by Uzi Eilam
The Secret of Israel’s Power
Uzi Eilam
Copyright © 2018 Uzi Eilam
All rights reserved; No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the author.
Contact: [email protected]
Contents
Acronyms of Israeli Organizations and Titles
Preface
Childhood
From Gadna to Academia
At the Forefront with the Paratroops
A Civilian Break
The 71st Battalion and The Six Day War
Weapons Development — The Technological Edge
The Jordan Valley
From the Weapons Development Department to the R&D Unit
The Research and Development Unit During the Yom Kippur War
War Lessons and the Treasure Hunt
The Israel Atomic Energy Commission (IAEC)
The Administration for the Development of Weapons and Technological Infrastructure — MAFAT
On Sabbatical at the French Foundation for Strategic Research (FRS)
The Defense Ministry Delegation to Europe — Paris
The Israel Security Prize
Epilogue
How Can a Small Country Pursue Large Technology?
Acronyms of Israeli Organizations and Titles
Palmach
Hebrew acronym for Plugot Machatz (impact companies), the elite force of the pre-state Haganah fighting force.
Gadna
Hebrew acronym for Gdudei No’ar Ivri (Hebrew youth battalions), a pre-army training framework for high school teenagers.
IDF
Israel Defense Forces.
CGS
Chief of the General Staff, the commanding officer of the IDF with a rank of Lieutenant General.
OC
Officer in Command.
Sayeret Matkal
Transliteration of the elite special force unit under direct command of the General Staff.
IMI
Israel Military Industries, an Israeli weapons systems company.
R&D
Research and Development, also the name of the combined IDF/Defense Ministry Unit that preceded MAFAT. IAI Israel Aerospace Industries.
RAFAEL
Hebrew acronym for Authority for the Development of Armaments, a government agency that became a government owned weapons systems company.
MAFAT
Hebrew acronym for the Administration for the Development of Weapons and Technological Infrastructure.
IAEC
The Israel Atomic Energy Commission.
Preface
Celebrating my 70th anniversary brought together hundreds of friends that were with me along the way I served my country. Childhood in the Kibbutz, paratroopers in the 50’s, Six Days War in Jerusalem, R&D for the IDF in the 70’s, the Israeli Atomic Energy Commission, Defense R&D and international cooperation in developing technologies. These formed a kaleidoscopic picture that persuaded me to write.
Not being sure of my memory I turned to the IDF archive where all my notes, diaries, lectures and timetables book-notes were kept. This treasure, thanks to the outstanding help of the Archive team, was a key to success and I thank the IDF Archive team for that.
For 18 months I could not stop writing and as it went on I acquired insight and the whole Defense Technology scene was revealed.
Many former colleagues and friends were at my side to help and I remember all of them with deep gratitude.
Battalion 890 fighters from the era of the military activities in the 50th, my soldiers from battalion 71 who fought in Jerusalem in 1967, fellow R&D people of the whole Defense community in the I.D.F, in M.O.D and in the Industries...m indebted to all of you!
The way the book attracted so many Israeli readers encouraged me to think of translating it to English. I thank Jeremy Forman, who did an excellent diligent work of translation. Michael (Mike) Eilan took upon himself to edit the book and did an invaluable job.
Sussex Academic Press with Anita and Anthony Graham were a good support from the outset and I feel privileged that the book has been published by Sussex.
My dear family, Naomi my wife and my children Osnat, Nimrod and Noah deserve a big thank you. My family was with me all along the tough and demanding duties that I had in my career but also along the process of writing this book, patiently encouraging and supporting. Thank you my family!
1
Childhood
My earliest childhood memory is of my maternal grandfather, Shlomo Kovelman, when he came to visit Kibbutz Tel Yosef where I was born and raised. As a two-year-old sitting on his lap, I can still recall his long white beard tickling my face. His eyes were bright and his hands were soft and gentle — the hands of a scholar. Grandpa spoke only Russian and Yiddish, and I can still recall the musical sound of his tenor voice. Before they immigrated, Shlomo Kovelman spent most of his time in the court of his rabbi in the town of Skvira, south of the Ukranian city of Kiev. It was Grandma Miriam who ran the household and the family flour and grain business.
The anti-Jewish pogroms in the Ukraine began after World War I. One evening, Grandpa Shlomo returned home from the rabbi’s court injured and bleeding. His clothes were torn and half his beard had been shaved off. Grandma Miriam...mall, strong, and practical woman — understood exactly what had happened and decided they should leave at once. So began their exodus from the Ukraine that very night. My mother Shifra and her sister Chava immigrated to Palestine to join the pioneers of the modern wave of Jewish-Zionist immigration to Palestine known as the ‘Third Aliyah’.
My grandfather on my father’s side was named Yehoshua Trachtenberg, but I never knew him. All that remains of Grandpa Yehoshua in the family photo album is a single picture of a lifeless, badly beaten body. From the bits and pieces of information provided by my father, I understood that his town of Kalinovka had also suffered a Ukrainian anti-Jewish pogrom during which my grandfather was killed.
Yehoshua Trachtenberg was a blacksmith, an unusual occupation for a Jew in those days. My father was also a blacksmith, and as a boy I spent many magical hours with him in his smithy shop on the kibbutz, surrounded by the smell of smoking coal and white hot iron, captivated by the art of producing metal fixtures and accessories and the fascinating work of making horseshoes and placing them with nails that were also forged by hand especially for that purpose. My father’s hands were rough, black, and strong. In my eyes, he was the strongest man in the world.
My father Baruch left home in 1916 at the age of 16, to join the Red Army. However, he quickly became involved in the Zionist movement, which was then operating underground. He was subsequently arrested and, after a quick trial, sent to Siberia. One day in 1924 he was informed that they were being exiled to Palestine. Immediately upon his arrival he joined the Labor Battalion (Gdud Ha’avoda), whose members were then engaged in quarrying and paving roads.
And so it came to pass that I bear not only the legacy of my learned Grandpa Shlomo and my Grandpa Yehoshua, with his hands of iron, but also a memory of the pogroms, instilled in me when I was very young. The image of Grandpa Yehoshua’s desecrated dead body remains ingrained in my memory like a mysterious and foreboding brand. For some people the words “never again” may have lost some of their intensity from overuse, but that photograph made them an integral part of my legacy. Growing up, I was imbued with the strength and moral fiber
of the legacy of the Jewish people, as well as the physical strength and wisdom of my grandfathers. I have carried this spirit with me my entire life.
My parents’ home on Kibbutz Tel Yosef was the closest house to the fence that encircled the kibbutz. To the east, just over the fence, were fields that belonged to Arab farmers. One afternoon when I went to my parents’ ‘room’, as we called our parents’ homes on the kibbutz, I found my father and our neighbor pouring cement into large metal containers and placing them on the patio facing the fence to the east of the house. Arabs had come close to the kibbutz fence during the night, and I could see bullet holes on the interior wall of the room that served as both a living room and a kitchenette. This was the beginning of the eruption of Palestinian violence that historians refer to as the Arab Revolt of 1936–1939. It was during this period that Charles Orde Wingate, the British intelligence officer who established the Special Night Squads in 1938, first encountered Palestine.
As children on the kibbutz, we were naturally curious. We knew that the Night Squads’ headquarters was the basement of the theatre that stood between Tel Yosef and Ein Harod, a central venue for the cultural events of all the Jewish settlements in the area. We admired Wingate’s courage and that of his men, who regularly ventured outside the kibbutz fence to launch night operations.
Toward the end of 1941, tents were pitched in the northern section of the kibbutz. They were quickly filled with young men and women, marking the arrival of the Palmach — the elite fighting force of the Haganah — the pre-state Jewish military force. Palmach members spent half their time training and the other half working. As children, we kept a close eye on their activities, especially hand-to-hand combat training using clubs and grenade throwing. The grenades they used in training were “friction grenades”, which were ignited by striking them against a matchbox. We watched each grenade-throw with bated breath, unable to take our eyes off the exercise and wondering if the grenade would go off. Even at that early age I took a special interest in weapons systems.
One day I was summoned in complete secrecy to meet with one of the Palmach commanders in the Jezreel Valley. He asked me to bring my trumpet, which I had been playing since I was eight years old, and to travel with a group of Palmach members to a secret event. In those days Kibbutz Tel Yosef was known for its wind orchestra, which was the extraordinary project of one extremely enthusiastic and dedicated man — Shimon Shadmi — who had played in a wind orchestra in Russia before immigrating to Palestine. I was eight years old when I received my first trumpet, which I still have today. It was only after we left the grounds of the kibbutz that the Palmach member told me that we were on our way to the groves surrounding the Harod Springs for an induction ceremony of a new Palmach unit, and that I was to play the trumpet as the flag was raised at the beginning of the ceremony. Electrified by the secrecy, the quiet issue of terse commands, and the magnitude of the event, I played with emotion and excitement, and without missing a note. I returned home with a great sense of pride that I could not share with anyone. My lips were sealed.
In those days kibbutz children did not live with their parents but in separate children’s houses. On Saturday June 29, 1946, all the children in our house were woken up early in the morning and told to move into one room and lie down on the floor. The British, we were told, had surrounded the kibbutz, and there was concern that the British soldiers, who were already positioned next to the kibbutz fence, would open fire on anything that moved. The operation, which the British codenamed Operation Broadside, was undertaken a few months after the Haganah had embarked upon a policy of active opposition to British policy in Palestine. The British operation was meant to break the Palmach, imprison the Haganah leadership, and to confiscate the weapons and ammunition that had been stockpiled throughout Palestine in clandestine caches in kibbutzim, groves, and forests.
Rumors spread through the kibbutz like wildfire: “All the adult members are being arrested and driven to an undisclosed place... Whoever resists is beaten with rifles and stabbed with bayonets. Kibbutz member Haim Harodi has been shot to death...” By evening, we knew that most male kibbutz members had been jailed indefinitely and that we were now responsible for caring for the crops and livestock of the kibbutz. We were eleven and twelve-year-old children, but we took ourselves and the jobs to which we were assigned very seriously.
Israel’s War of Independence actually began with the UN General Assembly’s plan to partition Palestine, which was passed on November 29, 1947. On that night everyone on the kibbutz congregated in the dining room and joined the concentric circles of dancers who spun round and round for hours in joyful celebration.
The UN resolution also led to a wave of violent Arab attacks on the Jewish community in Palestine, and everyone was concerned for their safety. During the months preceding David Ben-Gurion’s Declaration of Independence on May 14, 1948, the battles in the Jezreel Valley began to intensify. The large Arab village of Zir’in that controlled the main road that ran lengthwise through the Jezreel and the Harod Valleys was a permanent source of sniper fire on Jewish vehicles. One March morning a rumor spread through the kibbutz that a battle was being fought at the Arab village of Nuris (today, the site of Moshav Nurit, on the slopes of Mt. Gilboa), which was known to have a large number of people who were involved in anti-Jewish violence. We closely followed the condition of the wounde, who were brought to the kibbutz’s infirmary in the pine grove between Tel Yosef and Ein Harod. Not long had passed until rumors started about fatalities as well. The funeral of Tel Yosef native Dan Tzvik, held the following day, was my first real encounter with the War of Independence. It effectively brought home the painful realization that, in war, people die and suddenly cease to exist — not just anonymous souls, but people who are close to you.
In the spring of 1949, as the War of Independence was drawing to a close, I was chosen to attend a fitness coach’s course. The course was held by the Hapoel organization and was held in Holon over Passover vacation. The course participants came from both kibbutzim and towns, and included Amitzur Shapira, an athlete of international standing who was well known as a sprinter. Shapira had blond hair and an Aryan face, and wise green penetrating eyes that sized you up immediately. Shapira and I had a special relationship, perhaps because we both specialized in sprints. Shapira would later go on to coach Esther Shahamorov, one of the greatest Israeli athletes of all time. Shapira was one of the eleven athletes murdered in the attack carried out by the Palestinian terrorist group Black September on September 5, 1972 at the Munich Olympic games. For Israelis like me with lifetime of relationships intertwined with our country’s defense, the most dramatic events often involve people one knows well from the past.
It was pure chance that on May 30, just a few months before Shapira was murdered, I was in Lod airport (which had not yet been named after Ben-Gurion). By that time I was already a colonel in the IDF with extensive combat experience and was currently serving as deputy director of military R&D. Airliner hijacking was rife and Israel had adopted a policy of placing armed guards on all El Al flights. These guards had to look like normal passengers in every way, and the question was how to best conceal their weapons in a way that allowed instant response in emergencies. That day I had come to the airport with a young officer to assess the situation and to advise El Al’s security unit on how the on-flight security guards should hide their weapons. As we assessed the various options, the sound of explosions and gun shots suddenly erupted. We rushed to the arrivals terminal and found a horrific massacre. Three members of the Japanese Red Army had landed at Lod airport, pulled out assault rifles, sub-machine guns, and hand grenades from their suitcases and opened fire on travelers who had just landed. Dozens of people lay on the floor. Some were injured and groaning, others were already dead. Next to one of the bodies sat an open bag, a Kalashnikov assault rifle, and a few hand-grenades. The upper part of one body had been blown to pieces by the grenade blast, and we later realized tha
t it was the body of one of the Japanese terrorists who had taken his own life with a hand grenade after thinking he had completed his mission. I sent the border guards to locate and capture the terrorists and began organizing an evacuation of the wounded. Twenty-four people were killed in the attack and 78 were wounded. One of those killed was Prof. Aharon Katzir, a world renowned scientist and director of the Weizmann Institute’s Polymer Department, who had been returning from an academic conference abroad. His brother was Efraim Katchalksy, with whom I had worked when I was director of the Weapons Development Branch. Efraim later went on to become President of Israel.
I of course knew nothing about the coming lifetime of defense relationships when we began Gadna (the Hebrew acronym for “youth battalions”), a preliminary military training course for youth run by IDF soldiers. I was chosen to take part in the Gadna squad commanders’ course held at IDF Camp No. 80 near the town of Hadera during summer vacation of 1949. It was a military training program of the highest quality, with demanding physical training, weapons training, and strict order and discipline.
Throughout my entire tenth-grade year I also served as a Gadna instructor, as well as a fitness instructor for the morning exercises of the Tel Yosef children’s society. For me the greatest challenge was training my own classmates from Tel Yosef—Ein Harod high school at Gadna. I enjoyed positions of command and leadership. Had I not, I doubt whether I would have been able to cram so many activities into my daily schedule. I also had to find time for my schoolwork and for practicing the trumpet to play with the adult orchestra, as it took time for me to reach the musical level I demanded of myself. I also worked in the kibbutz’s dairy — an integral part of kibbutz life and of young people’s training for work.