The Sword And The Olive (33 page)

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Authors: Martin van Creveld

BOOK: The Sword And The Olive
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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 Uprising 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.
Occupying one rung below on the ladder, the command and staff college was much less impressive. Located in an old British camp north of Tel Aviv, it was operated, as it still is, by the ground forces on behalf of the IDF as a whole. In addition, air force and navy ran supplementary courses for their own personnel; surprisingly, though, it was only after the October War that the first joint courses for company- and battalion-grade officers were instituted.
52
Depending on their arm and service, officers would remain in the college between three and ten months. They listened to lectures on military and nonmilitary subjects, visited other bases, and engaged in exercises. However, given their own ignorance of English and the almost nonexistent library, they did precious little serious reading and almost no writing—with the result that, compared with their colleagues in other countries, they remained almost entirely unfamiliar with the theory and history of their own profession, Israeli military history specifically included. Furthermore, the “twocareer” system meant that students were considerably younger than comrades in other countries. Since the borders were seldom silent, study took place against a background of constant “current security” operations in which field officers were given an opportunity to earn their spurs. All this may explain why the college was never able to overcome the IDF’s strong prejudice against classroom learning in favor of practical, hands-on experience.
In 1963 a national defense college was started, but it never amounted to much. Senior officers were reluctant to spend a year studying at an unaccredited institution;
53
consequently, instead of being used as a vehicle for selecting future commanders, it acted as a holding pen for those with no immediate assignment. Shortly before the 1967 war it was closed by Eshkol, who considered the benefit not worth the expense. The gap was breached to some extent by sending some officers abroad for more or less extended periods of study; over time they included (besides Weizman) Laskov, Rabin, Bar Lev (the subsequent chief of staff), Sharon, and Eytan. In the IDF itself, however, the highest course was the battalion commanders course. Thus, officers beyond that grade could serve their last fifteen years without any formal instruction
54
—which actually happened to General Elazar (who served as chief of staff from 1972 to 1974). As General Tal once told a visiting French writer, in the IDF senior officers advanced by “natural selection.”
55
By this, presumably, he meant to explain how he himself had succeeded.
By the 1960s the army had also largely overcome its remaining teething problems. On the one hand it was no longer unorganized and inexperienced. On the other hand, the system of “solving” the ethnic diversity by putting Ashkenazim (meaning the group of eastern European Yiddish-speaking Jews and their descendants) at the top of the pecking order and Sephardim (Jews from Arab-speaking countries) at the bottom (the latter, IDF experts told Ben Gurion, did not make suitable officer material
56
) did not yet give rise to protests, as it would later. With this exceptionally cohesive instrument at his disposal Rabin was able to institute, or perhaps one should say institutionalize, his system of optional control.
57
Not that this was unprecedented, but the IDF seems to have developed without reference to foreign models, if only because the best of the lot—German
Auftragstaktik
(missiontype orders)—could never be acknowledged. As under Dayan, each commander was assigned an objective and a geographical zone inside which his troops were to operate. He was then told to position himself with his troops (rather than in the rear, as with many other armies) and given the greatest latitude to achieve the objectives as it saw fit while leaving administrative detail to a rear headquarters.
At the same time there could be no question of a “hands-off” approach. When war broke out in 1967, Rabin did not join any particular unit, let alone go for extended tours. Rather (aside from brief visits to the front) he remained in Tel Aviv, where he was able to consult with the government and issue orders to the front commanders and those of the air force and navy. Farther down the chain of command, and taking Southern Command as our example, Yeshayahu Gavish attached himself to that headquarters that he considered critical in order to supervise the battle as closely as possible. Meanwhile control over the rest was assured by setting up a “directed telescope” in the form of special units to monitor the radio traffic of subordinate formations. Gavish thus created for himself a picture of the battlefield that was independent from, and supplementary to, those formations’ own reports.
The upshot was a mixture of independence
and
control. IDF units were given the latitude needed to seize fleeting opportunities characteristic of mobile warfare while remaining part of a preconceived plan. The concept was first tested in the great maneuvers of 1960, which as it happened were directed by none other than Rabin as chief of the General Staff Division. In his postmaneuver summary he said that IDF commanders had to be capable of working out plans and giving orders while on the move—the shortcomings of communications notwithstanding.
58
Thereafter it was rehearsed during annual exercises; when the time came it served the IDF well.
While the IDF was thus preparing for another round of full-scale warfare against the Arab states, it also had to look after the usual “current security” problems along the border. In comparison with those incidents of 1950-1956, their significance and number declined. Yet even during the best years approximately one incident per week was registered, involving shootings, border crossings, mine planting, sabotage, and the like. As before, many were launched on local initiative and had no wider significance. However, a turning point of sorts was reached in 1965. Leadership of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), founded the previous year, was snatched by Yasser Arafat and a number of his comrades in Cairo. Militarily, the incidents still did not amount to much (some of them were even imaginary as the PLO and its central military arm, al Fatach, exaggerated successes). Yet now they took on a clear political objective.
59
The PLO knew it could not defeat Israel on its own but hoped that its actions would lead to escalation and thus to eventual war between Israel and its Arab neighbors. The largest IDF punitive operation took place at Samua, near Hebron, on November 13, 1966. In full daylight, and with fighters circling overhead, an armored battalion took the village and blew up no fewer than 105 houses. When the Jordanian army rushed to the scene it was ambushed, leading to the deaths of two dozen of its troops.
60
“More complicated and more serious” (Rabin, in his memoirs)
61
was the situation on the Syrian frontier. One question was fishing rights in Lake Galilee, which the Israelis insisted were exclusive to them; another bone of contention was formed by a number of small demilitarized areas that remained since 1948. Known by such quaint names as the Beetroot Lot and De Gaulle’s Nose, their total area did not exceed a few hundred acres, yet the Israelis insisted the areas were sovereign territory they had the right to farm. The Syrians, not unexpectedly, objected and made their opposition felt by firing on fishermen and laborers, which over the years led to many minor skirmishes.
Still the entire matter might not have gotten out of hand if it had not merged into the so-called Battle of the Water. Already during the late fifties, Israel, having failed to reach agreement with its neighbors in dividing the River Jordan’s waters, started work on a major project designed to pump water away from the Sea of Galilee and into the Negev. Faced with the project’s imminent completion, Arabs, at the first Arab summit in January 1964, decided to respond by diverting the sources of the River Jordan. A detailed program for the project was drawn up and submitted to the second Arab summit in September. Three months later large-scale work—plans called for no fewer than forty miles of canal plus more than three miles of tunnels—got under way.

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