by Uzi Eilam
During my third year teaching at the university in Jerusalem, when we were expecting the birth of our daughter, the young Eilam family moved to Haifa, where Naomi was to begin her internship at Rambam hospital and I was to begin studying for my Masters degree. After another period of reserve duty as a deputy battalion commander, I rushed to the hospital in Haifa to see Naomi and baby Osnat. Soon after the birth Naomi went back to work at Rambam to complete her internship, and I divided my time between my clients at Kheshet, who were located all over the country, teaching business administration in Jerusalem and studying for my Masters degree at the Technion.
Professor Haft told me that Professor Ezra Solomon from Stanford University was visiting Israel, and that he wanted us to have lunch with him. We met in one of Jerusalem’s restaurants, which in those days were quite simple. Professor Solomon was a short man with glasses, dark skin and a sharp eye. Our conversation over lunch was pleasant and covered a wide variety of subjects. Two weeks later, to my surprise, Haft called me with some exciting news: “You were accepted to Stanford University’s special training program for business administration instructors.” The international program, attended by lecturers from India to Brazil, was supported by the US government, which provided complete funding and generous tuition scholarships that also covered the travel costs of participants’ families to California. By the time we would have to leave Naomi would have already completed her internship and received her medical degree and we decided it would be foolish to pass up such a challenging, promising and generous offer. I told Professor Haft that my answer was yes and then spoke with my Masters advisor at the Technion, Dr. Adi Ben-Israel, who had guided me through a meticulous exploration of the theory of linear programming. Every month I had anxiously scoured the professional literature to make sure that nobody had published anything on my research subject. By the end of the year my work was submitted and defended before a group of professors, and even earned a high grade.
America in the 1960s was heaven on earth. Our time in California was an important period for the family and a productive time of study for both me and Naomi, who received a grant to take part in a medical study at the Stanford University Hospital. The year away also provided us with the rare opportunity to get to know Winnie and Dave Silver, a delightful Jewish couple who adopted us during our time in the US and with whom we are still in touch today. Also enlightening was the diverse human mosaic of participants in the course at Stanford, which gave me a better understanding of the many countries from which they came. The course was attended by people from countries all over Asia, including the Philippines, Thailand and Taiwan, and a large group from India. The Middle East was also represented, with two Egyptians, an Israeli and an Iranian.
Davidi Offers Me the 71st Battalion
I returned to Israel in January and immediately began looking for work and a place to live. Brigadier General Aharon Davidi, who was by then the IDF’s chief infantry and paratroop officer, summoned me to a meeting. We had stayed in touch since my first days as an officer in the 890th Battalion and later in the Paratroop Brigade, and it was good to see him again. Davidi was Chief Infantry and Paratroop Officer but had a very modest office. His straight reddish hair was cut short and he wore the same beard as always, which now had scattered patches of gray. Most important, however, was the familiar look of wisdom and kindness in his eyes. Davidi welcomed me with a smile, calling me by the nickname he had always used for me: ‘Zil Zil! Welcome back! The time has come for you to take command of a reserves battalion,’ he said. At any other time, I would have agreed immediately but, with my thoughts still in California, I needed to think it over.
Returning to Davidi’s office two weeks later, I was able to tell him without hesitation that I would be happy to assume command of a battalion. After two years as deputy battalion commander under Elisha Shalem in the reserves, I knew what was in store. It meant a serious increase in responsibility, as well as isolation at the top of the chain of command. During my last tour of reserve duty I had commanded a battalion during a major brigade-wide exercise but it was only when I actually received the new 71st Battalion that I truly understood what a privilege it was to build and shape a new battalion from the ground up.
Getting Familiar with Weapons Development
My search for employment continued. I contacted the Weapons Development Department of the IDF Operations Branch and asked for a meeting with the Department Director Colonel Yitzhak Yaakov. Dr. Adi Ben-Israel, my Masters’ thesis advisor and a weapons development reservist, also passed on my name to the department and recommended that they get in touch with me. The General Staff base was in a building that had been standing since the days of Templar settlement and the German Colony of Sarona; it now housed the Weapons Development Department. Colonel Yaakov, a sturdy man with short curly hair and penetrating blue eyes, received me in his office. In a deep voice and businesslike tone, Yaakov told me about the department. But after thinking it over, I decided not to join his team.
Pioneering at Beit Shemesh
The civilian sector was more appealing and I accepted an offer to take over production management of the Amnur factory in the town of Beit Shemesh. Amnur was a subsidiary of the Israeli company Amcor that manufactured kerosene home heaters, washing machines and large refrigerators for kitchens and businesses. Its production lines were somewhat similar to those of the Friedman factory in Jerusalem.
The job of production manager is demanding and extremely time consuming in any factory, but in the tiny Amnur facility in Beit Shemesh, which struggled from month to month just to stay afloat, the demanding nature of the job was extreme. Indeed, when it was time for Naomi to give birth to our son Nimrod, I dropped her at the Tel Hashomer hospital and dashed to work, only returning later in the afternoon — but Nimrod had already been born.
Just when everything appeared to be going well at Amnur, a problem arose relating to my reserve duty. Every since my appointment as battalion commander, Davidi had been pushing me to attend a reserves company commanders’ course, which would last ‘only six weeks’. The factory manager was horrified when he heard my request for six weeks’ leave. Motta Gur, my brigade commander, even came to the factory in uniform — with his red beret and rank of colonel — to meet Ergad Yaakobi, the factory manager. Gur pleaded with Yaakobi to do without me for six weeks, but his efforts were unsuccessful.
Finally, a compromise was reached whereby I would participate in only half the training course. I went to Sharon, who was already a general and was now serving as the director of the Training Department, and explained the problem. Sharon called the commander of the training base near Netanya and instructed him to meet me half way. In the end, I attended the first week of the course, one week in the middle and the final week, during which I commanded a challenging final exercise involving landing a company by helicopter and a live fire exercise with a target known only by maps and aerial photos. When the course was over I was summoned to the office of Uzi Narkis, then OC Central Command, who awarded me the rank of major.
My compromise, however, did not solve all my problems at Amnur. Yaakobi left on a trip to Europe to visit a number of industries for more than a month, and during his absence I functioned as both factory manager and production manager. During this period I brokered a resolution to a dispute with the workers and achieved a new monthly production peak. Yaakobi felt undermined by this and when he returned from Europe our relations took a turn for the worse. My position became untenable and I decided to embark on a new path. Colonel Yitzhak Hofi, who had been Sharon’s deputy when the Paratroop Brigade was established, was now serving as director of the Operations Department of the IDF General Staff.
Hofi heard from Gur about my difficulties and offered me a job in the defense ministry. A tender had just been issued for an experienced engineer for the Purchasing and Production Administration and I decided to apply for the position. The men on the tender committee were all unkn
own to me, including the chairman, who was a director of one of Israel’s defense industries. The chairman, who had short gray hair and glasses with thin gold-plated frames which gave him the appearance of a Prussian military officer, seemed older and more experienced because of the questions he asked. The interview went well and I was extremely disappointed to be told, two days later, that I had been the committee’s second choice. The following day I received a call from the chairman himself, who introduced himself as the director of some company or another, and he asked me if was interested in coming to work for him. Quickly putting two and two together, I politely told him that I would consider his offer. But I knew I would not take the job.
Colonel Yitzhak Yaakov, who was still serving as the director of the General Staff ’s Weapons Development Department, never stopped trying to recruit me. He offered me the opportunity to manage the Department’s Branch 2. After consulting with Brigadier General Davidi and Colonel Hofi, who were very encouraging, I decided to take the job. Then it was back to the Induction Base to put on a uniform again, receive the military gear issued to all soldiers and make my way to the General Staff base. The unknown world of military research and development awaited me, and with this, my 10-year civilian hiatus came to an end.
5
The 71st Battalion and The Six Day War
Setting up the Battalion
Setting up a new organization of any kind is always a unique experience. It comes with expectations, hopes, uncertainties and tensions about its character, the people involved, the possibilities of success or failure, and what the future holds in store.
The initial training program of a new reserves battalion is a formative event with immense importance for the battalion’s direction and the way it will function in the future. There is no way to predict the capabilities of the soldiers and officers and the types of relationships they will form with each other. There is also no way to know whether the battalion officers and the platoon and company commanders will be positive, authoritative and charismatic leaders, or, alternatively, too soft-hearted to effectively fill the positions they were assigned.
Still burdened by issues surrounding management of the Amnur factory in Beit Shemesh, I had no choice but to arrive to my battalion’s initial training program two days late. It was pouring rain at the height of winter in early 1967 as I drove south towards Arad where the battalion encampment had been set up. This was rare for southern Israel, and I could already see water flowing in the usually dry riverbeds. When I reached the encampment I was greeted by deputy battalion commander Dan Ziv and a battalion-wide inspection was held. During the inspection I spoke about the challenges we faced, the fact that everything we were doing was new and the training program that would crystallize us all into a strong unified force. Forty years later Knesset Member Zevulun Orlev, who was a soldier in the battalion at the time, told me that he could still remember the reverence with which they viewed their first battalion commander.
Aside from Dan Ziv whom I knew from the 890th battalion, I knew almost no one in the 71st battalion. Ziv, a short, sturdy, and muscular man with light hair and a prickly mustache, grew up on Kibbutz Ayelet Hashachar. He had been a platoon commander during Operation Kadesh and was awarded the Medal of Courage for his role in the battle at Mitla. He already had experience commanding a company in the reserves, and the position of deputy battalion commander was a promotion for him. I also knew I would find master sergeant Zvika Vander in the battalion. Vander was my company sergeant in the 88th battalions B Company, and after I moved into the reserves and assumed command of A Company in the 98th Battalion, I took him on as my company sergeant major.
The rain poured down for an entire week. However, that did not stop us from carrying out the training program as planned, and I could feel the battalion beginning to take shape. The final component of the battalions’ initial training program was a live-fire battalion exercise. Its aim was to employ all the companies to conquer a number of fortified targets using the mortars and heavy machine guns of the supporting company and the brigade artillery forces. I knew that brigade commander Motta Gur and his command staff would be coming to observe the exercise, and this was an another factor that motivated me to strive to plan and implement it flawlessly. I issued the orders to the company commanders calmly and effectively, while trying to control my own anxiety. I was particularly concerned by the fact that it was a live-fire exercise. I knew we needed to maintain safety distances for the artillery and mortars and to pay special attention to the direction of fire of the heavy machine guns to prevent accidents and a night-time disaster. The exercise commenced, and Gur was by my side the entire time. There was a tense moment when the two forward companies reached the line from which they were supposed to charge the main target, and I realized that the artillery shells used to soften up the target before the charge were falling farther and farther away from the target and increasingly close to our forces. I immediately ordered the two companies to hold their positions and the artillery to hold their fire, and out of the corner of my eye I could see the color returning to Gur’s face. Fortunately, I was unable to see my own.
The reserve battalion’s final exercise involved a complicated and difficult night-time amphibious landing and an attack on a fortified target. The plans called for a landing on the breach near Atlit south of Haifa and a march carrying all of our equipment — including mortars, heavy machine guns, and ammunition — along the mountain ridge north of Zichron Yaakov, where there was a target for a live-fire exercise. After a few hours of bucking around on naval landing crafts, neither easy nor particularly pleasant, we landed on the beach south of Atlit and began to make our way eastward among the banana groves toward the mountains. Leading the battalion I worried that the route I had chosen might not bring the battalion to the target in time which would lead to rushed preparations for the live-fire exercise, thus endangering my soldiers. As we walked through the night I suddenly felt the weight of my position bearing down on me, forcing me to make the most of all my senses and to remain as clearheaded as possible.
We reached the point at which the forces were supposed to split up for the attack, and I was concerned that the men were too tired by the long night march and that this could distract them and endanger adjacent forces. The heavy mortars we had carried up the mountain broke the night-time silence with their barks, quickly followed by the sound of machine guns, rifles, and sub-machine guns. The exercise ended, but I could only breathe easy after every company reported that it had completed its mission and that no one had been hurt.
Although it was nearly dawn it was still completely dark outside when I assembled the entire battalion in the main fort we had attacked. The air was filled with the bitter smell of explosives and gunpowder that is familiar to anyone who has ever been to war. I declared the exercise a success and praised its clean and precise execution. “With a battalion like this,” I concluded as the soldiers listened attentively despite their exhaustion, “I would be willing to embark upon any mission assigned to us, in any war.” I was unaware that the Six Day War and the difficult battles in Jerusalem were just around the corner.
Pre-War Readiness and Training
It was just a few months later that Egypt’s expulsion of UN observers from the Sinai Peninsula and its blockade of the Straits of Tiran at Sharm El-Sheikh sparked a general mobilization of IDF reserves. Eventually, after most of the reserves had been mobilized, the paratroop units were also called up, and the two weeks that followed were dedicated to training and getting better acquainted with the soldiers and commanders. We were designated to be dropped at El-Arish, across Egyptian enemy lines, and to help Major General Israel Tal’s division (at the time the 84th Division, but today the 162nd) move along the Sinai coast.
We wanted to train the battalion in dense, multi-story urban warfare without giving the men an explanation of exactly why we were doing so. In retrospect, it turned out to be the most suitable preparation for th
e war in Jerusalem, into which we were thrown with no advanced warning or preparation. The Ben Shemen Youth Village had three-story buildings, some of which had been built close enough to simulate urban densities. I asked the Youth Village director to let us to use the buildings for training, but he refused saying it was “not educational.”
“But the training is critical for us to prepare for the war that may soon break out,” I insisted. In the end, the director agreed, and for an entire day company after company received training in urban warfare on the grounds of the Youth Village. When the battalion was discharged after the Six Day War I returned to Ben Shemen to thank the director.
On Saturday, June 3, two days before the outbreak of the war, Brigade Commander Gur and his staff set out on a tour of Jerusalem. Did he know something we did not know? In any event, he chose not to bother us battalion commanders with the tour and instead sent us home to rest. At the time, while the orders to parachute into El-Arish were still standing, the brigade commander’s decision to give us a break before the beginning of the war was certainly understandable. However, with the wisdom of hindsight, Gur would have been wise to take us to Jerusalem as well.