive fighting force.
In any large human organization, the two conditions essential for the proper functioning of the command system are clarity concerning overall objectives on the one hand and good mutual understanding—much of it not explicit but tacit—on the other. At the time, the former was provided to the IDF by en brera; to quote Dr. Samuel Johnson, the prospect of the hangman’s noose makes for wonderful concentration of the mind. The latter was the natural product of a small, cohesive army in which everybody knew everybody else and whose members commonly addressed each other by first names if not nicknames. But that army was not yet too sophisticated, from a technological point of view, many of its weapons (particularly those of the ground forces and the navy) coming straight out of World War II. As a result, its members did not engage in excessive specialization or “churning” and were thus granted the time in which to get to know and trust each other.50
The organization itself was now functioning regularly enough. During 1947-1949 probably none of its members had gone through anything more advanced than a company commanders course, and since the PALMACH platoon commanders course did not produce enough personnel, many veteran squad commanders had to be commissioned in the field.51 Now it possessed an extensive training system, the outline of which was created during Rabin’s tenure as head of training during 1954-1956. It ran up all the way from basic training (differentiated by arm and service and lasting from five weeks to six months) through the squad commanders course (“the rock-bottom on which everything rests,” according to Rabin in a lecture just before the 1973 war) and various professional courses earmarked for every kind of personnel from pioneers to corpsmen. Those who did well and passed the necessary exams—there was still no military academy—were taken into officers school and the various arms schools by which it was followed. All courses were run somewhat spartanly: An IDF battalion commander might inhabit quarters and eat in dining rooms, which in the armed forces of developed countries were not even considered fit for enlisted men. Yet the courses were often staffed by the IDF’s best and most charismatic officers on their way to the top. As important, given the pride that the public took in its army, they were able to take in the best Israeli youth.
The Sword And The Olive Page 23