by Uzi Eilam
The First Gulf War left its mark on Israeli work on satellite development. For the first time in history Israel was threatened by an enemy country hundreds of kilometers away when it came under attack from ballistic missiles launched from Iraq. All in all, Israel was hit by 39 missiles carrying conventional high-explosive warheads, but there was also concern that Iraq might launch missiles carrying the chemical warheads that Saddam Hussein had at his disposal. For the first time ever, Israel found itself dependent on another country in its efforts to locate the site in Iraq from which the al-Hussein missiles (Soviet Scud missiles that were modified and improved by Iraq) were launched into Israeli territory. Only the US with its global satellite array could give us the early warning we needed to tell Israeli citizens to enter on time into their bomb shelters or prepared sealed rooms to provide protection from the threat of chemical warfare. Unsurprisingly, after the war Defense Minister Moshe Arens instructed MAFAT to prepare an updated operational plan for reconnaissance satellites. This order, which superseded CGS Moshe Levi‘s previous decision that denied the need for photography satellites, was meant to start a process of redefining needs based on the fresh lessons of the first Gulf War. Arens was not willing to wait. In October 1991, after realizing that the IDF was taking its time, he authorized a multi-year space program. CGS Ehud Barak, who was serving as deputy CGS during the missile attack launched from Iraq, reapproved the operational need for the satellite with its definitions of necessary operational capabilities. However, he was still unwilling to support full-scale engineering development and acquisition of the system after successful development.
I took part in a small meeting that included the commander of the air force and the Intelligence Branch chief in the office of the CGS. The meeting reflected the discrepancy between both services’ recognition of the need for an Israeli satellite and their concern, which to me always seemed somewhat short-sighted and unwise, that the program would be a heavy burden on their budgets. Barak’s General Staff remained on the fence, waiting for the defense ministry to pull the chestnuts out of the fire. This waiting reflected the IDF’s desire to steer clear of blame in the case of failure, but to remain in a position from which it could jump on the bandwagon in the case of success.
These were difficult years for the space program. In addition to the opposition from the IDF there were also difficulties with development of the launcher and important components of the photography satellite. The most significant crisis was the failed launch of the first operational satellite caused by a problem with the launcher which we could not completely diagnose. When we had come to update the defense minister after our initial successful launches, his office was full, overflowing with defense industry directors and project directors. Now, when the time came to explain the failure, Uzi Rubin and myself found ourselves completely alone. Rabin did not hesitate to back us up, and even asked us to attend a meeting of the security cabinet to update them on the status of the program. Professor Jortner’s Advisory Committee on Defense Research and Development also offered its opinion and supported Rabin’s decision to continue the program. All this was very well, but we still didn’t know why the launcher had failed; as a result, we had lost our only operational satellite. This really complicated matters because we had been unable to allocate the funds needed to build alternate operational satellites, which should have been done due to the high-risk nature of the program. During the dark hours that followed the failed launch we needed faith, optimism, and, above all else, a good sense of humor.
An independent committee of experts, consisting of the country’s top missile experts who had not been working on the project, was appointed to assess the failure and recommend ways of fixing the problem. The committee found five failed mechanisms, each of which could have caused the problem. With no way of knowing which one was responsible, Rubin recommended overhauling all of them. So we started work on developing and adapting an alternate launcher. There was also a satellite problem. The only satellite we had was the experimental model, a full-scale satellite meant only for lab experiments. This model, called the QM, was similar to the operational satellite we had lost but was not meant to be launched. This intensified our dilemma. On the one hand, we needed to address all the questions about the launcher‘s reliability and ensure that it wouldn’t fail after implementing extensive improvements. A cautious faction called for launching the improved system with a dummy 250 kilogram payload, the same weight as the operational satellite. However, this meant delaying the photography satellite. In the atmosphere prevailing in the IDF at the time this could really hurt the program or kill it altogether. A second faction said we should adapt the QM satellite and make it operational. This more daring faction maintained that the least this would give us was a dummy satellite weighing 250 kilograms, and could even provide us with an operational satellite, even if only for a few weeks. During a long complicated discussion we gained a solid understanding of all the data and the different aspects of the various options. It was extremely tempting to play it safe and prove that we had solved the launcher problem. We knew that the new launcher would be built from unused engines and parts left over from the development program and it took a great deal of conviction to persuade ourselves that we could pull it off successfully. The very idea of launching a test satellite also raised serious questions. After all, the satellite in question had been built based on the premise that it would not be launched. We subjected the test satellite to a long, arduous series of tests, which we had not dared to carry out on the operational satellite out of fear that use of the satellite systems during testing would exhaust the satellite’s long-term ability to operate.
The analytical considerations and our gut instincts led me to adopt the more daring approach, and I had no difficulty convincing the defense minister and the director-general of the logic behind the decision. With this, we embarked upon a bold, high-risk emergency plan aimed at launching a satellite into space at the beginning of 1995.
The next problem we faced had to do with the radar systems of the testing facility, which were supposed to ensure that the launched missile would not deviate from its planned route. The testing area was operated by the air force, which had a number of tracking devices that offered significantly greater ability to identify any deviation from the planned trajectory and to transmit a self-destruct command in the event that the missile strayed outside the safety zone and endangered the civilian population. In addition to careful testing of all missile systems, the launcher, and the satellite, countdown protocols in launches around the world also include testing of the safety system. Optical tracking devices that work properly only in certain weather conditions play an important role in launch safety systems, which is why weather and visibility are such a sensitive issue during space launches. The testing area’s large, heavy radar devices are another essential component of launch safety oversight, and the testing facility requires that at least two be in operation during a launch.
One month before the launch, when the launcher and the satellite itself were already at the testing area and we began the exhausting sequence of pre-launch tests, Uzi Rubin was told that one of the radar systems had a malfunction that could not be repaired. We immediately began performing tests and system checks in an attempt to fix the problem, but after a few days we received another discouraging report: the second radar was also malfunctioning. We had no idea what to do. The scheduled launch was one month away, and if we could not produce two functioning radar devices by then, there would be no launch. We started an emergency project that involved the use of parts that had been classified as unusable and were on the shelf in the warehouse of Elta, the company that build and operated the radars. The necessary parts were sent to the factory in Netanya and we told them to start working even though they had not yet received a contract. Within three weeks, as a result of this mad dash against time and against all odds, we had two functioning radar devices, which were carefully moved to the testing area to be
incorporated into the safety system.
It was also necessary to address the standing policy of not staging launches on days when American and Russian satellites were in our area. In these circumstances, we received special authorization from Prime Minister Rabin to disregard the presence of all satellites over the region and to continue making preparations for the launch.
The day of the launch finally arrived after days of rain and heavy clouds; the clear weather made us all smile. The air force had prepared the area with all the required safety tracking equipment, and Chief Safety Officer Colonel Giora was called up for reserve duty to take part in the mission. Giora was an excellent pilot and a first-rate technician with extensive launch experience at the testing area. He also possessed an additional essential quality: steely nerves.
The satellite launcher I had visited one day earlier was now crowned with a satellite and rested on the cradle of the launching pad, ready to stand upright and commence its journey. The few fortunate visitors allowed to enter the IAI control facility were seated on the other side of a glass window to ensure they did not disrupt the engineers and technicians who were all hard at work at their respective computer screens, each with his own respective area of responsibility. Before I went in to take my seat behind the glass window, I visited the air force oversight facility in the testing area to wish Giora and his people a successful launch. Only 10 minutes remained, and the countdown continued. The room was completely silent, and the tension inside was almost unbearable. All that could be heard was the humming of computers and a voice over the intercom periodically delivering information about the countdown. “Five minutes and counting,” it said, and a groan of relief could be heard as the tension continued to build. “Three minutes and counting,” it said, as the moment of truth quickly approached. We then reached the automatic countdown of the last ten seconds, during which there is almost no way to stop the process. At that point, the missile was already upright, the support beam had returned to the launch pad, the countdown was being executed by the missile itself, and only the chief test director of Israel Aerospace Industries, who had his finger on the red emergency button, was authorized to stop the launch. Suddenly, voices could be heard over the air force control room intercom: “Stop! Stop!” they said. Our hearts sunk, and we tried to figure out what was happening. It was not, however, a distress call that needed to be obeyed, and the test director looked straight ahead as the final two seconds counted down. Then other voices could be heard shouting: “The missile is off!” Indeed, the screens now displayed an image of the beautiful missile, proudly bearing a white and blue Israeli flag, rising higher and higher into the sky, leaving behind a trail of thick smoke.
As the seconds passed in the air force control room, Giora displayed all his wisdom and level-headedness and did not press the self-destruct button, allowing the missile to continue its ascent. The missile separated from its first stage and continued climbing with the help of the second stage, until it was beyond the range in which it posed a threat to the Israeli population of the Mediterranean coastal plain. But tension was still in the air, and the telemetry transmitting information on the status of the missile and its flight continued to rivet us all. In the control room there was silence, aside from the quiet, laconic updates of the technicians sitting across from their screens. We remained motionless on the other side of the glass, waiting for the separation of the third stage with its Rafael-made engine. Then, the words “proper separation” could be heard from within the control room. All that remained was the final stage, which was supposed to bring the third stage to the satellite’s exact window in space. After a few more seconds that seemed like an eternity, two excited sentences could be heard clearly from the control room: “We have proper separation! The satellite is in orbit!” The tension was broken, and the room erupted into joyful cheers, warm hugs, and beaming faces. I rushed into the control room to shake the hands of the heroes who had so impressively given birth to the satellite. Then, I quickly updated director-general Ivry and told him that I was on my way to his office, and that I would be there as soon as possible.
During the launch preparations we placed tracking stations along the satellite’s trajectory to make sure it was following the correct path for entry into orbit and to ensure that everything was going as planned. At this early stage it was also already possible to transmit a short command to modify the trajectory in the event of a dangerous deviation from the nominal desired trajectory. At the IAI space center at Mabat, everything was ready for the satellite’s first appearance over Israel.
At the director-general’s office, people were visibly tense and nervous. With the help of the defense ministry spokesperson we prepared an initial short statement about the launch as we waited for word from the space center that the satellite was in orbit over Israel. I had an open line of communication with Haim Eshed, who was already at Mabat, and I heard him mumble something I could not make out. “Haim,” I shouted, caught up in all the excitement, “What’s going on? Is it up?” Haim told me that the satellite had appeared and that everything seemed to be in order. The news spread like wildfire and our joy knew no bounds. Still, we had to be patient and wait for the satellite to finish opening the wings of its solar panels and for the space center engineers to carry out the series of necessary tests before the satellite could begin taking photos. Twelve hours later, after Ofek had circled the earth more than eight times, we activated the satellite telescope, which had been developed and produced by Israel’s electro-optical industry. Suddenly, Ben-Gurion airport, the cluster of buildings of Israel Aerospace Industries, and the group of military cargo planes parked on the runways flashed onto the screens of the space center. I was informed immediately: “There’s a photo! The resolution is amazing! They’re making a print of it!”
I went up to the defense minister’s office. Rabin was in the middle of a large meeting, and I wrote him a short note: “Yitzhak — The satellite takes high quality photographs! I’ll give you a copy of the first photo the moment it arrives.” The secretaries quickly brought him the note, and I can only imagine how much it pleased him. As for me, I had to see the images on the screens of the space center control room with my own eyes. I drove straight there, and was mesmerized by the sharpness of the photos and the professionalism of the space personnel who were operating the satellite command system as if they had been doing it for many years. The prime minister, the defense minister, and President Ezer Weizman also arrived one after the other to see the miracle first hand, to take pride in the quality of the photos.
After a few days, Rabin’s office sent me a moving letter of appreciation which I copied and gave out to all the directors of the program administrations and the satellite development teams. Together, they were responsible for this outstanding achievement, which positioned Israel in a respectable spot among the countries in the world that had made it to space. The letter read as follows:
19 Nisan 5755
April 19, 1995
Brigadier General Uzi Eilam
Dear Uzi,
The Ofek satellite is now in space and we are gathering its output. With every hour and every day that passes, we are increasingly amazed by this exceptional accomplishment. The reality has surpasses anything we could have imagined.
Ofek III is a song of praise not only to the technological capabilities of the country but also, and perhaps even more so, to the unique nature of its people. Only exceptional people are capable of producing such work. You are one such person, as are your colleagues.
The People of Israel are greatly indebted to you and your colleagues of all ranks. Your work is an extraordinary achievement, a human and technological wonder, and a phenomenal contribution to the security of the state.
Please accept my thanks and be so kind as to convey the gratitude of the entire country to the people behind Ofek.
YITZHAK RABIN
The Story of the Arrow Program — Disagreement and De
termination
The beginnings of Israel’s missile defense program, which in its initial stages focused solely on the development of the Arrow intercepting missile, was closely linked to the US initiative to develop a ballistic missile defense system, known widely by the nickname “Star Wars”. During my first days as director of MAFAT I learned that Lieutenant General James Abrahamson, director of the US defense department’s Missile Defense Agency, was visiting Israel and was to be a guest of MAFAT. I was curious to meet Abrahamson, who was not only a three-star general, a pilot, an aeronautical engineer and a trained astronaut, but who had also successfully directed the F-16 project within the American air force. Israel’s purchase of the F-16 brought our people into contact with this unique man, who had been invited to deliver a speech at an aeronautics conference in the country, and who had decided to take advantage of the opportunity to stay for a longer visit. The conference was organized by Israel Aerospace Industries, and David Ivry, then serving as director-general of IAI, proposed inviting Abrahamson.