by Uzi Eilam
Development of this light, quick missile encountered numerous difficulties and a series of failures during its initial years, and O’Neill asked MAFAT to send over a team of Israeli experts to provide an assessment. We regarded this as the highest form of compliment possible for our development personnel. It provided us with an opportunity to repay the Americans for their crucial assistance during the early phases of developing the Arrow missile. We sent the best team we could assemble and committed them to strict secrecy due to the security sensitivity of the project, the need to maintain the reputation of the industry, and our desire to help ensure Pentagon and Congressional support for the future of the THAAD project.
When it comes to procuring weapon systems, the Americans abide by one sacrosanct principle: not to acquire systems that were not developed and produced in the US (NIH, or “Not Invented Here”). This principle, which overshadows all others, prevented the Americans from even considering purchasing the Homa defense system, even for use during an interim period. But then the miraculous occurred: at a time of need, when hundreds of millions of dollars were being spent on the effort and the Americans lacked a clear, sure-fire plan, some elements of the Arrow missile began to be integrated into the THAAD. The heat-sensitive device used to facilitate the Arrow’s final interception found its way into the American system, as did the principle of using a sophisticated explosive warhead to destroy the enemy missile.
Shortly before O’Neill’s planned retirement from the military, I visited Washington and gladly accepted an invitation to his home one Sunday afternoon. It was summer, and, as I usually do, I woke up early to take an hour-long morning run through the still quiet streets of the city. I had completely forgotten that O’Neill had suggested that we run and work out at the Pentagon officer’s club. I was sitting in the hotel lobby rehydrating myself with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice when he arrived, and only then did I remember that I had promised to go running with him. Not wanting to disappoint a friend, and not daring to tell him that I had already run five kilometers that morning, I joined him. We drove to the Pentagon, changed into our running clothes, and started running. The sun was up and it was already hot, and O’Neill kept the quick pace of a deer darting through the woods. That Sunday morning run with O’Neill was a test of my endurance and determination that I will never forget. I can only imagine what O’Neill’s wife was thinking after we arrived to their house as she watched me gulp down glass after glass of ice water.
O’Neill was replaced by General Lester Lyles, another exceptional man. Lyles was the first African American general with whom I had close ongoing contact. Lyles received a first degree in mechanical engineering and a Masters degree in mechanical and nuclear engineering. He began his career in the US air force and quickly climbed the ranks as a result of his considerable talents. By 1991, Lyles was already a brigadier general within the logistics center of the American air force, and in 1993 he was promoted to the rank of Major General. After his appointment as director of the BMDO he was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant General. Despite his height and his broad shoulders, which served him well when he played college basketball at Harvard, Lyles was a shy and sensitive man with a soft, almost hesitant handshake that seemed inconsistent with his size. Above all, his talents, sharp mind, and analytical abilities were unmistakable, and he had a charisma that was different from that of his predecessors, Abrahamson and O’Neill. In the case of Lyles, still waters truly ran deep. He brought with him vast experience in technical administration that he acquired during his service in the US air force and quickly established his leadership within the BMDO. During his work with MAFAT he knew how to distinguish between the important and the tangential, and the relationship that developed between the two of us was an important asset. Lyles worked hard to increase American support for the construction of additional Arrow missiles, enabling us to deploy the full array for defense of the entire country without having to make impossible budgetary outlays. Like his predecessors and many of the senior officers under his command, Lyles saw us as a vanguard in establishing the concept of regional missile defense and the Homa system as an important asset for ensuring the continued government support of the BMDO.
A special relationship evolved between MAFAT and the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), the small US Defense Department agency (employing less than 100 people) responsible for pushing the envelope in the development of new technologies for military use. DARPA had an annual budget of more than two billion dollars, but equally as important was the agency’s complete independence in selecting its areas of activity and setting its working program. DARPA tended to set its sites 20 years in the future. A prominent example of this long-term approach was its development of Arpanet, the concept of a decentralized network based on packet switching that ultimately evolved into the Internet.
DARPA was established as a closed and highly classified agency that is impenetrable by outsiders. In the early 1990s, during Dr. Victor Reis’s tenure as director of the agency, we were provided with a rare opportunity to learn more about DARPA during a visit that was classified as a courtesy call. Dr. Reis was willing to listen to our assessments of the future technological needs of the Israeli defense establishment and even shared his own views on the future. Our suggestion of cooperation was met with the polite but reserved response, “We’ll check it out and see if something concrete comes up in the future”; we had no illusions about our chances of success. Still, we never gave up on the idea of somehow participating in the fascinating work of this unique organization through cooperative projects, even if they only dealt with specific, well-defined topics. Dr. Reis was replaced by Dr. Gary Denman, whose legacy included the institutionalization of joint annual meetings in which views were shared on various issues, but which still had no real content. At this point, we decided to change tactics and to make DARPA an offer it could not refuse.
In the early 1990s, we began a comprehensive multi-focus effort to develop an advanced defense system for armored vehicles. The project was still in the stage of exploratory development and the quest for possible technologies for providing passive and active defenses for our tanks. During the Yom Kippur War, we had been surprised, among many other things, by the threat which Sagger missiles posed to our tanks. Many tanks were also hit by RPG-7 rocket launchers, which were actually a Russian duplication of the Panzerfaust (German for “tank fist”) personal anti-tank rocket launcher, which was developed by the Germans during World War II. This development, in addition to the development of American anti-tank missiles such as the TOW and European missiles developed by Germany and France, emphasized the increasing vulnerability of our tanks. Although there had been impressive achievements in the development of active armor, it was clear that both the thickness of the armor and the weight which tanks and other armored vehicles could carry were limited. We had technological solutions based on passive defense against missiles and rockets of all kinds. We were also able to address the threat of missiles armed with smart fuses and tandem warheads, which detonate one charge after another in order to penetrate even the most advanced armor.
We had also thought about active defenses against anti-tank missiles and dreamed of defenses against kinetic warheads such as tank shells, which had become faster and more penetrating over the years. At that stage we did not need to request authorization from the ground corps or from the Merkava tank program administration, over which Tal still had complete control, even though his official title was as a consultant.
We debated amongst ourselves whether to share these ideas and decided to try to pique DARPA’s curiosity regarding future defenses of tanks and other armored vehicles. We invited DARPA Director Gary Denman and his associates to visit Israel, and they accepted our invitation. The bait worked well, and it was decided to establish a secret joint team to exchange ideas about existing defenses and what could be researched and developed in the future. Denman’s three years as director of DARPA passed, an
d his successor, Larry Lynn, continued to support the cooperative relationship that had evolved between the two bodies. However, when we began discussing active defenses against kinetic bullets and demonstrated that we knew what we were talking about, the curtain suddenly closed and we could no longer move forward. Our conclusion was that this was an area in which they themselves were working and they did not want to involve Israel. The moment we realized that discussion on these issues would be unidirectional, we decided we would no longer provide information to pique their curiosity without receiving something suitable in return.
After the attack on the World Trade Center, and the resulting change in US priorities in the war on terror and the creation of the Department of Homeland Security, there was something that DARPA wanted from us. The agency’s focus had been redirected from 20 years in the future to a much shorter horizon. DARPA was aware of the major Israel investment in the field of anti-terrorism and sought to renew cooperation with us on that basis. This was testimony to our achievements in anti-terrorism methods, but it also reflected the importance of institutional frameworks for cooperation that can be easily filled with content when the need arises. Our cooperative framework with DARPA now joined the ranks of our relationship with the BMDO and our much older technological agreements with the United States, dating back to the development of means for securing Israel’s borders in the 1960s.
Although my final trip to the US as director of MAFAT was very much a business trip, it was also a farewell of sorts. A few days before the trip we were contacted by the office of Dr. Paul Hoeper, assistant secretary for research, development, and acquisition: “Would General Eilam agree to play tennis with Dr. Hoeper at the White House?” I immediately went out to buy a suitable tennis racket and a tennis outfit worthy of the occasion. I also asked a friend to play a few sets with me in order to work the rust out of my game. I first met Paul Hoeper when he was appointed to his senior position in the defense department. He was a friend of Bill Clinton but was given the job based on merit. Unlike many of his predecessors who were trained in engineering and the exact sciences, Hoeper was a doctor of law. His managerial and business experience resulted in a quick and smooth appointment. During our first meeting, Hoeper suggested that we eat lunch at a fish restaurant on the bank of the Potomac River. As we talked, I came to appreciate the intelligence, curiosity, and friendliness of this young, long-legged man. Even then I knew that he was a dedicated tennis player, but he also told me that he had been playing the piano since he was a boy. We discussed work-related matters and priorities from Israel’s point of view, but we also had time for more personal conversations, which gave me the opportunity to tell him that I play the trumpet. We also joked about playing music together and about the possibility of a tennis tournament between our respective agencies. Now, all of a sudden, we were going to have that tennis match.
Paul Hoeper had connections with President Clinton and the White House staff which allowed him to reserve the only White House tennis court for a farewell game with me. On the appointed afternoon, Hoeper picked me up at my hotel, and his driver dropped us off by the southern entrance of the White House. Everything had been arranged in advance, and we quickly passed through the security inspection, where one of Clinton’s secretaries was waiting for us. With camera in hand to commemorate the two sets we played, she never once left the side of court. On the way to the White House, Hoeper told me that he was sorry that the president was out of town. “We could have arranged a trio,” he teased, “Bill on saxophone, you on trumpet, and me on piano.” Despite all my preparations and my best efforts, Hoeper was simply the better tennis player. I may have only managed to score a few points, but I enjoyed every moment. During his kind words at the dinner he arranged in my honor later that evening, he mentioned that we even found time to play tennis at the White House. In response to a guest who asked “Who won?” Hoeper, an experienced diplomat, answered: “We both won, and we both enjoyed ourselves.”
I kept in touch with Paul Hoeper during my time in France as well, and I even met him once at the Le Bourget Air Salon in Paris. After the Monica Lewinksi scandal and Bill Clinton’s escape from Congressional impeachment, I felt the need to write a few words of encouragement to the president.
It was particularly important for me to commend him on the fact that despite the impeachment campaign against him, he nonetheless mustered the resolve and energy to continue his work on the Middle East peace process. After I finished the letter, I asked Hoeper to personally deliver it to the White House for me.
One Paris morning approximately two weeks later, my secretary Sima Perry greeted me at my office flushed with excitement: “You received a letter from the United States embassy in Paris,” she said. “It’s a letter from President Clinton!” Indeed, I had received a large official envelope containing a personal letter from Clinton (pictured below), on which the President had taken the time to add a few words of appreciation in his own hand.
On September 12, 2001, Hoeper called me from the United States to tell me that the plane that had crashed into the Pentagon had hit the wing in which his offices were located, and that the casualties included a number of his employees. I was speechless. I suddenly felt deeply connected to the tragedy, and I told my friend that I had been worried about him and that my thoughts were with him. In retrospect, when I think back on that conversation, I am struck by the way collaborative work has the potential to turn total strangers into close friends. Indeed, I have remained close with many of the people in the US with whom I have worked over the years, despite the distance between us and the passage of time.
Another American official with whom I enjoyed a positive relationship was Dr. John P. White, who served as deputy defense secretary between 1995 and 1997. When President Clinton decided to appoint Deputy Defense Secretary Dr. John Deutsch to the post of director of Central Intelligence, White was appointed to fill the vacant position. John Deutsch and John White were two very different people. Deutsch was a Jew born in Brussels who immigrated to the US as a child. He became a professor of chemistry at MIT and then held senior positions in the US Department of Energy, which was also responsible for the military development of nuclear energy. Deutsch was an abrasive and determined man who instilled terror in officials throughout the Pentagon. Once, in an effort to acquire broad support for continued American funding for the Arrow program, David Ivry, then director-general of the Israeli defense ministry, attended a meeting of the US National Security Council without the knowledge of the Pentagon. Deputy Defense Secretary Deutsch was furious, crudely informing his director-general, “Next time I will cut his balls off!” We learned our lesson quickly, and the next time Uzi Rubin and I visited Washington for a briefing on the Homa missile defense system, we began with presentations at the defense department and only then, after coordination carried out by Giora Ram, our defense attaché in Washington, did we make our way to the State Department and the National Security Council.
John White, in contrast, was a quiet, pleasant man with understanding and good will that could always be counted on. He was an economist by training who had served as a young officer in the Marines and who possessed long-term experience in business and the defense industry, including nine years as a senior official of the Rand Corporation and three years as assistant defense secretary for manpower and reserve affairs. Once during a private meeting between the two of us, he offered important insight on American–Israeli relations within the defense arena: “Uzi,” he explained, “you must understand that 50% of the people in this building [the Pentagon] may be your friends, but the other 50% are your enemies. Now, when the winds from above are positive, everything looks rosy. However, the moment things change, your enemies will come out of the woodwork.”
During my last trip to the US as director of MAFAT, White hosted me at his home for a special farewell dinner. Early in the evening, his official car picked me up at my hotel to take me to his house. I had no idea what to expect, an
d I was captivated by the long, winding drive through thick forests on the outskirts of Washington. The night was dark, and the only light we could see was the flicker of the headlights against the thick trees lining the road. Eventually, another light could be seen through the trees, and we pulled up in front of a lone large wooden house at the center of a clearing. John greeted me and introduced me to his wife, who soon retired to her bedroom and left us alone. We went out onto the large patio and I joined the deputy secretary for a glass of select whiskey. At the edge of the patio stood a grill on which White had already started preparing fish and seafood. He did everything quietly and congenially, which enabled me to overcome my sense of embarrassment at being cooked for by the US deputy defense secretary. It was a quiet evening, and the calls of night birds and the constant chirping of crickets provided pleasant background music for our meal. Although our conversation was the continuation of conversations we had in the past, this time it assumed the air of a farewell discussion. I was touched by the gesture of being hosted in such an intimate manner. I found it much more meaningful than a meal with a large group of people in a fancy restaurant. The private setting was more conducive for meaningful conversation about sensitive issues and gaining new insights. At the end of the meal, White presented me with a fancy, ornamental pistol from the Civil War era which will always remind me of him.