ISRAELI SOCIETY AND ITS DEFENSE ESTABLISHMENT

The Social and Political Impact of a Protracted Violent Conflict

ISRAELI SOCIETY AND ITS DEFENSE ESTABLISHMENT

The Social and Political Impact of a Protracted Violent Conflict

Edited by

Moshe Lissak

First published 1984 by

FRANK CASS AND COMPANY LIMITED

Published 2013 by Routledge

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Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

Copyright © 1984 Frank Cass & Co. Ltd.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Israeli society and its defense establishment.

1. Jewish-Arab relations—1949-

2. Israel—Social conditions

I. Lissak, Moshe

956’.04      DS119.7

ISBN 13: 978-0-714-63235-3 (hbk)

This group of studies first appeared in a Special Issue on ‘Israeli Society and its Defense Establishment’ of The Journal of Strategic Studies Vol. 6, No.3 published by Frank Cass & Co. Ltd.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

Contents

Notes on Contributors

Foreword

Paradoxes of Israeli Civil–Military Relations: An Introduction

Moshe Lissak

Making Conflict a Routine: Cumulative Effects of the Arab–Jewish Conflict Upon Israeli Society

Baruch Kimmerling

Party–Military Relations in a Pluralist System

Yoram Peri

The Six-Day War, Israel 1967: Decisions, Coalitions, Consequences: A Sociological View

Haim Benjamini

Israel’s War in Lebanon: New Patterns of Strategic Thinking and Civilian–Military Relations

Dan Horowitz

The Military–Industrial Complex: The Israeli Case

Alex Mintz

New Immigrants as a Special Group in the Israeli Armed Forces

Victor Azarya and Baruch Kimmerling

Selected Bibliography

Notes on Contributors

Moshe Lissak is now Professor of Sociology at the Hebrew University, Jerusalem, and was a research fellow at the Center for International Affairs, Harvard University and at St Antony’s College, Oxford. He has written extensively on civil-military relations in developing societies and in Israel; and on politics and social problems in Israel. He is Editor of Megamot (Behavioral Sciences Quarterly in Hebrew), and his publications include Social Mobility in Israeli Society (1969), Military Roles in Modernization: Civil-Military in Thailand and Burma (1976), and Origins of the Israeli Polity: Palestine Under the Mandate (1978), with Dan Horowitz.

Baruch Kimmerling is a Senior Lecturer of the Department of Sociology and Social Anthropology at The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. He has published extensively in the field of sociology concerning the Zionist movement, the Jewish-Arab conflict, the military and war, as well as on social change and modernization. Among his publications are Zionism and Territory: The Socioterritorial Dimensions of Zionist Politics (Berkeley, 1983) and Zionism and Economy (Cambridge, Mass., 1983).

Yoram Peri is a Lecturer in Political Science at Tel Aviv University and a political analyst for Davar. His articles have appeared in The Jerusalem Quarterly and International Political Science and a recent publication is Between Battles and Ballots. Israeli Military in Politics (1982), published by Cambridge University Press.

Haim Benjamini (Brigadier General, retired) is Vice President of Human Resources and Organization – Scitex Corporation and received his B. A. degree from The Hebrew University of Jerusalem and his M.A. from the University of Chicago.

Dan Horowitz is Associate Professor of Political Science and Sociology at The Hebrew University, Jerusalem, and was a Simon Fellow at the University of Manchester and Visiting Associate Professor at the Department of Political Science, University of Michigan (Ann Arbor). He was Director of the Leonard Davis Institute for International Relations, Hebrew University, until 1983, and is the author of numerous articles dealing with the Israeli-Arab conflict and Israeli concept of National Security, and the political structure of Israel. Among his publications are the The Israeli Army (1975) with Edward Luttwak, and Origins of the Israeli Polity: Palestine Under the Mandate (1978), with Moshe Lissak.

Alex Mintz is Lecturer at the Department of Political Science, The Hebrew University, Jerusalem, and received his Ph.D. from Northwestern University in 1981. His main interest is in the politics of resource allocation for military affairs and the military-industrial complex. He was a research associate in the US Defense Department, Advanced Projects Agency and research fellow in the Center of the Study of Science and Technology, Northwestern University. He has written several articles and a forthcoming book on The Politics of Resource Allocation in the United States Department of Defense.

Victor Azarya is Senior Lecturer in Sociology and Social Anthropology at The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. In addition to his interest in military sociology, he has conducted research on urban communities and on Third World countries. His publications on these subjects include two books, Aristocrats Facing Change (University of Chicago Press, 1978) and The Armenian Quarter of Jerusalem: Urban Life Behind Monastery Walls (University of California, 1983) and numerous articles and monographs. In the field of military sociology, his publications include ‘Civic Education in the Israeli Armed Forces’ in The Political Education of Soldiers, edited by Morris Janowitz and Stephen D. Westbrook (Sage, 1983) and an earlier joint article with Baruch Kimmerling, ‘New Immigrants in the Israeli Armed Forces’ (Armed Forces and Society, Vol. 6, No. 3, Spring 1980). He is currently engaged in further research on civic education and on special groups in the Israeli military.

Foreword

Israel was born in war thirty-five years ago, and is still in the midst of a protracted violent conflict with some of its Arab neighbors. Earlier in history, violent clashes between the Jewish community in Palestine and the local Arab population were a frequent phenomenon. Thus, it was quite early in the development of the Jewish community in Palestine that the political leadership had to be concerned with the proper relationship between civilians and the cadre of men of arms that emerged in the twenties and thirties. Later, after the establishment of the state, the role and status of the growing defense establishment became a central issue in political life, especially in the wake of wars.

During the years, the relationship between the civilian sectors and the Defense Establishment acquired a special configuration, some of whose attributes are common to other democratic countries and some of which are peculiar to the Israeli case.

In this volume, the reader will find seven papers which deal with a broad spectrum of issues not necessarily confined to civil-military relations in their more limited and narrow definition. One will also find reference to the broader issues of the social, economic and political impact of the protracted violent conflict on Israeli society. This is elaborated by Kimmerling, whose paper analyzes the major effects of the perpetual external conflict on the social fabric of Israeli society. The major conclusion of this paper is that, by trial and error, Israel developed an ability to divide the area of conflict management into two dimensions: (a) institutional and mental compartmentalization between the civil and military areas; and (b) differentiation in the time dimensions of the periods of total mobilization and of the intervals between them in order to cope with security problems.

The more ‘classic’ type of research is covered by the other papers, although from different points of view. Peri is concerned with one of the unique features of Israeli society, namely the dual civilian, political control over the IDF – that of the cabinet on the one hand, and the major party in power on the other. Analysis of the decision making process with regard to conflict management and its consequences is one of the major sources of understanding of civil-military relations. Two papers refer to this issue, although from two different perspectives. Benjamini’s paper analyzes, in light of organizational theory, crucial decisions taken before and during the Six Day War, as well as personalities who made these decisions. Specifically, the paper tries to explain how and why these decisions were made and what link, if any, existed between the political decisions and the military consequences. Horowitz’s paper deals with Israel’s latest and most controversial war – the war in Lebanon. The paper focuses more on the consequence of the actual management of the war rather than on the decision making process proper. The initiation of the war and the type of decisions that were taken on the strategic and tactical level brought about some changes in Israel’s national security posture: a departure from an essentially defensive strategic approach; an attempt to change the status quo by force; the abandonment of national consensus as a necessary requirement for initiation of wars; and the extension of the scope of the operational autonomy of the Defense Establishment in general, and of the Minister of Defense, in particular.

The impact of the violent conflict on one area of Israel’s economy is presented by Mintz. In his paper on the military-industrial complex, also mentioned briefly by Kimmerling, Mintz examines the processes which led to the impressive evolution of a military industry in Israel, and analyzes the interrelationship between the industry and the non-military industry, the IDF, the Defense Minister and other policy makers.

The last paper, by Azarya and Kimmerling, shifts the focus to the micro level of analysis. The paper draws our attention to the new immigrants as a special group in the IDF. The authors contend that the IDF, which is considered a primary agent of social integration, is found to preserve within its own framework, this special group’s characteristics.

The six papers are introduced by the editor’s paper, which attempts to draw conclusions from the evidence brought out in these papers, as well as in others. The paper presents some of the major paradoxes that characterize civil-military relations in Israel and reflections on the boundaries and institutional linkages between the Defense Establishment on the one hand, and the civilian sector on the other.

Although the seven papers cover a wide range of issues, one should not get the impression that the picture presented is a comprehensive and balanced one. Civil-military relations in Israel still need much more empirical research and theorizing. The interested reader may find some more valuable information in the various items of the bibliography. We only hope that more research initiatives will be taken in the near future. After all, besides immigrant absorption, the role that the Defense Establishment has played in Israeli society for the last thirty-five years has had a major impact on its political, economic and social fabric.

MOSHE LISSAK
JUNE 1983

Paradoxes of Israeli Civil–Military Relations: An Introduction

Moshe Lissak

I

The IDF and its predecessor during the British Mandate – the main underground organization of the Haganah – emerged as it faced constant military clashes, some of which turned into full-scale wars. Even during breaks in the fighting the question of survival and the sense of living under constant siege became matters of the first order that frequently pushed important social issues aside. This situation could have led to the emergence of a military elite with its own distinct culture stressing symbols of power, heroism, sacrifice, order and jingoistic nationalism – and with far-reaching political ambitions.

This ‘obvious’ path of development was not taken, but the adverse conditions under which the IDF emerged – first under the autonomous Jewish National Institutions of the Mandate and later under the government of Israel – left their mark on it. These conditions created several paradoxes, or apparent paradoxes, that give a special quality to the relations between the civilian and military authorities in Israel.

The first paradox: despite the fact that the IDF has become a central focus of solidarity in Israel, if not the most important one, and its officers and battlefield heroes exemplary figures, militaristic values have not shaped the way of life of any group in Israel. This generalization extends even to the most peripheral elements in the political and cultural systems.

The second paradox: despite the extensive, repeated intervention by the IDF high command in defence-related foreign policy matters, the Israeli policial system is characterized by a multi-party democracy and an active and critical public opinion. Key positions in this system are held by former senior officers, among them former chiefs of staff and members of the general staff. The defense establishment and its key figures have been a frequent target of critical public opinion, especially in recent years, and more so since the war in Lebanon.

This paradox can be thus formulated as follows: despite the involvement of the IDF in all aspects of national security, Israel is far from being a garrison state as conceived by Lasswell,¹ although it has its peculiar attributes, some of them not common in other types of societies – democratic and pluralistic, praetorian or communist.

The third paradox: despite the fact that appointments at the highest levels are often influenced by the political elites, professional standards are by and large rigorously applied in judging the performance of senior officers, the most important being the acid test of battlefield leadership.

The fourth paradox: despite the enormous economic power concentrated in the defense establishment – in the areas of production, marketing and consumption – it has not, so far, exploited these advantages to become the dominant political-economic pressure group in Israel, even though it has clear advantages over other groups in access to resources and decisionmakers. The defense establishment remains one of the main pressure groups that finds itself in competition, which can be quite rough, with civilian, economic and political pressure groups.

The fifth (and most comprehensive) paradox: despite the fragmented and occasionally permeable boundaries between the military and civilian sectors, their relations and division of labor are nonetheless based on the principle of the subordination of the armed forces to political authority. So far there has been no serious retreat from this principal on the fundamental level, which has enabled the relatively few operative deviations from this principle to be dealt with by and large satisfactorily.

II

The coexistence of paradoxical tendencies, which gives a special flavor to professionalism in the IDF, should be understood in the context of the development of the Jewish community in Palestine (the Yishuv) from a small community in a binational society under foreign rule to a sovereign state. This social and political development was accompanied from the start by military and political struggles with the Arabs of Palestine and those in neighboring countries. Let us recount several stages in this development before reaching more general conclusions.

The process of building a self-defense system on a broad scale began in the early 1920s. In the absence of a sovereign, governmental framework for the Yishuv, the initiative came from several political bodies, primarily the Histadrut, which created the Haganah defense force that served as the foundation of the IDF in 1948.² It was only natural that the Haganah, and the later armed organizations such as the Itzel and the Lehi, had a distinct political coloration. This retarded the development of professional military autonomy due to considerable weight given to political and party considerations in appointments and in defining operative goals. The main objective of those in charge of the Haganah – the main underground movement – was to find the golden mean between improving the operative capabilities by encouraging professionalism and keeping ultimate authority on political-strategic issues in the hands of the elected national leadership. In retrospect one may state categorically that the principal of subordinating armed forces to civilian authority became firmly rooted in the period preceding the state, despite, and perhaps because of the growth of the armed forces with the escalation of the Arab-Jewish conflict. The prolonged conflict, and especially the three-year Arab revolt (1936–39) required close cooperation between the professional military cadre that emerged in the Haganah and the political leadership. This cooperation entailed strategic planning to determine military priorities, in accordance with the political situation and the relative strength of the main actors: Jews, Palestinian Arabs, the Arab states and Great Britain.

One should not, nevertheless, draw the hasty conclusion that already in the pre-state period a clear division of labor emerged between the military and civilian sectors, or that the boundary between them was not open to ambivalent interpretations. On the contrary, the boundaries were highly fragmentary and in most cases permeable. After all, we are discussing a political elite that commanded a guerrilla force selectively activated in pursuit of political goals.³

This was the legacy received by the State of Israel when it was established in 1948. Let us now review briefly what became of this legacy in subsequent years.

In the midst of the War of Independence and particularly towards the end of fighting, bold attempts were made to introduce basic reforms into the relations between the civilian and military sectors which had developed in the previous period. These reforms, initiated by David Ben Gurion – Israel’s first Prime Minister and Defense Minister – aimed at uprooting what he saw as harmful party influences on the newly established IDF. The changes involved mainly the strengthening of the authority of the Chief of Staff and the General Staff vis-à-vis the the various units and establishing the absolute subordination of the Chief of Staff to the Cabinet and to Ben Gurion personally as Defense Minister and Prime Minister. Ben Gurion attempted to prevent the armed forces from interfering in any way in political or party decision-making, which aroused intense resistance from the left opposition. Ben Gurion sought to sever the IDF altogether from the party system and to define the boundary between them in unequivocal terms.⁴ On the other hand, he wanted the IDF to take on non-military tasks in other areas, mainly in education and the development of border areas.

Ben Gurion’s drive to depoliticize the armed forces was accompanied by persistent efforts on his part to turn the IDF into a symbol of national identity and those in the permanent army into the almost sole legitimate heirs of the pioneers who operated through voluntary action in the pre-state periods. This two-pronged campaign was in fact coordinated, since the pre-state pioneers operated through political movements, while the soldier-pioneers operated through the state framework which Ben Gurion sought to exalt at the expense of the older movements. Ben Gurion was unsparingly critical of civilian frameworks but always extolled the IDF as a paragon of efficiency, dedication, and national responsibility.

If Ben Gurion’s policies had been implemented in full, then at least one or two of the paradoxes mentioned above would not have developed, or would not have been so glaring. Policy and reality diverged due to constraints that Ben Gurion had to come to terms with, and because of the internal contradictions in his policy or that of his party, Mapai. The most important constraint was the coalition government which Ben Gurion headed, which contained different political views. Moreover, within Mapai and among its representatives in the cabinet there were major disagreements on foreign policy and defense. There was, for example, a long-running dispute between the ‘hawkish’ Ben Gurion and his ‘dovish’ foreign minister Moshe Sharett. In these circumstances the members of the general staff could not stay aloof from the struggles within the ruling groups and were at times drawn into them against their will. Furthermore, the relations between the defense establishment and the civilian sector were tailored to fit Ben Gurion’s modus operandi, and were not clearly defined legally or normatively, and were hence open to several interpretations.

The reality of these relationships was in fact even more complicated. Maintaining the pre-state patterns of action, at least some of the parties and mainly Mapai itself continued the tradition of regular contacts with senior officers.⁵ The upshot was that while Ben Gurion attempted to create integral boundaries between the military and party system, he left open the possibility of continuing informal ties between the IDF and Mapai, the dominant party of the period. The inevitable result was that the process of depoliticization was incomplete and was even reversed in cases of appointments to sensitive, senior positions. Ben Gurion’s legacy was twofold: first, limited involvement by the Cabinet and the Knesset (through the Foreign Affairs and Defense Committee) in running the defense establishment. This stemmed from the rule strictly enforced by Ben Gurion that all contacts between the two systems be channeled through the Defense Ministry and the Prime Minister’s bureau. Second, was the persistence of fragmentary and even permeable boundaries between the IDF command and Mapai on an informal plane. The patterns in these contacts were not institutionalized and were not maintained for long. This laid the ground for the institutionalization of some of the paradoxes of professionalization in the IDF.

Ben Gurion’s successor in both roles was Levi Eshkol, who had a completely different style of leadership. Eshkol avoided taking extreme stands on issues and did not hide his preference for solving political conflicts through a patient search for compromise. This led to a de facto change in the relations between the IDF and the civilian authorities, without its being announced or put down in writing. Before the Six Day War, Eshkol dismantled, or at least blurred, the integral boundaries between the military and the Cabinet and the Knesset Foreign Affairs and Defense Committee, which Ben Gurion had sought to construct. Aided by then Chief of Staff Yitzhak Rabin – who was undoubtedly the key figure in the area of defense in this period – Eshkol, who had no military experience, cultivated closer relations between the military and the civilian authorities. Eshkol thus enlarged the circle of those privy to secret security matters, a circle that Ben Gurion had attempted to keep as small as possible. The inevitable outcome of this shift was a renewal of the forums in the lower levels of the party that had begun to fade away by the end of Ben Gurion’s period in office.⁶

By opening up the political system to greater contact with the military, Eshkol wanted to increase the involvement of various civilian figures and bodies in defense decision-making, thereby reducing the personal and autocratic elements present to an extent under Ben Gurion’s rule.

Among those who benefitted from this openness was the high command, which for the most part had not been allowed to participate in political deliberations and decisions. This shift did not necessarily lead to a greater control of the IDF by the Cabinet or the Knesset. In fact, the Chief of Staff Rabin acquired a unique status, and was allowed a wide degree of autonomy and discretion. His frequent appearances in the Cabinet and the Foreign Affairs and Defense Committee, an unusual practice under Ben Gurion, made him into what the press called ‘Acting Minister of Defense’.

The boundaries between the military and the political system thus changed during this period, with the integral type sought by Ben Gurion at the state level only, replaced with fragmentary boundaries similar to those that existed at party level. Eshkol also gave extensive encouragement to the development of defense industries as part of the defense establishment. The foundations of Israel’s defense industries had been laid earlier, but Eshkol, whose background was in economics and finance, provided extensive resources for their development. He considerably expanded the military-industrial complex, and made the defense establishment into one of the most powerful sectors of the economy.⁷

These economic and political developments have led a student of the relations between military and society in Israel to describe them as a partnership. Even though the de jure subordination of the military to civilian authorities is maintained here, de facto it has been replaced by a partnership between equals.⁸ Although this description may be seen by some political leaders as somewhat exaggerated, one cannot ignore the fact that favorable conditions for the emergence of this pattern are indeed present.

The fact that after 1967 the military became a major channel for recruitment and mobility to top positions in politics and administration facilitated this process. The growing number of former officers in public life created favorable conditions for a de facto equality between the civilian and military elites and for a more legitimate basis for involving the military in decisions in the areas of defense and foreign affairs. There is no doubt that the growing presence of officers turned politicians also influenced the tenor of political life.

Just as the period of uncertainty before June 1967 and the victory of the Six Day War put the relations between the military and civilian elites to the test, the setbacks at the outset of the Yom Kippur War in 1973 threw an intense public spotlight on the relations between the Prime Minister and the Defense Minister and the Chief of Staff. This was an exceptional period even by Israeli standards, with the sudden growth of direct contacts between senior officers and ministers and members of Knesset in which the former sought to influence political as well as military decisions. The fact that some of the former senior officers who had entered political life served as reserve officers in the war also created its share of constitutional wrangles.⁹ The Committee, headed by Supreme Court President Shimon Agranat, appointed to investigate the events of the first days of the war, recommended, among other things, a change in the basic law governing the IDF, which was done in 1975. Despite the extensive efforts invested in formulating the new law, the result is not much clearer than what it was intended to correct.¹⁰ The new set of relations can indeed be interpreted in different ways, in accordance with the personal approaches of whoever is serving in the key positions in the Cabinet, Defense Ministry or General Staff. An example of this was observed while Begin served as Defense Minister, as the superior of the Chief of Staff, Rafael Eitan. Eitan became the chief spokesman not only for the IDF but also for the entire defense establishment. He left his imprint and expressed his opinions not only in operative military matters such as the struggle against the PLO, but also in economic and educational matters and in areas that were clearly political. Begin serving, as Ben Gurion and Eshkol, as both Prime Minister and Defense Minister, did not formally renounce his authority, but restricted its exercise in practice to a small number of critical areas. The nomination of Ariel Sharon, as Defense Minister following the last elections in 1981, created de facto a new setup. The focus of decision-making shifted to the Ministry of Defense. As a powerful minister in the Cabinet and a retired general highly respected among the officer corps, he was capable almost of monopolizing the decision-making process with regard to defense and foreign policy, both on the strategic and tactical levels. It was reflected in the most flagrant way during the war in Lebanon.¹¹

III

On this background one can understand the paradoxes briefly mentioned earlier.

The first paradox, namely that of lack of militarism, can be seen in the fact that in the IDF there are few symptons of what is known as corporatism. This syndrome implies a desire to advance the military’s narrow economic interests, a uniform life-style, consensus on political and social questions, and the cultivation of status symbols and social distance between civilians and the officer corps. It should be noted that in most IDF units the extent of ritualized behavior, and particularly the symbolization of rank, is far less than occurs in other democratic countries.

This is mostly a result of the tradition handed on from one generation of officers to the next, but the IDF’s education branch has also encouraged this trend. The education branch has always preferred to invest efforts and resources in activities such as supplementary formal education and teaching the history and geography of Israel and the Middle East rather than developing elitist status symbols.

The impact of this educational policy can be seen in the confrontation between democratic and autocratic values in Israel, which in any case is not extensive. Those who uphold autocratic values are a small minority and, except for a few cases, do not belong to the officer corps.¹² The opposite is actually more widespread. Senior reserve officers take part in and often head voluntary organizations guided by democratic, humanistic goals. The military is not without impact on Israeli society, however. In addition to the political impact of the military, there is no doubt that the experience of military service has influenced many sectors of society. Although no studies of this phenomenon exist, the influence of the military is apparent on leadership and administrative styles, which is, in turn, reflected in work patterns, organizational procedures, interpersonal relations, semantic codes and terminology. Officers bring these with them when they leave the IDF and start new careers in the public or private sector.

Illustrations of the second paradox are clearer and more abundant, and some of them will appear further on. Senior officers are extensively involved in decision-making in a wide spectrum of areas. The connection between these areas and security is often defined at the political level, but also frequently depends on which group gets the upper hand, which also means that technical or professional considerations do not always determine the boundaries.¹³ For instance, the IDF had, frequently, a certain involvement in diplomatic activity, and some of its officers are actually diplomats in uniform.

In another area, the IDF is not only exclusively responsible for making national security assessments, it also has a major voice in long-range strategic planning, including its social and economic aspects.¹⁴ The IDF is also considerably involved in the economy, and for setting up and administering services for the civilian population, primarily for the Arabs in the occupied territories but also for Jews who have settled there. If we add the educational activity, which has expanded lately and now concentrates on underprivileged youth coming from low socio-economic strata serving in the IDF,¹⁵ we see that the spectrum of activities covered by the military has few rivals among civilian organizations, with the exception of the Histadrut (The General Federation of Labor), which has a very broad range of activities. Most other civilian bodies are not only smaller than the IDF, but they usually focus on a single area and in some cases have only temporary existence.

The role expansion of the military is on the whole not ideologically motivated or infused with a strong spirit of corporatism. The military is acting within a decidedly democratic regime and political culture. Moreover, Israeli democracy has been reinforced over the years by laws and regulations that have enhanced individual rights and the freedom of action of political parties. The occasional deviations from parliamentary rules of the game, whether by the right or the left, usually have no connection whatever to the military per se. Indicative of this is that retired officers who have gone into politics are not concentrated on one section of the political-ideological spectrum, but are dispersed throughout.

The Israeli political system is composed of a mosaic of parties and political communities from every hue of the spectrum. Political alignments for the most part follow the lines of cleavage, some of them overlapping, that divide Israel: national (Jews-Arabs); religious (orthodox, traditional and secular); ethnic (Ashkenazim vs. Orientals); political or ideological (socialism vs. liberalism); and so forth. The IDF has not been insulated from the extensive politicization in Israel and this is reflected in the third paradox, namely in the fact that throughout Israel’s existence, and especially its first 20 years, political or party considerations were applied by prime ministers and ministers of defense in appointing senior officers. The Chief of Staff’s own interpretation of Israel’s security doctrine and its relations to the government’s views were important considerations applied in determining preference for various candidates. Even diffuse political connections with elite groups within the establishment were often taken into account. Nevertheless, the weight of such considerations gradually declined during the terms of Levi Eshkol, Golda Meir, Yitzhak Rabin and the first candidacy of Menachem Begin as Prime Minister.¹⁶ But even when these considerations were applied, this did not mean that the less qualified officers were elevated to the top positions. The IDF has so far produced a sizeable reservoir of excellent officers who have proven themselves mainly on the battlefield instead of in staff work or political intrigues. This made it easier to combine political and professional criteria in making appointments and made the system itself more tolerable.

Coming to the fourth paradox, it should be noted that the weight of the defense establishment in the economy as it is reflected in defense expenditures, armament production, as well as in the size and composition of the labor force working in or for defense, is enormous. Israel spends about 30 per cent of the GNP on defense, compared to 5.5 per cent for the U.S. and an average of 4.75 per cent for NATO countries. Even with American aid (which reached a peak of $1.064 billion per year during 1976–79), defense outlays in local currency amounted to 50 per cent of the state budget.¹⁷ About 25 per cent of the labor force works directly or indirectly for the defence establishment.¹⁸ This includes: members of the permanent army, civilian workers in the IDF and the Defense Ministry, and the manpower in the defense industries, some of which are part of the defense establishment, some independent state enterprises, while others are civilian plants.

These indicators point to an enormous amount of economic power that the defense establishment does in fact possess. The only other economic body or sector comparable in size and influence is the Histadrut’s conlomerate of economic enterprises. It is thus no wonder that a major economic shift in the defense establishment, such as a large cut in the defense budget, is immediately registered in national economic indicators such as a rise in unemployment or as fluctuations in the balance of payments or the country’s foreign currency reserves. The heads of the defense establishment naturally press for an ever greater share of the budget or, at the very least, do what they can to ensure that their share in real terms does not shrink in these times of triple digit inflation. When pressing their case they rarely fail to remind the government of the defense establishment’s contribution to economic stability, which can be a persuasive point. On the other hand, the heads of the defense establishment have not overtly exploited their economic power in pursuit of goals not acceptable to the government or the Knesset. The growth in the defense budget and the worsening of the balance of payments stemming from increased defense imports has occurred by and large due to objective circumstances, or as a result of Cabinet decisions, and not because of the power wielded by a pressure group made up, for example, of military men and industrialists.

The boundaries between the military and the civilian sectors in Israel are thus diverse in nature.¹⁹ In part they are integral, for example, in relation to groups such as Moslems and the ultra-orthodox Jews who are not serving in the IDF at all.²⁰ Another example is that military personnel are forbidden to take an active part in political events and cannot be elected to public bodies; their contacts with trade unions are restricted, in contrast to several European nations. Moreover, autonomy of the IDF is protected by integral boundaries with respect to its system of justice and penal institutions and in the area of weapons research and development.

Other segments of the boundary – which are quantitatively more numerous and have greater social and political implications – are very fragmentary. The best example is the political sphere, whose boundaries with the military, as is well illustrated in some pages of this volume, are quite blurred. This is reflected in the involvement of various chiefs of staff in decision-making; in the tensions between Prime Minister, Defense Minister and Chief of Staff, or between the Foreign Ministry and the Defense Ministry; in the dominant role of military intelligence in shaping the national situation estimate; and in the military administratioin of the occupied territories.²¹

Fragmentary boundaries can also be found in certain areas of the economic sphere, for example in the transactions between defense industries and the civilian sector. But in other areas of the economic sphere the symptoms of permeable boundaries are more numerous, as in the case of aid to civilian projects such as urban or rural development in border areas. A permeable boundary clearly exists with civilian education, as the following examples show: educational programs for special groups serving in the IDF or completely outside the military (soldiers serving as teachers in border areas or as youth workers, or providing special courses in special centers of education);²² the nature of the Army Radio, whose diverse programs attract a wide audience (including many civilian listeners), and which has gone far beyond its original purpose of providing information and cultural diversions for those on active duty.

The system of ‘elitist’ social networks characteristic of Israeli society provides another example of permeable boundaries. These networks are usually composed of officers on active duty or in the reserves, artists, writers, journalists, and academics. These networks have so far prevented officers from being isolated socially, politically and culturally, as has happened to military elites in other democratic countries.

Despite the diversified nature of the boundaries, and here lies our last paradox, the interaction between the defense establishment and the civilian authorities are nonetheless based, thus far, on the unchallenged principle of the subordination of the armed forces to the civilian authorities.

IV

The IDF as a professional army developed in special circumstances, only some of which can be explored here. That explains why the relations between the military and the civilian spheres in Israel are marked by a special profile of characteristics. Because of its unusual character, this profile makes it difficult to analyze military-civilian relations in Israel in terms of the standard models in the comparative study of the military, such as a ‘nation in arms’, ‘garrison state’, ‘praetorian army’ or others.²³

Models are constructed from sets of attributes which downplay or reduce internal inconsistencies between them. But the presence of several glaring paradoxes in the Israeli case makes it difficult to classify in this manner. The truly interesting question, though is not the taxonomic one, but how and to what degree can Israeli society cope with these paradoxes. To what extent can Israel, which has its share of internal tensions and contradictions in other spheres, absorb the burden of paradoxes in the military sphere as well? In light of the more severe structural paradoxes and tensions in ethnic relations and the role of religion in society, it appears that Israel’s capacity to live with the paradoxes and absorb the tensions they generate is fairly high. Nevertheless, in the military sphere several favorable conditions for this exist.

First, there are almost no direct confrontations or conflicts of interest between the military and civilian sectors, now or in the past. The conflicts have usually been between coalitions of officers and politicians. These shifting coalitions are for the most part what creates a tendency towards partnership between the two sectors. The main areas of conflict have been over strategic or operative goals but in the last several years tensions over the military budget and the growth of the military industries have also increased. The lines of conflict are not drawn in a simplistic way between the civilian and military on national security issues, but primarily on the components of national security.²³ It is true of course that the category of ‘national security’ is flexible and is brimming with political and value considerations. Nevertheless, this distinction is relevant, since the spillover from the military aspects of national security into other areas has until now been quite limited. This process can also be viewed in terms of processes of convergence and divergence.²⁴ While in the areas of defense, foreign affairs, military industry, and to some extent education, there has always been a certain amount of convergence between the two sectors, other spheres have evinced a high degree of institutional autonomy, with mutual interference. This autonomy, reflected in some of the paradoxes, and especially in the first, is not static; influence does run in both directions. The army does occasionally ‘spill over’ into civilian sectors, mainly because of the weak control exercised by political institutions, while on the other hand the processes of social disintegration that today characterize some sectors of the Israeli society have also left their mark on the IDF.²⁵ This is reflected, for example, in more lax discipline, excessive ‘red tape’ and manifestations of corruption. The fragmentary and permeable boundaries have most certainly facilitated these developments.

This analysis should not lead us into hasty, mistaken conclusions. The foundation of the relations between military and society in a democratic regime such as Israel is still firm and vigorous. The strength of this foundation does not necessarily stem from solidity of the political system, but from the ideological and value consensus binding the two sectors.

It is fitting to conclude this introductory paper with the words of Major General (retired) Israel Tal, which probably represent the broad consensus on this subject in the IDF and in Israel as a whole:²⁶

In the army there is no consensus in any field and the range of opinions and beliefs is the same as in civilian society. But it is true that today there are some expressions which deviate from the principles that were rooted in an entire generation influenced by Ben Gurion, and which perceived security as an existential, spiritual value which is antagonistic, even antithetical, to militarism. It was always self-evident, a universal truth, that power is synonymous with independence and etatism. But we have always perceived security not as an independent entity, but as an organic part of a larger complex of values and aims.

NOTES

1.  Harold Laswell, ‘The Garrison State’, The American Journal of Sociology, 46, No.4 (January 1941), 455–68.

2.  For more details, see Peri’s paper in this volume.

3.  For a theoretical discussion on guerrilla warfare and some examples from other countries see, Eliezer Ben Rafael and Moshe Lissak, Social Aspects of Guerrilla and Anti-Guerrilla Warfare (Jerusalem: The Magnes Press, The Hebrew University, 1979).

4.  Yoram Peri, Between Battles and Ballots: Israeli Military in Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), Ch.3.

5.  This point is the focus of Peri’s paper in this volume.

6.  For more details see Peri’s paper, op. cit.

7.  The Israeli Military-Industrial Complex is discussed in a comprehensive way in Mintz’s paper in this volume. See also, Kimmerling’s paper in this volume.

8.  Peri, op. cit., pp. 172–4.

9.  Ibid., pp.125–9.

10.  Yoram Peri, ‘Political-Military Partnership in Israel’, International Political Science Review, 2, No.3 (1981), 310–11.

11.  For an elaboration of this point, see Horowitz’s paper in this volume.

12.  The civilians include members of rather small right-wing political organizations.

13.  For illustrations of this statement, see Benjamini’s paper in this volume.

14.  For elaboration of this aspect see, Dan Horowitz, ‘The Israel Defense Forces: A Civilianized Military in a Partially Militarized Society’, in Roman Kolkowicz and Andrzej Korbonski, eds., Soldiers, Peasants and Bureaucrats (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1982), p.92.

15.  More details about this project see, Victor Azaria, ‘Civic Education in the Israeli Armed Forces’, in Morris Janowitz and Stephen D. Wesbrook, eds., Civic Education in the Military (Beverly Hills, California: Sage Publications, 1983), pp. 76–106.

16.  Peri, op. cit., Ch.5.

17.  Haim Barkai, Defense Expenses in Perspective (Jerusalem: The Falk Institute for Economic Research in Israel, Research Paper No.115, 1980), Table 3. See also Mintz and Kimmerling papers in this volume.

18.  See Mintz and Kimmerling papers, op. cit.

19.  For a more comprehensive discussion see Moshe Lissak, ‘Boundaries and Institutional Linkages Between Elites: Some Illustrations from Civil-Military Relations in Israel’, in Gwen Moor, ed., Studies of the Structure of National Elite Groups (Forthcoming).

20.  Dan Horowitz and Baruch Kimmerling, ‘Some Social Implications of Military Service and the Reserve System in Israel’, Archives Europeens de Sociologie, XV (1974), 265–268.

21.  Peri, Between Battles and Ballots, op. cit., 90–100.

22.  On education in the IDF see, Moshe Lissak, ‘The Israel Defense Forces as an Agent of Socialization and Education: A Research in Role Expansion in a Democratic Society’, in M.R. Van Gils, ed., The Perceived Role of the Military (Rotterdam, Rotterdam University Press, 1972), 325–40; Azaria, op. cit.

23.  Lasswell, op. cit.; David Rappaport, ‘A Comparative Theory of Military Types’, in S.P. Huntington, ed., Changing Patterns of Military Politics (New York: Free Press of Glenco, 1962), pp.71–100. For other models see: A.R. Luckham, ‘A Comparative Typology of Civil-Military Relations’, Government and Opposition, 6, No.1 (Winter 1971), 24–33; Morris Janowitz, Military Institutions and Coercion in the Developing Nations (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1977), 187–190.

24.  See Moshe Lissak, ‘Some Reflections on Convergence and Structural Linkages Between Armed Forces and Society’, in Ellen Stern and Michael L. Martin, eds., Servants of Arms: Essays in Honor of Morris Janowitz (The Free Press, forthcoming).

25.  Peri, ‘Political-Military Partnership’, op. cit., p.314.

26.  Monitin, no.2 (October 1978) (in Hebrew).

Making Conflict a Routine: Cumulative Effects of the Arab–Jewish Conflict Upon Israeli Society*

Baruch Kimmerling

Even those who tend to perceive war as a common and natural phenomenon,¹ whether implicitly or explicitly, accept that war and conflict are somewhat extraordinary,² primarily because (a) they usually demand extensive mobilization of human and material resources, tending to disrupt the routine social system and societal processes significantly and (b) the ultimate consequences of war or conflict for a society and its members may be far-reaching or even (in the case of defeat) fatal for the system – bringing about the collapse of the entire social order and heavy casualties and death among its members.

In the present case study, we must differentiate substantially between war and conflict. The former is defined as (a) all periods of active combat between Israel and one or more Arab states or (b) all times when a majority of Israel’s reserve forces are mobilized. All other periods – that is, those during which the Arab-Israeli war is dormant and Israel is not engaged in full scale military operations, yet at least one Arab state refuses to recognize Israel’s right to exist and carries on warfare by other means (e.g. economic, political or diplomatic measures) – are defined as a state of conflict for Israeli society.³ Thus the conflict situation includes warfare, although not all periods of conflict are necessarily accompanied by war. On the contrary, most of the Arab-Israeli conflict is not characterized by war, but rather by routine operation of the social system.

The term ‘routine’ was not selected coincidentally; rather, it is derived from the central hypothesis of this paper – that is, that the Israeli social system has undergone a process of adaptation to the external conflict through partial routinization. Routinization, in this respect, refers to the following:

(1) The development of a mentality which perceives the conflict as a permanent condition or destiny of society. Consider, for example, the words of Moshe Dayan, eulogizing a soldier in May 1956:

We are a generation of settlers; without a helmet or a gun we will be unable to plant a tree or build a house. Let us not fear to perceive the enmity which consumes the lives of hundreds of thousands of Arabs around us. Let us not avert our gaze, lest it weaken our hand. This is the destiny of our generation. The only choice we have is to be armed, strong and resolute, else the sword will fall from our hands and the thread of our lives will be severed.⁴

(2) The creation of built-in social mechanisms and institutional arrangements for coping with conflict at maximum efficiency and minimum cost. This derives from the basic dilemma of the Israeli social system, as defined by Eliezer Schweid:

In order to exist we must mobilize all the forces of existence. But if all forces are to be mobilized for the defense of mere existence, then we can not exist. How can we deal with the struggle for life without the war destroying life and economically, socially and spiritually enslaving all creative activity to it … pioneering Zionism can be proud of the fact that it withstood this dilemma. It found ways of social and political organization which allowed for continued creativity and the continued existence of a meaningful and purposeful life in a situation demanding constant alertness.⁵

Social Interruption⁶

One of the major mechanisms for coping with conflict developed in the Israeli social system – one which contributed to its partial routinization – was the mental and institutional ability to interrupt the system. I posit that Israeli society is divided into two completely different yet substantially interconnected phases of activity: the first may be called ‘routine’ and the second ‘interrupted’. During the interruption phase, the main societal processes are suspended and a moratorium is declared upon the many and varied major – and sometimes conflicting – goals and interests which characterize a modern and diversified Western social system. The system’s institutional arrangements are reorganized to focus upon implementation of a predominant goal, together with a complementary goal. The predominant societal goal is to ensure the very existence of the society in question from a perceived actual or potential threat. This may be achieved only through optimal mobilization of virtually all available human and material resources of the system, which occurs if and when Israel calls up its reserves (about half a million men and women) – a substantial part of its manpower – and transfers to the disposition of the armed forces almost the entire civilian transportation complement, heavy trucks and a considerable number of buses, most of the hospital beds, etc. In this respect, the feasibility of swift achievement is a primary importance: Israel can mobilize its entire military capacity within approximately 72 hours. This has not only military but also far reaching social consequences, one of which is obligatory compartmentalization between routine life and social processes at the phase when society as a whole must cope with the conflict. This, however, does not mean that the conflict cannot be a salient issue in collective consciousness – i.e. domestic politics and resource allocation – even during the routine phase of societal organization, at which time the issue of conflict constitutes but one societal goal among many other competing goals.

When interruption occurs, coping with the conflict becomes the predominant societal goal. However, as mentioned above, there is an additional complementary goal, an integral part of the notion of social interruption, namely maintenance of the system in a condition enabling expedient reversion to the pre-interruption state of affairs once the predominant goal is attained. From this point of view, the term ‘social interruption’ is utterly antithetical to the notion of social change. The system will not be different in any way following – or because of – the interruption, at least in the short run.

Another important characteristic of interruption is its temporary nature: the entire process of mobilization of society – military and civilian alike – is accomplished under an assumption of tentativeness. Although there are other socio-political systems which mobilize a considerable percentage of their population in the name of ‘lofty ideals’ (such as social revolution or national renaissance), none of them conform to our overall definition of ‘interrupted’ as such mobilization is an integral part of routine activities and the ‘rules of the game’, even if it is to be terminated in a utopian future. Historically speaking, other systems which approximated the Israeli interrupted system pattern were those of the Soviet Union and Great Britain during World War II. In a more limited sense, certain societies struck by catastrophe acted as interrupted systems.

A further significant feature of this phenomenon is that war itself is not identical to social interruption: the system could be interrupted without being involved in an actual war (as in Israel during late May and early June 1967) and could be involved in war without being interrupted (as in 1965 and 1982).

There are some preconditions to maintaining the system in a condition enabling its reversion to routine immediately after a threat is perceived to have passed. On the macro-societal level, the society must be able to allocate certain resources to the complementary goal, even if they are demanded for fulfillment of the predominant one. This would include, for example, not drafting key personnel whose absence would cause institutional bottlenecks, such as public transportion (bus and truck) drivers, industrial experts and service workers who cannot be replaced. Readiness for such allocation of resources is by no means a foregone conclusion: rather, it is the subject of constant struggle between advocates of the respective goals within the society in question. A further precondition for ‘successful interruption’ is maintenance of a minimal amount of ‘normal’ social role playing.

On the other hand, there are three contradictory types of demands exerted by the interrupted system upon the home front:

(a)
Postponement of most expectations from society;

(b)
Fulfillment of routine social roles insofar as institutional constraints permit;

(c)
Fulfillment of new roles; replacing people occupied with implementation of the predominant societal goal (i.e. those drafted into military service) who hold key positions when the system functions normally.⁷ A dramatic example arose during the 1973 war; women learned to drive buses and fulfilled drivers’ roles in public transportation. Other demands imposed upon these actors are to fulfill or even initiate new roles which derive from social interruption. For example, several groups instituted voluntary psychological counseling to help people cope with war.

The most central institutionalized body created to cope with the material aspects of social interruption was the so-called Emergency Economy (EE). The EE is now an elaborate organization with a small permanent headquarters and staff, functioning even during routine periods, just like the military reserves. Its task is to prepare society for long periods of shortages in basic consumer goods, primarily food and fuel, as well as to regulate and control distribution of essential needs to the civilian population during time of emergency. When an interruption commences, the EE is supposed to subsume the entire system: the entire public bureaucracy (both central and municipal) automatically becomes an integral part of the EE. The assumption is that everyone within the bureaucratic network (who is not drafted) must know how to transform and adapt his job to the altered needs of the interrupted society. This is the ‘philosophy’ of the EE; in practice, however, affairs are conducted in a far more cumbersome and inefficient manner. The most important factor is apparently the system’s awareness of these needs and its attempts to fulfill them.

While every state develops some kind of wartime institutional arrangements and social adjustments, there is some justification in considering Israeli patterns as unique, in light of their aforementioned dual nature (that is, capability of rapid transition and strong orientation towards temporariness of the interrupted system). Our main assumption in this respect is that this rapid societal reorganizational ability – affecting both the military and civilian sectors – together with an orientation towards temporariness – are the major (although not the only) factors which enable routinization of the conflict. The capacity for rapid reorganization avoids permanent military and civilian mobilization, while the orientation towards temporariness ensures that even when the system is mobilized, there are built-in ‘antibodies’ which prevent institutionalization of social mobilization. Nevertheless, routinization of the conflict is only partial, as perception of ‘business as usual’ is valid only in cases of non-active warfare or in a non-interrupted situation. War and interruption are still perceived as extraordinary.

Individual Risks and Common Danger

In any war – be it major or minor – there are casualties: the wounded and dead. From the time that the relationship between the Jews and Arabs in Palestine turned into one of a political conflict – at first one between two nationalist movements, and later between the Arab states and the state of Israel – there were constantly casualties on both sides.⁸ In this paper, we will only deal with the period beginning with the war of 1947–8, which included the achievement of Jewish sovereignty over part of the territory of Palestine, and we will only deal with the Israeli side.

As can be ascertained from Table 1, the Jewish collectivity suffered mortal casualties, in differing proportions, throughout this time. The highest rate of casualties in a short period of time was the 1947–8 war, in which one per cent of the population was killed – and here we do not distinguish between civilian and military casualties. In the later wars, the percentage decreased markedly, to fractions of a per cent, and the same was true between the wars, when there were only minor military confrontations. In total, cumulatively and using the average of the total population during the years, Israel has suffered approximately 0.6 per cent mortalities in both its military and civilian sectors combined, as a result of the conflict in all its forms. This is comparatively a very low percentage. In World War I, France lost 7.7 per cent of its population between 1914–1918 (3.4% military casualties), while Germany lost 5% of its population (only 3% of these being military). In World War II, the USSR lost about 10 per cent of its population, and the same was true for Yugoslavia. Germany lost 7%, and Poland (even disregarding the Jews who were killed as a result of the Nazi genocide) lost 5% (including the Jews, this added up to 15% of its population). Great Britain lost 265,000 men of its military forces – these having been composed of members of all the countries of the British Empire (as compared to 3,000,000 German military personnel), as well as approximately 63,000 civilians on the British Isles. The latter represented a relatively low percentage (and this was so in spite of the repeated bombings of Great Britain). Both in absolute and in relative terms, the USA lost far fewer people, with its losses totalling about 250,000.⁹

TABLE 1

FATALITIES IN ISRAEL AS A RESULT OF THE JEWISH-ARAB CONFLICT (WARS AND GUERRILLA ACTIONS); BY PERIODS AND PERCENTAGE OF THE TOTAL JEWISH POPULATION: 1947–82

Wars and Periods
No. Killed (absolute)
Percentage of Population

1947–8 war

6,023

1.0000 

period 1948–56

1,176

0.0830*

1956 war

  177

0.0106 

period 1956–67

  795

0.0433*

1967 war

  893

0.0367 

period 1967–73

  738

0.0281*

1973 war

2,636

0.0930 

1982 war

  500

0.0103 

Total
12,938
0.6382*

* Based on average population during those years

However, it would appear that from our point of view, there is greater importance to the way the losses are perceived, than in the absolute number or the percentage of losses. It would appear that Israelis regard the conflict as costly, both at the level of the collectivity and as a potential danger and threat to the individual. When, in 1978, we asked a sample of students regarding the degree of actual danger they might be in of being injured as a result of the conflict (both as soldiers and as civilians), we received very high percentages (see Table 2). The average subjective chance of being injured was 23.8 per cent, and the median was about 10 per cent. When we compare this to the data in Table 1, the gap between the objective and the subjective probability can be seen to be extremely large. It is difficult to calculate the danger of any individual being injured in war. We know that (primarily in the wars up to and including 1967) the higher a person was on the socioeconomic scale, the more likely he was to be in one of the front-line units, and to be of a higher rank. And since there is a strong correlation between the degree of danger and one’s role and rank, the more centrally a person was located in Israeli society (i.e. male, young, of western ethnic origin, of higher educational level) the greater the danger of his being injured.¹⁰ From this point of view, part of our sample population certainly had greater chances of being injured that did the average member in the population. However when we divided our sample population into those who had served and would serve in the army, as compared to those who had not and would not serve in it, or when we divided it into those who had served in the front-line units (and who would in all likelihood serve in them again under war conditions), we did not find any significant differences in the individuals’ estimation of their degree of danger. From this one can arrive at our first conclusion, which is that at the individual level conflict is perceived as most threatening by sizable parts of the population. One can attribute this phenomenon as a perception of one of the prices which one pays for belonging to the Israeli collectivity, a price which stems from the conflict. As opposed to this, when he relates to the perceived ‘objective situation’, General (res.) Binyamin Peled claims that

when we say that we are fighting all the time – how many consecutive days have we fought? Thirty years? A total lie! The days in which everyone was mobilized [i.e., social interruption] – that is war. All the rest have been quite normal days. … Do you believe that we sacrificed many losses? Our sacrifices until now are not considered a considerable investment according to world criteria in struggles for much less serious goals. … ¹¹

Table 2 is an indicator that a large number of Israelis do not share his opinion that the price of the conflict has been minimal.

However, this finding is less impressive than it seems at first glance. In that same table, in the following column, the respondents were asked to estimate their chances of being killed in a car accident. And here we find an almost identical distribution, with a slightly higher probability of being killed in a car accident.¹² At the same time, it is clear that the two events are not perceived as being equivalent in terms of their societal significance: or, as expressed by the head of the ‘Bereaved Parents’ Association’, an organization of parents of sons who had fallen in war: ‘No person would dream of setting aside a day to remember those who had been killed in car accidents.’¹³

TABLE 2

THE SUBJECTIVE EVALUATION OF THE PROBABILITY OF BEING KILLED AS A RESULT OF THE ISRAELI-ARAB CONFLICT AS COMPARED TO THE SUBJECTIVE EVALUATION OF BEING KILLED IN A CAR ACCIDENT (BY PERCENTAGE)

Subjective evaluation of the probability
Of being killed as the result of the conflict*
Of being killed as the result of a traffic accident†

No danger

 12.6

 13.7

0.1–1

 11.9

 13.8

2–10

 26.7

 24.0

11–49

 21.0

 18.3

50

 19.1

 23.7

51–75

   3.5

   1.9

76–100

   5.3

   4.6

Total

100.1

100.0

n
262  
262  

mean

 23.8

 24.4

mode

 50.0

 50.0

median

 10.04

 10.03

variance
623.34
650.50

* The question was phrased as follows: ‘As you know, life is full of opportunities and dangers. We would like to ask you to evaluate and write down in percentage points (or fractions of a percentage point) the chances that the following will happen to you.’ The event here was defined as ‘your chances of being mortally wounded as a result of hostile acts stemming from the Israeli-Arab conflict, in the coming five years’.
† The event here was described as ‘your chances of being killed in a car accident, in the coming five years.’

However, it appears that a more significant and far-reaching cost than the danger to the individual is the danger to the very existence of the collectivity. As a result of the extended conflict, Israel is among the few states in the world (together with Taiwan and South Africa) where there is (a) questioning of the very legitimation of its existence; and (b) a permanent and declared threat of physical destruction. Here we are not referring to threats to this or that internal regime, but to a threat to its very existence as a social and political entity with its own independent identity.¹⁴ We thus asked our sample population what the chances are of the Arabs realizing their aims of destroying Israel in the foreseeable future (within 20 years) and at some time in the future (see Table 3). This question was asked five years after the trauma of the 1973 war, but before the Egyptian peace initiative. It appears that as far as the foreseeable future is concerned, only 34 per cent see this as totally impossible, while 39 per cent see this as having a probability of between 0.1 to 10 per cent, 7 per cent see this as an even chance, and 4.6 per cent see the chances as more than even. The average of our sample population here gave close to a 13 per cent chance of the state being destroyed. In addition, our sample population believed that time was working on the side of the Arabs, and the chances of the state being destroyed some time in the future averaged about 17 per cent, according to the responses given. When one compares the two evaluations (the near future and the distant future) one can see consistency within the ‘optimists’ and the ‘pessimists’. The optimists believe that time is working in favor of Israel, and that the probability of the state being destroyed will decline in the future, while the pessimists believe that as time passes, the chances of the collectivity being destroyed increase. There is no doubt that one must pay a heavy price to build one’s life and family in a collectivity which one is not even sure will survive, even though one cannot be sure that people are conscious of this in their day-to-day life.¹⁵ Another price, which is connected to the lack of confidence in the existence of the collectivity and its social structure, is the awareness of the problem of the legitimation of the existence of the collectivity.

TABLE 3

THE SUBJECTIVE EVALUATION OF THE PROBABILITY OF THE ARABS BEING ABLE TO DEFEAT ISRAEL (BY PERCENTAGE)

Subjective evaluation
In the coming twenty years*
In the distant (undefined) future†

No danger

 34.4

 29.4

0.1–10

38.8

34.3

11–49

 14.9

 19.5

50

   7.3

   8.4

51–75

   1.5

   3.8

76–100

   3.1

   4.6

Total
100.0
100.0

n

262

262

mean

 12.8

 17.0

mode

   0.0

   0.0

median

 19.9

 50.0

variance
440.42
576.20

* The event was defined as ‘the danger that within the coming twenty years the Arabs will vanquish Israel and will bring about the dismemberment of the State’.
† The event was defined as the ‘danger that at some time the Arabs will vanquish Israel and will bring about the dismemberment of the State’.

The problem of legitimation, or the absence of the right of the Jews to maintain a political and social entity, which is perceived as coming at the expense of the parallel right of the Palestinian Arabs – two rights which both sides are accustomed to seeing as mutually exlusive – has been one which has accompanied the Zionist settlement in Palestine almost from the beginning, and especially from the time that it became a political conflict between two national movements, as of the beginning of the British Mandate in Palestine.¹⁶ This conflict did not always remain at the same level of intensity, nor did it include all the strata of the population, but the problem of the right of the collectivity to exist was a built-in existentialist problem within the system, and the latter had to create mechanisms to provide answers to the problem of the ‘the right to the land’. One can mention many such mechanisms (beginning with the Hebrew-Zionist terminology and going through collective symbols and the use of both the distant and recent history, and especially using the concept of the Holocaust as a symbol of legitimation),¹⁷ but it appears that the most important and salient mechanism which linked ‘the nation’ to ‘the land’ was the Jewish religion.

The place of the Jewish religion, the religious symbols and the agreements which stemmed from the demands and the political strength of the religious sector in a basically modern and secular State, can only be explained in terms of the contribution of the religious symbols to the feeling of ‘the right to the land’. It appears that the more severe the problem of legitimation has become (primarily since the 1967 war, where Israel assumed the control of the Arabs of the West Bank of Jordan), both as an external-political problem (where some of the countries refuse to recognize Israel and some have broken off diplomatic relations with it)¹⁸ and as an existential-internal problem, the more has the entire system tended to gather about and fall back on religious symbols. As a result, there is an ever-greater tendency to solve the tension between Israel’s universalistic values and its particularistic ones by falling back on the latter.

It is already worth noting here that in regard to the problem of the internal legitimation, one should differentiate between the immediate effects of the wars and the effects of the Israeli-Arab conflict in its broad context (moral, political and psychological). Conditions of actual warfare do not arouse doubts as to the right of the collectivity to exist. On the contrary; when one’s physical existence is seen as being immediately threatened, the existential problems also enjoy a moratorium and the cohesion of the system increases.¹⁹ However when the salience of the conflict in its broad context is great, then the question of legitimation becomes all the greater. This is the explanation which we saw when we found a significant and large positive link between the salience of the conflict over the years and the number of suicides in Israel! The problem of legitimation is to a large extent similar to anomie, or may even be classed as a type of anomie, and therefore it is not at all surprising that the classic indicator of anomie²⁰ is linked to it. A certain type of anomie, a lack of physical security and uncertainty as to the continued existence of the collectivity and, as a result, the ‘social and cosmic order’, are some of the salient prices which individuals pay for belonging to the Israeli society – a society which has been involved in an extended conflict.

But exposure to all these subjective costs is differential, and we suppose that the more centrally the individual is located, the more exposed he is to these ‘prices’. On the other hand, the patterns of reaction also change in accordance with one’s location. For example, at the end of July 1981 Palestinian forces shelled areas in northern Israel and the civilian population was exposed to artillery shelling and missiles (the Katyushas) for a number of days. The difference in behavior among various segments of the population was extremely salient. While the established population (of the northern settlements), primarily those living in urban areas and who stemmed from Europe, as well as the members of the kibbutzim (primarily born in Israel, but descended from European parents) remained in their own places and attempted to continue with their regular patterns of work to the best of their abilities, a sizable proportion of the population of the development towns, which are composed primarily of people from Asia and Africa or their descendants, abandoned the area.²¹ This was a new phenomenon for the Israeli society, and the team of psychologists which submitted a report to the local authorities attributed the collapse of the civilian system primarily to the absence of shelters and of security awareness, or, in other words, that the people were not aware of, and were not prepared for what must be done in such circumstances.²² In June 1982, when the area was again exposed to Palestinian artillery (in the first stage of the 1982 War), the phenomenon of leaving the area was not observed. At this time the physical (shelters) and moral preparedness were better. This case study possibly indicates that the reaction of the population at large to a situation of direct impact is a combination of its location in the system and its physical and moral preparedness.

Another price which the individual (and the entire collectivity as well) must pay as a result of the conflict, is the total amount of time that the individual must ‘waste’ in military service. In Israel there is compulsory military service for all those young men who are capable of it (physically, mentally and socially) and for most young women (even though women are exempted for religious reasons).²³ The males must serve for three years, and thereafter they must serve in the reserves until the age of 39, for up to 40 days yearly. Thereafter, until the age of 55, they must serve for shorter periods of time. In the event of war, the Minister of Defense can extend the service to whatever extent the security of the state demands. In any event, the length of the service and to a large extent, the difficulty and the dangers involved in it, depend on the rank of the individual and on his functional importance for the armed forces. Young women only serve two years, and they are called up for reserve duty only on a selective basis and less frequently (again in accordance with the functionality of their skills) until they have their first child. The cost invested is not only measured by the amount of time spent in military service, but also by its quality – the young Israeli is normally forced to serve between the ages of 18 and 21, which is a vital time in the formulation of his personality and career. Whereas most young men of the western world complete their undergraduate work during this time, the Israeli is only released from the army by that time. But for many young men, as for the entire collectivity, there are also gains from this military service. Thus those of the underprivileged strata can acquire an education and some of them will acquire a technical skill which will help them later in their civilian life. At one time the army was regarded as the tool for integrating the immigrants from different countries,²⁴ but data which were recently obtained by us deny this to a certain extent, even though the army still does serve as a rite of passage for acceptance into the Israeli society.²⁵

And if service in the military forces is a type of endorsement of their acceptance in the Israeli society, and if in this immigrant society the symbolic differentiation between the ‘old timer’ and the ‘immigrant’ is not the number of years that the person has been living in the country, but whether he has lived in the country during a war or not, then for all the other members of the population, participation in the armed forces grants a feeling of intense participation in the society. This is participation not only at the level of the individual but also at the level of the entire family, which when its representatives serve in the armed forces, feels itself as contributing to and participating in the central task; a feeling which no doubt offers a certain amount of compensation for the risks and inconveniences involved in the duty to serve. In this case, the link between the external conflict and internal institutional arrangements is made by the mediation of the military.

The Conflict and Social Integration

The cohesive force of external conflict also explains the intensity with which internal social struggles can occur in Israel: between those of Asian-African descent and the establishment, which is regarded as being dominated by those of European and American descent; between the religious and the secular elements; between those with a moderate view and those with an extremist view on the Jewish-Arab conflict, between Israeli-Arabs and Jews and so on. We have already hinted above that there are certain indicators which show that the external pressure unifies and moderates the internal social conflicts in Israeli society.²⁹ Others have found that the intercommunity tensions and conflicts between the religious and non-religious decrease as the external conflict becomes more intensive.³⁰ Frequently, but not always when the salience of the external conflict is high, in terms of the military dimension, the internal dissension regarding the policies on the territories occupied by Israel in 1967 decreases.³¹

Yohanan Peres claims that the unifying effect of Israeli-Arab conflict upon the internal groups in Israel includes three components: (1) interdependence of fate, as a national loss is perceived as a loss to all (Jewish) Israeli ethnic groups (Peres dealt only with ethnic groups, but the same generalization seems applicable to other groups in this society); (2) a common goal, since cooperation is perceived as necessary for survival; and (3) an outlet for aggression, as antagonistic impulses have a legitimate target.³²

There are those who would claim as a result of this correlation between the external pressure and the degree to which internal conflicts erupt, whether explicitly or implicitly, that Israel’s foreign and military policy (which is regarded as sometimes being aggressive and uncompromising) manipulates the external conflict for its internal needs.³³ But here one should differentiate between two areas: (1) the internal problems which stem directly from the Israeli-Arab conflict, and (2) those whose focus is not the conflict (e.g. inter-community tension, tensions between the religious and non-religious, labor disputes, etc.). We have no evidence of any single concrete example of the latter which can be shown unequivocally to corroborate this hypothesis.³⁴

However there is no doubt that in regard to those internal problems which stem from the conflict and the way it is handled (where this is a cause of disagreement in the Israeli society), there have been sizable parts of the Israeli government which have been influenced by public opinion, or by what was seen as ‘functional’ under the conditions of the conflict. Thus, for example, Aronson and Horowitz investigated the retaliation policy of Israel between 1951 and 1969, by analyzing the retaliatory actions taken by Israel during this period.³⁵ These actions came about because of the minor skirmishes in which irregular forces of the Arab states and the Palestinians engaged against Israel, and for both sides these were substitutes for all-out war. The authors arrived at a number of conclusions, four of which affect our discussion: (a) retaliatory actions were taken to answer the internal needs of the civilian and military morale, because it could not be imagined that Israel would allow attacks on its civilian population to take place with impunity; (b) to supply the needs of a social consensus, without having to embark on a full-scale war (thus here the retaliatory actions served the needs of the moderates); (c) protecting the political elite from public criticism as being ineffective and weak; and (d) a tool in the internal struggles for political position (primarily between the Ministry for Foreign Affairs and the Ministry of Defense in the 1950s). The authors claimed that these were ‘latent functions’ (based on Merton’s definition),³⁶ as opposed to conscious, systematic and cynical use of the conflict for internal political use.

This matter has nonetheless remained a source of disagreement, and, as mentioned (see note 34), the term ‘securitism’ – i.e., the abuse of the symbol of national security – became common among the public. However since the governments knew they were accused of ‘securitism’, we have the impression that in most cases they refrained from the direct use of the conflict for internal manipulistic needs. But from time to time the suspicion of the public arose. In June-July 1982, the Defense Minister, Ariel Sharon, was suspected of attempting to make political capital – for the future struggle over the Prime Minister’s position – as one of the reasons for opening the 1982 War. As a result of the 1982 War and the partially interrupted social system, additional distinction appeared in the public opinion, between wars engaged in for immediate defense and for the ensurance of the survival of the collectivity, and wars for the improvement of the political and military position of Israel. An intensive controversy arose in the system around two questions: (a) was the 1982 war strictly necessary to the very existence of the collectivity, and even if not (b) may a polity based on a ‘nation-in-arms’ military system, composed mainly of reserve forces, manage a war for considerable political benefits, but which is not strictly neccessary for the collectivity’s survival? (For a more detailed discussion on this, see Dan Horowitz’s contribution to the present collection.)

Both perceptually and substantively, there is a direct link here to our basic contention as to the interrupted system: the common assumption is that, in general, in order to recruit the entire public for dealing with problems which arise as a result of the external conflict, there is need to recruit them solely in terms of this aim, and not for any other political or social aim, whether this other aim is desirable or not among different elements of the public. The borders between what is ‘security’ and what is not ‘security’, or between military and civilian, are very clear in many areas, but they are very poorly defined in a number of other areas (and we will discuss this below).

And finally, a few words on the reasons why the conflict should be an agent for social integration. Sociological theory does not offer an unequivocal answer as to whether an external conflict decreases or increases internal solidarity. Both Coser and Simmel³⁷ recognize that a conflict with some external group can make a system disintegrate, and not necessarily unify it. What then is the best predictor? The answer, as usual, is ‘it depends’.

The question of whether external conflict will harm the social system, disintegrate it, or, on the contrary, will solidify it and increase its efficiency and creativity in different areas, depends on a number of factors or preconditions. Sorokin³⁸ was already aware of this, when he attempted to ascertain the internal results of wars between nations. Kriesberg³⁹ surveys these reasons, and we are of the opinion that the most important factors for our study, as factors which determine the way the conflict will affect the society in question, are four: (1) the degree of prior basic cohesion or lack of it in the system. In any event, if the system is one with a low degree of solidarity, and is split by fierce internal conflicts, then external pressure – all the other factors being equal – will act toward fostering disintegration. (2) The degree to which the management of the conflict or war is seen by the majority of the members of the collective as being ‘just’. One of the differences which Coser lists between the reactions of the American public to the Second World War, as opposed to the Vietnam War, is the degree of difference in the feelings of ‘the justice of the cause’. (3) The degree to which the conflict is managed in a ‘successful’ or efficient manner. A system which is able to act efficiently (or ‘to win’), or which is perceived as being efficient by its members, in dealing with an external conflict, will find that the conflict will be a unifying factor rather than one leading to disintegration. (4) The balance of the cost-benefit equation as a result of the conflict cannot tip too much in the direction of loss. If the price that the system has to pay is perceived (subjectively) as being much greater than the ‘profits’ which the system gains from the conflict, then the conflict will be more likely to bring about disintegration.

As to the basic cohesion, or that which preceded the conflict, in our case it is very difficult to determine these matters unequivocally. On the one hand, the conflict with the Arab environment has accompanied the Jewish system at every step almost from the outset, so that the conflict has become a part of world-order or of ‘nature’. On the other hand, the Israeli society has no shortage of internal conflicts and tensions, as pointed out above. ‘The justice of the cause’ is also a very complicated question. We have already pointed out here in an abridged form, and elsewhere at length,⁴⁰ that the very conflict and its form have caused a permanent problem of doubts as to the ‘right’ of the Jews to the land, as opposed to the ‘right’ of the Arabs. However these problems of legitimation have been dealt with and have been answered both on the moral and philosophical level and on the institutional level, even though they were never eliminated. Together with the problem of legitimation, the conflict and the Zionist enterprise have been accompanied throughout with a feeling of ‘there’s no alternative’ (both in terms of the fate of the Jews in the diaspora throughout two thousand years of persecution and in terms of the Arab opposition – two factors which have often been linked together). It appears that the problem of legitimation and the feeling that ‘there is no alternative’ cancel one another out. This whole question was weakened after 1967, from which time Israel began regarding itself as a ‘military power’, at least on the regional level. The questions of the conflict had already been a source of contention previously, between the ‘hard liners’, who even sometimes advocated territorial expansion, and the ‘soft liners’ and liberals,⁴¹ with this argument intensifying greatly after the 1967 War. In addition, as we have already shown above, the other major foci of the central conflicts were also aroused at this time, just as they were also intensified somewhat after the peace treaty with Egypt.

Almost without a doubt, militarily (though not politically) the Jewish-Arab conflict was conducted, in Israeli eyes, generally in a most successful manner. The opening stages of the 1973 War did indeed cause a certain trauma, but it is difficult to judge the degree to which it was influential, because here too the war ended in victory for Israel. From this point of view, it appears that the influence of conflict upon the country’s cohesion was a direct one, except for the 1982 War, which raised questions about its ‘justness’ and deeply divided the country. The fourth point, which deals with the cost-benefit balance of the conflict, is in fact the central motif of this essay, so it will be better for us to leave discussion about this until the end of the essay.

The Financial Burden

In 1948, the British Mandatory regime was transferred to the Provisional Council of the sovereign state of Israel. One of the first pieces of legislation adopted was increasing the tax rate by 100 per cent. This increase was explained as stemming from the needs of pursuing the war and furthering the general social aims which the new State set for itself. While the Mandatory regime had had only minimal ambitions as to supplying services to its citizens, the new State saw itself as marching toward the construction of a welfare state, which would at the same time have to absorb new immigrants. At the same time, it was promised that once the emergency situation had passed, there would be a revision, and the taxes would be decreased.⁴² Since then, the emergency has not been terminated, and thus Harold Wilkenfeld⁴³ could claim that ‘for years the average Israeli taxpayer has been among the most heavily taxed in the world and, since 1970, he may have achieved the dubious distinction of being the most heavily taxed’.

And indeed, when one compares Israel to a whole series of developed countries, we see that when one calculates the direct and indirect taxes as a percentage of the GNP, one finds that Israel is in the highest group in terms of the collection of indirect taxes (see Table 4).⁴⁴ Moreover, even when one considers the major component of direct taxation – income tax – one finds that the tax rate for even those with a middle income is extremely high, and amounts to from 35 to 50 per cent.⁴⁵ However, all these calculations refer to gross taxation calculations;⁴⁶ and it is very difficult to determine the net taxes. While Israel is a relatively moderate welfare state (compared, for example, to Great Britain or the Scandinavian countries), it is basically a ‘giving’ country, with all types of benefits whose real value is very difficult to assess (e.g. heavily subsidizing basic foodstuffs, transportation and fuel, parcelling out state lands and properties for long periods extending over decades).⁴⁷ The Israeli economic system is characterized by the fact that throughout it has had an infusion of capital into the system, with this capital passing through many institutional filters to various individuals and groups, even though this was done in a differential manner.⁴⁸ One should not, therefore, be over-impressed with the gross taxes paid by Israelis, and should remember that the taxpayer receives very many goods and services in return, even though these do not appear as official receipts of funds. Some of these distributions, as we will prove below, are related either directly or indirectly to the Israeli-Arab conflict.

TABLE 4

INTERNATIONAL COMPARISON OF THE TAX BURDEN AS A PERCENTAGE OF THE GROSS DOMESTIC PRODUCT IN 1972 a

At the same time – both because of the high direct taxes, and because of a lack of awareness of the differentiation between net and gross taxes, and above all because of the open statements of the political center – the tax burden in Israel is perceived as being very high, and this high level of taxation is justified, at least partially, in terms of the needs engendered by the Israeli-Arab conflict. This is the cost for the individual.

What is the cost for the entire system? This too is a complicated question, which it is very difficult to answer unequivocally. If one takes a glance at Table 5, one can see that Israel stands at the top of the list of developed countries on three scales of expenses for national security: defense expenditures as a percentage of the GNP (Israel with 31 per cent as opposed to the USA with 5.4 per cent), defense expenditures per capita (Israel $831 and the USA slightly more than half this figure), and the number of individuals employed by the army and in national defense jobs (almost 50 persons per 1,000 inhabitants in Israel, compared to about 10 in the USA and slightly more than 10 in France).

This burden is dramatic, and the immediate question which is aroused is how any system can sustain such a burden, and yet allocate funds for other social needs without collapsing upon itself. The answer is found in Tables 6 and 7, which dissect the defense expenditures into the sources which finance them and the length of time over which these are to be paid. Table 6 shows that until 1964 the defense expenditures varied between 7 to 10 per cent of GNP, and never exceeded the total of other public expenditures. Between 1968 and 1973 (in other words, as a result of the 1967 War), there was a doubling of the national defense expenditure in terms of the percentage of the GNP (as the GNP also grew during this time, the absolute defense expenditures grew by even more). Table 7 shows that military imports (which account for about half of these expenses) were still paid for by internal sources.⁴⁹ The next great leap took place as a result of the 1973 War, with defense expenditures reaching an average of 29 per cent of the GNP for the years 1974–78 (30.7 of the GNP of 1967–77). However, already in 1973, 61.6 per cent of the imports were financed by American grants and the grant components in loans, while during 1974–80 close to 41 per cent was financed by this type of aid. This aid represents a sizable portion of the military expenditure growth, but does not represent any added financial burden for Israel. Table 6 should convey a macro-economic idea of what internal goals suffered as a result of the defense costs. Firstly, while it is true that Israel’s foreign debt grew, this was due primarily to the growth in defense expenditures (had it not been for these import expenses, the debt in the second and third periods would evidently have been small). The civilian public expenditures (and we will discuss these later) were not harmed in the last two periods (even though they did not grow a great deal in comparison with the GNP). Individual expenditures were curtailed greatly (when compared to the GNP – even though, in absolute terms, they generally grew) in the first two periods, and the growth in the GNP was not enough to fuel a raise in the standard of living. However, what declined consistently over all three periods was investments in the economy. One may thus state that there are two central internal factors which bore the burdens of the defense expenditures: the living standard and the future growth of the economy.

TABLE 5

MILITARY EXPENDITURE OF SELECTED COUNTRIES BY MANPOWER AND FINANCIAL RESOURCES 1976/77*

TABLE 6

THE ALLOCATION OF ECONOMIC RESOURCES

However the domestic defense needs were much greater than those envisioned in the national budget, for many of those costs which were the result of the conflict were included in other budget sections, and there are a number of very important economic factors which cannot be calculated and which one may not even be able to estimate. In addition to the three years of military service for all adults, which include about 7 per cent of all one’s productive time (which is generally 40–45 years), and which can be estimated as equivalent to about 5 per cent from the GNP,⁵⁰ it is very difficult to estimate the cost of reserve army duty, and it is even harder to estimate the damage caused to the different manufacturing or service units as a result of people’s absence at frequent intervals, and thus the neglect of routine functions.

In a previous section we mentioned the Economy Emergency system, but we did not mention in that context that there are heavy prices paid in maintaining supplies and storing them for a lengthy period of time. There is an economic cost for all those who are killed and who are no longer in the production cycle, and this is all the more true with the wounded: while it is true that some of the medical and rehabilitation costs, as well as the pensions of those injured in hostile acts are listed in the budget of the Ministry of Defense, the cost of losing these people from the production cycle (either temporarily or permanently, in one measure or another of severity) cannot be calculated or quantified. Another example of a major expenditure which does not appear in the defense budget, and is paid in one fashion or another by the individual citizen, is the cost of building bomb shelters, which are required in Israel. One can estimate that this expenditure alone amounts to about 0.5 per cent of the GNP.⁵¹ Another example of a major expenditure which does not appear as a defense cost and which is nevertheless an expenditure stemming directly from the Israeli-Arab conflict, is the money expended on internal security, most of which is carried out by the police force (here we refer to what is called the Palestinian terror).

Berglas summarizes the value of those items which are related to national defense, even though they are classified for budgetary pruposes under other rubrics, or which cannot be calculated at all, as follows: ‘Although it has not been possible to assign even rough orders of magnitude to most of these items, it emerges from such figures as I have been able to suggest that the missing amounts (unreported or not ascribed to defense) come to more than half of the reported expenditures in local currency’.⁵²

But the picture will not be complete if we do not note that a number of components of the budget which do appear under the heading of ‘national security’ are in fact civilian expenditures, and primarily that some of the defense expenditures have a ‘positive’ impact – in economic terms – upon the Israeli system. Thus, for example, the army is involved in both formal and non-formal educational programs.⁵³ By this means, thousands of soldiers who hail from the weaker strata, and whom the educational system has had difficulty reaching, receive general basic social skills (reading and writing, improving and enriching one’s vocabulary, etc.). Similarly, and in addition, the army supplies a number of teachers, primarily in the development towns and in places where there is a shortage of teachers. However, more important than this, in terms of the army as an educational agent, are the thousands of soldiers who receive technical and administrative skills each year, begining with the lowest ranks and extending to administrative experience at the highest levels. The fact that the borderline between what are listed as defense expenditures and what are not, and what actually is spent on defense and what on other areas, is so unclear, has wide-ranging political and social effects, which will be discussed below – but here we are only analyzing the economic influences.

TABLE 7

THE COMPOSITION OF FOREIGN AID

However one of the long range economic influences of wars and conflicts upon the Israeli system is the growth of a large and complex military industry, whose sophistication is constantly increasing. Even using solely offical publications, it is clear that Israel produces almost all types of weapons and ammunition (and might even have been able to produce more, had not a part of the U.S. aid not been conditional on acquiring weapons from the American arms industry). There are no exact figures regarding the extent of Israel’s arms exports (because it is evidently impossible for Israel politically to publicize some of these contracts), but, for example, the New York Times (24 August 1981) estimates the extent of Israel’s arms exports for the year 1980 as up to $1.3 billion, or about 0.5 per cent of all arms transactions in the world. The major selling point of these arms – and this is the point emphasized in marketing them – is that they have been tested in battle.

The speedy expansion of the military industry has had a number of far-reaching effects: (1) modernization and the introduction of new technologies into Israeli industry – primarily in the field of electronics,⁵⁴ (2) the allocation of funds for R & D; (3) the establishment of a human infrastructure with a high degree of skills, and the introduction of the highest standards of quality in some segment of industrial production. In a very similar vein to the findings of Baran and Sweezy, who claimed that as expenditures on national defense rise in a capitalistic society, the scope of the economy grows,⁵⁵ one can hypothesize that in Israel too there was such a link between these variables (while at the same time with the reservation which we already noted above that some of the increased expenditure on defense needs was not financed by local sources). Beginning with the year 1972, the Ministry of Defense began decreasing its orders from the local market – a fact which hurt those enterprises which did not find any alternate markets for their products, or which were not able to convert the production to civilian products, both for local consumption and for export.⁵⁶

However, the social results of the growth of a large military industry were even more far-reaching than they appear at first. This growth brought about the creation of a military-industrial complex,⁵⁷ which expressed itself primarily in a constantly increasing influence upon determining national priorities and upon the societal decision-making process.⁵⁸ One example, which caused an internal public debate in Israel, was the decision to manufacture an advanced fighter plane for the ‘nineties’, where Israel Aircraft Industries invested a huge amount of money without waiting for the go-ahead from the government. In his 1981 Report, the State Comptroller criticized the very fact that monev was invested without any authorization, with the government being presented with a fait accompli.⁵⁹

Similar or identical questions can be asked about most of the weapons systems developed in Israel, and the answers given will almost certainly be the one given here – in other words, that the development of weapons is not only an economic question. In order for Israel to decrease its political dependence upon other countries (that is, the US), primarily in managing its own foreign and defense policy, there is a need to maximize Israel’s ability to produce weapons systems. This consideration is one of those to be examined together with other economic and social considerations.⁶⁰ When the system operates under basic principles which give primacy to political considerations over economic ones, the concept of the economic ‘burden’ upon the system (as opposed to the burden upon groups or individuals within it) loses its importance to a large extent.

In such conditions, with the combination of a system which is absorbing immigrants while at the same time carrying the burden of an external conflict, where this is partially financed by a continuous infusion of money from the outside – the economic considerations of whether any action is financially worthwhile or relevant lose their importance when weighed against comprehensive (internal and external) political considerations. The economic system loses its autonomy and is to a large extent controlled by extra-economic considerations,⁶¹ The degree of autonomy of the economic sector has not been uniform and has increased and decreased at different times, but in general one can state that the rule that political considerations have primacy is correct.⁶²

A Militaristic Society?

The fact that the political sphere predominates over the economic sphere brings us to a more comprehensive question: has the extended conflict resulted in having the other social activities and processes also subservient to the political sphere, or, even more radically, has it become subservient to that group in the political system which manages the external conflict (those who are known as ‘managers of violence’) – that is, the armed forces, or to the civilian and military elite whose main role is to manage the conflict? In a less sophisticated fashion, one can ask to what extent Israel has developed as a totalitarian society, where militarism is classically characterized, in the definition of Vagts⁶³ as a domination of the military man over the civilian, an undue preponderance of military demands, an emphasis on military considerations, spirit, ideals, and scale of value, in the life of states. It has meant also the imposition of heavy burdens on a people for military purposes, to the neglect of welfare and culture, and waste of the nation’s best manpower in unproductive army service.

A number of scholars have tried to deal with this problem, or with similar questions; they have assumed a priori that there is such a problem in the Israeli society, and then the question becomes whether the Israeli society is a ‘garrison state’⁶⁴ or a ‘nation-in-arms’.⁶⁵ Others have used the terminology of Luckham,⁶⁶ who investigated the degree of permeability of the boundaries between the military establishment and the political institutions. The permeability of the boundaries runs along a continuum on one pole of which the boundaries are ‘integral’, that is,

the extent to which the interchange between persons holding roles at various levels of the military hierarchy and the environment are under the control of those with responsibility for setting the operational goals of the armed forces … boundaries are permeated to the extent to which there is a complete fusion both in respect of goals and of organization between the possessors of means of violence and other social groups.⁶⁷

The ‘fragmented’ boundaries are an intermediate category between the integral and permeable poles. Luckham, following Ben Halpern,⁶⁸ locates the Israeli case on the integral pole. But here, Lissak, after examining the whole spectrum of institutional linkages, concluded that ‘with the exception of a few cases … there are really no integral boundaries between the defence and the civilian sectors in Israel’.⁶⁹ Dan Horowitz came to the conclusion that in Israel there is a tendency

toward convergence of the military and civilian systems in terms of: (a) organizational modes of operation (particularistic, nonauthoritarian); (b) elite perception of international environment (realpolitik and power-politics oriented); (c) dominant political culture (democratic-coalescent). Convergence … thus represented a limited and normatively restricted militarization of the civilian political institutions, and a partial civilization of the military institutions.⁷⁰

The conditions which have resulted from the extended conflict in which the Israeli society finds itself are much more complicated than those found in the democratic society. However, immediately after making this statement, two serious problems arise, regarding the question of defining the limits of the system. Israel is a democratic country in terms of the Jewish majority within the country, but the degree to which it is open and flexible is different in regard to its Arab citizens,⁷¹ and all the more so for those who live in territories occupied by Israel as of 1967. Until 1965, Israel maintained a Military Government, which was in effect for almost all its Arab citizens. By means of this and by expropriation of lands and by formal and informal means barring Arab citizens from attaining certain positions within the society, the state (a) infringed upon the civil rights of its Arab citizens, and (b) discriminated between its Jewish and Arab citizens.⁷² This discrimination was not only a product of the majority–minority relationship, which is common in many societies, but stemmed to a large extent from a certain conception of the Israeli-Arab conflict – the Israeli system was not able to free itself from a number of codes and rules of the game which had been formulated in the period of the confrontation between the two communities during the Mandatory regime, and which continued to relate to its Arab citizens as a potential threat, primarily in terms of control of the land resources.⁷³

The problem becomes more severe when we come to the population in the territories occupied in 1967, and which were not annexed to Israel, although economically they were integrated into it almost completely.⁷⁴ In addition, these areas have been marked by a considerable degree of Jewish settlement.⁷⁵ Thus a condition was created where more than a million people have been living for over fifteen years under Israeli military occupation. It is the nature of things that this population is denied, at least partially, some of those rights which are accepted in Israel, and this is true even when one compares the rights granted this population to those granted to Israeli Arabs. One interesting fact mitigates this situation somewhat: the Government of Israel decided to permit the inhabitants of these territories to have access to Israeli law courts, including the Supreme Court, and to receive the protection of the courts when faced with administrative arbitrariness. This is an unprecedented situation in terms of international practice, and the Supreme Court, sitting as the High Court of Justice, has struggled with the question of what degree of authority it has over these occupied territories. The Supreme Court finally decided that beyond the mere question of international law, one cannot in humanitarian terms simply abandon the population to the arbitrary whims of the military government, and the Court assumed for itself the right to intervene.⁷⁶ But the presence of the Israeli courts has only somewhat alleviated the conditions prevailing in the military government – primarily at times of tension and a political struggle between the local population and Israel.⁷⁷

The sociological and political analyses in Israel (as opposed to a number of works published outside Israel)⁷⁸ have tended to exclude the inhabitants of these territories from any analyses of the Israeli system, because (a) they are not formally part of Israel; and (b) the latent assumption has been that the occupation and the retention of the vast majority of the territory and population is merely a temporary stage. The question, however, is whether, after holding on to the territories and their inhabitants for fifteen years, one can still see in this a phenomenon which is ‘beyond the limits of the Israeli system’. Answering this question either way is likely to change drastically the analysis of Israeli society as a single-nationality society, with all the consequences which follow. However, even if one relates to Israel and the territories as two separate units, there are still many questions as to how long Israel can maintain two separate sets of the rules of the game, one for the country and one for the territories, and to what extent those norms formulated in the occupied territories will spill over into Israel.⁷⁹

In addition, the economic integration of the territories – with unskilled laborers streaming into Israel and Israeli products and money streaming into the territories – has changed to a noticeable extent the Israeli occupational structure, and has created a limited congruence between national origin and occupation. Even where there is no national conflict (e.g. where foreign workers are employed in Western Europe), such conditions are liable to cause social tensions and the potential for the outbreak of conflicts, and this is all the more true in the circumstances prevalent in the Middle East. On the other hand, until this time the absorption of these workers of the territories into the Israeli economy has created – at least in a partial manner – an interest in coexistence while refraining from escalating the national and political differences. The macro-social profits and losses from the retention of the territories are therefore calculable in different ways for different segments and will also, possibly, depend upon the values of the person analyzing them.

Immigration and Emigration: Cost Benefit Balance

Israel is not only an active immigration country, but it was also built and readied to serve as the home of some, or the majority – and this question is still being argued – of the Jews of the world. In fact, in abridged form, the Zionist ideology is to gather the Jews once again in their old country and to achieve a sovereign nation for them, so that they can be like all the nations. Immigration to Israel is not merely an aim, but it is also perceived as an indicator of the degree of the ‘correctness’ of the solution proposed to the Jews by the Zionist movement, as opposed to the other alternatives. The opposite process – Jews leaving the country – has the same significance, but, of course, in reverse. Leaving the country is seen as infringing upon the proper order of society. This is an act which is unacceptable in terms of Zionist ideology, similar in its meaning to leaving many of the communist countries beyond the iron curtain. Here, though, there is added significance to such an act, stemming directly from the Jewish-Arab conflict: the human resource is regarded as one of the most important resources in the balance of power between the Jews and the Arabs in general, and between the Israelis (the Jews) and the Palestinians in particular. Each person who leaves the collectivity is regarded as weakening Israel (and, on the other hand, each entry is seen as strengthening it) and as engaging in a treacherous act. Such an action is also often defined as the personal weakness of the individual who leaves.

And yet there is emigration from the country, just as there is emigration from every other immigrant country. The extent of this emigration is a major source of disagreement, primarily due to the fact that there are no criteria and effective tools for measuring it. The estimates which exist vary from 250,000 to 500,000 Israelis who left the country from 1948 to 1979.⁸⁰ The low estimates regarding emigration (about 270,000), amount to 16 per cent of the immigration but even if we add the highest estimates, Israel still was not one of the leaders – when compared with other countries during periods of mass immigration (Table 8). But one cannot compare these figures exactly. Most of those who immigrated to Israel came from countries where there was no possibility for Jews to ‘return to the homeland’, or where the return to the homeland would involve far greater difficulties than, for example, an Italian returning to Italy, a Pole to Poland, etc. The more likely opportunity available to these Jews was integration in a third country, primarily in North or South America. Taking into account these facts and the fact that emigrants are castigated, in terms of Zionist ideology even an emigration rate of 16 per cent, where only some of those leaving were new immigrants, while others had been in the country for years or had even been born there, is a major problem.

How much is the conflict and the burden which it has imposed upon the Israeli population responsible for emigration? In a survey conducted in 1974,⁸¹ 19 per cent of the Jewish population of Israel claimed that they had either little or no desire to stay in Israel.⁸² When they were asked why they wished to leave, they classified their reasons in the following descending order of frequency of responses: (a) the heavy taxation (31%); (b) the low standard of living (28%); (c) the bureaucratic problems involved in living in Israel (25%); (d) the political regime (22%); (e) the future of their children (21%); (f) the chances of better employment (20%); (g) military service (19%); (h) the social gap (18%); (i) working conditions (16%); (j) physical security. At first glance, the two factors which relate directly to the conflict (military service and physical security) are marginal in terms of the desire to leave. However, there are other factors (such as the tax burden, the standard of living and certainly the future of one’s children) which nevertheless have some connotation in terms of the conflict. When one examines the readiness to leave the country over a period of time, one sees a slight connection – even though it is still a weak one – between the existence of the conflict and the readiness to leave the country. During the years, when the Palestinians were involved in guerrilla tactics which caused civilian casualties in Israel (such as Beit Shean and Ma’alot in 1974, the Savoy Hotel in 1975, the bus on the coastal road in 1978, Kibbutz Misgav Am in 1980, etc.), it was found that the percentage of those willing to leave the country rose, but in a short time the levels fell to their normal ones, or about 12–14 per cent.⁸³

TABLE 8

THE PERCENTAGE OF EMIGRANTS OF THE TOTAL IMMIGRANTS, ISRAEL AND SELECTED COUNTRIES

Country
Years
Percentage of Emigrants

Australia

1906–1924

70

Argentina

1857–1948

46

USA

1821–1924

34

Brazil

1872–1940

26

Israel
1948–1979
     16–30

Source: compiled from: (1) United Nations, Demographic Yearbook 1977: International Migration Statistics (New York, 1978); (2) Maurice R. Davie, World Migration: With Special Reference to the United States (New York: Macmillan, 1946); (3) G. Beijer, ‘Modern Patterns of International Migratory Movements’, in J.E. Jackson (ed.) Migration (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969). pp. 11–59; (4) Brinley Thomas, Migration and Economic Growth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1954); (5) Etan Sabatello, ‘Emigration from the Country and its Characteristics’, Bitfutzot Hagola (Summer, 1978), pp. 63–76; (6) Ha’aretz, 17 October 1975.

The complementary problem is that of immigration to Israel, which, as mentioned above, is one of the major components of Zionist ideology, which sees Israel, among others, as a ‘secure’ refuge for the Jews of the world. It is very difficult to determine to what extent the existence of the conflict prevents the Jews from coming to Israel to settle there, but one may assume that when three specific factors interact, they limit the attraction of Israel tremendously. These factors are (a) the delegitimation of Israel; (b) the physical threat to the existence of individuals and the existence of the entire collectivity (and one should again recall here the findings of Tables 2 and 3). Added to this is (c) the inability of Israel to ensure that immigrants to the country will have a standard of living close to that in the western world, which also, to an extent, seems a result of the conflict. But one should stress that throughout Jewish settlement in Palestine there was always a sizable number of Jews who immigrated to the country because they had no alternative or Jews who came for religious reasons, who to a large extent neutralize the problem of legitimation.⁸⁴ The conflict is thus also to a certain extent a ‘selection tool’ as to who comes and who does not come to Israel. It is thus not surprising that in such conditions the social system moves slowly from a more open and universalistic orientation to a population in which those with a particularistic orientation predominate.⁸⁵ When one investigates the self-identity of youth in Israel and compares them at two difference points in time – 1965 and 1974 – one sees a much greater tendency to identify oneself as ‘Jewish’ (which is more particularistic) than identifying oneself as ‘Israeli’ (which is more pluralistic and universalistic).⁸⁶ This social change evidently mediates as a result of the internal and external problems which were thrust upon Israel as a result of the confrontation with the territory of the West Bank with its population of a million Arabs in these areas.

Conclusions

Since its earliest, formative stages, Israel has never known peace, security or political calm. The process of partial adoption of conflict into the routine operation of the social system has served in many ways as a functional equivalent of ‘peace’, rendered possible because of the following circumstances:

a. | The prolonged continuation of the conflict, which leads to its perception as ‘destiny’, thereby introducing it as a ‘natural’ component of life.
b. | The ability to differentiate – mentally as well as institutionally – between active warfare and other conflict periods and patterns.
c. | Rapid social and military mobilization capability, as developed by military reserve and social interruption systems.
d. | The objective and subjective cost-benefit balance of the conflict, which made the various burdens bearable by individuals and by society as a whole. On economic grounds, this derived from the fact that a considerable portion of the military expenditures was financed through external sources.

All of these social, psychological and institutional states lie in a fragile and delicate balance and are in constant danger of being undermined. The recent attempts by the Israeli government to blur the boundaries between routine and war – through extension of the definition of ‘necessary war’ – is but one example of the dangers to this balance. Others are built into each of the arrangements surveyed in this paper, viz: the rise in perceived cost of the conflict, damage sustained through ‘fair’ distribution of the military and financial burden, a change in the perception of inevitability of the conflict and the legitimacy of the system, a drop in creditability of the system (or even the government) its ability to cope successfully in the long run with the conflict (that is, the ability of the entire system to survive) and the possibility of terminating or considerably reducing external financing of the war. A combination of these elements might even totally undermine the fragile social balance which Israel has achieved in its response to the conflict situation, thereby utterly changing the rules of the game. In this case, the conflict could become more and more disastrous to Israeli society. Another potential danger to the original character of the Israeli social system is the process of its transformation to a bi-national state, with most rights accorded to one nation only. This topic, however, is beyond the scope of the present paper.

NOTES

*The paper is based on a chapter of a forthcoming book by Baruch Kimmerling and Irit Backer, entitled The Interrupted System: Israeli Civilians in War and Routine. Thanks are due to Moshe Lissak, Dan Horowitz, Victor Azarya and Irving Louis Horowitz for their helpful comments on an earlier draft of this paper.

1.  Western and democratic societies incline towards the conception of war and international conflicts as a necessary evil, while most revolutionary or totalitarian regimes view war not only as a natural phenomenon, but also – to quote Mussolini, for example, as one which ‘brings all human energy to its highest potential and imprints the stamp of nobility upon the peoples who have the courage to face it’. Quoted in W.G. Welk, Fascist Economic Policy: An Analysis of Italy’s Economic Experiment (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1938), p. 190.

2.  According to this approach, war may be coined as a ‘charismatic situation’, in which man is demanded for sacrific and worship, as James Jones wrote in WWII: ‘and the sheer excitment of battle can often lead a man to death willingly, where without it he might have balked. But in the absolute, ultimate end, when your final extinction is right there only a few years farther on, staring back at you, there may be a sort of hotly joyous, almost sexual enjoyment and acceptance – which keeps you going the last few steps. The ultimate luxury of just not giving a damn any more’. Quoted by Edward O. Wilson, On Human Nature (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1978), p. 150.

3.  See Yigal Allon, A Curtain of Sand (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1958), (Hebrew) passim.

4.  Quoted in Shabtai Teveth, Moshe Dayan (London: Steimatzky with Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1972), p.240.

5.  Eliezer Schweid, ‘The Endurance of Israeli Society’, in Amnon Cohen and Arie Carmon, eds., In the Wake of the Yom Kippur War (Haifa: Haifa University, 1976), p. 60 (Hebrew).

6.  For a detailed analysis of the concept and the interrupted situation compared with a case study of disaster, see Baruch Kimmerling with Irit Backer, The Interrupted System: Israeli Civilians in War and Routine (forthcoming).

7.  See B. Kimmerling and I. Backer, ‘Voluntary Action and Location in the System: The Case of the Israeli Civilians During the 1973 War’, The Journal of Applied Behavioral Sciences, 1, 18 (1982), pp.1–16.

8.  Beginning with the Zionist colonization of Palestine, Jews and Arabs were killed as a result of the confrontations between them. What is possibly surprising is the small number of those killed on both sides, especially when one summarizes this over a long period of time. Between 1882 and the beginning of the 1920s, no more than a few dozen were killed. In the riots of 1920–21 about 50 Jews were killed, while in what appeared to be a national Arab revolt in 1929, 135 Jews were killed – including most of the community of Jews in Hebron (which, incidentally, did not belong to the ‘Zionist settlement’). In the general rebellion of 1936–39, 545 Jews were killed and about 700 were wounded.

9.  Statistics of casualties attributable to wars will be found in Quincy Wright, A Study of War (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1942); Pitrim Sorokin, Social and Cultural Dynamics (New York: American Book, 1937), vol. I, appendix 21: Raymond Aron, The Century of Total War (Boston: Beacon Press, 1954), pp 75–77: Alan S. Milward, War, Economy and Society 1939–1945 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1977), pp. 200–12. For the British casualties in World War II, see Richard M. Titmuss, History of the Second World War: Problem of Social Policy (London: H.M. Stationery Office and Longman, 1950), appendix 8. As to Great Britain, it is very difficult to calculate the casualties in relationship to population, because those listed as injured or killed in the armed forces included soldiers from throughout the British Empire.

10.  The Israeli army does not publish statistics regarding casualties by rank, and all the more so not by socio-economic status. But according to our computation, the relative distribution of the fatalities in the 1973 war was as following: of a total of 2,358 surveyed fatalities 23.8% were officers, or about 2.7 times more than their weight in the Israeli armed forces officers’ population. The ethnic origin of those killed soldiers (based on their first and last names, or their parents names) were: Occidentals 61.94% (of the identifiable – because 10.5% from the total were unidentifiable), or 1.16 of their weight in the country’s total population, and the Orientals’ representation was 0.82 of their weight. The representation of the fatalities according to their place of residence was: Cities and metropolitan areas 0.98, small and development towns 0.27, kibbutzim 4.0, and other rural areas 2.04 (data computed from Israel Defence Forces, The Fatalities of Yom Kippur War, 1974).

11.  Ha’aretz Magazine, 2 July 1979.

12.  The phenomenon of the gap between subjective estimations of the probability of events occuring and their ‘true’ probability is well-known, but in general the tendency is to exaggerate upward in regard to ‘good’ events (winning the lottery or any other game of chance) and to do the opposite (i.e. exaggerage downward) in regard to ‘bad’ events. For a full discussion on this, see John Cohen, Psychology of Probability (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1972). In our case, the gap between the subjective and objective probability is even greater than usual.

13.  Broadcast on Israel Radio, 26 April 1982.

14.  See, for example, Yehoshafat Harkabi, Arab Strategies and Israel’s Response (New York: the Free Press, 1977).

15.  One can find sharp expressions of this in some Israeli prose and poetry. Thus, for example, Arab historiosophy commonly draws a comparison between the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem and the State of Israel. In both instances – thus it is claimed – foreign invaders came to this territory, temporarily conquered the Muslims, and established kingdoms which were a ‘foreign element’ in the region. However these entities cannot maintain themselves for an extended period of time, as they are opposed to historical and sociopolitical logic. Just as Saladin defeated the Christians, thus the Arabs will eventually defeat the Israelis. Whether consciously or not, whether explicitly or implicitly, the Israelis are attempting, both in their scientific research and in their literature, to contend with the ‘Crusader model’ – to deny the analogy, or ‘to learn from the Crusader attempt’, in order to prevent its repetition. On this, see Ehud Ben-Ezer, ‘War and Siege in Israeli Literature (1948–1967)’, The Jerusalem Quarterly (Winter 1977), pp. 94–112.

16.  See B. Kimmerling, Zionism and Territory (Berkeley: Institute of International Studies, University of California, 1983), passim.

17.  See, for example, Charles Liebman, ‘Myth, Tradition and Values in Israeli Society’, Midstream, 24, (January 1978) pp. 44–53.

18.  Kimmerling, 1983, op. cit.

19.  Baruch Kimmerling, ‘Anomie and Integration in Israeli Society and the Salience of the Arab-Israeli Conflict’, Studies in Comparative International Development, 9, No. 3, (Fall 1974), pp. 64–89.

20.  See Emile Durkheim, Suicide (New York: The Free Press, 1952 ed.), and Marshall B. Clinard, ‘The Theoretical Implications of Anomie and Deviant Behavior’, in M.B. Clinard, ed., Anomie and Deviant Behavior (Glencoe: The Free Press, 1954).

21.  A psychological team which investigated the topic, primarily from the point of view of the pressure imposed upon the children who had been shelled, concluded that some of the established population (of the town of Metulla) acted in the same way as the new population, and that fleeing stemmed more from a feeling of inequity rather than from low morale, because all the other residents of the country were safe, and only in this relatively small area were the residents under fire. Thus, a trip of but a few kilometers put the person and his family in a ‘safe’ area. See ‘Platform for Discussion’, The Presidential Conference on Children (mimeo), Jerusalem, 5 October 1981.

22.  Remarkably similar findings are reported in other cases of casualties suffered in development towns. See Chaya Zukerman-Bareli, ‘Outmigration from a Development Town in Israel’, International Journal of Comparative Sociology 20, Nos. 3–4, (September-December, 1979), pp. 260–62.

23.  See Dan Horowitz and Baruch Kimmerling, ‘Some Social Implications of the Military Service and Reserve System in Israel’, Archive Europeens de Sociologie (Tomme 1974), pp. 262–76; Baruch Kimmerling, ‘Determination of the Boundaries and Frameworks of Conscription: Two Dimensions of Civil-Military Relations in Israel’, Studies in Comparative International Development, Vol. 14, No.1, (Spring 1979), pp. 21–41.

24.  See, Moshe Lissak, ‘The IDF as an agent of Socialization and Education – A Study of Role Expansion in a Democratic Society’, in M.R. Gills, ed., The Perceived Role of the Military (Rotterdam: Rotterdam University Press, 1971), pp. 325–40; Maurice M. Roumani, From Immigrant to Citizen: The Contribution of Army to National Integration in Israel (The Hague: Foundation for Study of Plural Societies, 1979); Samuel Rolbant, The Israeli Soldier: Profile of an Army (New York: Thomas Yoseloff, 1970); and Tom Bowden, Army in the Service of the State (Tel Aviv: University Publishing Projects, 1976).

25.  Victor Azarya and Baruch Kimmerling, ‘New Immigrants in the Israeli Armed Forces’, Armed Forces and Society 6, No. 3, (Spring 1980), pp.455–482. See also the same authors’ contribution to this collection.

26.  Simon N. Herman, Yochanan Peres and Ephraim Yaar (Yuchtman), ‘Reactions to the Eichmann Trial in Israel: A Study in High Involvment’, Scripta Heirosolymitana. Vol. 14 (1965), pp. 99.

27.  See, Shlomo Avineri, The Making of Modern Zionism: The Intellectual Origins of the Jewish State (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1981), pp. 217–27.

28.  ‘Historical’ events still arouse the State periodically and these are constantly mentioned in actual political debates. Some examples of this are: periodical debates about the dismemberment of the particularistic armed forces which had existed before the State (included here is the sinking of the Etzel ship Altalena in 1948, which was perceived as an attempted rebellion), political murders which occurred in 1932 and 1957, or intelligence failures in Egypt in the 1950s, which brought about widespread repercussions in the political regime; and there are those who claim that these events brought an undermining of the Labor party regime which reigned in the 1960s, eventually leading to its defeat in 1977.

29.  See Kimmerling (1974), op cit.

30.  Ze’ev Ben-Sira, The Present Situation in the Eyes of the Public (Jerusalem: The Institute for Applied Social Research, the Communications Institute, the Hebrew University, 1937), p. 68; Shlomit Levi and Louis Guttman, Social Indicators in Israel (Jerusalem: The Institute for Applied Social Research, the Communications Institute, the Hebrew University, 1974), p.15. See also Peres, 1977, op cit., p. 97.

31.  See, R.J. Isaac, Israel Divided: Ideological Politics in Israel (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1976).

32.  Y. Peres, ‘Ethnic Relations in Israel’, American Journal of Sociology, 76, No.6 (1971), p. 1027.

33.  Sometimes the argument is extremely sophisticated. Thus, for example, three scholars who investigated the conflictual behavoir of six Middle Eastern countries (Israel and its direct neighbors) found that there is no link between Israel’s behavior in the conflicts with its neighbors and internal conflicts, and that 71% of the variance in the Israeli behavior in the conflict is explained by the actions of its neighbors toward it. See Jonathan Wilkenfeld, Virginia Lee Lussier and Dale Tahtinen, ‘Conflict Interaction in the Middle East, 1949–1967’, The Journal of Conflict Resolution 16, No. 2, (June 1972), pp. 135–154. However, these findings do not necessarily prove an unwillingness to use the external conflict for internal needs, but simply an inability to do so. But there is no doubt that the high degree of variation in the conflict which is explained as stemming from the reactions of the other side, hints that the perception in Israel, at least between the years 1949 and 1967, was that Israel’s behavior in the conflict with its neighbors is dictated primarily by the behavior of the opposing side.

34.  But there were at least three salient events in which it was claimed that the ruling political elite had used defense symbols, or carried out actions in this sphere, in order to harvest internal political profits. In June 1961 Israel launched a rocket (named Shavit 2), which was hailed as a ‘rocket for investigating the atmosphere’, while its military value was stressed by those involved in the launching, including members of the Ministry of Defense and the armed forces. Afterwards, it was claimed that the action was taken as a deterrent to Egypt, which was intent on producing rockets; however segments of the Israeli press claimed that the launching and the publicity surrounding it were meant for internal consumption, given the internal elections which were imminent. As a result, a new word entered the Hebrew language, bitchonism, which can be translated into English as ‘securitism’. The word connoted the abuse of the idea of national security for internal political needs. The second event, which was also a cause of debate, was the destruction of the Iraq nuclear plant a short while before the elections in 1981. But the most salient event, which raised a violent public controversy, was the reason and aims of the 1982 Lebanese War.

35.  Shlomo Aronson and Dan Horowitz, ‘The Strategy of Controlled Retaliation–The Case of Israel’, State and Government (Summer 1971), pp.77–99.

36.  Robert K. Merton, Social Theory and Social Structure (Glencoe: The Free Press, 1949), pp. 19–84.

37.  Georg Simmel, Conflict (Trans. Kurt H. Wolff) (Glencoe: The Free Press, 1955); Lewis Coser, The Functions of Social Conflict (Glencoe: The Free Press, 1956).

38.  Pitrim Sorokin, ‘Sociological Interpretation of the “Struggle for Existence” and the Sociology of War’, in Contemporary Sociological Theories (New York: Harper Bros., 1928). See also Robert E. Park, ‘The Social Function of War’, American Journal of Sociology, 46, No. 4 (January 1941), pp. 551–70.

39.  Louis Kriesberg, The Sociology of Social Conflicts (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, 1973), pp. 247–57.

40.  Kimmerling, 1983, op. cit.

41.  See Harkabi, 1967, op.cit.

42.  The struggle over the amount of the marginal tax continued into the 1970s. Those who advocated high taxation were divided into two camps: the pragmatists – who claimed that the circumstances demanded high taxation, and the ideologues, who wished to redistribute the national income. For this, see Alex Radian, ‘Tax Rates as Goals, Tax Rates as Outcomes: Israel, 1948–1975’ (forthcoming paper). In 1979 38% of all employees in Israel paid taxes at the 25% rate (in 1972 this included 72% of all employees), 27% paid 35%; 12% paid 45%, 14.5% paid at the 50% rate, and 12.5% paid 60%. Joseph Baggay and Eytan Sheshinski, ‘The Influence of Taxation Transfer Payments and Subsidies on Inequality of Income Distribution’ (unpublished paper).

43.  Harold C. Wilkenfeld, Taxes and People in Israel (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1973), p. 3.

44.  The recommendations of a committee appointed in 1974 to reform taxation in Israel stated among others, that ‘the Committee on Taxation was established due to public demand for a significant reform in the taxation system which has an extremely high taxation rate, where the taxation rate is incredibly high even for those earning extremely low incomes … In the circumstances, inequities developed, which took two major forms: The first was that those who were supposed to pay taxes evaded doing so. The second was “institutionalized evasion” with the full knowledge of the government and the tax authorities … the high tax rates on low incomes lead people not to exert any effort in work and productivity, and direct financial activity to those areas where it is easier to conceal income.’ The Committee on the Reform of Taxation, Recommendations for Changing the Direct Tax (Jerusalem, The Government Printer, Hebrew, March 1975) (the ‘Ben-Shahar Report’), p. 3.

45.  The Committee for Changes in Taxation (The Gross Committee), The Committee Report (April 1982), p. 3.

46.  The gross taxation is the sum total of all the taxes which the state collects from its citizens, either directly or indirectly. In order to arrive at the net taxation, one must calculate the payments the citizens receive in return from the government, such as national security, welfare support for the needy, government subsidies for health care services, the subsidies on major foodstuffs, the subsidies on gasoline, etc. It is not customary to include as returns to the public any costs for internal and external defense.

47.  See H. Rosenfeld and S. Carmi, ‘The Privatization of Public Means, The State-Made Middle Class and the Realization of Family Value in Israel’, in J.C. Peristiany, ed., Kinship and Modernization in Mediterranean Society (Rome: The Center for Mediterranean Studies, American Universities Field Staff, 1976). But Rosenfeld and Carmi see the process of the transfer of the national property to individuals as a directed process, while if there was such a process it was but a by-product of a socio-economic policy which was meant to gain political support for the center, and it was distributed throughout all the strata in a differential manner.

48.  See Dan Horowitz and Moshe Lissak, Origins of the Israeli Polity: Palestine under the Mandate (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1978), passim and B. Kimmerling, Zionism and Economy, (Cambridge, Mass.: Schenkman, 1983).

49.  Since its establishment, Israel has enjoyed substantial financial support from Jews throughout the world, and primarily from those in North America. In the 1950s and 60s it received reparations payments from Germany. But, from our point of view, all of these are included in the ‘internal sources’, for Israel was able to determine for itself how to spend this money. The American support is in most instances meant to cover defense expenses, and this, to a large extent, is based on American choices as to what types of weaponry, the quantity, price, etc.

50.  Eitan Berglas, The Indirect Costs of Defense Spending: The Israeli Experience, Conference Paper on Defence and National Economy in the 1980s. (Tel Aviv: Center for Strategic Studies: Tel-Aviv University, 1981).

51.  Ibid.

52.  Op. cit., p. 28. See also, Haim Barkai, The Cost of Security: A Retrospective View (Jerusalem: Falk Institute Research Paper, No. 115, 1981, Hebrew).

53.  Victor Azarya, ‘The Israeli Armed Force’, in Morris Janowitz and Stephen D. Westbrook eds., The Political Education of a Soldier (Beverly Hills: Sage, forthcoming.)

54.  Marshall Sarnat and Haim Levy, The Impact of the Six Day War on the Metallurgic and Electronic Industry in Israel (Jerusalem: Eshkol Institute, Hebrew University, 1973). See also Mintz contribution.

55.  Paul Baran and Paul Sweezy, Monopoly Capital (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1966). For a criticism of this finding see Albert Szymanski, ‘Military Spending and Economic Stagnation’, American Journal of Sociology 79, No. 1 pp. 1–14. (July 1973).

56.  Sarnat and Levy, op cit.

57.  For example, Stanley Lieberson, ‘An Empirical Study of Military-Industrial Linkages’, American Journal of Sociology, 76, No. 11 (January 1971) pp. 563–846; or Sidney Lens, The Military-Industrial Complex (Philadelphia: Pilgrim, 1970).

58.  See Kimmerling, Zionism and Economy, op. cit.

59.  State of Israel, The State Comptroller’s Report: 1981 (Jersualem: Government Printer, 1981).

60.  The predominance of the political institution over the economic, in the context of the Jewish-Arab conflict, is already rooted in the rules of the game which developed during the Mandatory period, within each of the opposing forces and between them. See Baruch Kimmerling, The Economic Interrelationship Between the Arab and Jewish Commities in Mandatory Palestine (Cambridge, Mass: MIT Center for International Studies, 1979).

61.  See, Baruch Kimmerling, ‘A Model for Analysis of Reciprocal Relations Between the Jewish and Arab communities in Mandatory Palestine’, Plural Societies, (forthcoming).

62.  See, Kimmerling, 1979, op. cit., and idem, Zionism and Economy, 1983.

63.  Alfred Vagts, A History of Militarism: Romance and Realities of a Profession (London: Allen and Unwin, 1938), p. 12.

64.  See Amos Perlmutter, Military and Politics in Israel: Nation Building and Role Expansion (London: Frank Cass, 1969). Perlmutter emphasizes that Israel is ‘not a praetorian state’, in contrast to al-Qazzaz (‘Army and Society in Israel’, Pacific Sociological Review, 16 (1973), pp. 143–65).

65.  A.R. Luckham, ‘A Comparative Typology of Civil-Military Relations’, Government and Opposition, 1:24 (1971).

66.  Ibid.

67.  Ibid., p.18.

68.  Ben Halpern, ‘The Role of Military in Israel’, in I.J. Johnson (ed.), The Role of Military in Underdeveloped Countries (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1962).

69.  See Lissak’s introduction to this collection.

70.  Dan Horowitz, ‘The Israeli Defence Forces: A Civilised Military in a Partially Militarized Society’, in Roman Kolkowicz and Andrzej Korbonski eds., Soldiers, Peasants, and Bureaucrats: Civil-Military Relations in Communist and Modernizing Societies (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1982), p. 96.

71.  See Ian Lustick, Arabs in the Jewish State: Israel’s Control of a National Minority (Austin and London: Texas University Press 1981), and a more biased politically Elia T. Zureik, The Palestinians in Israel: A Study in Internal Colonialism (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979), passim.

72.  In general, this discrimination has no basis either formally or legally, except for the existence of the famous Laws of Return, which sees each Jew in the world as a potential citizen of the State of Israel (as opposed to non-Jews, whose entry into the country is limited and conditional). There are also certain benefits which Israeli law offers to those who have completed army service – where the Christian and Muslim Arab citizens do not have compulsory military service (unlike the Druze and Circassians). For other aspects of this discrimination, see the items listed in the previous footnote, as well as Jacob Landau, The Arabs in Israel (London: Oxford University Press, 1969).

73.  See Baruch Kimmerling, ‘Sovereignty, Ownership and Presence in the Jewish Arab Territorial Conflict: The Case of Bir’im and Ikrit’, Comparative Political Studies 10, No. 2 (July 1977), pp. 155–76.

74.  See Brian Van Arkadie, Benefits and Burden: A Report on the West Bank and Gaza Strip Economies Since 1967 (New York and Washington: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1977): Arie Bregman, The Economy of Administered Areas, 1974–75 (Jerusalem: Bank of Israel, 1976); B. Kimmerling, Zionism and Economy, 1983, pp. 56–62.

75.  See B. Kimmerling, ibid.

76.  See Israel National Section of the International Commission of Jurist, The Rule of Laws in the Areas Administered by Israel (Tel Aviv: TZATZ Print, 1981), p. 36.

77.  The situation became especially severe in two of the areas at the beginning of 1982, for different reasons: Israel annexed the Golan Heights and the Druze inhabitants of that area showed violent opposition to this move, primarily because of their concern that they might be drafted into the army, and that their lands might be expropriated to enable the government to set up further Jewish settlements. The opposition of the Druze focused on the refusal to accept Israeli identity cards. The authorities attempted to force the Druze to accept them by imposing a curfew on the area for a number of weeks, by preventing them from receiving certain services or from going to work, and by preventing their flocks from grazing, etc. These actions elicited strong opposition in Israel as well, and ‘The League for Citizens’ Rights’ (headed by retired Supreme Court Justice Haim Cohn) termed what was taking place in the Golan Heights a ‘barbaric law’. At that time, approximately, in order to influence the autonomy talks with Egypt regarding the land occupied by Israel, the residents of these areas attempted to protest by means of violent demonstrations. These demonstrations were dispersed using violent means which were unparalled in the area, and a few dozen demonstrators (mainly young people) were wounded or killed by the gunfire of the defense forces. Here too the events brought about public protests in Israel, a fact which forced the government to moderate its actions.

78.  For example, Joel S. Migdal, Palestinian Society and Politics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980), pp.3–96.

79.  The most prominent proponent of this argument is the philosopher Yeshayahu Leibowitz. See his Judaism: The Jewish People and the State of Israel (Jerusalem and Tel Aviv: Schocken, Hebrew, 1975), pp. 418–422.

80.  See, Etan Sabatello, ‘Emmigration from the Country and its Characteristics’, Bitfutzot Hagola (Summer, 1978), pp. 63–76 (Hebrew); or Ezra Zohar, In the Clutches of the Regime: Or Why No One Has Stood Up (Jerusalem: Shikmona, 1974), pp. 146–7 (Hebrew). A study conducted in 1974 on Israeli emigration to the USA showed that most of the Israeli emigrants to the USA were between the ages of 25–40. Supposing that they number about 250,000, this is about a third of all the Israelis in this age bracket. Ha’aretz, October 17, 1975. This is consistent with the trends observed by Sabatello. In a recent study a significant correlation was found between the individual security burden, measured by the number of days of reserve duty, and the rate of emigration. See Ruben Lamdany, Emigration from Israel (Jerusalem: Falk Institute for Economic Research, Discussion Paper No. 82.08, July 1982) pp. 37–38.

81.  The religious factor was strong especially among the immigrants from the Asian and African countries, beginning with the Jewish immigration from Yemen in 1881 until the waves of immigration from Asia and North Africa at the beginning of the 1950s and 1960s.

82.  For a comprehensive analysis of the data, see Russell A. Stone with collaboration of Louis Guttmann and Shlomit Levi, Social Change in Israel: Attitudes and Events, 1967–1979 (New York: Praeger, 1982), pp. 285–88.

83.  Compared with other countries, Israelis demonstrate low motivation to emigrate. In February 1971 the Gallup Poll surveyed nine nations, by asking ‘If you were free to do so, would you like to go and settle in another country?’ The distribution of answers was:

%

Great Britain

41

Uruguay (Montevideo)

32

West Germany

27

Greece

22

Finland

19

Sweden

18

Brazil

17

Netherlands

16

United States

12

84.  The small number of immigrants from the US also based their immigration more and more on religious convictions. See, Aron Antonovski and Abraham David Katz, From the Golden to the Promised Land (Darby, Penn., and Jerusalem: Norwood and Jerusalem Academic Press, 1979), Chap. 4. p. 88. Uri Farago, Stability and Change in the Jewish Identity of Learning Youth in Israel (Jerusalem: Levi Eshkol Institute for Research of the Economics, Society and Policy in Israel, The Hebrew University, 1977), (Hebrew, mimeo).

85.  See, Uri Farago, op. cit.

86.  See B. Kimmerling, Zionism and Territory, op. cit. Chapter 6.

Party–Military Relations in a Pluralist System

Yoram Peri

The title of this paper may raise a few eyebrows. Analyses of party-military relations are generally undertaken when dealing with one of the three political systems, pluralist, praetorian and communist.¹ Namely, in systems in which ‘the factor that helps shape life more than any other is the Communist Party’s dominant position within the state’.² Why then discuss party-military relations in a pluralist system, in a parliamentary democracy such as Israel?

Nevertheless, it will be claimed below that without an analysis of these relations (a task which has, unfortunately, not yet been undertaken), the picture of civil-military relations, and particularly political control over the military, will be a distorted one. This is due to the unique role of the dominant party in Israel.

If, upon completion of this discussion, it appears difficult to place the Israeli case in one of the three accepted categories of civil-military relations – praetorian, professional, or communist – but it seems to fall between the last two, this will come as no surprise. Students of the Israeli case have encountered difficulties in defining the Israeli pattern of civil-military relations ever since their initial attempts at research. At first, Israel was related to in the context of developing countries, but researchers rapidly observed the difficult characteristics that distinguish the IDF (Israel Defense Forces) in particular, and civil-military relations in general, from those prevailing in other such societies.³

They were followed by researchers who viewed the Israeli case as a typical example of a professional, or more precisely, an instrumentalist army. However, they were also quick to discover the unique attributes that developed in Israel, by which society has adapted itself to conditions of prolonged war and lengthy siege without becoming a ‘garrison state’ in the Lasswellian sense.⁴

In order to understand the Israeli phenomenon, one must examine the formative period of its political and military systems. Due to our proximity to the conceptual world of Communist regimes, it is possible to refer to Adelman’s basic assumption by which he formulates a typology of civil-military relations in such regimes, namely that the development of party-military relations derives from the social revolutionary process and civil war, in Israel’s case – the War of Independence.⁵ Let us begin, therefore, with a brief description of some basic characteristics of Israeli society.

First, Israel is a politicized society. The degree with which politics has penetrated into other institutional spheres is extensive. A major portion of public and private occurences, that take place in other democratic societies within institutional spheres that enjoy a large degree of autonomy, are influenced in Israel by political considerations. Secondly, Israeli politics are party politics. Thus, the dominant factors in the Israeli political system are the parties. Their strength, weight, and their role expansion are such that Israel has long been defined as a Partienstaat, or état partifaire.⁶ This description is particularly fitting when dealing with the Yishuv period (the Jewish community under the British mandate of Palestine), but it remained true even after the establishment of the State in 1948.

Third, though Israel has a multi-party political system, between 1933 and 1977 it was characterized as a dominant party system, using Duverger’s definition. The Labour Party, in its various forms (Ahdut Ha’avoda 1919–1930, Mapai 1930–1968, Labour Party 1968–) remained, throughout the entire period, the senior governing coalition partner. It was not only the largest party, but that which was also ‘identified with an epoch’. It was the party that public opinion believed to be dominant, and even its opponents saw it as that party that expressed the doctrine, ideas, methods and style of the national movement and the newly independent State.⁷

Mapai reached that position within ten years of its formation in 1919 after it had united groups of socialist immigrants from Eastern Europe who arrived in Palestine from the year 1904. It was from these groups that the nation-building elite, Israel’s founding fathers, sprung. The political socialization of these groups of leaders was in the Russian revolutionary movements. In them they absorbed not only socialist principals, which they integrated with their Zionistic beliefs, but also the Leninist principle of building an effective political organizational structure so as to ensure the party’s hegemony in society.

In order to ensure their dominant position amongst workers’ circles, the founding fathers established the General Federation of Workers (the Histadrut), in which they retained a majority. Control of this structural organization enabled them to broaden with greater ease their influence over the entire Jewish community in Palestine. And in doing so they accumulated sufficient power to gain control of the world institutions of the Zionist movement, which led the struggle for political independence. With the establishment of the State, their control over its newly formed political institutions was achieved relatively smoothly and free of challenges.

Though only some of Mapai leaders were orthodox Marxists, all shared the Marxist-Leninist approach to the party’s leading roles in society. From its place at the pinnacle of politics the party must determine policies and supervise and coordinate all other political institutions. It must serve as arbiter of authority relations, institutional arrangements and political practices. In the new society they established the party had a hegemonic position.

The relations between the military and the party were thus similar to the relationship of the party with other political and administrative structures: subordination, acquiescence. The military appeared to the party leaders a potential challenger that must be contained, manipulated and controlled at all times in order to prevent a serious threat to the party monopoly of power. These were the relations that, in the years to come, Mao would define in his dictum ‘The Party commands the gun, and the gun must never command the party’.⁸

The suspicion, reserve and hostility felt by the founding fathers towards an independent military force, to any armed force not a tool of the party, surfaced immediately with the forming of the party in 1919. Its leaders decided to establish a military arm which they called Haganah, i.e. Defense – they objected to the very term ‘army’ which had a connotation of a standing army, and preferred a militia that would be subordinate to the party. However, they faced a serious challenge: for ten years a powerful political-military organization called Hashomer (the watchman) had existed. Many of its leaders were party members but their approach was diametrically opposed to that of the political leaders. The organization itself was clandestine, elitist, virtually a closed cohesive social order. Its members believed in complete organizational independence, professional autonomy, and the organization’s right to decide not only the means with which to implement policy but also to decide upon it. They opposed the party leaders’ militian concept and demanded the retention of a professional organization with a small cohesive cadre.

It was a fundamental dispute between two contradictory approaches and the party leaders could not compromise on it. As they were unable to dissolve the organization immediately, they initially employed the classic communist method of infiltration, placing loyal party members in Hashomer and thus bringing about its dissolution. Loyal party members who accepted the authority and supremacy of the political leadership and its approach regarding the subordination of the gun to the party, were placed at the head of the new Haganah organization. Nevertheless, it took a number of years until the influence of Hashomer members completely disappeared. Even then, there were a number of incidents in which Haganah commanders developed antagonism to the party leadership, rebelled and were brought before a party tribunal and dismissed. Others left to form small independent organizations.

The conditions existing in the Yishuv’s political system differed from those in the post-revolutionary Soviet Union. The Yishuv lacked sovereignty, and the legitimacy of the national political institutions was based on consensus. Hence the more parties that shared the consensus, the greater the actual power of the representative bodies. As the Labour leaders lacked a monopoly on legal use of coercive power, the transference of authority over the Haganah to the national institution could provide wider legitimacy to those in actual control because of the dual-elite arrangement: the leaders of nonparty institutions were loyal party members.⁹ Thus the unique form of dual control emerged: the separation of authority and control – the placing of formal authority over the Haganah in the hands of the representative political institutions but the maintaining of actual control by the party leadership.

The Haganah was formally under direct party authority for a period of about a year only. Immediately upon the establishment of the Histadrut, it received authority over the organization. Later, authority over the Haganah was transferred to the representative political institutions of the Zionist movement. It goes without saying that these transitions took place only after the Mapai leaders reached dominant governing positions in each political organization. The placing of the Haganah under the authority of a broader institution, widened the authority of the Mapai leaders over the Haganah and increased their control capacity.

This was achieved through a number of mechanisms: extremely vigorous political indoctrination which emphasized the necessity of harnessing the gun to the ‘national effort’ led by the political leadership; organizational and financial dependence of the military on the political authorities; recruitment to the forces from social groups loyal to the political leaders, and so on.¹⁰ Perhaps the most important mechanism of all was the nature of the social ties between the political elite and the burgeoning military elite. The latter emerged from the same social groups as the former, and to a great degree even from the very families of the founding fathers. In effect, the second generation could be referred to as a complementary elite; the parents’ generation carried out the political functions, the sons opted for a military course while accepting the absolute authority of their parents. These complementary paths, and the acceptance of authority, led to harmonious relations between the two generations and to the subordination of the military organization to the political institutions.

Towards the late 1930s the Haganah organization underwent a process of professionalization. This included the transition from a federative to a unified national structure, from irregular to regular units, and culminated in the formation of a general staff. Yet, despite this process and despite the fact that the military cadre was prepared to defend its professionalism, it lacked an advanced corporative concept – the military had fragmented boundaries and it was weaker than the political institutions. The Haganah commanders saw themselves primarily as serving the national movement in its revolutionary social and political struggle for the establishment of a new Jewish society. In this sense it is correct to term the Israeli pattern a ‘revolutionary nation in arms’.¹¹

With the establishment of the State, the need for the maintaining of the dual control pattern was apparently over. The basis for the political leadership’s legitimacy was no longer consensual. For the first time, the institutions of the State received a monopoly over the legitimate use of coercive power. Now, with the transition to a sovereign political framework, the political leadership could enforce its authority over the military organization via the state control channel, thus abandoning the party channel. The changed nature of Mapai also afforded reason to believe that this would occur. The party moved more and more to the center of the political map; it took the form of a wide national party in which the emphasis was upon a transition from ‘class to nation’, to an étatist approach. In this sense Mapai differed greatly from other revolutionary parties and began to resemble the Indian Congress Party or the Mexican PRI.¹² As the various bureaucratic institutions developed, they underwent a process of gaining professional autonomy. What is more important, the concept granting the party a hegemonic position began to disintegrate. Though the party was still perceived as dominant, it relinquished its hegemony.

Indeed, the first change that occured with the establishment of the State was the de-privatization and de-politicization of the armed forces. The various underground forces were dismantled and the Haganah was transformed into the IDF, the sole legal national army. Seemingly, a sharp transition to the form of control common in pluralist systems had taken place, by which civilian control over the military was enforced solely through the national institutions. Indeed, this view of the form of civilian control in Israel was widely accepted by politicians, military men and by students of the Israeli case.

The facts are, however, different. Parallel to the pattern of state control, the second, party, pattern of control was retained, even if it underwent change. The party control channel, which was more effective during the Yishuv period, now became secondary to the state control channel, and what was overt in the past, was now concealed and covert. However, the basic features of dual control remained. Before describing the pattern of party control that remained after the establishment of the state, it seems relevant to ask why this pattern continued to exist at all.

The answer is to be found in the characteristics that distinguish between party-military relations in Israel and those that prevail in the Soviet Union: the corporate nature of the military on the one hand, and the supremacy of the party on the other. In contrast to the Red Army with its strong corporatist tendencies, existing in a ‘hostile’ environment, the IDF bore a very low level of corporatism, and it functioned in a civilian environment which identified with it so much so that the Israeli citizen was referred to as ‘a soldier on leave 11 months a year’.

Furthermore, in the Soviet Union the military constituted a potential threat to the hegemonic position of the sole party. With lack of provisions for the orderly transfer of power, the army was seen as a potential challenge to the party.¹³ The threat to Mapai’s dominant position in Israel’s multi-party system was, on the other hand, not the military but rather other parties. The IDF sought more organizational and functional autonomy over its own growth and functions. It sought influence over budget and foreign and security policies. But it was never perceived by the politicians as challenging the principle of their political supremacy. Never, since the establishment of the State, was there any expression of the army’s desire to question the roles the political national institution allotted to it, to take part in the process of power transition, or to usurp political power.

This was especially true with regard to Mapam, the Marxist party which was formed following the secession of a faction from within Mapai in 1944 and which constituted a leftist opposition to Mapai. The Soviet political leadership feared the development of an opposition within the military. In Israel, the Mapai leadership feared the increased strength of other parties, particularly Mapam, and the cementing of this position and popularity in the officer corps. Therefore, in the Soviet Union, the political rulers faced the dilemma of maintaining a high level of political involvement despite the difficulties that this could create with regard to professional autonomy. In Israel, by contrast, the Mapai leaders had a clear interest in instilling professional autonomy in the army. In doing so, they could demand that other parties refrain from interfering in defense matters.

Due to the fact that Israeli society is essentially political and the politics is party-orientated, Mapai leaders felt that they could not rely solely on the national control channel but were determined to make use of the party channel as well. The fact that this contradicted the étatist principle required that its existence be kept covert. Thus Ben Gurion, the Prime Minister and first Minister of Defense, and the person who more than anyone else shaped the Israeli defense establishment, maintained the pattern of dual control: the first, overt facet by which the IDF was controlled by the national institutions, and the second, covert facet, by which control was maintained by the party and its leadership.¹⁴

Party Control Mechanisms

APPOINTMENTS

Prior to the War of Independence efforts were already being made to ensure the loyalty of officers through the appointment of party members and the removal, or at least the checking of the mobility, of those not loyal to it. These efforts even resulted in a number of crises erupting during the war, the most serious being the ‘revolt of the generals’.¹⁵ Immediately after the war, many commanders with political orientations other than that of Mapai retired, or were forced to retire, from the army. This was especially true in the case of Palmach commanders who were members of Mapam. Two of the four Command Commanders, six out of the twelve brigade commanders, and many others resigned, and there was talk of Ben Gurion ‘purging’ the army.¹⁶

In the place of these officers, whose military successes in the War of Independence only increased Mapai’s hostility towards them, Ben Gurion preferred to rapidly promote officers who had served in the British Army. He reasoned that these apolitical officers would follow the ‘public servant’ concept thus ensuring the loyalty of the High Command to the political echelons. In addition to the political considerations, Ben Gurion presumed that British Army graduates would have a higher professional standard than ex-members of the Haganah and Palmach.

Indeed, new units that were formed after the war, such as the Engineering Corps and the Artillery Corps, were based almost exclusively upon former British Army officers. In other greatly strengthened units, such as the Navy, a special emphasis was placed upon Mapai loyalists, despite their limited experience. However they were appointed to staff positions.

However the professional military consideration was found to be mistaken. The IDF’s poor operational standard between 1949 and 1953 proved that the removal of the Palmach commanders had had a very detrimental effect upon the IDF’s combat capability. As a result, outstanding ex-Palmach commanders were reinstated.¹⁷ The fact that they were affiliated with the Mapam wing of the Labour Movement did not impede their rapid progress through the ranks. In 1953, 1920 officers retired and in their place 340 joined. A close examination of the military elite from that year reveals a significant change in its political background. In 1951, only three of the twelve generals were affiliated with the Labour Movement. In 1956, their number reached seven. Of the eight generals who left the IDF during the years 1951–56, only two were graduates of the Labour Youth Movement. Of the eight new generals who replaced them, six belonged to the Labour Movement.

The resulting change in the composition of the highest command echelons of the IDF could have weakened Mapai’s hold over the military. True, a not insubstantial group of officers, former Mapam members, broke their affiliation, and even their identification, with the party, retaining only their social ties. Others simply joined Mapai. But this did not suffice. Ben Gurion chose an alternative path in order to secure Mapai’s control over the army and decided that a number of key military posts were to be filled solely by party loyalists. This policy continued through the 1950s and even the 60s. It was maintained mainly with regard to the posts of Head of Manpower Branch, Head of Staff Administration responsible for the promotion and posting of officers, Chief Education officer, and a few other positions.

Special attention was devoted to the posts of Chief-of-Staff and Head of the General Staff branch (who was also the Head of Operations and often served as deputy Chief-of-Staff). The only exception among the Chiefs-of-Staff was Haim Laskov, a former British Army Office (who served during the years 1958–1961). However, his personal loyalty to Ben Gurion was unqualified, and his deputy, Zvi Zur was a loyal party member. This policy was continued after Ben Gurion’s resignation, and only Labour Party members were appointed to the post of Chief-of-Staff as long as the party remained in power. Indeed all of them (with the exception of David Elazar who died) entered the political arena in the framework of the Labour Party following their retirement.

An examination of the party affiliations of the 44 generals who held the highest posts in the General Staff during the years 1949–1977 – Chiefs of Staff, Heads of the General Staff Branch, Heads of Intelligence and Manpower Branches – reveals that almost 70 per cent were Mapai members, 15 per cent non-active Mapai supporters and only 15 per cent not identified with the party. With the process of party depoliticization of Israeli public life that occurred from the end of the 1960s and through the 70s, the significance of party nominations and considerations in the military sphere lessened. However, following the 1977 change in government, a process of re-politicization of public administration has occurred, and this has not bypassed the military. As the number of Likud members among IDF senior officers was small, even negligible, opportunities for the use of the mechanism of political appointments were limited. Nevertheless, the pattern continued with regard to a number of positions, one of which was the Head of Staff Administration.

The nomination of the Chief-of-Staff was especially problematic, for none of the senior generals were card holding members of the party that took power in 1977. Thus Prime Minister Begin and Minister of Defense Ezer Weizman chose a professional non-political Chief-of-Staff not affiliated with any party (Rafael Eitan, who served in this post during the years 1978–1983) whose political views were identical to their own. This consideration also determined the choice of Eitan’s successor; Moshe Levi, a professional and non-party general was chosen over two other candidates whose political tendencies were incompatible with that of the Likud.

THE SERVICEMEN’S DEPARTMENT

If political appointments were decided upon by a small group of party leaders in an informal and totally clandestine manner, the existence of a special political department in the Mapai headquarters for dealing with military personnel clearly contradicted the concept of ‘a national army’. The department was established in 1949, at the end of the War of Independence, as’ part of the reorganization of the party headquarters. Structurally, it resembled all the other party departments. It was comprised of an elected chairman, usually a member of the party leadership, and a director, an employee of the party administration. The department had patrons in the highest echelons of the military establishment and party machine. Thus, for example, Shimon Peres, the Ministry of Defense director-general and later deputy Defense Minister and a political ally of Ben Gurion, was closely connected with the department from the early 50s and until he left the ministry in 1965.¹⁸

The department’s size and the number of its employees differed over the years, and so did its level of activity. During the entire period it continued operating out of the party headquarters in Tel-Aviv, where the IDF general headquarters, the Air Force headquarters and the Ministry of Defense are also situated. Activity amongst officers in the north of the country took place in Haifa and regular activities were carried out in Jerusalem. In the South they took place in Beer-Sheba, but they were of a more sporadic nature.

Knowledge of the department’s activities and particularly the fact that the department was being exploited by the veteran Labour Party elite in its struggle against the rival Rafi sub-elite, was made public in 1969. It caused an internal uproar in the party and a public uproar in Israel, which led to the eventual cessation of its activities.¹⁹

In contrast to the Red Army, the Mapai servicemen’s department activities had no formal institutionalized structure. Apart from the central office at the party headquarters in Tel-Aviv, it is impossible to draw an organizational chart of the lines of authority of its functionaries within the military. Though it is known that there were certain officers who were more involved in the party than others, their involvement cannot be compared to the institutionalized activities of a Soviet commissar or zampolit. The modus operandi of the department was informal, flexible and irregular. The control channels took the form of informal communication networks, a web of socialties. However it would be a mistake to assume that because of this the mechanism was ineffective.

The department’s initial task was to recruit military personnel into the party ranks. Efforts to register and activate IDF personnel through Mapai’s party branches were hampered by the fact that the soldiers were spread all over the country. Therefore, it was decided that the IDF would be regarded as a single territorial unit and the department would deal centrally with IDF personnel. As a result, it was possible to conceal the very fact that officers and men in the regular army were party members and active in it. The technical assistance provided by high-placed officers in the military or senior Ministry of Defense officials to the department activists helped. Thus, for example, instead of inviting the officers to talks and interviews at the party offices, the department personnel met them at the Ministry of Defense in Tel-Aviv in a room allotted specifically for this purpose.

The department’s most common form of activity was similar to that of regular party branches – meetings between the officers and the party leadership. Once every few weeks – the intervals differed over the period – the officers would meet for briefings with the party leaders. These meetings, which normally took place at the Yahdav Club in Tel-Aviv, had a regular pattern: a lecture on a political or defense subject, participants’ questions and a general discussion. No formal decisions were taken.

These activities were not exclusively for officers, and other party members connected with the defense establishment, the IDF or Ministry of Defense civilian employees, police officers and security services personnel were also invited. The participation of these civilians in the department’s activities served two purposes. Firstly, it served to concentrate the activities of the entire defense community, but another no less and perhaps more important reason, was the desire to conceal the fact that Mapai was conducting organized party activity within the army. For this reason, the officers attended the meetings in civilian dress.

The need to camouflage the activities was not only for political but also for legal reasons. Immediately upon the establishment of the State, Mapai, with Ben Gurion at its head, strived to detach the military from the party system, and party activity in the army was prohibited. It was still possible to present soldiers on active duty as candidates for the Constituent Assembly at the end of 1948 and the beginning of 1949. However, with the passing of the Security Service Law 1949, soldiers were forbidden to take an active part in party activities. Demands by leftist parties in the Knesset to continue the former ‘rules of the game’ acceptable in the Yishuv period and to ‘enable soldiers to associate on an ideological basis’ or to allow soldiers ‘the freedom of political determination and the freedom to participate in society and its struggles’ were rejected by the coalition headed by Ben Gurion.²⁰

The most explicit manifestation of the limitations placed upon the party activity of regular army personnel can be found in General Staff Regulation 33.0116. It was drawn up after the 1961 Knesset elections that took place under the shadow of the Lavon affair, in which the problem of civilian control over the military was a central issue. The relevant clauses of General Staff Regulation 33.0116 stipulate:

A serviceman is entitled to be a member of any legally existing organization or party in the state, but must refrain from activity in these bodies, with the following exceptions:

(Para. 3,3) a serviceman may be present at a meeting or convention of such an association or party but must not take an active part as a speaker, member of praesidium or in some other active role, at a meeting or convention or in preparations for them …

(Para. a, 6) A serviceman may not take part in a military gathering or meeting of servicemen, held by a body which is not military, or an unauthorized military body. Nor may he discuss military matters at any convention or meeting without the permission of his superiors …

(Para. b, 1) A serviceman may not discuss in public, orally or in writing, under conditions which give the discussion a public nature, any political question (or such which may be interpreted as being of a political nature) except as stipulated above ….

The invitation of defence personnel who were not servicemen to meetings of the Servicemen’s Department could offer a formal solution to the problem of para. a, 6 – servicemen’s meetings organized by a non-military body – but there can be no doubt that the active nature of membership of the Department contravened the spirit of the General Staff Regulations.

In addition to its organizational work aimed at recruiting members and carrying out indoctrination talks, the servicemen’s department also distributed written party material. This included the mailing of such material, as well as the party weekly Hapoel Hatzair and other publications, to the private homes of officers.

The department’s activities increased greatly during election campaigns which often stretched over a number of months in Israel. Department activists served as Election Committee members in army bases on election day. During the election campaign, department activists distributed written party material, spoke with army personnel, dealt with the publication of propaganda material and carried out other activities within the army. In these periods, the department was headed by central party figures with influence in the defense establishment. Thus, for example, Major General (Res.) Moshe Dayan, was in charge of activities among military personnel during the 1959 election campaign, shortly after his release from the army, as a decorated hero of the 1956 Sinai Campaign.

During the early 1950s, posters were even pasted up in IDF camps bearing the photographs of high ranking officers who had risen rapidly in the ranks, and a legend which usually read: ‘Talented officers have good chances for promotion’. The posters lacked what was universally known – that the officers whose pictures appeared on the posters were also Mapai members. Protests by other parties over the propaganda activities in the military during the election campaigns eventually brought about a general lessening of such activity during the 1960s.

One of the recruitment methods employed by Mapai in the 1950s and 1960s was providing personal services to party members and supporters such as assistance in housing, employment, health, welfare, and education. The Servicemen’s Department used the same methods with servicemen, and its leaders devoted a great deal of time to dealing with the personal problems of its members. This entailed, above all, finding them civilian jobs after they retired from the army. The IDF, particularly until the end of the 1960s, did not deal with the demobilization of officers in an institutionalized fashion, and help was mainly provided through personal and social contacts. The assistance included not only finding employment but also, when necessary, loans, help with housing and other matters.

The most sensitive activity by the Servicemen’s Department concerned the promotion of officers. Because these activities were so sensitive, they were carried out most discreetly, never on a written basis, but in personal discussions between party heads and activists and the defense establishment’s leaders and the IDF’s military commands. The evidence suggests that is was not done systematically and was usually initiated after special requests or complaints by officers who sought a special post or promotion. In most cases, those who lobbied for a certain officer made sure that the officer had no professional disqualification before urging the party consideration. Being a Mapai member could be an advantage for an officer in competition with another officer who shared the same professional standing, or it could hasten the promotion of an officer who would otherwise have eventually been promoted. At different times, the heads of servicemen’s department received from army officers lists naming candidates for various courses, and were asked for information concerning candidates’ party affiliations.

OTHER FORMS OF PARTY CONTROL

In addition to the two party control mechanisms already mentioned, the party had other forms of control.

A. The Military Command Channel

Mapai’s dominance within the IDF’s High Command enabled it to use the channels of command themselves as a means of party political control. Certain aspects of this method can be discerned in the actions of the IDF Chief Education Officer. The Chief Education Officer’s publications, informational material distributed among soldiers and his political briefings expressed, it is true, the Government’s positions, but as these positions were completely identical to the party’s positions, it was possible to claim that this was a form of party indoctrination.

Indeed, the personal identification of those who filled the post of Chief Education Officer with the dominant party, strengthened this claim. During election campaigns opposition representatives claimed, for example, that the ban on distributing the various parties’ material in the IDF meant ‘a monopoly of the Minister of Defense’s view in the army. His views received the stamp of loyalty to the State while differing views are seen as undermining loyalty’.²¹

The Chief Education Officer’s wide range of activities dealing with non-military matters and the positive attitude in Israel towards the army’s role-expansion in the educational field made the use of this mechanism relatively effective. Indeed, following the change in government in 1977, the activities of the Chief Education Officers emphasized a different political line. A large increase was noted in freedom of movement and even support provided to representatives of religious organizations, and especially Habad Hassidim, within the army. This served to enhance indoctrination in the nationalist-traditionalist spirit of the ruling party. In addition, the significance of right wing political movements, in particular Gush Emunim, in the army’s informational activities rose sharply and a number of leading Gush Emunim activists were formally integrated into the IDF’s education system. At the same time, the Chief Education Officer’s campaign against dovish groups escalated and IDF educational personnel took part in activities in schools against what were described as ‘leftist political movements’.

In this context, it is relevant to mention, for example, the distribution of newspapers in the IDF. Because most of the Israeli dailies were, with the establishment of the State, party papers, it was possible to influence officers and men by regulating the rate and numbers of those supplied to military personnel through the IDF. Through the use of its parliamentary majority, Mapai placed authority for deciding the basis for distribution in the hands of the Knesset Finance Committee. It decided that the distribution would be carried out according to the number of seats held by the various parties in the Knesset. As a result, the number of Mapai newspapers in comparison to the other party newspapers distributed in the army, was far higher than its slice among the general public.

The lack of proportion between the rate of distribution of newspapers among the general public and the army grew as newspapers folded and the sales of non-party evening newspapers rose. One of the first acts undertaken by the new Government in this field after 1977 was a change in the basis according to which newspapers were distributed in the army. The major losers as a result of this change were the Labour party’s newspapers.

B. The Security Services

Information on the activities of the security services, especially within the army, is very limited. However, examination of published material shows that during the early 1950s, these services were employed in a manner that served to blur the boundaries between state security and the ruling party’s interests.²² The reasons for this are twofold. Firstly, Mapai’s position as a dominant party created a situation by which the institutions of state were so identified with the party that ‘what was good for Mapai was good for the state’. Second, it must be remembered that during this period, Mapam’s pro-Soviet orientations were dramatically opposed to Mapai’s.

The Mapai leadership feared Mapam’s potential strength because it was the only party with loyal supporters in the IDF command. These apprehensions were so great that towards the end of 1951, Ben Gurion believed that there were signs of a serious movement with Mapam ‘to seize power by force’ with the assistance of an underground force in the army. As a result, the security services were employed against party activists on the political level (microphones were planted in the Mapam party offices), and also in the army.²³

During the late 1950s and early 1960s, the security services were involved in political issues that were linked to party politics. Discussions of a political nature were held between the Mapai leaders and the heads of the security services during the second half of the 1950s as well. As far as can be ascertained from available data, however, the services’ activities were restricted to ex-parliamentary extremist political groups.

C. The Cooptation of Officers

The entrance of army officers into the political elite is common to many societies. However, in Israel it takes on a unique form. Ever since the pattern of a ‘second career’ was established in the IDF in 1957, hundreds of high ranking officers in their early forties have been discharged from the army and entered the civilian work market (in the last decade alone, these have included approximately 100 officers of the rank of brigadier general or higher). Between the years 1949 and 1981, over 20 per cent of these officers entered politics and the majority of them as members of the ruling party.

The use of the army as a central channel of political mobility is a phenomenon of great significance in the Israeli political system. However, analysis of this channel remains out of the scope of the present discussion.²⁴ We will simply note that the second career pattern is another mechanism of party control over the military command. Army officers who are aware that after leaving duty they are liable to be absorbed into high-level positions of political relevance, will act differently to officers for whom army service is their sole career.

In addition, the increase in the number of senior reserve officers in the ruling party’s leadership created ties of influence, loyalty and dependence between young officers on active duty and their former commanders. It is little wonder that one of the indicators of Mapai’s demise during the 70s was the increase in the number of discharged officers who joined other parties. With the Likud’s rise to power, the process by which discharged officers joined that party was intensified.

D. Nahal and the Settlement Movements

A unique set of relations exists between the IDF and the settlement movements – the kibbutz and moshav movements. This is a result of the social status of these movements in Israeli society, their involvement in security matters due to their being border settlements and reservoirs of manpower for IDF volunteer units, and due to the fact that they represent Israel’s pioneering ethos. Indeed their contribution to the IDF is proportionally far greater than their actual number in the population if one measures the number of volunteers to elite units, to command positions, or even war casualties.

In return, the IDF has taken into account the particular needs of the movements. Thus, youth movement graduates planning to settle in kibbutzim serve together in the army in separate Nahal (Pioneering Fighting Youth) military units, and spend part of their military service on kibbutzim. The army allows the movements to organize special social activities for their members serving in the army. However, the fact that these settlement movements are linked to political parties has created a legitimate channel for party influence which was utilized by the parties. These were mainly socialist parties and in particular Mapai. This channel served not only as a means with which to influence the ideology and political views of officers, but even served as a lobby in the General Staff with regard to the appointment of commanders to certain positions, in addition to the Nahal commander.

Indeed, the weakening position of the settlement movements linked with the Labour Movement, found expression in the state of their special relationship with the military establishment during the early 1980s. As the cleavage in the nation over defense issues deepened and penetrated into the ranks of the army, antagonism between the kibbutz movement and the IDF appeared for the first time since the establishment of the State. It reached its peak during the Lebanese War in 1982/3 when a significant number of kibbutz members took part in anti-war protest activities. In the wake of the war, calls to lessen the movement’s contribution to the IDF have gained greater support.

The Functions of Party Control

When evaluating the functions of party control in the IDF, it is interesting to compare them to the functions of political control in the Red Army, as noted by Kolkowicz.²⁵ He describes them as:

(A) | to observe activities in the units and to pass the information to higher levels of the apparatus;
(B) | to ‘politicize’ military personnel through intensive indoctrination and political education;
(C) | to regulate the advancement of officers so that only those who are desirable from the Party’s point of view are promoted to positions of authority;
(D) | to supervise and control military as well as political activities within the unit; and
(E) | to prompt desired action or conduct through intimidation, threats of dismissal, public humiliation, or outright coercion.

The similarities and differences between the two cases derive from the different positions of the ruling parties in the two political systems. The first is a hegemonic party in a communist system, while the second is a dominant party in a pluralist system. Function A: Activities in Israel were not aimed at the regular soldiers but rather at the officer corps, particularly at the medium and high levels. As a result, information on the behavior of lower military echelons was not transmitted to higher levels of the apparatus. Function B: This function exists in Israel precisely as it does in the Soviet Army according to Kolkowicz. Function C: As described above, the influence of the party over the advancement of officers fluctuated over the different periods. In general, it was to a lesser extent than what occurs in the Soviet Army.

By contrast, Functions D and E are unknown in the Israeli case: neither the desire to influence professional decision-making in the military field, nor the use of totalitarian methods. On the other hand, in the case of the IDF, a dimension exists that has no great relevance in the Soviet Army – the need to eliminate the influence of other parties over the officer corps.

This issue takes us back to the fundamental difference between the Red Army and the IDF, and also between the political systems of communist regimes and Israel’s pluralist system. In both systems, the problem of the officer corps doubting the legitimacy of civilian authority never arose. Though the premises that safeguard civilian hegemony differed, the outcome in both cases was similar.²⁶ But the difference between the two is decisive. In the polyarchic system there are no formal provisions for the transfer of power and the army has a high corporative nature. In the pluralist case, the procedures of power transfer are clear and accepted, and the army has a relatively low corporative nature. It is mainly the military’s fragmented boundaries that worried the ruling party.

The ruling party strived to prevent the possiblity of other parties gaining influence over the army, influence that already existed, as we have shown, in other sectors of Israeli society. The path chosen by the dominant party was the creation of autonomy in defense matters. Integral boundaries between the defense sphere and the political system were marked, thus disconnecting the military from the political system and determining different ‘rules of the game’ for that sphere.

From the moment that the ruling party severed the defense sphere from the influence of rival parties, exchange relations developed between the political leaders and the generals that were advantageous to both sides. The latter received a large degree of professional autonomy and could even participate in the formulation of strategic policies. In return they provided their superiors with party loyalty. From the perspective of the dominant party leaders, they turned the generals into political allies on the most important issue of all to them – their power position. In exchange for this, they were willing to accept the military’s functional interests.

Hence, the means of party control over the military took on a unique role. Not civilian control over the military, but rather the creation of support of a diffuse nature by the miliary elite for the political leadership on a basis of participation. The servicemen’s department and the other means of control were intended to promote solidarity between the military and civilians. They were mechanisms of integration between two groups, valves that enabled the release of pressures that built up between them. The interaction between politicians and officers resulted in the development of an extremely high level of coordination, understanding and social and political affinity between them.

At this point, a last question relating to the pattern of party control in Israel remains. Did it achieve its purpose and ensure the military’s subordination to the political echelons without harming the army’s professional effectivity? Did it prevent over-involvement of the military in politics? The answer to this question requires a dynamic, historical analysis of party-military relations. Indeed it is possible to observe three major periods from the establishment of the Haganah organization in 1920 until the early 1980s.

During the Yishuv period, the Leninist concept of a party’s role in society prevailed in Mapai. It enjoyed a hegemonic position in the political system and its relations with the military derived from this position. During the first part of the period, party-military relations can be described as an adversary relationship, and the entire structure in the terms of Kolkowicz’s institutional conflict. ‘The party and the military are integrated institutions … they are engaged in a multifaceted conflict, stemming from their incompatible outlooks and interests … and the mechanisms through which the institutional conflict between them is resolved is control.’²⁷

However, party-military relations in this period existed within a pluralist system and under conditions of a lack of political sovereignty. Consequently, the party leaders created the pattern of dual control. This pattern combined both the national and party spheres.

Towards the end of the 1930s, the armed forces underwent an initial process of professionalization. The outbreak of the War of Independence and later the establishment of the state, gave this process added impetus. Concurrently, the position of the ruling party, Mapai, began to change. The hegemonic principle held by the founding fathers, and also by the second leadership level, began to weaken both because of inner party changes and owing to the consolidation of the pluralistic nature of the political system as a whole. However, because a multi-party system with a single dominant party evolved, ‘relics’ of the former system remained.

During this period, a new pattern of relations between the military and party system evolved. It was an intermediate pattern that can be placed between the professional or instrumental model common to pluralist systems, and the apparat control pattern found in Leninist regimes. It is a pattern that is not mentioned in the typology of pluralist, communist or praetorian systems, nor does it appear in the more complex differentiations such as that devised by Luckham according to the strengths of the military and civilian systems and the types of boundaries between them.²⁸ The inner contradictions of this intermediate pattern were expressed in the unique nature of civilian control – a pattern of dual control by which there was covert and camouflaged use of the party apparatus.

The pattern of dual control, based as it was upon a division of authority and control, was not exclusive to party-military relations, but in effect, permeated into all other aspects of life in Israel. The division between responsibility and control can be seen to be one of the operative codes employed by the dominant party in a politcal system in which the level of party political penetration into the various administrative and bureaucratic systems is very high.

However, as Duverger notes, a dominant party ‘wears itself out of office’.²⁹ And that is what eventually happened to the Labour Party. The decline in the party’s effectiveness during the 1960s began, as processes of de-politicization of the social system in general, and professional autonomous trends of various bureaucratic organizations, amongst them the military, strengthened. The military did not demand that the fundamental principles requiring its subordination to the political leadership be revised. But a demand was raised to enhance its influence not only in what Colton calls the internal and institutional spheres, but also in the intermediatory and societal spheres, further removed from its direct fields of activity.³⁰

The weakening of the political elite’s position, combined with the strengthening of the military elite’s demands for greater autonomy, brought about the development of a new form of party-military relations, best described as a political military partnership. Paradoxically, it was Mapai that allowed the army greater professional autonomy in an effort to sever other parties’ ties with the military. However, as the military accumulated this autonomy, it affected not only party-military relations but also relations between the military and the political system in general, with the political elite becoming less authoritative and taking on a coalitional form. The army, it is true, did not play an active role in electoral politics but it became a partner to politicians in bureaucratic politics. Though the military retained its separate institutional structure, its relationship with politicians was characterized by value congruence.

The question of whether the pattern of dual control, as employed by the founding fathers in Israel, achieved its goals entails therefore a differentiation between intervention and involvement. Intervention typified the institutionalized conflict model. In the case of the military political partnership, it is irrelevant to discuss military intervention, for the military is involved from the start. The only relevant term is the degree of involvement.

The results of the elections to the Tenth Knesset in 1977 not only heralded a change of government, but also the collapse of the dominant party system. In spite of the Likud’s repeated victory in 1981, this bloc has not achieved the dominance that previously characterized Labor’s rule. Nor did Labor lose its solid basis of support. Rather a new party system, a bi-party competitive system, appears to be evolving.³¹ The form that the party system takes will determine the future of party-military relations in Israel.

NOTES

1.  See Amos Perlmutter and William M. Leogrand, ‘The Party in Uniform: Towards a Theory of Civil-Military Relations in Communist Political Systems’, The American Political Science Review, 76, No. 4 (December 1982), pp. 778–89.

2.  Roman Kolkowicz, The Soviet Military and the Communist Party, (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1967), p. 15.

3.  Typical of this stage of research are, for example, Ben Halpern, ‘The Role of the Military in Israel’, in John J. Johnson, ed., The Role of the Military in Underdeveloped Countries (New Jersey: Princeton, University Press, 1962), pp. 317–354, or J.C. Hurewitz, ‘The Role of the Military in Society and Government in Israel’, in Sydney N. Fisher, ed., The Military in the Middle East (Columbus: Ohio University Press, 1963), pp. 87–104

4.  Typical of that approach is Dan Horowitz, ‘The Israel Defense Forces: A Civilianized Military in a Partially Militarized Society’, in Roman Kolkowicz, and A. Korbonski, eds. Soldiers, Peasants and Bureaucrats, (London: Allen & Unwin, 1982), pp. 77–100.

5.  Jonathan R. Adelman, ‘Towards a Typology of Communist Civil-Military Relations’ in J.R. Adelman ed. Communist Armies in Politics (Boulder, Colorado: Westview Press, 1982) pp. 1–11.

6.  Benjamin Akzin, ‘The Role of the Parties in Israeli Democracy’, in S.N. Eisenstadt et al., eds., Integration and Development in Israel (New York: Praeger, 1970), pp.9–10.

7.  See Alan Arian and Samuel M. Barnes, ‘The Dominant Party System: A Neglected Model of Democratic Stability’, The Journal of Politics, 36, No. 3, (August 1974), pp. 592–614.

8.  Mao Tse Tung, Selected Military Writings (Peking: Foreign Languages Press, 1963), p. 272. On civil-military relations in the Yishuv period, see Yoram Peri, ‘Civil-Military Relations in the Palestine Yishuv’, The Wiener Library Bulletin, 34, No. 53/4 (1981), pp. 2–15.

9.  On the dual-elite arrangement in the Soviet army, see Perlmutter and Leogrand ‘The Party in Uniform’, op. cit., p. 779.

10.  See detailed analysis of these mechanisms in Peri, ‘Civil-Military Relations’, op. cit., pp. 7–10.

11.  Amos Perlmutter, The Military and Politics in Modern Times, (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1977), pp. 251–281.

12.  In this respect Perlmutter’s description (ibid., p. 238) of the IDF as having a routinized revolutionary orientation is very much open to debate.

13.  See Roman Kolkowicz, ‘Towards a Theory of Civil-Military Relations in Communist (Hegemonial) Systems’, in R. Kolkowicz and A. Korbonski, eds., Soldiers, Peasants and Bureaucrats op. cit., p. 233.

14.  On Ben Gurion’s major role in the Israeli defense establishment, see Yoram Peri, Between Battles and Ballots (London and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1983).

15.  In the summer of 1948 a group of IDF commanders threatened to resign if Ben Gurion were to implement his plan to replace commanders who were members of Mapam by others who were politically loyal to him.

16.  See Yitzhak Rabin, Memoirs (Tel Aviv: Maariv, 1979), p. 84.

17.  See Edward Luttwak and Dan Horowitz, The Israeli Army (London: Allen Lane, 1975), pp. 73–74.

18.  Information on the servicemen’s department was collected by the author between 1977 and 1981. For details, references and the names of the people involved, see Peri, Between Battles and Ballots, op. cit., pp. 64–67, 82–84.

19.  See, for example, The Protocol of the Labour Party Bureau, 23 January 1969.

20.  Divrei Haknesset (Parliamentary Records) Vol. 2, (15 August 1949), pp. 1336–530.

21.  Divrei Haknesset, Vol. 13, (4 March 1963), pp. 868–76.

22.  See, for example, Moshe Sharett, Diaries (Tel Aviv: Maariv, 1978).

23.  Ben Gurion’s Diary entry for 19 December 1951.

24.  See Yoram Peri and Moshe Lissak, ‘Retired Officers in Israel and the Emergence of a New Elite’, in Gwyn Harries-Jenkins and Jacque Van Doorn, eds. The Military and the Problem of Legitimacy (Beverly Hills and London: Sage 1976), pp. 175–92.

25.  Roman Kolkowicz, The Soviet Military and the Communist Party, op. cit., p. 92.

26.  A. Perlmutter and W.M. Leogrand, The Party in Uniform, p. 786.

27.  Timothy J. Colton, ‘The Party-Military Connection: A Participatory Model’, in Dale R. Herspring and Ivan Volgyes, eds., Civil Military Relations in Communist Systems (Boulder, Colorado: Westview Press, 1978), p. 57.

28.  A.R. Luckham, ‘A Comparative Typology of Civil Military Relations’, Government and Opposition, No.6 (1967), pp. 5–25.

29.  Maurice Duverger, Political Parties, (London: Methuen, 1967), p. 312.

30.  Colton, ‘The Party-Military Connection, op. cit., pp. 64–65.

31.  See Alan Arian, ‘Elections ‘81: Competitiveness and Polarization’, Jerusalem Quarterly, 21 (Fall 1981), pp. 3–27.

The Six-Day War, Israel 1967: Decisions, Coalitions, Consequences: A Sociological View

Haim Benjamini

Introduction

People tend to believe that the higher the level of decision making, the more ‘rational’ the process. Scientists and authors who are studying decision making focus on reconstructing the highly sophisticated motives behind given decisions and trying to shape rational models explaining how decisions have to be made. Both the popular conception of decision making and the scientific studies are reluctant to recognize the possibility that ‘purely rational’ decisions may not exist. Paradoxically, the higher the level of the decision making, the less the likelihood that the decisions made were reached by pure, rational processes. Decisions on the operational level are more likely to be consequences of considering ‘data’ and ‘alternatives’, while on the institutional level, ‘polities’, influence relations and the exchange of power and prestige are involved.

It is often assumed that a pure, simplified process of decision making is composed of three main primary components – data, alternatives, and decisions. This kind of formulation tends to be similar to the ‘rational school’ approach to defining the process.¹ By adding the human variable of the decision makers, the process becomes an ‘input-output’ transformation carried out by individuals who are participants in a social action. Making a decision from this point of view means a computerized, rational calculation of independent information transformed into possible alternatives made by rational decision makers. One of the alternatives and/or a combination of partial alternatives is supposed to become the final rational decision. The underlined proposition that decision makers are social actors leads to a structurally biased change of the pure rational process. Data and alternatives, channeled by role players, tend to be mediated by motives of organizational responsibilities, personal and professional expertise, ‘role definition’, and past organizational experiences. Therefore, organizational incumbents defined as social positions are a source of biased predispositions threatening the rational mode of decision making.

Based on the proposition that organizations are open-ended systems connected to their environments in an input-output kind of exchange, I would like to argue that any kind of organizational decision-making process is composed of three main levels: (1) the ‘pure’ rational level; (2) the intraorganizational level, characterized by its ‘role definition’ and different role interests; and (3) the ‘external society’ level, where socialized values, mechanisms of exchange, socialized strategic rewards, and tactical interests dominate the data as well as the alternatives.

Consequently, as decision makers are there, involved at each level of the process, decisions are by nature (or by definition) social actions. Since data and alternatives are, a priori, biased by organizational and environmental factors on the intraorganizational and external-society levels, those levels seem to be a more realistic mode of decision making. Moreover, this approach to the study of decision making highlights a crucial analytic question in our efforts to understand organizational phenomena: which type of decision actually dominates in organizations; the ideal type proposed by the rational school or the realistic approach of the social action orientation?

I tend to analyze decision making as a social dynamic process. It reflects the way in which individuals – being social actors, and tied by networks composed of social positions – cooperate to achieve organizational goals in a given situation. Being composed of data and alternatives, the decision making process is a type of social negotiation, based on a conflict of interests and led by ad hoc coalitions. These coalitions represent a structural pattern and a balance of exchange of different rewards, and a final decision, instead of being a pure rational objective choice, becomes a compromised conclusion, influenced by a dominant coalition.

Following this I would like to suggest some basic hypotheses in regard to the civilian-military decision making processes before and during the Six-Day War (Israel 1967).

A narrowing of the structural differentiation between the political institution and the military elite nucleus, usually in wartime and in times of national crisis, has an influence on the constitution of ad hoc coalitions between political and military authorities. Thus, the analysis of the internal relations between the two systems, represented by their elite members inside their shared domain becomes the focal point of our interest. Neither the decisions of the military elite nucleus nor their wide political application can be analyzed separately. On the other hand, consequences of a war need to be evaluated in terms of the relationship between defined political goals and military achievements. The character of the political–military domain is a function of the political-military mode of negotiation.²

My general hypotheses would therefore assume:

(1)
Decision making as an ‘overturned process’. In contrast to a rational process, where data and alternatives are of primary chronological importance, decision makers on the elite level tend to overturn the process. The higher and more complicated the level of decision making, the less important and relevant are accurate data and alternatives.

(2)
The more unmeasurable the goals definition of an organization, the more political its patterns of decision making. The more the decision makers use political considerations, the more they are likely to overturn the process.

(3)
The more complicated the decision-making process, the more visible and salient the conflict between ‘what’ and ‘how’ decision makers. In a definite situation (where, e.g., their professional recommendations are most essential), ‘how’ decision makers can dominate the process, controlling its consequences and overturning its rational pattern.

(4)
Coalitions of ‘what’ and ‘how’ decision makers are a main factor in overturning a decision-making process. The more a coalition is composed of innovative, creative, or charismatic types of decision makers, the less primary-rational data and alternatives have significance.

With respect to the Israeli case study, it seems that by analyzing the political-military decision making processes during the Six-Day War and by identifying the main structural coalitions within their shared domain, we will understand better what and who had dominated the actual processes and why given decisions were made. The working hypotheses here, therefore, would be:

(5) | As in decision-making processes in organizations in general, the Israeli civilian-military decision-making processes (in regard to the effect of the Six Day War) were overturned.
(6) | The Israeli military elite, being ‘how’ decision makers, made a crucial contribution to the overturning of the process.

The methodological strategy of examining these hypotheses will be based on analysis of the relations between decisions and their consequences. If we find a positive adequacy/correlation between civilian-political decisions and military consequences, and that such decisions were reached following a discussion of data and alternatives, we can assume a rational mode of decision making. In this mode, political intentions, translated into strategic decision, are supposed to direct the military plans. However, the political goal definition has to initiate the military activities.

Negative adequacy/correlation between these units of analysis (decisions versus consequences) reflects, from this point of view, an overturned process. If this is our finding, the question would be, why? Thus, by identifying crucial political decisions in relation to their military consequences, and by working back to identify the relevant variables – the decision makers, the coalitions, and the ways of the political-military elites sharing domains – I hope to define the nature of the decision making process.

Decisions and Consequences: An Anatomy of a Political-Military Decision-Making Process

The purpose of this section is to analyze a set of the most crucial political-military decisions before and during the Six-Day War. I will start with a general explanation of the relevant concepts and processes followed by a discussion of specific decisions and decision making processes.

I would like to focus my analysis on four strategic decisions: (1) the Sinai campaign – the war on the Egyptian front; (2) the occupation of the West Bank; (3) the war against Syria – the conquest of the Golan Heights; and (4) the decision ‘to free the Old City of Jerusalem’. Although most of the relevant studies, as well as the public image, tend to relate the successful Six-Day War to a rational-effective process of political and military decision, the reality is quite different. Identifying the definite situation and the most influential actors cooperating in networks, I would argue that a ‘momentum effect’ (an environmental factor) and a military-political coalition (as a social structural entity) dominated the process in its most crucial moments. The outcome of the war was more a result of an initiative on the operational level than the outcome of a civilian political strategic ‘goal definition’ on the institutional level.

Israel is a parliamentary democracy. Therefore, the decision making process on the national level is characterized and influenced by this type of political perception. The government ‘is under the authority of the Knesset (the Israeli parliament)’ but, in fact, ‘has very broad capacities.’ The government has a great deal of independence in dealing with security and foreign policies and ‘in practice, the government leads the Knesset’.³

The government, being represented by the prime minister and/or the defense minister, and/or by the Defense Committee (a functional group of cabinet members) has to approve any significant military activity. The act of approval becomes a fundamental occasion by which the civil authorities express their ultimate strategic goal perceptions. Using civilian terminology, the politicians are supposed to highlight the strategic importance of the military plan, lines of advance or stop-lines, general policies in regard to international circumstances and limitations, relation with the hostile population, and so on. The military would later translate this plan into operational orders. Although the initiative for a military strategic plan can originate either with the civil-political elite or with the military elite, there is no doubt that the final decision must be made by the government or by its representatives. While the defense minister is the first political authority above the military elite, the prime minister is always the final necessary authority in any strategic decision, mostly at a time of crisis.

Both offices of defense minister and prime minister were held in May 1967 by Levi Eshkol (who replaced Ben Gurion in June 1963). On 1 June 1967, he ‘was forced to give up his defense portfolio … a decision (that) was made by Eshkol’s own party leaders who were as anxious as everyone else in the country about his abilities as wartime chief. …’⁴ Thus, Moshe Dayan became the defense minister.

Among the other main figures who at this time had joined the Ministerial Committee on Defense (MCD), the most relevant are: Yigal Allon (minister of labor, the commander of the Palmach in the 1948 war), Abba Eban (minister of foreign affairs), and as of 1 June, after the formation of a National Unity government, Menahem Begin (Minister without Portfolio).

The main relevant members of the military elite in the 1967 war were: Yitzhak Rabin (the chief of staff), Ezer Weizman (chief of operation), Aharon Yariv (director of military intelligence), and the three commanders of the territorial command: Yeshayahu Gavish (South/Egypt), Uzi Narkiss (Central Command/Jordan), and David Elazar (North/Syria).

Most of the relevant studies tend to emphasize the fact that ‘the Military … even in periods of high stress, whether war is anticipated or actually taking place … did not dominate Israel’s decisional forums. Rather, it was civilian structures, notably the Cabinet and its Defense Committee, which played the pivotal decision-making role in … the 1967 … crisis period.’⁵ Although ‘the generals applied their concerted influence in the Cabinet [and] … in spite of their prestige … Israel only went to war when the politicians were persuaded by reasons that had little to do with the essentially tactical considerations which preoccupied the General Staff’.⁶ Thus when Dayan ‘assumed the defense portfolio, his tenure was a … blessing from the point of view of control of the defense establishment by civilian authorities … his authority in defense matters was rarely questioned’.⁷ It was only after the Yom Kippur War (October 1973) that an ‘earnest attempt [was made] … to define the authority and responsibility of the defense minister and the chief of staff vis-à-vis the Cabinet and the Knesset.’⁸ Obviously ‘the relationship between the Army chiefs and their political masters is still determined more by the personal standing of the protagonists than by constitutional conventions’.⁹

It seems, however, that considering the political-military relationship, at least, before and during the 1967 war, the national decision-making process as well as the relative and the different power positions of both sectors was well defined. The political-institutional level is responsible for strategic goal definition (‘what’ decision makers), while the military elite has to attain it (‘how’ decision makers). The division of labor between the civilians and the professionals, following most of the studies was well institutionalized. Did it really work?

AN ANATOMY OF A POLITICAL-MILITARY DECISION – THE SINAI CAMPAIGN

On 2 June 1967, M. Dayan, as the new defense minister, approved the military plans to strike along three lines of advance into Sinai. Two days later ‘the Israeli Cabinet decided to go to war’ and, thus, on the night of 4 June, Israeli frogmen were dispatched to the port of Alexandria, and ‘at 0745 on the morning of Monday, June 5, the first wave of the Israeli air strike went in’.¹⁰

Facing the Egyptian threat, the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) prepared a strategic plan which stated that ‘in the breaching phase, the forces are to establish a line — not east of the line of El Arish-Gebel Livni (the middle of the Sinai peninsula) … and to be in a stage of preparedness for moving toward the Suez Canal and Sharm-e-Shikh’.¹¹ This military plan, after being represented to Dayan had undergone various revisions before it was finally approved. The plan now ‘called for penetration [into the Sinai area] … without conquest of the Gaza strip … [and] … not reaching the Suez Canal. The aim of our action should be to destroy the Egyptian forces. … We should have no geographical aim … our proximity and threat to the Suez Canal would be a serious error. …’¹²

Within the political elite, this strategy was attacked by Y. Allon. He argued that ‘we should try to get close to the Suez Canal. …’ Allon’s evaluation of the international situation and the potential threat of the Soviet Union differed from that of Dayan, and he pressed to reach an ‘advantageous position’ on the Egyptian front by occupying the eastern bank of the Suez Canal.¹³ In short, the difference between the two leaders, on the surface, seems to be a conflict between Allon’s ‘land orientation’ and Dayan’s unwillingness to reach the Suez Canal.

Although there is no political strategic decision on this issue other than Dayan’s goal definition, it is clear that Dayan’s attitude was accepted by the prime minister, while Allon’s was rejected. But, on the other hand, it has to be added that Dayan’s goal definition does not leap out of the operational level. ‘Destroying the Egyptian forces’ and ‘avoid getting too close to the Canal’ are two operational aims which had become the main building blocks of the ultimate political intention. Even Dayan’s contribution to the military’s revised basic plan – ‘the conquest of Sharm-e-Sheikh’ – still reflects the operational dimension.

The strategic goals of the war against Egypt remained undefined. The questions of what the ultimate purpose of occupying the Sinai area (including Sharm-e-Sheikh) might be, and what would be the next step after destroying the Egyptian Army, were somehow ignored. Evaluating the character of the relevant given decisions that were made, E. Weizman (the chief of operations) and Y. Gavish (OC Southern Command) agree that ‘nothing was formally decided’.¹⁴ ‘The focus was not on what the military aims were but on how to achieve them. … No one spoke of how far the IDF should advance or where it should stop. …’¹⁵

It is interesting to note in retrospect that Dayan’s evaluation was correct. As he noted perceptively in a meeting with the Cabinet, ‘… if the IDF will reach the Canal, the war will never finish. The Egyptians will not be able to allow themselves the occupation of the bank … if we reach the Canal … the war will continue for years. …’ ¹⁶ But the reality on the front was different from his intentions.

In fact, the Israelis did reach the canal on the morning of Thursday, 8 June 1967. In his memoirs, Chief of Staff Rabin ‘does not understand … why he [Dayan] changed his mind near midnight on June 8 … and his objection [had] gone. …’¹⁷ Luttwak and Horowitz argue that ‘although Israel’s strategic goal was not to reach the Canal at all but to destroy the Egyptian Army in Sinai … Dayan failed to insist on his prudent and far-sighted limit. …’¹⁸ But Dayan describes the event very frankly: ‘I did not want to reach the Canal. I issued orders to stop some distance from it. The Army presented me with an accomplished fact.’¹⁹ I tend to accept Dayan’s version.

Following the above data, it is not less interesting to analyze the two polar dimensions of this specific process of decision making. On the institutional level, during the morning of 7 June, ‘the Cabinet, acting as the Ministerial Committee on Defense (MCD), approved Dayan’s plan to stop the advance into Sinai short of the Suez Canal’. Discussing the issue again at night (9:30 p.m.), Dayan was ‘sticking to his view and Allon pressing for an advance to the Canal’.²⁰ The MCD did not change its earlier decision.

However, on the operational level, on the evening of June 8 General Tal (commander of the northern division, the main unit among the attacking forces) received a different order. In a meeting with the deputy chief of staff, General Bar-Lev, and with General Gavish (the commander of the southern command) he was informed that ‘the chief-of-staff … is interested … (in getting) to the Suez Canal.’ Understanding that the ‘Egyptian government was ready for a cease-fire,’ General Tal ordered the occupation of ‘positions along the length of the Canal as rapidly as possible …’²¹

In short, although a governmental-political decision had been made not to advance to the Suez Canal, the military forces reached the Canal on the night of June 8. The goal definition of destroying the Egyptian Army had been transformed somehow into a new strategic achievement (the canal itself). It seems that in a crucial ‘moment of enthusiasm’, the ‘how’ decision makers – the military elite – dominated the political-military decisionmaking process.

In analyzing why and how such a short-circuit occurred, I am not going to proceed either from the historical or from the constitutional point of view. Rather, I would like to suggest some alternative explanations based on a sociological frame of reference. The explanation will be developed more fully later, but I would like to highlight its main components at this point.

1.  The situation, or the ‘momentum effect’. Let us assume that the political elite did make a rational decision. Facing the threat (Egyptian troops in Sinai – the ‘data’), the government analyzed some alternatives and finally decided to go to war (‘to destroy the Egyptian Army’ – the ‘goal’) to remove the threat. The military elite planned how to achieve this goal, and thereafter a dynamic process existed in which new data were supposed to motivate a renewal of the process.

Thus, from the environmental-situation point of view, the success of the military units on the operational level contributed to the catalysis of a new cycle of decision making. The military momentum at a given point becomes a fundamental factor in changing the rational process. Neither the data nor the alternatives which prevailed before making the rational decision had changed. It seems that the momentum effect overturned the process and influenced the character of the data and the alternatives. Simultaneously, the role definition of the military elite in the decision making process had changed and their power and prestige had increased.

2.  The actors, the networks, and the coalitions. Prime Minister Eshkol was considered an indecisive figure. In this situation Dayan became a dominant actor and an influential person on Eshkol’s intimate team of decision making.

Dayan’s main competitor inside this small group was Y. Allon, who had lost the struggle to become Eshkol’s defense minister. Previously, Allon had been the commander of the Palmach, and many of the high-ranking officers in the IDF who were his followers in the past had since become the most influential members of the military elite and shared his views. From the beginning, this structural situation became a sufficient condition for the constitution of two main coalitions.

While the government’s ‘rational’ decision was formulated in general terms,²² Dayan and Allon were divided with regard to its concrete application.

The final territorial results in the battlefield were, in fact, closer to Allon’s perception. However, with regard to other crucal decisions made during the Six-Day War, I would like to trace the extent to which this type of political-military coalition (Allon-Rabin) dominated the process at any given time. It seems that neither Eshkol’s authority nor Dayan’s charismatic personality was enough to ensure that their initial decisions would stand. The momentum effect, combined with a dominant coalition, influenced the actual decisions which were made in the 1967 Sinai campaign.

THE DECISION THAT WAS NEVER MADE – THE OCCUPATION OF THE WEST BANK

A definite and comprehensive decision to conquer the West Bank was never made. The occupation was the result of a series of separate political decisions: the ‘encirclement of the Old City of Jerusalem’ (6 June 1967), counterattacks against Jordanian troops in the central and northern parts of the area, and Dayan’s order ‘to advance upon and occupy part of the West Bank, until the line of the hills dominating the descent to the Jordan Valley.’²³

According to Rabin, it was ‘the entry of Jordan and Syria into the War’

which merely ‘raised the question of our ultimate objectives on these fronts’. The purposes of the political authorities were therefore ‘… purely defensive … to prevent artillery bombardment … and to stop the (Jordanian) tanks … from reaching Jerusalem….’²⁴

The commander of the Central Command, General U. Narkiss, concludes his description of the situation on 6 June as follows: ‘We had no (military) plans … we were going to occupy all the area of the West Bank, but no one of us had been prepared for it … it is a military act while the political authorities have no clear-cut idea what we want in the West Bank (or) … if we want it at all …’²⁵

Dayan’s order to the Central Command ‘to mount its offensive’, as well as the order to the Northern Command to make a counterattack at the northern part of the West Bank, remained later the only political goal definition in regard to this front. But again, the military reality brought about a different result.

Trying to define why and when the strategic goal in relation to the Jordanian front had changed from defensive plans into offensive policy, Weizman argues in his memoirs: ‘the absence of any plan to occupy the West Bank left us with no choice other than to scrape together forces … and to send them into action. There was no talk yet of conquest and occupation; only of a limited operation … In the small hours of the morning between 5 and 6 June, Dayan, Rabin, Bar-Lev … and I were sitting at headquarters when one of the commanders radioed in to inform us that his forces had surrounded Jenin, one of the major towns on the West Bank. Moshe [Dayan] looked at us … and said “I know exactly what you want” … “so take it” (“it” means the town of Jenin). That was the turning point. The plan for snatching morsels died at birth, and it became clear that we were to capture and liberate the West Bank….’²⁶

So, ‘… separate Commands fought an unplanned campaign … and the coordination of the different formations was far from perfect.’²⁷ But although the campaign was ‘unplanned’, there were no crucial difficulties on the tactical level. On the third day of the war three different brigades achieved their defined military goal, reaching the Jordan Valley and controlling the entire area of Judea and Samaria. It is only after the war that ‘Weizman had told … [a reporter] … we could never have fought the way we have for a Jewish state in any other part of the world. Jerusalem, the West Bank of the Jordan, indeed the whole of Palestine has a very deep significance for us. It is the basis of Zionism.’²⁸ The military advance as well as the military decisions had created in these crucial moments a new political situation.

Concluding the war, Rabin says that one of the major end products of the war was the problem ‘… that a million hostile Arabs … were now living under Israeli rule’.²⁹ Dayan expressed his feelings after he had faced Jericho, the site of biblical Shechem and the ‘traditional tombs of the Patriarchs Abraham, Isaac and Jacob’ in Hebron: ‘… I was moved by the idea that Jews would again be able to visit … [their] ancient holy places to which they had been denied access for so long ….’

It is clear, however, that both Rabin, the chief of staff, and Dayan, the political defense minister, are dealing retrospectively with issues which were supposed to have been an input into the political-military decision making process before the occupation of the West Bank. Without such processes, and under the given circumstances, both Dayan’s policies and Rabin’s conclusions now became a reflection of political consequences which were the result of military decisions.

Motivated by the momentum effect, the military elite had made ‘what’ – type decisions, and consequently the political elite had to decide ‘how’ to deal with the new situations. Data and alternatives were dominated by the decisions already made, and the political elite was lagging behind the military victory in the battlefield. The decision ‘to remove the Jordanian threat’ became, in its outcome (following the above leaders), the fulfillment of traditional Jewish national ideas. But even if the results would be the same why were the strategic views introduced retroactively?

AN ANATOMY OF A POLITICAL-MILITARY DECISION (A SECOND EDITION) – THE WAR AGAINST SYRIA

The pattern of political-military decision making in regard to the conquest of the Golan Heights is characterized by structural elements which are basically similar to the processes on the Egyptian and Jordanian fronts. The first significant political decision relevant to Syria was made on June 7, after the situation in the Sinai peninsula became clear. ‘The Cabinet, acting as the MCD, decided to advance on the Syrian front to the international border only. If, during the fighting it would seem necessary to get a foothold on the Syrian escarpment (which means an advance of 4–5 km. or about 3.5 miles) the matter would be submitted to the Prime Minister and Minister of Defense for their approval.’ On 8 June, the Cabinet ‘decided to delay its previous decision’ and not to attack Syria.³⁰

Pressed by counterforces – ‘Allon’s demand which was supported by the General Staff’ and by the citizens of the settlements near the Syrian border ‘who demanded action against the Syrians’ versus Dayan’s reluctance³¹ – Prime Minister Eshkol ‘agreed with Dayan’s proposal … because of concern about possible Soviet intervention’.³² The prime minister formulated his goal and ‘demanded the occupation of the headwaters of the Jordan River system’ (not farther than 3.5 miles inside the Syrian territory).³³

Again, the reality was different. On Friday, 9 June, Israel moved on the Syrian front, and occupied all of the area of the Golan Heights. On one hand, ‘Syria at 01:00, New York time (07:00 a.m., Israel time) … accepted the cease fire …’ but on the other hand, early on the morning of June 9, Dayan, without obtaining the permission of Eshkol and the Cabinet and bypassing the chief of staff, directly ordered General Elazar (the commander of the northern front) to attack Syria. ‘Eshkol was furious’, the government ‘was shocked’, but the decision was made.³⁴ Again, it was a type of partial directive. ‘No decision was taken as to where the army should stop. The Cabinet did not decide to occupy the Golan Heights; this became a function of military advance.’³⁵

In short, Eshkol’s definite narrow goal of the headwaters of the Jordan River, Dayan’s view of a limited advance inside the Syrian territory (not far from the 1948 international border), and the retroactive approval of the government – all these goal definitions were quite different from the military’s wider operational goals and the end lines of advance. The conquest of the Golan Heights (as well as the territorial definition – that is, the Golan Heights) became once more a revised version of the process on the other fronts – an outcome of a military decision.

Although many scientific desciplines can be manipulated to explain what had really happened (e.g. the ‘psychological dimension’ in Dayan’s pattern of decision making, an analysis of styles in political behavior of leaders, etc.), I would prefer to highlight, again, the situational effects combined with the actual networks and concrete decisions.

The main latent factor in the outbreak of the Six-Day War was Syria, which has long been considered the archenemy of Israel. Churchill puts his finger on a most sensitive point, quoting an Israeli officer: ‘… we all wanted to have a go at the Syrians. We didn’t much mind about the Egyptians, we have a certain respect for the Jordanians, but our biggest score was with the Syrians – they have been shelling our kibbutzim for the past nineteen years.’³⁶ Therefore ‘… while the Egyptian Army was being routed in the south, and the Arab Legion had retreated back across the Jordan, the Syrian army had the best of two worlds …’.³⁷ From this point of view, the accumulative effect of a military (and emotional) momentum contributed to the decision to act aggressively against the Syrians, overcoming some of the rational arguments which had supported the previous decision not to open a new front on the northern border of Israel.

It is not only a political pattern of behavior on the institutional level. The operational level did not respond differently. Without specifying any definite stopline, Rabin ordered Elazar ‘to dispatch large forces to Kuneitra, the Golan Heights principal town.’ After the chief of staff had given his orders, Dayan notified him ‘… that all military operations were to cease. …’ Consequently, ‘… [Rabin] … transmitted Dayan’s instructions …’ but General Elazar replied ‘… sorry … they (an airborne brigade) began to move off, and I can’t stop them…. There was something in Elazar’s tone that made me suspicious, but I didn’t expend much effort in an attempt to remove my doubts….’³⁸ Thus, the ‘noble stallions’ of the operational level as well as the military elite of the institutional level, motivated by their initial success, fed the momentum and enlarged its effect.

Actors, networks, and coalitions were cooperating directly and indirectly to influence the acceptance of given desirable goals. The attack on Syria’s lines was postponed several times. On one hand, some members of the Cabinet, especially Dayan, ‘… opposed any action against Syria. … Such a step … [according to Dayan] would be one of extreme irresponsibility. Syria was … backed to the hilt by the Soviet Union, and an attack on her could lead to consequences over which Israel would not have any control ….’³⁹ On the other hand, the military-political coalition of Elazar (commander of the northern front), Rabin, and other influential members of the military elite was cooperating with Allon.

A new element was involved in the discussions between the Eshkol-Dayan ad hoc coalition and the Allon-Rabin coalition. ‘Fearing that the opportunity to be rid of the Golan nightmare would slip through their fingers the inhabitants of the northern settlements met to find ways of influencing the government … [‘the Galilee Rebellion’].’ Representatives of the Upper Galilee Local Council were led by Eshkol in ‘an unprecedented step … to meet with the Ministerial Committee for Defense affairs (MCD).’ This was the second time in the history of Israel that citizens were given the opportunity to have a direct say in government and army decisions.’⁴⁰ By nature good relations prevailed between the military and the settlements along the border. But traditionally, the ‘northern coalition’ had a great influence on the Israeli political-military decision making processes, and for the time being it became a powerful one.

To sum up, it seems that in this example the facts support the structural, rather than the rational, explanation. Although the political-governmental elite made rational decisions to delay and later to limit the attack on the Syrian front, the momentum effect combined with a powerful coalition succeeded in changing the situation. Even the retroactive decision of the Cabinet (after Dayan had approved the military advance) was not a strategic ‘goal definition’. While Dayan and the political elite approved an advance not far from the international border and later did not formally change their previous decision, the military elite, supported by Allon, in practice, produced a new political strategic reality.

A RATIONAL MODEL OF A POLITICAL-MILITARY DECISION-MAKING PROCESS: THE LIBERATION OF THE OLD CITY OF JERUSALEM

The decision ‘… to free the Old City of Jerusalem’ is unique in its process of acceptance. In comparison to the other three crucial decisions being discussed, this one was well defined by a political goal definition which spelled out what and why, and only afterwards achieved by the military. Ironically, the way this decision was made is an exception which can be considered as a good case to consider in juxtaposition.

From the beginning of the war the Israeli Cabinet did not cease to deal with the issue of the Old City of Jerusalem. Thus, on the 5, 6 and 7 of June, the Cabinet ‘approved plans to attack the Old City’. Although there was disagreement on the subjects of timing and the best operational alternative (Allon, Begin, and Kollek (the Mayor of Jerusalem) vs. Eshkol, Dayan, and other Cabinet members), the atmosphere was characterized by a substantial consensus, and the final decision was first ‘to surround the Old City but not to enter it.…’⁴¹ Eshkol and Dayan assumed that as a result of this step ‘… the Arabs would begin to flee and the City would fall by itself’. News of a cease-fire resolution (accepted by the UN Security Council) changed the first operative decision, and consequently a detailed political decision was made – ‘to take the Old City, and the earlier the better for Israel.’⁴² On 7 June, at noon, U. Narkiss (OC Central Command) and M. Gur (then a paratroop brigade commander) succeeded in achieving their goal, ‘to free the Old City’.

Although the military had not had a definite plan of how to conquer the Old City,⁴³ the clear-cut political goal definition contributed to rapid professional planning. It seems that, in general, a well known goal definition (as well as a ‘goal consensus’) makes easier the ‘division of labor’ between ‘what’ and ‘how’ decision makers. However, this given political-military process is different in its pattern and tends to be an exceptional one.

DECISIONS AND CONSEQUENCES: CONCLUSIONS

What are the common elements in the entire set of political-military decisions? Comparing the decisions to their final consequences, the juxtaposition seems to be as shown in Figure 1. In general, with the exception of the issue of the Old City of Jerusalem all three of the strategic results are different from the political intentions (but not necessarily undesirable). However, all the decisions were made by two systems of decision makers sharing a situational domain – the political elite and the military-professional elite.

Undoubtedly, before the Six-Day War the ‘division of labor’ between the two elites was well defined. The assignment of Dayan to the position of defense minister can also be viewed as an attempt to achieve better control of the military professionals in a time of crisis. But, although there was a mutual understanding of the rules of the game, the reality was not shaped by rational decisions.

FIGURE 1

DECISIONS AND CONSEQUENCES

On all three fronts, the political decision makers formulated their perceptions in the most general terms (‘minimal decision’). Thus, for example, the problem of lines of advance was neglected. Since the politicians did not want to or did not know how to define goals, the miliary professionals had to define them for themselves. Differing strategic views and conflicting coalitions at the political level, created an ambiguous situation, which is an ideal climate for a powerful coalition of a political-military type to arise.

While the political decisions reflect the predominant coalition of Eshkol and Dayan (as well as the entire Cabinet), the actual consequences reflect the strategic views of the other main coalition of Allon, Rabin, and most of the military elite members. From this point of view, the argument of many Western authors and observers (including Safran, Luttwak, and Brecher, whom I refer to in this paper) that ‘the Military did not dominate Israel’s decisional forums, rather, it was civilian structures, notably the Cabinet and its Defense Committee, which played the pivotal decision making role in … the 1967 … crisis period …’⁴⁴ is basically correct but needs further clarification.

In reality, though the political elite had dominated the decision making processes, the military elite dominated the outcome of events, bringing about different consequences than those intended by the politicians. This modification presents a more accurate view than that of Brecher and others, for the data do not permit us to ignore the crucial role of the military in the Israeli national decision making process during the 1967 war. Controlling the consequences means controlling the process. And, thus, in given situations and at crucial moments the political (‘what’) decision makers were inevitably subordinated to the military-professional (‘how’) decision makers. Discovering this connection between the consequences and the actions of the dominant military-political coalition has however an important analytical value, mostly from our sociological-theoretical perspective.

Conclusions

Assuming for the moment that the civilian-military decision making processes during the Six-Day War were rational processes, I would like to examine a number of alternative explanations of the gap between the decisions and their consequences.

(1)
The military organization, violating the ‘rules of the game’, disobeyed the civilian authority. Military commanders motivated by their success acted, perhaps, in contrast to the political intentions. The decision making processes were rational, but the ‘how’ decision makers exceeded their authority.

   It seems to me that the situation and the conditions were different. The absence of political decisions had produced a vacuum. Instead of disobeying political policies, the military organization was forced to initiate them. Even in the case of the Egyptian front, it was not an impossible mission to order the troops to withdraw from the Suez Canal in the same way the military forces were ordered to recross the Jordan River, from its eastern side to the western bank,⁴⁵ or the way Dayan ordered the stop of the advance in the Golan Heights.

(2)
Rationally, developments in the battlefield can supply new data (‘feedback’), and therefore new alternatives can be discussed.

   From this point of view the process can be basically rational and the consequences can be produced by new decisions based on new information. But, again, this dynamic mode of decision making did not exist, either in the case of the goal definition on the Jordanian front (‘the decision that never was made’) or in the case of the Golan Heights (where the government was reluctant to approve the military attack retroactively). Trial and error as a mode of decision making cannot be considered an adequate explanation of these events. The advance of the military never was discussed in terms of new data, and consequently there were never any new final strategic decisions made.

(3)
The rational process failed because of the persons who had to control it.

   An alternative explanation can relate the structural deviation of the process to the patterns of the decision makers’ behavior as well as to their personality type. It is not likely that the coalition of Eshkol and Dayan was inherently too weak to control the processes. Although Eshkol is considered a technocrat rather than a political leader, Dayan’s skill does not need an additional recommendation. Moreover, even though this argument is basically correct, it is still supporting the proposition that the human variable (the decision maker functioning as a social actor) influences the fundamentally rational mode of decision making.

(4)
The lack of strategic-rational decisions can be explained as the result of the political elite’s inability to follow a dynamic situation like a war.

   This too is an inadequate explanation. The relatively small size of the arena, modern communications systems, and daily contacts between civilian and military leaders seem to negate this possibility. In the case of the Six-Day War, the government was informed, and there was no intention within the Israeli military that would have withheld information. A dynamic situation (especially in time of war or crisis) enhances the need for a reliable institutionalized mechanism of decision making on the national level, but this is not the problem in the case of the Six-Day War (in contrast to the 1973 war). If a rational mode of decision making is by definition an evaluation of data and alternatives in order to make a final ‘satisficing’ decision (in Simon and March’s term), neither the decision making processes on the political-military level nor their consequences can be explained by this approach. Thus, at this point, the tentative conclusion is that the consequences of the Six-Day War (at least the final situation in Sinai, in the West Bank, and in the Golan Heights) were not caused by a rational decision making process which defined strategic goals. The negative correlation between the decisions and their consequences has to be interpreted in another way.

Decision makers, being social actors, have differentiated roles and social positions. In order to ensure that the decision making process has the outcome they desire, they tend to exercise their relative power, cooperating in networks and ad hoc coalitions. From this point of view, the nature of the relationship between political decisions and military consequences can be explained by the differentiated role play of both systems and by their elite members’ mode of functioning. Coherent structural differences between the political institution and the military organization may produce the deviation from the rational model. Let us examine a number of possible alternatives.

(1)
In principle, the Israeli civilian system and the military system were aware of their organizational expectations. The Israeli government had a full understanding of its strategic policymaking function, while the IDF pressed for acceptance of its professional recommendations. The division of labor between the ‘what’ and the ‘how’ decision makers was well known, and political limitations on military plans, as well as the military’s strong motivation to fight, followed with a high degree of initiative, were according to the rules of the organizational game.

(2)
In practice, the careful examination (which was made in the case study analysis) of the domain shared by the civilian and the military systems tends to support a more realistic conclusion. While the civilian-political elite ignored some of its organizational requirements (e.g., did not make crucial strategic (‘what’) decisions), the Israeli military under these circumstances was able to function (in the cases of the West Bank and the Golan Heights) as a policymaking team, making both ‘what’ and ‘how’ decisions.

(3)
Although a war situation is unique the structural conflict between the political and the military systems in regard to the control of their domain seems to be identical to conventional organizational phenomena. The political networks within the government, political (e.g. Eshkol-Dayan vs. Allon) and civilian-military (Allon-Rabin) coalitions, the willingness to maximize relative power (the public pressure for the assignment of Dayan, the pressure of the Upper Galilee citizens to remove the threat of the Syrians), and the type of the negotiation between the civilians and the military elite – all these are pure indications of ‘exchange relations’ of the universal organizational life.

(4)
In organizational terminology, the military operational decisions replaced the political institutional directives. The motivation of the military to press ahead (mostly on the part of commanders on the front lines) is a natural desire of professional soldiers to fulfill their role definition. Thus, the advance of the Israeli forces in Sinai, in the West Bank, and in the Golan Heights was a result of a self-understanding of professional expectations rather than an attainment of a given institutional-strategic goal definition.

To what extent can the specific social-environmental characteristics of Israeli society or the structural patterns of its elite members’ behavior be considered to be alternative explanations of the national decision making processes in 1967?

(1)
The military, and especially its elite members, undoubtedly had a unique status in Israel of June 1967.

   Thus, because of environmental characteristics, especially the high influential position of the military organization, the political system gave the military system a lot of flexibility in dealing with the war situation. According to the specific Israeli strategic situation, the conclusions can be that differences between consequences and decisions are part of a normative set of unwritten rules by which the political and the military elites share domains.

(2)
Both elites did share a general perception of strategic concepts. Growing up in the same ideological environment, members of the civilian and the military elites shared an identical understanding of the Arab threat, and therefore the terms of national survival, the importance of avoiding high losses or the need to limit the expansion of a war, did not need to be defined as goals. On the other hand, an agreed value system is a necessary condition in integrating a social structure but it is not sufficient to ensure a consensus on national and strategic issues. The conclusion is clear. General common strategic perception does not replace the need for political goal definitions.⁴⁶

(3)
The historical fact that most of the Israeli governments had to be based on a coalitional structure can be a partial explanation of the absence of detailed strategic perceptions. Never in its history had Israel defined its desirable boundaries or its attitudes in regard to its specific demographic problems. The threat to its political survival had dominated the Israeli governments, as well as the political elites’ members in making strategic decisions. Thus, controversial goal definitions were never defined. It seems that the same unwillingness to raise sensitive questions had contributed to the lack of strategic goal definitions on the eve of the Six Day War. Consequently, political decisions were made either under consensus (e.g., the liberation of the Old City of Jerusalem) or because of the need to stop the military advance. While political difficulties prevented the government from making decisions, the military elite, free of such cross-pressures and characterized by an aggressive initiative, forced the political elite to deal with the consequences. However, the military elite replaced by its decisions the unwillingness of the coalitional political system to deal with uncomfortable sensitive issues.

To sum up the environmental mode of explanation, it seems that the combination of the war situation and the unique high status of the Israeli military, confronting a coalitional political system which was limited in making strategic decisions, contributed a lot to the understanding of the gap between the political decisions (as well as the lack of decisions) and the consequences of the Six-Day War. The specific Israeli environment has to some degree an influence on its mode of decision making on the national level.

In keeping with this point of view the crucial decisions of the Six-Day War were made by overturned processes. Coalitions of the members of political and/or military elites used strategic arguments in order to support personal and organizational views. The coalitional conflicts followed the decision making processes from the institutional level down to the operational level. The final outcome shows better than the decisions themselves the way the achievements of the Six-Day War were attained.

NOTES

1.  See Herbert A. Simon, Administrative Behavior, 3d ed. (Glencoe: Free Press, 1976); J.D. Thompson, Organizations in Action (New York: McGraw-Hill, Inc. 1967). See Talcot Parsons, ‘Suggestions for a Sociological Approach to the Theory of Organizations’, in Amitai Etzioni, ed., Complex Organizations (New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, Inc., 1961) pp. 32–47; Edward O. Laumann and Franz U. Pappi, Networks of Collective Action (New York: Academic Press, 1976).

2.  For a better understanding of the theoretical framework, see also M. Janowitz, The Professional Soldier (New York: Free Press, 1971); Military Conflict (Belmont: Sage Publications, 1975), and R.W. Little, Sociology and the Military Establishment (Beverly Hills: Sage Publications).

3.  Nadav Safran, Israel, The Embattled Ally (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, Belknap Press, 1979), pp. 125–35.

4.  Ibid., p. 320.

5.  Michael Brecher and Benjamin Geist, Decisions in Crisis: Israel 1967 and 1973 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1980).

6.  Edward Luttwak and Dan Horowitz, The Israeli Army (London: Allen Lane, 1975), p. 221.

7.  Safran, op. cit., pp. 321–22.

8.  Ibid, p.328.

9.  Luttwak and Horowitz, op. cit., p. 137. See also articles of Horowitz and Peri in this volume.

10.  R.S. Churchill and W.S. Churchill, The Six Day War (London: Heinemann, 1967).

11.  Brecher, op. cit., pp. 16–61.

12.  Moshe Dayan, Story of My Life (New York: William Morrow & Co. 1976), pp. 339–41 (emphasis added).

13.  Brecher, op. cit., p. 100. The echo of this discussion would be raised again in regard to the military disposition along the Suez Canal during the War of Attrition.

14.  Brecher, op. cit., p. 161; Yeshayahu Gavish in an interview in the newspaper Ma’ariv, 6 June 1980.

15.  Brecher, ibid., p. 160.

16.  Ibid., p. 261.

17.  Yitzhak Rabin, The Rabin Memories (Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1979), p. 113.

18.  Luttwak and Horowitz, op. cit., pp. 257–58.

19.  Shabtai Teveth, Moshe Dayan: The Soldier, the Man, the Legend (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co. 1973), p. 261.

20.  Brecher, op. cit., pp. 253–75.

21.  Shabtai Teveth, The Tanks of Tammuz (New York: Viking Press, 1969), p. 249.

22.  ‘The Government resolves to take military action in order to liberate Israel from the stranglehold of aggression which is progressively being tightened around Israel.’ Brecher, op. cit. (following the Jerusalem Post), p. 168.

23.  Brecher, op. cit., p. 269.

24.  Rabin, op. cit., p. 105. See also a version slightly different, but still similar in its conclusion, in the Hebrew edition, p. 190.

25.  Uzi Narkiss, The Liberation of Jerusalem (Tel-Aviv: Am Oved Publishers, 1976), p.232. A translation from Hebrew.

26.  Ezer Weizman, On Eagle Wings (New York: McMillan Publishing Co. 1975), pp. 243–44 (italics added).

27.  Luttwak and Horowitz, op. cit., p. 260.

28.  Churchill and Churchill, op. cit., p. 147.

29.  Rabin, op. cit., p. 119.

30.  Brecher, op. cit., p. 253, pp. 275–76 (emphasis added).

31.  Dayan, op. cit., p. 380.

32.  Brecher, op. cit., p. 206.

33.  Brecher, ibid., p. 256.

34.  Churchill and Churchill, op. cit., pp. 180–91; Brecher, ibid., pp.379–80; Rabin, op. cit., pp. 115–16.

35.  Brecher, ibid., p. 282.

36.  R. Churchill and W. Churchill, op. cit., p. 184.

37.  Teveth, op. cit., p. 336.

38.  Rabin, op. cit., p. 117.

39.  Luttwak and Horowitz, op. cit., p. 275.

40.  Teveth, op. cit., p. 337 (‘The first was in May 1948, when Ben Gurion received a delegation from the Jordan Valley settlements.’).

41.  Brecher, ibid., p. 253.

42.  Brecher, op. cit., pp. 270–73. See also U. Narkiss, op. cit., and Mordechai Gur, Temple Mount in our Hands (Tel-Aviv: Am Oved Publishers, 1974), the story of the battles to free Jerusalem (in Hebrew).

43.  Narkiss, ibid., p. 120.

44.  Brecher, ibid., p. 246.

45.  M. Dayan, op. cit., p. 370, ‘… Units of the brigade (Col. Uri-Ben-Aris’ armored brigade) … crossed the Jordan and took positions on the east bank … I immediately gave orders to the General Staff that the brigade was to return to the west bank …’.

46.  Weizman, concluding his opinion on this issue says: ‘… a state should never undertake the supreme effort of going to war until it has defined its political objective, which should dictate all its moves in the war. If a state does not define its political aims before the war … it has still done only half the job’. E. Weizman, op. cit., p. 256.

Israel’s War in Lebanon: New Patterns of Strategic Thinking and Civilian–Military Relations

Dan Horowitz

From its very establishment in 1948, the State of Israel has not experienced a single decade free of war. Since the Second World War, in fact, Israel has been involved in more wars than any other country: five confrontations – including Operation Peace for Galilee, whose definition as war is no longer subject to doubt – as well as the war of Attrition and the Litani Operation, whose inclusion in that category remains debatable.¹

Difficulty in enumerating the wars stems from the extended nature of the Israel-Arab conflict, which is characterized by limited use of violence in ‘neither war nor peace’ situations as well. During his term as Chief-of-Staff, Itzhak Rabin defined the situation between Israel-Arab wars as one of ‘dormant war’ which, like a dormant volcano, is liable to erupt at any moment.² However, the non-activation of a dormant war does not mean that tranquility prevails. The employment of limited and controlled violence at a ‘sub-war’ level also continues during periods between wars: Arab guerrilla and terrorist activities; actions defined as retaliatory; Israeli preventive and deterrent action; border incidents – in which it is not always clear who opened fire first, etc.³ Initiation of wars was not always the lot of one side only. The War of Independence and the Yom Kippur War were instigated by the Arab side, as was the War of Attrition, of course. The Sinai Campaign, Operation Peace for Galilee and the Litani Operation, on the other hand, were initiated by Israel and not necessarily in a ‘no choice’ situation. The Six-Day War, too, was begun by Israel, although it was more along the lines of a pre-emptive strike in a situation perceived as virtually one of ‘no choice’, rather than as a preventive war, which seeks to postpone military confrontation in the hope of outright prevention. These diffferences between wars were also reflected in the extent of dispute in Israel regarding their necessity: the Sinai Campaign was more subject to debate than was the Six-Day War, but less so than Operation Peace for Galilee, once that war extended beyond the avowed preventive objective of removing the artillery threat from settlements in northern Israel.⁴

The long-term, repeated incidents of violence and military confrontation tended to blur the boundary line between war and peace; wars between Israel and the Arabs are not perceived by the former as a sign of any clear-cut turning point in relations among neighboring countries. This tendency fostered a conception of a scale of violent moves, ranging from minor incidents and shooting among the borders to an all-out war between Israel and her neighbors, with the participation of non-contiguous countries as well.⁵

This portrait of reality – of a given conflict which appears insoluble in the near future, a blurred boundary between war and peace and a multi-level scale of violent situations – very much resembles the model of global international relations described in the strategic theories which prevailed in the United States in the late 1950s and early 1960s.⁶

American strategy experts sought to save the United States and her allies from the impossible choice between total nuclear war and avoidance of direct or indirect use of military force.⁷ However, they ultimately contributed significantly towards creation of the intellectual background for American involvement in Vietnam.⁸ By according semi-autonomous status to strategic considerations (whether for the purpose of building models – along the lines of economic models – or for ‘selling’ their theories to statesmen and to the military), they overemphasized one aspect of international relations while playing down the others, i.e. diplomatic, economic and ideological factors. Furthermore, they ignored the social and psychological issues which affect national willingness to engage in strategic games and to consent to material and human sacrifice; hence they failed in their estimation of the breaking point of the American national consensus – a failure which lowered the status of strategic analysts.

In view of the parallel drawn between the Israeli security conception and hypothesis of the American school of strategic studies, several counter arguments may be raised. Firstly, the regional conflict pattern is not a microcosmic copy of the global one. Secondly, Israel’s security theory planners were not followers of the American strategic studies school and even preceded it in adopting assumptions regarding conflict situations, blurred boundaries between peace and war and the controlled use of varying degrees of violence. Thirdly, Israel is a nation whose very survival is in danger; hence its threshold of sacrifice and risk-taking is higher than that of other western societies. However, these claims, correct in themselves, do not detract from the validity of the parallel – extending beyond the differences in circumstances – between various manifestations of apparently autonomous strategic thinking, without considering the internal political and social costs of realizing strategic objectives. Indeed, the experience of Operation Peace for Galilee teaches us, among other things, that it is difficult to make efficient use of strategic planning which underestimates the value of the exigencies imposed by political, social and value considerations, even in the unique environment of the Israel-Arab conflict.⁹

In the course of that war, it emerged that Israel’s national consensus has a breaking point as well.¹⁰ Furthermore, the war indicated that even in an Israeli-Palestinian confrontation, with the limited participation of Syria, it is difficult to derive from overtly demonstrated military power political results which withstand the test of the ratios between their benefits and their cost in blood, money, internal morale and external support.¹¹

The experience of Operation Peace for Galilee also shows that despite the blurring of the boundary between peace and war, an initiated war is still perceived in Israel as entirely different from use of military force within the framework of what Moshe Dayan once termed ‘peacetime military operations’.¹² When the Israeli public is aware of the existence of choice, as in the Sinai Campaign or Operation Peace for Galilee, doubts arise regarding the efficacy of war, although not to the same extent as in France during the Algerian War or the United States regarding Vietnam, for example. Significant sectors of the Israeli public however, were found to be unwilling to accord exclusive rights of determining ‘when and why Israel goes to war’ to the government and its advisors in the civilian and military defense establishment.¹³

In past Israeli wars and limited military operations, national consensus was assisted by the fact that foreign policy was conducted from the center of the spectrum of political opinions on national security. The security policies were criticized from both the hawkish and dovish sides, but their influence was limited, as political power was not polarized. This situation changed when Ariel Sharon was accorded the Defense portfolio: the two key positions in the security system – that of the Defense Minister and of the Chief-of-Staff (General Rafael Eiten) – were entrusted to personalities considered to represent extremely hawkish views regarding national security.¹⁴ This transfer of the security policy administration to the apparent extreme right wing of the Israeli political system led to polarization of views and an increasing tendency towards sharp reaction and reservation on the part of the moderate Israeli public regarding government defense policies. Such reservation stemmed from the opinion that there was no longer balance between extreme and moderate opinions on security, between the tendency to overuse of military power and emphasis upon restrained political considerations, as had prevailed in the past, when the defense system was administrated from the political center. The conception which thus prevailed in those circles was that only public pressure by opposition factors outside the decision-making system could serve as a counterweight to the extreme hawkish tendencies in the government’s security policies.¹⁵

The entrusting of national security leadership to personalities representing the most extreme, hawkish end of the spectrum of national opinion also damages national consensus, reducing the credibility of claims by the leadership among those with more moderate opinions. During Operation Peace for Galilee, the Israeli public clearly challenged the credibility of the defense establishment – and primarily that of Defense Minister Ariel Sharon. This credibility gap has two sources: a) mistrust of an extreme hawk, whose well known views lead to suspicion that he would exploit the military confrontation for obtaining political gain beyond its preventive aims; b) numerous manifestations of information manipulation – including withholding of information and dissemination of false reports – in the course of the war for the purpose of influencing the public and decision makers.¹⁶ Information manipulation is an accepted technique in military system administration for creating a ‘fog of war’ and surprising the enemy. Israel has also implemented such techniques to gain time and attain a maximum number of military objectives before superpower intervention and demands for a cessation of hostilities are voiced.¹⁷ Nevertheless, instances of controlling, concealing and distorting information in Operation Peace for Galilee often cannot be explained as serving the objectives of misleading the enemy or the superpowers.¹⁸ Rather, these phenomena were perceived by Sharon’s critics as designed to lay the groundwork for expansion and escalation of the military confrontation beyond its original avowed objectives – which had been approved by the government and had served as the point of departure for recruiting ‘national consensus’ regarding the campaign.

There are many indications that the IDF was prepared to ‘exploit’ its success beyond the original avowed objectives of the war. The government however authorized the ever-expanding objectives of the campaign in stages, each of which was presented as a military necessity or a necessary consequence of the success of its predecessor.¹⁹ Press reports claimed that when initiation of war was approved, representatives of the parliamentary opposition were given misleading evaluations of the predicted duration of fighting – estimated at a day or two – and the extent of casualties, predicted to total several score only.²⁰ These statistics indeed reflected the first stage of fighting, but not the subsequent ones – which had evidently been planned in advance, according to statements subsequently issued by Chief-of-Staff General Rafael Eitan.²¹ The papers also reported that reservations expressed by high-ranking military officials, which were not accepted by the Defense Minister, were not presented at the political level.²²

An especially thick ‘fog of war’ enveloped the arena of conflict with the Syrians. Official Israeli statements continued to repeat the avowed intention of avoiding confrontation even as battles with the Syrians were raging. The move to outflank the Syrian forces was presented to the Cabinet (and later described in the Knesset) as a method of securing Syrian withdrawal without armed conflict, although it was no less reasonable to assume that the threat of outflanking would have the opposite effect and induce Syria to join the conflict.²³

There are additional facts, including the dimensions of participating troops, which attest to the fact that the confrontation with the Syrians in Lebanon was perceived as certain or nearly certain by the planners of the campaign.²⁴

A different evaluation, however, was presented to the general public. Moreover, even after the cease-fire went into effect, the IDF continued fighting with the Syrians for the purpose of expanding Israeli control on the Damascus-Beirut Highway. Decisions to this effect were apparently undertaken without the participation of the cabinet or the acting Prime Minister while the Prime Minister was abroad.²⁵

Other phenomena of information manipulation were connected with Israeli public sensitivity to losses. Details of Israeli casualties were not withheld, yet the discrepancies among statistics published at different times hint at attempts to control the flow of such information, ‘dispersing’ publication of statistics in order to soften the blow.²⁶ In at least one case, the Defense Minister deliberately promulgated false information, declaring that the IDF had suffered no losses in the conquest of the Beaufort.²⁷

Misleading information was also passed on by the Defense Minister with regard to the number of casualties inflicted by terrorists since they established their bases in Lebanon. No factual backing was found for the numbers cited, even if one includes IDF casualties in actions against the terrorists, Arab casualties in the territories – including terrorists killed while preparing explosive charges – and victims of non-Arab terror in Europe.²⁸ Inflated claims were also made in regard to the quantity of weapons which fell into the IDF’s hands in southern Lebanon though in real military terms, they were hardly significant.

Attempts to manipulate information and control its distribution to influence the opinions of the Israeli public – apparently also that of the decision makers – rather than as a means of boosting military and civilian morale, led to a credibility crisis on the battlefield and home front alike.²⁹

Operation Peace for Galilee thus aroused public debate – the first of its kind in Israel’s military history – over the mutual effects of home-front attitudes and those of the battlefront upon one another. One popular claim advanced by supporters of the campaign – in all its stages – was that soldiers plagued by doubts were adversely influenced by home front critics. No evidence was found to support this claim, however. Questions regarding the goals and dimensions of the war apparently arose simultaneously on the battlefield and at home.³⁰ This parallel between battlefield and home front reactions fits the assumption prevailing among researchers of the status of the army in Israel with regard to the diffuse dividing line between military and civilians in Israeli society. The IDF – at full strength – primarily comprises reserve forces, i.e. civilians called up for service in emergency situations; furthermore, the battlefield is generally located at a distance only a few hours from their homes. Moreover, the IDF ethos, which has become part of the national ethos of Israel, is that of a ‘nation in arms’. The soldier is called a ‘civilian in uniform’ while the civilian is considered a ‘soldier on eleven-month annual furlough’ – as expressed by Yigael Yadin, Chief-of-Staff during the 1950s – a situation not entirely reflected in the ‘Security Service Law’. The mutual affinity between the inducted and non-inducted population is nourished by structural phenomena of partial ‘civilianization’ of the army, on the one hand and civilian involvement in national security on the other.³¹ In Israel’s national security system-based upon the combination of permanent, compulsory and reserve forces – there is a very high probability of similar attitudes on the battlefront and at home, even when there is no direct communication between them. This probability increases significantly as a result of the manifold channels of informal communication between the fighting troops and the home front, which are in both geographical and social proximity to one another. Hence the attempt to control communication between the battlefront and home fronts adversely affected the credibility of the security leadership without actually hitting the bi-directional flow of information at least insofar as the military and civilian elites are concerned.³²

The connection between the lack of consensus regarding Operation Peace for Galilee and the damage to the credibility of the security leadership was therefore twofold: on the one hand, the commencement and expansion of war was undertaken without a comprehensive consensus, thus constituting the psychological and political background for manifestations of doubt regarding the intentions of the security leadership, its claims and the information disseminated by it or under its influence; on the other hand, the attempts of the security leadership to recruit support for its objectives – requiring control of communication and manipulation of information – instead served to upset the very national consensus which it sought to ensure. Under such circumstances, it is hardly surprising that the very question of a ‘war without consensus’ became a focus of public debate.

Two diametrically opposed opinions prevailed in that debate: ‘there should be no expressions of disagreement when we go to war’ versus ‘we should not go to war when disagreement prevails.’ Accompanying these two polarized views were various intermediate positions – among Operation Peace for Galilee’s supporters and critics alike – reflecting hesitation and confusion regarding the question of a ‘war without consensus’.³³

Even opponents of a ‘war without consensus’ conceded that according to democratic political theory, a government legally chosen in a free election may order the army to go to war even when some of the population finds its objectives unacceptable. However, they did not consider the issue of a war without consensus as referring to the legitimacy of the decision regarding initiated war but rather as concerning the wisdom and benefit thereof. The question was phrased primarily in social terms: a government which implements majority rule in issues of peace and war, without seeking a wider consensus, may ultimately damage the social cohesion of a nation which must bear the burden and risk of a protracted conflict and must recruit its material and moral resources to ensure survival in the face of a grave threat.³⁴

This issue also bears upon the wider context of the Israeli security conception, beyond the problem of the war in Lebanon. Israeli residents invest far more in their national security than do citizens of any other democratic country: between a quarter and a third of the per capita national income (during non-war years) and about six years of compulsory and reserve military service for men – according to the ‘Security Services Law’ – in addition to service during wartime and emergency recruitment. The risks of war recur every few years. National preparedness for these efforts is aided by conception of Israel as representing the defensive side in the conflict – on the strategic level – even when she adopts an offensive posture on the operative plane. In other words: conception of the conflict as imposed upon Israel has affected readiness to bear the operative burden of involvement in an extended conflict.³⁵

Since 1948 Israel has faced two challenges originating in the Arab-Israel conflict: ensuring military perseverance in a strategically hostile area and consolidation of her international status in light of the challenge to her legitimacy as a sovereign nation state. The offense-oriented operative approach on the military plane, in response to the first challenge, was largely enabled by a defensive response to the second. This allowed Israel to refer to its initiated wars as the defensive struggle of a peace-loving state and to demand massive military aid to maintain its deterrent military force. This ‘capacity to determine’ according to Itzhak Rabin, Chief-of-Staff during the mid-1960s, was to serve Israel when its ‘capacity to deter’ failed. It was not however received as intended for creating ‘deterrences’, through its use as Sharon interpreted it.³⁶

Israel’s defensive needs on the strategic-political level demand that she bring wars to a rapid conclusion through offensive initiative on the military operative level.³⁷ Israel, whose overall military ability rests largely upon her reserves, requires a swift return to a peacetime lifestyle for political, economic and social reasons. Hence she opts for quick, decisive and visible operative success in war. Furthermore, the high probability of intervention by the superpowers to halt hostilities leads Israel to seek a rapid military decision on the operative level. A clear and decisive military gain, enabling conclusion of the war without political gain for the enemy, is possible only through offensive military initiative. Such initiative also suits the attributes of the IDF, which nurtures the ethos of ‘quality instead of quantity’ and attempts to translate it into operative language through exploitation of the relative advantages of manpower and technology, which are optimally employed in a ‘mobile’ war base.³⁸

On the other hand, the defensive approach of a ‘status quo’ state on the political level reflects a variety of considerations: moral-ideological factors, national consensus and international legitimacy. Israel’s wars were therefore perceived as wars of defense or deterrence; even the Sinai Campaign, which deviated from this pattern, was presented as a ‘preventive war’, designed to thwart the combined threat of Arab unity under Nasser and the reinforcement of Egypt in the wake of the Czech-Egyptian arms deal.³⁹ In the past, Israel had always avoided formulating clearly-defined operative war objectives. Repeated suggestions to adopt such objectives were not implemented as an overall vague announcement of intention was considered preferable to a detailed statement subject to debate.⁴⁰

Furthermore, the lessons learned from Israel’s only initiated war prior to Operation Peace for Galilee, in which Israel was not under immediate threat, did not encourage the adoption of political predetermined war objectives. To the extent that the Sinai Campaign did provide advantage for Israel, it was despite her failure in achieving her most far-reaching objectives: deposing Nasser and changing Israel’s boundaries. Moreover, the achievements of the war – paradoxically – were enabled precisely through withdrawal from Sinai, ultimately leading to a result which was not predicted by the planners of the campaign: stabilization of the ‘neither war, nor peace’ situation along the cease-fire lines combined with a lowering of the ‘profile’ of the conflict and the intensity of its manifestations.

After the Sinai Campaign, Israel’s policy-makers adopted an approach which perceived Israel’s vital defense needs within an essentially defensive framework. This approach considered the possibility of a pre-emptive strike and even in circumstances of direct threat a ‘preventive war’, but did not include initiated warfare for the purpose of instituting a new order in the arena of the Arab-Israeli conflict.⁴¹ This approach also emphasized the operative objective of destroying enemy forces in order to disrupt their strike power, while that of conquering territory was perceived in this context as intended to serve as a ‘bargaining card’.⁴² It was only after Israel had acquired significant territorial gains in the Six-Day War that the formula of ‘defensible borders’ emerged. This new concept of ‘defensible borders’ essentially called for expansion of Israel’s geographical security margin to enable her to absorb an enemy attack without a pre-emptive strike.⁴³ In contrast to this security goal, the debatable demand for realization of ‘historical rights’ within the boundaries of the Land of Israel was never presented by its proponents as a manifest or even latent goal of the Six-Day War but rather as a possible ex post facto result thereof.

The strategic rationale for limiting the range of Israeli objectives in initiated wars rests upon the assumption that the conflict cannot be decided by military means. This assumption was based upon perception of the conflict as fundamentally asymmetric: the result sought by Arabs – elimination of Israel as a sovereign state – was ostensibly viewed as militarily attainable once the Arabs achieve decisive operative superiority. In contrast, the strategic result sought by Israel – Arab acceptance of the existence of the State of Israel within ‘secure and recognized boundaries’ – was considered unattainable by military means, even when Israel has a significant operative advantage. Moreover, past experience and evaluations by strategic analysts convinced Israeli defense policy-makers that the extent and geographic dispersion of Arab resources render it difficult for Israel to derive even partial political advantages from evident military achievements. Over the past few years, analysts have indeed questioned the validity of this assumption regarding the conflict’s lack of symmetry. However, their doubts revolved primarily about the hypothetical Arab capability to subjugate Israel militarily (at least without having to pay for it through massive destruction in their own countries). The claim raised was that under the threat of ultimate defeat, Israel is likely to implement her nuclear option as a ‘last resort weapon’.⁴⁴ In contrast, no one publicly challenged the assumption that Israel cannot by her own initiative resolve the conflict militarily. The security conception based upon these assumptions thus left no room for comprehensive Israeli military initiative aiming at the capitulation of the enemy.

It was also argued that with regard to defense – and even prevention or preemption – Israel had no incentive to initiate war in the early 1980s: first of all, the advantage of destroying enemy forces decreased to a great extent. Destruction of forces effectively refers to destroying the means of war. However, even if the enemy loses far more equipment than Israel, it maintains the ability to restore the balance to its former state within a shorter period of time, as a result of superior financial resources and reliance upon sources which are not bound by political limitations (at least with regard to conventional weaponry). In contrast, Israel’s restoration of lost material entails both economic and political difficulties.

Second, the growth in forces on both the Israeli and the Arab sides, even if the ratio remains unchanged, makes it more difficult for Israel to take an offensive initiative in the battlefield. A large concentration of forces on both sides within a limited space means a battlefield saturated with troops and fire. Such saturation hinders the discovery and exploitation of weak points in enemy deployment, thus according relative advantage to the defensive side, especially when aided by favorable terrain. This increases the cost of victory in terms of casualties, to which Israel is far more vulnerable than her enemies.

Third, the change in international circumstances, primarily Israel’s increasing dependence upon the United States, decreased the probability of Israel’s exploiting territories seized in war, even as an effective bargaining card. Withdrawal without significant gains is the most probable consequence of such a seizure.

Fourth, the Peace Treaty with Egypt, as the beginning of a gradual process of peace with the Arab states, offered Israel the possibility of at least partial tranquility obtained through political means, without a recurrent need to resort to military power. The only security pressure on Israel under such circumstances was the artillery threat to the north which – in terms of traditional Israeli security policy – may be defined as a problem of ‘current’ rather than ‘basic’ security. Israel customarily dealt with ongoing security problems by combining limited and controlled employment of military force with diplomacy. According to this approach, one might have expected, at most, a wider version of the Litani Operation of 1978, which extended the terrorist-free strip in southern Lebanon up to the range of artillery fire towards the Israeli border. However, this was only one objective of Opertion Peace for Galilee, to which other objectives were added that essentially changed the characteristics and purpose of the military confrontations.⁴⁵

The novel element of the approach implemented in the 1982 Lebanese war differed from that which had prevailed in Israeli security policy from 1957 on, and is not embodied in the affinity between political and military goals. Such an affinity was evident in the past as well. Rather, the innovation lay in the very nature of the political objectives which affected the dimensions of Operation Peace for Galilee, its military character and the extent of preparedness to take risks and to pay – with blood and money – for military success. The objectives of the Operation, or rather war, reflect a conception calling for the imposition of a new political order in the arena of the Israel-Arab conflict: the establishment of a Lebanese regime which would sign a peace treaty with Israel, hindering Palestinian abilities to thwart actions aimed at the annexation of Judea, Samaria and Gaza, political and military damage to Syria and perhaps also the creation of a precedent which would pave the way for military initiatives with political purpose in the Jordanian sector as well.⁴⁶

All these factors signify abandonment of the concept of Israel as a ‘status quo’ power from the strategic and geopolitical point of view – with all the ramifications stemming therefrom regarding the claim that Israel represents the defensive side of the Israel-Arab conflict. A country which initiates wars for the purpose of instituting a new order in the arena of conflict is one whose army is no longer devoted solely to deterring threats to her survival and preserving the security of her inhabitants. This situation also means that Israel has become less sensitive to her external image and her internal consensus regarding her war objectives.

Granted, the far-reaching results of Israel’s wars sometimes extended beyond those determined at their outset. The unique circumstances of Operation Peace for Galilee, however, are a function of the difference between pre-determined ancillary objectives and those which were appended ex post facto. The former differ from the latter in that they determine the dimensions of the military confrontation, its predicted finish line and the dimensions of the forces demanded. Furthermore, they determine the extent of risk and the casualty rate perceived as a ‘reasonable’ price for attaining the objectives. In other words, additional objectives foster a tendency towards further risk-taking, including additional expected casualties. Post facto and ancillary objectives are both rooted in the conception – accepted by Israel’s military establishment in the past as well – of open objectives or ‘exploitation’ of success. Thus, for example, the Litani Operation extended beyond its original lines once it was clear that new ones could be reached without political complications and at a low casualty cost. Similarly, during the Six-Day War, the IDF reached the Suez Canal in the west and the Jordan River in the east without these goals having been foreseen in advance. However, ‘exploitation of success’ by adding ex post facto objectives does not involve a priori changes in evaluation of the reasonable cost of confrontation in terms of political and military risks and expected losses. Therefore, unlike ancillary objectives it does not affect the decision whether to go to war or not.⁴⁷ Thus, the differentiation between predetermined objectives and those which were added later on was replaced by Defense Minister Ariel Sharon with a distinction between objectives which constitute ‘a casus belli’, and ‘ancillary objectives’ which join them – not ex post facto but from the outset. In other words, there are objectives for which one does not initiate war, but are rather appended to the original objectives of a defensive or deterrent war.

Sharon’s conception of ‘ancillary objectives’ represents an extended approach towards the question ‘Why does Israel go to war?’⁴⁸ In this context, Prime Minister Begin added a claim which represents an extended approach to the question of ‘When does Israel go to war?’ as well. Begin’s reply constitutes a negative definition – ‘Not only in a no choice situation’ – from which one may infer a dichotomous differentiation between ‘wars of no choice’ and ‘wars of choice’. In Begin’s opinion, only wars initiated by Arabs – the War of Independence and the Yom Kippur War – were wars of no choice. All the rest, without distinction between a pre-emptive strike, preventive war, war in response to violation of predetermined rule defined as ‘casus belli’ and war for attainment of political objectives – are ‘wars of choice’. According to this approach, pre-emptive strikes in the face of an immediate threat are no longer distinguished from ‘preventive wars’ intended to preclude danger of a future change for the worse in the balance of military forces, nor even from wars devoid of all deterrent justification. Begin’s example was that of a war in the present to prevent one which would involve more casualties in the future, but his formulation legitimates also wars which do not fulfill this condition.⁴⁹ We may even perceive within it a hint at adoption of the conception of ‘exploiting opportunities’, which perceives Israeli military might as an instrument to be used, so long as conditions allow, for creating a new political order in the arena of the Israel-Arab conflict. It thus combines with Sharon’s concept of ‘ancillary objectives’, wherein the avowed objective of the war provides ‘opportunities’ for implementation of ancillary ones.

In embarking upon a war for the purpose of creating political facts, such as a new order in Lebanon or creation of political-strategic space for dealing with the Palestinian problem in accordance with the ‘greater Israel’ concept, Israel has abandoned the concept adopted by Alignment-led governments which had guided security policy-makers during the early years of Begin’s Likud government as well. In this context, there is a difference between Begin’s first term – when key positions in his cabinet were filled by personalities such as Ezer Weizman as Defense Minister, Moshe Dayan as Foreign Minister and Yigael Yadin as Deputy Prime Minister – and his second one, with Ariel Sharon as Minister of Defense.

The tendency to relate to the military component of national security as a virtually autonomous element, which diplomacy should serve rather than complement, has always had adherents among members of the activist fringe of Israel’s security establishment.⁵⁰ The rejection of the concept of deterrence, on the grounds that an unexploited military force is a wasted one, too, was in existence in those circles even prior to its overt expression by General Rafael Eitan. Similarily, the view that Israel may improve her strategic bargaining position through playing the role of an unpredictable ‘crazy state’ had some supporters in the Israeli defense establishment.⁵¹ However, this conception did not become main line defense policy until Ariel Sharon assumed the post of Defense Minister under Menachem Begin as Prime Minister and with Rafael Eitan as Chief-of-Staff. Statements made by Begin, Sharon and Eitan and the course of the war in Lebanon indicate that under Sharon’s aegis, with Eitan’s support and the Prime Minister’s approval, the security conception which had reigned supreme since the Sinai campaign was exchanged for a new one.

In the context of this conception, a political-strategic defensive approach striving to maintain the status quo has been replaced by an offense-oriented approach which tended to upset the status quo. Thus, the initiation of wars ceased to be related to the attempted removal of a threat to survival and the way has been paved to the initiation of wars of ‘exploitation of opportunities’. As a consensus over such wars is not likely, a reliance on majority decision has replaced the seeking of national consensus. There was also a change of emphasis in regard to the focus of the security efforts of Israel. The clear priority given to basic security problems associated with the Arab states’ threat to Israel’s existence, has been replaced by an inclination to put a strong emphasis on current security issues, related to the terrorist activities of the Palestinian organizations.

These changes also influence the pattern of decision making in security related affairs. Vast autonomy was accorded to the establishment regarding both planning and employment of military forces in periods during and just prior to war. This situation raised certain doubts regarding the efficacy of the control mechanisms which enable the political level to supervise the actions of the civilian and military echelons of the defense establishment. It thus occurred that tactical decisions on the operational level influenced strategic decisions on the political level, which had to accept the exigencies stemming from these decisions. The plan for invasion of Lebanon – with all its military and political objectives-resulted entirely from the initiative of the defense establishment. This was a top-echelon IDF project, planned under the directives of the Defense Minister long before it reached government approval. In other words, the implementing level drew the political one after it.

This reversal of roles reached its peak during the war itself, wherein all escalation and expansion resulted from moves by the Defense Minister and the army, which the government was asked to approve either initially or ex post facto.⁵² This situation was made possible owing to the special status enjoyed by the Minister and Ministry of Defense as a connecting link between the military and political levels. On more than one occasion, Israeli Ministers of Defense have tended to regard themselves as representatives of the army before the government, even though according to the ‘Basic Law: The Army’ it is understood that they must represent the political level – of which they are part – before the military one. This deviance from the spirit of the law was most prominent during the war in Lebanon, when Defense Minister Ariel Sharon intervened directly in military campaigns.⁵³ This approach contradicts the explicit stand of the Agranat Commission, which investigated the circumstances surrounding Israel’s unpreparedness and failures in the early stages of the Yom Kippur war and emphasized that the Defense Minister should not be a ‘Super-Chief-of-Staff’.⁵⁴

One further significant result of adopting an approach calling for the use of military force to alter the political status quo is the change in balance of the predicted cost-benefit analysis. Costs calculated according to the former deterrence approach are weighted in terms of the influence of Israel’s present and future defense abilities. In contrast, according to the new security approach, costs and risks are also measured with relation to political efficacy beyond the survival-related objectives. This change applies to several types of costs resulting from the initiation of war: human casualties; economic costs; political effect; diminution in national consensus and morale; indirect costs resulting from risk-taking. (Greater risks entail greater danger of failure.)

The war in Lebanon also represents a change in the opinions of Israel’s political and military establishment regarding the Israeli-Arab conflict, stemming primarily from relative differences in emphasis between viewing it on the one hand as a national and ideological conflict between communities, and as a strategic one, between states, on the other.⁵⁵

From the time of the War of Independence up to the electoral upheaval of 1977, various governments in Israel attempted to accord relatively greater weight to the regional conflict between states and to play down the importance of the ideological national conflict between communities. This trend was connected with the distinction between ‘current’ and ‘basic’ security. Most manifestations of the inter-community conflict related to ‘current security’, for which Israel does not generally go to war. This enabled policy-makers to define an extremely high threshold for going to war – a threshold as a result of which the likelihood of initiating war diminished while military actions undertaken on the inter-community level (primarily against terrorist organizations) did not exceed the bounds of limited military operations during a period of ‘dormant war’.⁵⁶

Even during the period just prior to the Sinai Campaign, when it was suggested that Israel goes to war in reaction to fedayeen terrorist activities, this was only one of the avowed causes of the war – and not necessarily the most important of them. A no less important role was played by the Czech-Egyptian arms deal in 1955 and the problem of freedom of navigation in the Red Sea which led to Israeli anxiety in the inter-state dimension of the conflict.⁵⁷

Transfer of the conflict’s essential emphasis from the inter-state to the inter-community dimension thus influences policy on both the operative-military and political-strategic levels. On the Operative-Military level, it implied a lowering of Israel’s threshold of provocation which raises the likelihood of belligerent conflict in the wake of widespread, extended terrorist activities. On the Political-Strategic level, the emphasis has been put upon the ideological, inter-community dimension of the conflict. This change reduces the probability of solution through an inter-state territorial compromise in Judea, Samaria and the Gaza Strip.

The change in Israel’s security conception thus led to operative conclusions, altering her responses to the questions of why and when to go to war. In the past, it was understood that Israel goes to war when threatened, weak and/or when she lacks confidence in her future ability to defeat the enemy.⁵⁸ According to the new conception, however, Israel initiates war when her military might is at its peak and when strategic environmental conditions are optional for exploiting opportunities. Paradoxically, this means that the signing of a peace treaty with one Arab state or another does not reduce the probability of embarking upon initiated wars; rather, to the contrary, the likelihood is increased. A peace treaty such as the one with Egypt significantly reduces the danger of war in one sector and therefore allows Israel a greater concentration of forces in other sectors in which the initiated military confrontation takes place. Thus, from the time Israel ceased acting as a status quo power and commenced initiated military activities for creation of a new political order in the arena of conflict, the assumption that a strong Israel is a calm, moderate Israel was invalidated.⁵⁹ Under these circumstances, the greater Israel’s military might, the greater the temptation for war initiative. In other words, the likelihood of an initiated war tends to grow in inverse proportion to its vital necessity for Israel’s defense.

No less severe was the counter-reaction, which aroused a new pattern of military-civilian relations or – more accurately – of relations between the overall defense establishment and the political system. It was expressed in unprecedented criticism of the Defense Minister and the Chief-of-Staff and – to a lesser extent – also of the Prime Minister, who bears responsibility for the far-reaching decisions entrusted to them.⁶⁰ Criticism was twofold in nature: on the one hand, it reflected a credibility crisis, expressed in terms of doubts over the informative accuracy of the official reports; on the other hand, it appeared as political protest, reaching its peak after the incident at Sabra and Shatila.⁶¹

The protest reaction appeared at all levels: among decision makers, it was expressed as the unwillingness of certain Cabinet Ministers to continue approving the defense establishment’s initiatives;⁶² on the level of national security establishment itself, it emerged as well-publicized ferment within various sectors of the army command (including resignations from service and criticism voiced at meetings of senior officers with the Chief-of-Staff and the Minister of Defense after the Sabra and Shatila affair),⁶³ on the parliamentary level, the opposition broke the consensus which prevailed during the early days of the war. In the mass media, protest took the form of far-reaching criticism (particularly in the post of the defense correspondents) of the policies and decision making patterns of the government in general and defense establishments in particular;⁶⁴ with regard to extra-parliamentary activity, the protest culminated in the largest demonstration in Israel’s history, held after the incidents at Sabra and Shatila, calling for the appointment of a State Commission of Inquiry.⁶⁵

This multi-level expression of protest reinforced civilian supervision of the defense establishment, as expressed in the Cabinet’s overcaution regarding recommendations by the Defense Minister in the Beirut siege period. The appointment of a State Commission of Inquiry to investigate the incidents at Sabra and Shatila too reflected the strengthening of the opposition to the methods and policies of the defense establishment, headed by the Minister of Defense.⁶⁶

It was thus evident that once the war was no longer perceived as a political and strategic ‘success story’, the system of checks and balances functioning within Israeli society regained its capacity to counterweight the excess power of the national security system and the establishment guiding it.

More than thirty years of involvement in the Arab-Israel conflict has developed a complex pattern of military-civilian relations in Israel, which – despite the prominence of the national-security effort and the allocation of massive resources for security purposes – did not become a ‘Garrison State’, à la Laswell, ruled by ‘experts in violence’.⁶⁷ Instead there developed a pattern of an ‘action in arms’ in which civilianization of the military system balances militarization of the civilian one. This pattern has been described as follows:

The pattern of civil-military relations in Israel is structured and yet flexible to a degree, due to its tolerance of inconsistencies legitimized by public consensus. In such a framework, inclinations toward militarization of society are controllable even under conditions of national security as the fusion of the military and civilian subsystems is restricted to one sphere. In this context, it is possible to suggest a tentative answer to the central question referred to in the introduction to this chapter: the survival of multiparty democratic politics under conditions of centrality of military institutions, values and elites. The answer is threefold: (1) the differentiation between dimensions of civil-military relations facilitated the simultaneous occurrence of processes of militarization and civilianization balancing one another. (2) the differentiation between value contents in terms of their relevance to either national security or domestic politics facilitated convergence between military and civilian elites. (3) the differentiation between national security and other spheres of public policy facilitated the control of civil-military fusionist tendencies on the basis of a fragmented rather than ‘permeable’ or ‘integral’ boundary.⁶⁸

The changes in the Israeli decision making system which became evident at the beginning of the Operation Peace for Galilee might have brought Israel closer to the image of a ‘Garrison State’. The military system, with the support of the civilian security establishment, became more autonomous with regard to initiation of military activities; their considerations became more ‘militaristic’ and more prominently reflected what has been termed the ‘military mind’.⁶⁹ Moreover, an attempt was made to go to war with conscious abandonment of the effort to consolidate a national consensus regarding all its stages; the ‘partnership’ between the military and civilian systems was replaced with manipulation of the civilian system by the defense establishment, exploiting the latter’s professional authority to dictate policies to the government.⁷⁰ This exchange was not accomplished as a radical change in the status of the army and the civilian military establishment towards the government, the parliament and public opinion but rather through manipulating the rules of the game. Consequently, these rules were not abandoned; rather, their emphasis was changed. However, the counter-reaction to this change, signs of which were evident within the political system during the latter stages of the war, suffice to indicate that this change in emphasis did not paralyze the system of checks and balances which had always prevented the transformation of Israel into a state ruled by ‘experts in violence’.

The war in Lebanon thus revealed a conflict between two tendencies. One is embodied in the traditional Israeli security conception, which imposes restrictions on the use of military force for obtaining of political objectives, thus maintaining an efficient system of political checks and enabling balance between autonomous military considerations and political and ideological ones. The other calls for an offense-oriented strategic conception of initiated use of military force for changing the political status quo in the Israel-Arab conflict. This trend is connected with the tendency to accord excess autonomy to the professional defense establishment regarding the strategic defense policy-making, implying increased militarization of the decision making bodies responsible for national security. Developments resulting from the war in Lebanon do not indicate that the conflict between the two tendencies has been as yet resolved.

NOTES

1.  If the Litani Operation is not counted as a war, then Egypt has been involved in the same number of wars as Israel (five wars against Israel, one war in Yemen).

2.  Yitzhak Rabin in an address delivered at the Memorial for Yitzhak Sadeh (Tel Aviv 21 September 1967) coined the term ‘dormant war’. This concept and view of the relations between Israel and her neighbors as a state of ‘neither war nor peace’, is reflected also in many expressions of the Israeli concept of national security. See for example, David Ben Gurion in Parliamentary Record (Divrei Haknesset) (November 2,1955; Hebrew); Moshe Dayan, ‘From Stage to Stage’, Ma’arachot (March 1959), 54–60 (Hebrew); Shimon Peres, The Next Phase (Tel Aviv: Am Hasefer, 1965), pp. 19–20 (Hebrew).

3.  See Moshe Dayan, ‘Military Operations in Peace Time’, Ma’arachot, 118–19 (April 1967), 52–53 (Hebrew).

4.  See Dan Horowitz, Israel National Security Doctrine, Basics and Changes (Jerusalem: The Leonard Davis Institute, The Hebrew University, 1982) (Hebrew).

5.  The scale ranging from minor incidents to an all-out war between Israel and her neighbors is reflected in the distinction between ‘current’ and ‘basic’ security. On this distinction, see David Ben-Gurion in Parliamentary Record (2 January, 1956; Hebrew); Yigal Allon, Parliamentary Record (3 February, 1956); Moshe Dayan, ‘Military Operations …’, op. cit.; Shimon Peres, The Next Phase, op. cit. The scale ranging from minor incidents to all-out war also involves the problems of a ‘chain of escalation’. See Dan Horowitz, ‘The Control of Limited Military Operations, The Israeli Experience’ in Yair Evron, ed., International Violence: Terrorism, Surprise and Control (Jerusalem: The Leonard Davis Institute, 1979), pp. 265–70.

6.  Strategic studies emerged as a sub-discipline of Political Science in the USA in the course of the academic debate on limited nuclear war in the late 1950s and early 1960s, although scholars such as Thomas Schelling, Bernard Brodie, Robert Osgood, Herman Kahn, Morton Halperin and Henry Kissinger did not confine themselves solely to the concepts of multi-level scale of violence situations in the nuclear context. See, for example, Thomas C. Schelling, Arms and Influence (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1966); Herman Kahn, On Escalation. Metaphors and Scenarios (New York: F.A. Praeger, 1965); Bernard Brodie, Strategy in the Missile Age (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1965); Robert A. Osgood, Limited War. The Challenger in American Strategy (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1957); Morton H. Halperin, Limited War in the Nuclear Age (Cambridge: Center for International Affairs, Harvard University, 1962); Henry Kissinger, Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy (New York: Harper and Row, 1957).

7.  See Yehoshafat Harkabi, Nuclear War and Nuclear Peace (Tel Aviv: Ma’arachot, 1977) (Hebrew).

8.  See, for example, Noam Chomsky, For Reasons of State (New York: Pantheon Books, 1973).

9.  About the various values and costs that influenced and constrained the strategic decisions during the war in Lebanon, see for example: An Interview with Former Energy Minister Yitzhak Berman in Yedioth Aharonoth, 24 September 1982 (Hebrew); See also Zeev Shiff, ‘The Mystery of the 40 Kilometers’ in Ha’aretz (21 January 1983) (Hebrew).

10.  About the breaking of Israel’s national consensus during the war, see: Yzhar Smilansky, ‘Questions on an Unending War’, Davar (25 June 1982) (Hebrew); Shulamit Hareven, ‘The Praising of Doubts’, Davar (23 July 1982); Abraham Yoffe, ‘Where is the Loyalty?’ Yedioth Ahronoth (11 July 1982); Michal Meron, ‘An Anatonomy of Demonstration’, Yedioth Aharonoth (23 July 1982); Natan Baron, ‘Poisoning the Wells’, Yedioth Aharonoth (25 June 1982); Ilan Bachwe, Ma’ariv (16 July 1982) (Hebrew); Zeev Shiff, Ha’aretz (20 July 1982). Reflections on the questions of national consensus were raised also in the Knesset several times. See, for example, Parliamentary Records (20 July 1982), especially the discussion between M.K. Rom and M.K. Eban.

11.  See Zeev Schiff, ‘The Big Plan of Sharon’ in Ha’aretz (2 August 1982); Zeev Schiff, ‘The Method of Sharon’ in Ha’aretz (17 August 1982); Baruch Leshem in Anashim (12 August 1982) (Hebrew).

12.  Moshe Dayan, ‘Military Operations …’, op. cit.

13.  Even inside the military establishment, high senior officers were found to be unwilling to accord exclusive right of the strategic level in determining ‘when and why Israel goes to war’. The two most famous cases are the resignation of Col Eli Geva and the demand of Gen. Amram Mitzna for Ariel Sharon to resign. See: Y. Hasdai in Yedioth Aharonoth (30 July 1982); An interview with Eli Geva in Yedioth Aharonoth (27 July 1982); Y. Erez in Ma’ariv (26 July 1982); An interview with Josef Geva in Ma’ariv (27 July 1982); Zeev Schiff ‘Non Conformist in the Battle’ in Ha’aretz (30 July 1982); An interview with Eli Geva in Ha’aretz (26 September 1982); Zeev Schiff, ‘Mitzna Calls Sharon to Resign’ in Ha’aretz (26 September 1982).

14.  About the hawkish views of the Defense Minister Ariel Sharon and of the Chief of Staff Rafael Eitan, see: Y. Ben Porat, an interview with Ariel Sharon in Yedioth Aharonoth (20 August 1982); Sharon statement on Israeli TV, 11 August 1982, in Ma’ariv (12 August 1982); Sharon statements in front of senior officers in Ma’ariv (7 July 1982); Dov Goldstein, an interview with Ariel Sharon (17 September 1982); Yacov Erez, an interview with Rafael Eitan, in Ma’ariv (2 July 1982); Yacov Erez ‘Raful with the Soldiers’ Ma’ariv (25 June 1982); Zeev Schiff, ‘Raful at War’ in Ha’aretz (23 July 1982).

15.  See: An interview with S. Peres in Al Hamishmar (3 September 1982) (Hebrew); Y. Bitzur in Ma’ariv (16 August 1982); Y. Hazan ‘The Beginning of Introspection’ in Al Hamishmar (3 September 1982); M. Gur ‘Stop’ in Yedioth Aharonoth (18 August 1982); an interview with M. Gur in Ha’aretz (13 August 1982); A. Eban, ‘Farewell Beirut’ in Ma’ariv (15 August 1982); an interview with Y. Sarid in Haolam Haze (30 July 1982) (Hebrew); Y. Rabin in Yedioth Aharonoth (28 July 1982).

16.  See H. Zemer on the numbers of people killed in terrorist actions, in Davar (25 June 1982); Uri Avineri ‘The False Information’ in Haolam Haze (30 June 1982); B. Leshem in Anashim (12 August 1982).

17.  About the implementation of such techniques by Israel, see: Moshe Dayan, Sinai Campaign Diary (Tel-Aviv: Am Hassefer Pub.), pp. 57–80 (Hebrew); Moshe A. Gilboa, Six Years, Six Days (Tel Aviv: Am Oved Pub., 1969), pp. 204–14, 224–29 (Hebrew).

18.  In an interview during the war Defense Minister Ariel Sharon stated that ‘IDF forces are not in Beirut, they are just in the suburbs of Beirut’, Ma’ariv (17 June 1982). This is just one example of misleading information serving the objective of misleading internal public opinion rather than the enemy or the superpowers.

This consideration is implied in Y. Erez’s article, ‘The War’, in Ma’ariv (24 September 1982) and Uri Avineri’s article in Haolam Haze. See also Zeev Schiff, ‘The Mystery of the 40 KM’ in Ha’aretz (21 January 1983); Yitzhak Rabin in Migvan, No. 72 (August 1982) (Hebrew).

19.  See A. Zimuki, A. Avineri in Yedioth Aharonoth (9 August 1982); see also reports from the government meeting after the air bombing of Beirut on 12 August 1982, in Ma’ariv (13 August 1982), Ha’aretz (13 August 1982), Yedioth Aharonoth (13 August 1982); Y. Ben Porat in Yedioth Aharonoth (12 August 1982); A. Shnitzer in Ha’aretz (16 August 1982); ‘Sharon the Obstacle’ in Ha’aretz; see also an interview with David Levi, Deputy Prime Minister, in Yedioth Aharonoth (13 August 1982).

20.  See, for example, Simon Peres ‘A Reply to Menahem Begin’ in Yedioth Aharonoth (27 August 1982) or Abba Eban report in Davar (25 June 1982).

21.  See an interview with Eitan in Ma’ariv (2 July 1982); See also Eitan’s claims that ‘in the beginning of the war there was no talk about 40 km’, Gidon Allon article, Ha’aretz (20 December 1982).

22.  See, for example, Zeev Schiff in Ha’aretz (7 September 1982).

23.  From statements given by Sharon and Eitan in interviews they made it clear that such a consideration was taken into account during the planning of the operation; see an interview with Ariel Sharon, Ma’ariv (14 September 1982); an interview with Eitan, Ma’ariv (2 July 1982). See also Uzi Benziman ‘Tug of War in the Meeting Room’ in Ha’aretz (16 June 1982).

24.  The amount of forces participating in the war was four times the amount of Syrian forces based in Lebanon before the war and six times the amount of the Palestinian forces in Lebanon.

25.  Yedioth Ahronoth (27 June 1982); Ma’ariv (27 June 1982).

26.  See Baruch Leshem in Anashim (12 August 1982).

27.  See note 26 ibid; See also Zeev Schiff, ‘A Political Method as a Military Obstacle’ in Ha’aretz (24 December 1982).

28.  See Hana Zemer in Davar (25 June 1982).

29.  See, for example, Amnon Rubinstein, ‘The Radio of Sharon’ in Ha’aretz (8 August 1982); See also the statement of Rafael Eitan as quoted in Ma’ariv (2 August 1982). Eitan claimed that ‘Gen. Yacov Even (the IDF spokesman) got orders which he implemented. He didn’t lie …’. See also Eitan Haber, ‘The Destruction of Trust Between Sharon and the Army Senior Officers’ in Yedioth Aharonoth (1 October 1982).

30.  See note 10, supra.

31.  On the relationship between the army and the society in Israel, and the reserve system in Israel, see Dan Horowitz and Baruch Kimmerling, ‘Some Social Implications of Military Service and the Reserves System in Israel’, Archives Européennes de Sociologie, 15 (1974), p. 262–76. See also the articles of Peri, Kimmerling in this volume.

32.  For discussion on the implications of the involvement of the reserve forces in the channels of informal communication between the battlefront and home, see Dan Horowitz, ‘The Israel Defense Forces: A Civilianized Military in a Partially Militarized Society’ in Roman Kolkowicz and Andrzei Korbanski, eds., Soldiers, Peasants and Bureaucrats (London: Allen and Unwin, 1981) pp. 77–79.

33.  See, for example, Yitzhak Rabin, in Yedioth Aharonoth (25 July 1982); M. Gur in Yedioth Aharonoth (11 July 1982). The statement of Gen. Ben-Gal about the legitimate right to demonstrate during the war in Yedioth Aharonoth (16 July 1982).

34.  See, for example, Shalom Rosenfeld ‘To Disarm the Bomb of Hatred’ in Ma’ariv (1 October 1982).

35.  See Yigal Allon, Curtain of Sand (Tel Aviv; Hakibbutz Hameuchad 1959) ch. 3 (Hebrew). See also Dan Horowitz ‘Israel’s Concept of Defensible Borders’, Jerusalem Papers on Peace Problems, No. 16 (Jerusalem: The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the Leonard Davis Institute for International Relations, 1975).

36.  Yitzhak Rabin, in his address at the Memorial for Yitzhak Sadeh (Tel Aviv, 21 September 1967) described the June 1967 war as an implementation of the principle that ‘if our power to deter fails, our power to determine will be put to the test’.

37.  For description and analysis of the Israeli defensive needs on the strategic and political level, see Israel Tal, ‘Israel’s Doctrine of National Security – Background and Dynamics’, The Jerusalem Quarterly, No. 4 (Summer 1977), pp. 44–57; See also Michael Handel ‘Israel’s Political-Military Doctrine’, Harvard University Center for International Affairs No. 30, (1973).

38.  On the concept of military superiority, based on qualitative factors, see Yigal Allon, Curtain of Sand, op. cit., pp. 31–34 and ch. 2; Michael Handel, p. 68; Dan Horowitz, ‘Flexible Responsiveness and Military Strategy: The Case of the Israeli Army’, Policy Sciences (1 April 1970); Zeev Schiff in Ha’aretz (19 January 1973); and Yehuda Wallach: ‘The Development of the Armed Arab-Israeli Conflict’, Skira Hodshit No. 6 (June 1973), p. 5 (Hebrew).

39.  See Yehudah Wallach ‘Hitpathut Hasichsuch’ op. cit., pp. 5–6.

40.  See Dan Horowitz, Israel National Security Doctrine, op. cit.

41.  On the ‘Preventive War’ approach, see Moshe Bar-On in Yedioth Aharonoth (28 October 1971) (Col. Bar-On was Dayan’s aide on the General Staff in 1956 and participated in the planning sessions for the Sinai campaign). See also Moshe Dayan, Story of My Life (Tel Aviv; Devar 1976); pp. 205–70 (Hebrew) and Moshe Dayan, Sinai Campaign Diary, op. cit.

For reference to the concept of preemptive strikes, see report of a discussion on ‘Security Borders’ (participants Abba Eban, Moshe Arens, Yehuda Ben-Meir and Amnon Rubinstein, members of the Israeli Knesset) Center for Strategic Studies (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1979) (Hebrew).

42.  See Israel Tal, ‘Israel’s Doctrine of National Security’, op. cit.

43.  The notion of ‘secure borders’ as crystallized in the wake of the Six Day War was expressed almost simultaneously by three government ministers, all of them former military officers: Yigal Allon, Moshe Carmel, and Moshe Dayan. See Ha’aretz (5 September 1967).

44.  On the nuclear option as a last resort weapon, see Shlomo Aronson, Conflict and Bargaining in the Middle East. An Israeli Perception (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978); Alan Dowy, ‘The Nuclear Policy of Israel’ in Medina, Mimshal Veyahasim Benleumiyyim No. 7 (Spring 1975), 5–27 (Hebrew); see also Shlomo Aronson ‘Nuclearization of the Middle East’, Jerusalem Quarterly, No. 2 (Winter 1977), 27–44.

45.  About the other objectives of the operation that were added and so changed the purpose of the military confrontation, see Zeev Schiff, ‘The Mystery of the 40 KM’ in Ha’aretz (21 January 1982); See also reports on Sharon interview on Israel TV on 16 June 1982 in Ma’ariv (17 June 1982); Davar (25 June 1982); Yedioth Aharonoth (17 June 1982).

46.  See Yitzhak Rabin in Yedioth Aharonoth (25 July 1982); ‘Ariel Sharon in an interview to Ariane Afaltch’ Yedioth Aharonoth (3 September 1982). See an interview with Aharon Yariv, in Davar (4 September 1982).

47.  About the ex post facto objectives in the Six Day War, see Moshe Dayan, Story of My Life op. cit., pp. 391–480. See also Benjamin Geist, ‘The Six Day War; A Study in the Setting and Process of Foreign Policy Decision-Making Under Crises Conditions’, Ph.D. dissertation, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem (1975), Part II, ch. 8.

48.  On the question of ‘Why Does Israel go to War’, see Ariel Sharon, ‘The Essence of Defensive War’ in Ma’ariv (9 June 1982).

49.  M. Begin, ‘War of No Choice and War of Choice’ in Yedioth Aharonoth (20 August 1982).

50.  This idea was bluntly expressed by David Ben Gurion when he argued with reference to the role of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs headed by Moshe Sharett that ‘It is the task of the Ministry of Defence to conduct defence policy while the role of the Foreign Ministry is to explain it’; see Moshe Sharett, Personal Diary (Tel Aviv: Ma’ariv, 1978), p. 117 (Hebrew).

51.  See an interview with Beni Peled (former commander of the Israeli Air Force) in Ha’aretz (2 June 1982). See also interviews with Gen. Rafael Eitan in Ma’ariv (25 June 1982, 2 July 1982).

52.  See an interview with former Energy Minister Yitzhak Berman in Yedioth Aharonoth (24 September 1982); Y. Ben Porat, an interview with David Levi, Deputy Prime Minister, Yedioth Aharonoth (13 August 1982); See also the reports about the government meeting on 12 August in Ma’ariv (13 August 1982).

53.  See Begin’s comment in the government meeting on 12 August 1982, about the duties of the Defense Minister, Ma’ariv (13 August 1982). Yedioth Aharonoth (13 August 1982). See also Y. Erez, ‘The Minister Hanged the Chief of Staff’ in Ma’ariv (24 September 1982) and Yedioth Aharonoth (9 August 1982).

54.  See Commission of Inquiry – The Yom Kippur War, Press Communiqué (30 January 1975).

55.  The change of opinion on Israel’s political and military establishment regarding the Israeli-Arab conflict as a national and ideological conflict between communities had already occured before the war. See B. Kimmerling, Zionism and Territory, (Berkeley: Institute of International Studies, University of California, 1983), p. 220; B. Kimmerling, Zionism and Economy (Cambridge: Schenkman, 1983), ch. 6, and B. Kimmerling, ‘The Most Important War’, in Ha’aretz (1 August 1982).

56.  On ‘current security’ and ‘basic security’, see Yigal Allon in Parliamentary Record (3 February 1956) (Hebrew); David Ben-Gurion in ibid. (2 January 1956); Moshe Dayan, ‘Military Operations …’, op. cit., pp. 54–60; Shimon Peres in Niv Hakvutza (June 1954) (Hebrew) and Shimon Peres, The Next Phase, op. cit., pp. 6–19.

57.  See Shimon Peres, David’s Sling (Jerusalem: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1970). pp. 150, 156–58 (Hebrew); Moshe Dayan, Sinai Campaign Diary, op cit., pp. 14–17; Moshe Dayan, Avnei Derech, op. cit., p. 375.

58.  See Henry Kissinger, White House Years (Boston, Toronto: Little Brown & Co., 1979), Vol. I, pp. 563–67; 573, 576, 581.

59.  About the former formula of Israel’s strategy as a status quo state, see Dan Horowitz, ‘Israel’s concept of Defensible Borders’, op. cit.

60.  See note 10 supra.

61.  For example, the largest demonstration Israel’s history, see note 65 infra.

62.  See, for example, ‘Ministers criticizing the moves in Beirut’ in Ha’aretz (21 September 1982).

63.  See Zeev Schiff, in Ha’aretz (26 September 1982); Eitain Haber in Yedioth Aharonoth (27 September 1982); Y. Erez, in Ma’ariv on the 24, 26, 27, 28 September 1982.

64.  See, for example, Eitain Haber, ‘The Mastery of Ariel Sharon’ in Yedioth Aharonoth (21 September 1982); Zeev Schiff, ‘I Accuse’, in Ha’aretz (20 September 1982); Eitan Haber, ‘Who is Responsible?’ in Yedioth Aharonoth (21 September 1982); Yacov Erez in Ma’ariv 21 September 1982.

65.  About the largest demonstration in Israel’s history, see Ha’aretz (26 September 1982), Ma’ariv (26 September 1982), Yedioth Aharonoth (26 September 1982), Davar (26 September 1982).

66.  See the state commission of inquiry conclusions that refer to Defense Minister Ariel Sharon in Ma’ariv (9 February 1983).

67.  The concept of ‘garrison state’ was suggested by Harold Lasswell in ‘The Garrison State’, American Journal of Sociology, 46, No. 4 (January 1949), 455–468. On the question of Israel as a garrison state, see Dan Horowitz, ‘Is Israel a Garrison State?’ The Jerusalem Quarterly No. 4, (Summer 1977) pp. 58–75.

68.  Dan Horowitz, ‘The Israel Defence Forces: A Civilianized Military in a Partially Militarized Society’, in Kolkowicz and Korbonski, op. cit., p. 98.

69.  See S.E. Huntingdon, The Soldier and the State (Cambridge: Belknap, 1957).

70.  On the concept of partnership, see Yoram Peri, Between Battles and Ballots. Israeli Military in Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983) pp.172–74.

The Military–Industrial Complex: The Israeli Case

Alex Mintz

Introduction

The term ‘military-industrial complex’ is most frequently used in the literature as an atheoretical description of a loose coalition of powerful groups or actors who share economic, institutional or political interests in the continuance of high military expenditure, the persistence of the arms race and the maintenance of a state of cold war.¹ Most writers (such as Slater and Nardin)² suggest that the military-industrial complex comprises both core (inner circle) and associated members; Rosen³ identifies the components of the former group: ‘(a) the professional soldiers, (b) managers and (in the capitalist states) owners of industries heavily engaged in military supply, (c) high governmental officials whose careers and interests are tied to military expenditure and (d) legislators whose districts benefit from defense procurement.’ These core members are supported (according to Slater and Nardin, Rosen and others) by associated bodies, such as veterans’ groups, industrial and military associations, stockholders in defense enterprises and organizations such as the Atomic Energy Commission.

The various components of the military-industrial complex ‘occupy powerful positions within the internal political structures of the major states, and they exercise their influence in a coordinated and mutually-supportive way to achieve and maintain optimal levels of military expenditure and war preparation and to direct national security policy’.⁴ Referring to the American case, Reich⁵ has argued that the complex is a function of the capitalist economy; hence high military expenditure is likely to continue regardless of changes in the external strategic environment. Moreover, since the complex has a special role in the American economy and political structure, radicals argue that military spending could not be terminated without altering the basic structure of the capitalist economy and deposing the most powerful interests in the political system.⁶ Some writers (such as Pilisuk and Hayden,⁷ have argued that ‘it is not that American society contains a ruling military-industrial complex … American society is a military-industrial complex …’; others (for example, Melman)⁸ suggest that the complex is a state within a state, while still others⁹ find it to be one of several powerful segments in American society.

Aspaturian, Lee and Agursky¹⁰ have pointed out that the development of a military-industrial complex is not unique to capitalism but can also be found in the socialist economy of the Soviet Union. Aspaturian has suggested that the Soviet military-industrial complex comprises the armed forces, the defense industries, other heavy industries and members of the conservative wing of the party apparatus. He also identifies the eight core ministries responsible for production of Soviet armaments (for example, the Ministries of Defense Industry, Aviation Industry and Shipbuilding). However, both Agursky and Aspaturian have pointed out that large quantities of Soviet military equipment are also produced under the responsibility of civilian Ministries (such as the Ministries of Chemical Industry or Instrument Manufacturing) and that ‘nearly all industrial sectors of the Soviet economy are involved in the production of goods used by the military’.¹¹ According to Aspaturian, the various segments of the Soviet military-industrial complex are bound together by ‘their understanding of the inter-dependency that exists between security, heavy industry and ideological orthodoxy’.¹²

The major powers have the means to develop, support and maintain large arms industries. They possess the scientific knowledge and capacity to translate basic knowledge into new technologies and military products. Moreover, they each spend enormous amounts of money on military research and development: the United States – about 10 per cent of its more than $200 billion defense budget and the Soviet Union – some 19 per cent of a similar amount (the remainder is earmarked primarily for procurement, manpower, operation and maintenance and construction).¹³ The two superpowers each maintain powerful organizational infrastructures – the respective complexes. These are grounded in the combined connections and interests of organizations and bodies which encourage increased defense spending. Military (as opposed to non-military) expenditures are consumed or become obsolete quickly and can be easily justified on the basis of ideological and strategic rationales (involvement in an arms race, the persistence of a regional conflict, etc.).

Regarding the motivations of military-industrial complex components, a number of writers (for example, Barnet)¹⁴ have argued that the complex deliberately misrepresents reality in order to legitimate its own power and further its own particular interests. More radical observers consider members of the complex as self-interested careerists and war profiteers.

Insofar as Israel is concerned, one cannot apply the concept of military-industrial complex to this Western-style democracy in the sense of a conspiracy by heads of the political, defense and economic establishment solely for the sake of furthering their own interests. After all, Israel’s very survival has been threatened for many years. Tangible physical danger loomed over the territorial integrity of the state and the security of her inhabitants at least until the Six-Day War (and during the Yom Kippur War as well). Moreover, some of Israel’s wars were forced upon her by enemies with an advantage in manpower and equipment. Hence Israel’s strategic planning was based upon the concept of genuine danger to her national survival, demanding a full alert in accordance with the worst case contingency. Furthermore, the actual process of defense industry development in Israel was a relatively late phenomenon in the short history of the state, commencing only after the Six-Day War (although clandestine, small-scale arms and ammunition development took place even before the establishment of the state).

Perception of the existence (or non-existence), involvement (or non-involvement) and influence of the military-industrial complex on national decision-making processes is primarily a function of political and ideological point of view (cf. US President Eisenhower’s farewell address in 1961, warning of the solidification of such a complex in the United States). Over the past few years, the scope of activity in Israel’s defense industries has expanded rapidly and has attained vast dimensions; there has also been a rapid increase in representation (or over-representation) of the military in the country’s political, administrative and financial elites. As the activities of this complex may exceed national security and public interests – especially in light of the complex’s potential increased influence upon Israel’s foreign and defense policy-making processes, upon the structure and development of her industry and upon the social and moral directions of her society – it is important to consider the factors which foster development of the complex and to evaluate its activity. This is the first study which deals exclusively with the subject of the military-industrial complex in Israel. Other articles which touched upon this topic include:¹⁵

Kochav – on Israel’s ‘economics of defense’; Zussman and Tolkowski – on the defense establishment’s contribution to Israel’s technological progress; Barkai; and Berglas – on Israel’s defense burden; McGuire – on the allocation of resources to military and non-military projects in Israel; the portion of the study by Peri on relations between the Ministry of Defense and the armed forces, a study by Kimmerling on supplementary military forces in Israel and a study conducted recently by Horowitz. The main relevant points raised in these studies may be summed up as follows:

(1) | A military-industrial complex – primarily comprising the armed forces and the defense industries – is operative in Israel (Zussman and Tolkowski, Horowitz).
(2) | Development of Israel’s defense industries has recently been highly accelerated (Kochav).
(3) | There is no symbiosis between Israel’s autonomous military and amorphous industrial systems. (Zussman and Tolkowski).
(4) | Israel’s defense establishment allocates budgetary preference to procurement over manpower (Kochav).
(5) | The military system’s expansion over vast sectors of the economy is not expressed in the defense budget (Berglas).
(6) | Israel’s defense system is autonomous in terms of budget and use of military aid (Peri, McGuire).
(7) | Throughout the history of the State of Israel, the Ministry of Defense and the Israel Defense Forces have been engaged in a constant power struggle, including the issue of control over military research and development (Peri).
(8) | Israel’s economy suffers from a heavy military burden, somewhat alleviated through local defense manufacture and military exports (Barkai, Berglas).

Research on the subject of the military-industrial complex in Israel encounters certain essential methodological difficulties, especially regarding acquisition of time series data. The Israeli government records such statistics only with respect to a small number of defense indicators – including the defense budget, its share in the GNP and in the government budget, defense imports, local defense consumption and other budgetary particulars¹⁶ – through publications of the Central Bureau of Statistics, Bank of Israel reports and budget ledgers.¹⁷ Foreign sources generally considered reliable, such as those of the International Institute of Strategic Studies (IISS), the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI) and the U.S. Arms Control and Disarmament Agency (ACDA) likewise supply only aggregate data on manpower, defense expenditures and the military balance.¹⁸ However, time series data on expenditures for Israeli military research and development, investments in the defense industrial infrastructure, the profitability of companies engaged in defense manufacture in Israel and other relevant data cannot be found (or are considered classified). When data is available (especially from foreign sources), it focuses only upon relatively short periods of time (generally one or two years), primarily because of continuing secrecy enshrouding the Israeli defense system and the complex’s relatively short period of operation. Hence research on this subject encounters difficulty in empirical assessment of military-industrial links, the complex’s power, the extent of homogeneity among the various components, the contribution of investments in military research and development to civilian applications, and so on. In this study, we therefore attempt only to identify the major components of the Israeli military-industrial complex. We will also focus, however, upon the topic most neglected in research on this subject to date – the dynamics of the growth of Israel’s defense industries. Analysis of the nature, development and interrelations among the other components is left to future studies.

The Components of Israel’s Military-Industrial Complex

In terms of a meta-organization which includes security forces, defense industries and political representation, shares a basic interest at least with regard to increasing defense spending and has sufficient collective influence at least in the sphere of national security policy-making, it may be argued that a military-industrial complex exists in any country with both a military establishment and a military industrial sector.¹⁹ In this definitional context, we may therefore contend that Israel possesses such a complex as well. The Israeli case may hardly be considered, however, as one which reflects ideological homogeneity and internal coherence among its members or behavior as a distinct political actor.

As indicated above, Slater and Nardin distinguished between core and associated members of a military-industrial complex. One of their suggested criteria for distinguishing between them is that only the former group contains representatives of the complex who participate in high-level national policy-making.

The core of the Israeli military-industrial complex is a coalition of various institutions, whose representatives participate in a high-level national security policy-making process. In the light of the following considerations, the components of the complex share responsibility for various spheres of activity in ensuring Israel’s basic and ongoing security:

(1) | Israel is involved in an extended, exhausting and – at least in the near future – unresolvable military conflict.
(2) | Israel’s security is critically endangered in such a confrontation because of her inferior position in terms of manpower and arms relative to that of the Arab states.
(3) | Israel may rely on no one but herself in matters of security.

These perceptions generate the complex’s major policy priority, namely the constant reinforcement of its core components, aiming at ensuring an Israeli military victory against any possible configuration of Arab troops and weapons. This objective is manifested through preference for constant increases in defense spending, military manpower, military procurement (including both military imports and local procurement), arms production, intelligence activities, preventive measures against Arab terror, etc., as well as for granting the security system autonomy in military policy-making and priority over any other complex or any other public policy.

While members of the Israeli complex may differ on such fundamental issues as Israeli policy in the administered territories or the conditions which warrant initiated war, they are united not only by their recognition of physical danger to the survival of the state (there is broad consensus on that matter in Israeli society in any event), but also by the realization that their self-interest and power base actually derive from national security activity.

In the light of factors stipulated earlier in this article, it is difficult to assume that the complex in Israel deliberately misrepresents reality to further its own interests. Furthermore, it is certain that the complex does act in the public interest to a great extent. Nevertheless, we cannot rule out the possibility that it misperceives this public interest because of its own distorted perceptions of reality, which may result from the complex’s role and function in national policy-making and the establishment-related and personal-careerist interests of its components. If such interests do not underlie certain policies which the complex advocates, they surely constitute at least a by-product of the pursuit of such policies.

The core components of the Israeli military-industrial complex are:

(1) | The Israel Defense Forces (IDF).
(2) | The intelligence branches (such as the Mossad).
(3) | The Ministry of Defense.
(4) | The defense industries (both government-owned industries and nongovernmental enterprises).
(5) | Political representatives.

Associated members include institutions reciprocally linked with the defense sector, such as the Atomic Energy Commission, veterans’ groups (such as the IDF Disabled Veterans’ Organization), bodies responsible for civilian security, such as the Border Police, the Anti-Terror Unit and the Civil Guard, beneficiaries of defense contracts (such as fortifications contractors and arms agents), organizations such as AIPAC (the American Jewish lobby which assists in obtaining military aid for Israel), sympathizers of the complex and others.

A study of transition patterns among high-level policy-makers in the various components of the complex is especially important for comprehension of the interrelationship among members of the complex. It emerges that such transition is rather common but proceeds mainly in one direction, with retiring senior IDF officers assuming key positions in the other components of the complex (the political posts which are responsible for security policymaking, the defense industries, the intelligence branches, etc.). A (slow) transition from the military industries to the Ministry of Defense has also been noted.

Extensive research has been conducted on the subject of the representation of the professional military in Israel’s political elite.²⁰ Peri, for example, has indicated that between the 1948 War of Independence and 1977, one-third of all retired generals have become involved in a full-time political career.²¹ Since the 1967 Six-Day War, there has been a marked increase in the number of senior reserve officers in key policy-making bodies, such as the Cabinet and the Knesset (up to 1967, there had never been more than two reserve officers in the Cabinet, whereas since then, the range increased to 3–5; parallel figures for the Knesset for the pre- and post-1967 periods are 0–5 and 4–10, respectively). Even more relevant to our study is the transition of senior officers to positions of direct responsibility for Israel’s security (Minister of Defense, Deputy and Assistant Minister of Defense and Director-General of the Defense Ministry) and to key posts in the defense industries and other components of the military-industrial complex. Up to 1967, the office of Defense Minister had never been filled by a senior army officer, whereas three such officers have assumed the position since then. A similar trend was noted among Deputy and Assistant Defense Ministers (only one senior reserve officer had held this post prior to 1967, while four have assumed it since then).

The transition of senior IDF officers to other parts of the complex should also be noted. The heads of the Mossad, Border Police, Civil Guard, Civilian Administration, Airports Administration and the like are now nearly always senior officers. A similar situation prevails in government concerns considered essential to security (e.g. the Electric Company, the oil refineries and El Al), while a more recent trend is the ‘parachuting’ of generals into the defense industry – primarily the state-owned defense industries and other key manufacturing plants supplying the IDF (such as Israel Aircraft Industries, Beit Shemesh engines, Elbit, Koor and its affiliated metal industries). Directors of key defense industry projects, such as the Merkava and the Lavie, are also senior reserve officers. Mobility of other (non-IDF) senior office-holders within the complex was noted as well (albeit on a small scale), wherein top executives of the state defense industries assume key positions in the Ministry of Defense (the current Minister of Defense, Moshe Arens, served as Deputy Director General of Israel Aircraft Industries, a former Ministry Director-General had previously been director-general of the Military Industries, while the head of the Defense Ministry’s Armaments Research and Production Administration served as Director-General of RAFAEL). It thus emerges that there is a network of senior military officers in key positions extending over all branches of the complex, with all the attendant ramifications of this situation:

(a)
the entanglement of interests between officers and their future places of work, the transformation of retiring senior officers into arms agents for multinational firms, the supply of weapons systems to the IDF by reserve officers who established private enterprises, and so on, that is, the entanglement of interests between supplier and client.

(b)
the limitation of access to these key positions in the complex by other members of a democratic society.

(c)
the increased influence of the complex – as a group with common background and interests – upon the formation of perceptions and policies.

Public opinion in Israel generally views the activities of the complex with favor and support, often considering them to be essential. Because of the centrality and importance of the security conception in Israel and the broad consensus recognizing a tangible danger to Israel’s security, expressions such as ‘military-industrial complex’ ‘new state managers’ or ‘national security managers’ do not have the same negative connotation which they are accorded in Western countries. Intensified Israeli security activity is almost always perceived by the public as demanded by the situation and even as a tangible expression of the political leadership’s concern for preservation of national security. Defense production and development is viewed with pride in the ability and technological might of the small developing state and the ‘Jewish genius’ dwelling therein.

The defense budget (which constitutes about 40 per cent of the overall state budget, not including the national debt) is primarily determined by the IDF, while consequent requests for deficit spending, demands for foreign aid and loans and the extent of public financing are approved by the political bodies with little or no political opposition; the bodies responsible for approval of the defense budget (the Cabinet, the Knesset, the Knesset Foreign Affairs & Security and Finance Committees – that is, the Joint Committee and its attendant subcommittee), make virtually no changes in its scope and certainly do not intervene in allocation of resources within the defense system. This is also a result of the defense system’s autonomous, monopolistic character, primarily insofar as the budget is concerned (a feature which has become somewhat diminished since the Yom Kippur War) and the fact that political bodies (such as the Herut and National Religious Parties and more recently Tehiya and Telem as well), former senior officers and representatives of the defense industries support authorization and even increase of the budget, while members of the joint committee, who do not have sufficient military background to deal with the topic, generally do not interfere in the budgetary process.²²

The growth of Israel’s defense economy is reflected in a series of selected indicators (see Table 1), falling into the following categories:

(a) | Defense spending in Israel (relative to the GNP): total defense expenditure, total domestic defense consumption, domestic purchases of goods, services and construction and military salaries (relative to overall wages).
(b) | Employees in the defense sector: the armed forces, armed forces per 1,000 people, percentage of employees in the defense sector, employees of the Israel Military Industries (TAAS) and Israel Aircraft Industries (IAI).
(c) | Defense manufacture and exports (in US $): extent of manufacture, Israel Military Industries and Israel Aircraft Industries exports.

TABLE 1

THE GROWTH OF ISRAEL’S DEFENSE ECONOMY

All such statistics were obtained from non-classified sources, primarily government publications.²³

Data are presented for the year preceding the Six-Day War (1966), the year of that war (1967) and of the Yom Kippur War (1973) and for 1980 or years during the same period for which figures are available. Generally speaking, the data indicate clearly that Israel’s defense spending in all spheres (relative to her GNP) is currently at least twice as great as it was before 1967; certain areas of expenditure have increased by far greater amounts. Moreover, current expenditures are generally only slightly lower than those recorded for the Yom Kippur War period. Thus, for example, the proportion of total defense expenditures in Israel’s GNP rose from 10.4 per cent in 1966 to 25 per cent in 1980, while that of domestic defense spending (total expenditures less defense imports) increased from 6.9 per cent to 14.8 per cent during the same period, including a rise from about 4 to 9.7 per cent in local expenses for procurement, construction and services (i.e. domestic expenditure not including salaries — see Table 1).

While the increase in these indicators could have been explained partially by the rapid rise in weapons system prices, there was also a significant increase in the proportion of defense-related salaries among total wages in the economy (from 5 per cent in 1966 to 10 per cent in 1980). Furthermore, the proportion of defense sector employees to all Israeli wage-earners increased two and a half times between 1967 and 1980 (see Table 1). Expansion was especially prominent in arms manufacture and exports (a tenfold increase in total arms production, for example, between 1967 and 1976 and a sevenfold increase – in fixed prices – in the production of Israel Aircraft Industries between 1968/69 and 1979/80), while military exports underwent an even greater expansion (e.g. a more than tenfold increase in Israel Aircraft Industries exports from the Yom Kippur War to the present). These figures indicate expansion not only in absolute terms but also relative to the overall economy (in terms of manpower, expenses and exports), thus revealing that the growth of the defense economy exceeded that of the overall expansion of the economy.

The growing industrial concentration in the defense sector is especially striking. Data indicate that a particularly large proportion (25%) of Israel’s labor force is employed in the defense industries and about half of all industrial workers are involved in defense-related projects.²⁴ The fields of electronics and metalwork are heavily committed to defense projects; Israel Aircraft Industries alone employs more than 17 per cent of all workers in these branches.²⁵

The defense sector also features prominently among Israel’s exports. According to foreign estimates, Israel’s defense exports have exceeded an annual value of $1 billion²⁶ and constitute about 25 per cent of all Israeli exports, 30 per cent of all exports except for diamonds and 75 per cent of exports in electronics and metal products,²⁷ of which Israel’s largest manufacturer of weapons systems – Israel Aircraft Industries – exports nearly 40 per cent.²⁸ Israel’s ratio of defense exports to total exports is the highest in the world.

Similar concentration patterns are in evidence regarding investment in research and development: 46 per cent of all Israeli government expenditures in this area are earmarked for military projects, as compared with 2 per cent in Japan, 3 per cent in Holland and 8 per cent in Canada.²⁹

This increase in concentration may intensify industrial dependence upon an economy of war – a situation which has significant security-related, national and social ramifications: economic dependence upon weapons manufacture may lead to a dangerous situation wherein defense industries will be accorded extensive allocations for development of systems not necessarily because of demands of national security interests alone but rather because of economic considerations (employment and profits) of the defense industries.³⁰ It has indeed already been claimed (in a debate on the 1981 defense budget) that a cut in the defense budget would lead to mass unemployment among both state and private weapons manufacturers.³¹

Massive, economically-based injection of capital may severely hamper Israel’s ability to reduce her domestic defense budget. This, in turn, may escalate the regional arms race, especially since ambitious weapons development usually leads the enemy and its suppliers to introduce dangerous and sophisticated weaponry as well (SAM 5 missiles in Syria, for example, following successful attacks upon Syrian missile batteries in Operation Peace for Galilee). Furthermore, it serves to limit allocation of resources for welfare and developmental projects (in agriculture, medicine or education, for example), as constant and routine investments in defense research, development and industrial infrastructure renders investment in other fields most difficult.

Economic dependence upon arms sales also weakens the effectiveness of weapons sales as an instrument of foreign policy, as the supplier depends upon the sale of arms at least as much as the client depends upon acquisition; in such cases, arms sales are dictated not only by political and security factors, but mainly by economic considerations. The international market is not especially reliable, however (consider Israel’s past arms sales to Iran and Ethiopia, for example) and problems could arise should the client suddenly decide not to pay for goods purchased.

Increased dependence upon a war economy also leads to social and moral problems: Israel has now developed as a society whose economic sector is somewhat based and dependent upon weapons production and export; a significant proportion of her citizens are engaged in the manufacture of tools of destruction and the Jewish State supplies the world with weapons systems. This situation becomes especially difficult when arms are supplied to countries with right-wing regimes or military dictatorships, such as those of Somoza in Nicaragua, the Shah in Iran or Amin in Uganda. The supplier maintains little to no control over application of weapons sold, which are at times used for internal purposes rather than for external deterrence. Furthermore, exported weapons may also fall into enemy hands and even eventually be used against Israel.

Dependence upon massive arms exports may also lead the local arms market in Israel to manufacture weapons systems whose specifications do not derive directly from IDF needs but rather from consideration of as broad a market as possible (as is sometimes practiced among the major powers). In the long run, this is liable to affect supplies suitable to the IDF as well. Moreover, intensified emphasis upon technology in IDF military procurement policy, the need for simultaneous application of complicated weapons systems and the vast growth in IDF manpower and equipment may lead to concentration upon command and control systems and may consequently reduce emphasis upon human flexibility in battle – a cornerstone of IDF military doctrine.

The relative growth of the defense-industrial sector in the economy and the increase in the number of senior officers holding key policy-making positions has already been translated into a prominent rise in the complex’s influence in several spheres, including: the conduct of foreign policy through use of arms exports as a political tool; decision making on such fundamental issues as initiation of war, resulting from a broader involvement of the military sector in determining policies; intensified activities in the administered territories, resulting from support of government policy by senior military officials; supply of social services, a function of the IDF’s extension to the spheres of education, social welfare, health and other areas.

It is most interesting to determine how the military-industrial complex actually emerged and became consolidated in Israel and how it increased its influence in these spheres of activity. As a detailed analysis of the factors behind the increase in its joint activity and its influence is clearly beyond the scope of this paper, we will focus upon the development of only one component of this complex, noting, however, that overall growth is an outcome of the following factors (among others):

(a) The centrality of security in Israeli life remains undiminished despite deployment in the territories, attainment of strategic depth and the peace treaty with Egypt.

(b) Israel’s constant involvement in wars – especially the Yom Kippur War – most of which were imposed upon her, called for constant rearmament, alertness and post-war recuperation. It also demanded parallel reinforcement and intensification of activities by auxiliary bodies dealing with families of war casualties and disabled veterans. The increase in provision of shelters, payments to reserve soldiers, health and welfare aid and the like also demands an increase in organizational volume.

(c) Constant military intensification – which began in the confrontation states but has extended to other Arab countries as well over the past decade – is expressed both in increased procurement (primarily from Soviet sources but also from the United States, France and other European countries) and manpower alike. Considerable rearmament in Israel has somewhat narrowed the gap with the confrontation states in defense spending (from a ratio of 1:3.5 in 1966 to approximately 1:1.6 in recent years) and, to a lesser extent, in military manpower as well (1:7 and 1:5 respectively).³²

(d) The Administered Territories demand a continuing level of security activities, intelligence work, establishment of a military administration, etc.

(e) Intensification of terrorist activity has led to ongoing and preventing security measures, the establishment of anti-terror units (within the Border Police, for example) and a Civil Guard, as well as increased intelligence work.

(f) Increased foreign military aid, which finances a significant part of Israel’s security activities, allowed for considerable acquisition of military supplies and even for aid in the development of a security infrastructure.

(g) Public support for Israel’s security activities, which are perceived virtually automatically (at least up to the War in Lebanon) as defense of the nation itself – particularly when the standard of living rises without direct confrontation with intensified defense spending³³ – implies a virtual absence of political opposition to the complex’s activities.

(h) The number of civilians dependent upon the military system for their livelihoods has risen significantly, thanks to expansion of defense manufacture and the sharp increase in foreign orders for Israeli arms.

(i) The number of retiring senior officers has increased; the success of many of them in reaching positions of leadership in politics served as an important incentive for other officers to seek key positions in the civilian establishment, a process which gradually became institutionalized.

As indicated above, we will consider at length the factors involved in the rapid expansion of one particular component of Israel’s military-industrial complex – namely the defense industries.

The Dynamics of Growth of Israel’s Defense Industries

Israel’s defense industries constitute a subsystem of the defense establishment which is responsible for military research, development and manufacture. This subsystem primarily includes ancillary units of the Ministry of Defense and bodies under its direct control, such as the Military Industry, Israel Aircraft Industries and the Armaments Development Authority (RAFAEL). Also included are non-governmental industrial bodies closely linked with the defense sector, although different reciprocal relations and economic structures obtain in this case.³⁴

The development of the defense industries in Israel is partly due to a national tendency to provide substitutes for imports which all too often could not be acquired (because of various embargoes and external political decisions), partly to the ambition of maintaining a technological-qualitative military advantage over the confrontation states as compensation for the inferior quantitative position in manpower and weaponry and as a natural consequence of direct and constant involvement in war. Israel’s arms industry actually began operation during the pre-statehood era, when the ‘Military Industry’ engaged in clandestine weapons development and manufacture. Even at that time, it was evident that obtaining vital weapons abroad would be difficult or even impossible. The Jewish community in Palestine then had only limited means of production at its disposal and manufactured relatively simple types of weapons and ammunition (mostly hand grenades at first). Today, defense development and manufacturing activities are primarily institutionalized through the Ministry of Defense, which is responsible for administrative and economic management of the security system. Management of manufacture and procurement of weapons systems in Israel is carried out through the Ministry’s Procurement and Production Administration, which has separate divisions responsible for aerial, ground and naval forces. Research and development is the province of the Armaments Research and Production Administration, jointly administrated by the Ministry of Defense and the IDF. Research and development is also implemented under the auspices of the Ministry of Defense’s Chief Scientist’s Office.³⁵

Most military development and manufacturing in Israel is carried out in units subject to the direct or indirect control of the Ministry of Defense (Israel Aircraft Industries, TAAS and RAFAEL) and in the IDF Ordnance Corps,³⁶ the activities of which are described briefly below:³⁷

Israel Aircraft Industries. Israel’s largest manufacturing enterprise, has more than 20,000 employees and a sales turnover (1980/81) of some IS 4.2 billion, including US $400 million in exports. The company, founded in 1953 and a government-owned corporation since 1968, currently has five separate divisions and fifteen subsidiaries and plants. Among its best-known products are the Kfir fighter plane, Gabriel sea-to-sea missiles, Dabur and Devora missile boats, pilotless reconnaissance planes, the Westwind 1124 executive jet and the Arava transport. Today, IAI’s main project is the Lavie fighter plane: 300 planes, costing $11 million each, will replace the present complement of Skyhawks and Kfirs and constitute the Israel Air Force’s ‘workhorse’ of the future.

The Israel Military Industry (TAAS), the pioneer defense industry in Israel (founded 1933) employs about 14,500 persons in 31 plants and units manufacturing weapons systems and primarily ammunition (of which TAAS is the IDF’s principal supplier). Sales turnover in 1980/81 exceeded $500 million, including $300 million in exports. Among the best-known TAAS-developed products are the Uzi sub-machine gun, the Galil assault rifle, Hetz tank ammunition, and path-clearing bombs.

RAFAEL. Israel’s largest research and development institution, with more than 5,000 employees, was founded in 1958 to replace the IDF Science Corps and its successor, the Division of Research and Planning. RAFAEL’S major developments include the Shafrir 1, Shafrir 2 and Python 3 air-to-air missiles, a computer for firing control of artillery and other products.

Within the IDF itself, renovation and development of weapons systems is undertaken by the Ordnance Corps, while the Tank Administration developed and manufactured the Merkava (Chariot) Tank in a project which employed 4,000 persons and required an investment of approximately $199 million.³⁸

Non-governmental enterprises in Israel mostly supply the security system with non-military products. Some, however, are engaged in defense manufacture, either directly or as sub-contractors for the Ministry of Defense. Among the most important of these civilian industries are Soltam (which manufacture primarily 155 mm ammunition, light and heavy mortars and their ammunition), Tadiran (the IDF’s main supplier of communications equipment) and Elbit (Israel’s largest manufacturer of computers).³⁹

In the wake of the Six-Day War, pressure was exerted upon the Defense Ministry to transfer orders to local civilian industry, a policy supported by the Ministries of Finance and of Commerce & Industry. The increased production burden imposed upon state defense industries likewise led to coopting of civilian industries in military manufacturing. Thus, for example, about 60 per cent of the Merkava project’s production volume was carried out in the civilian sector. Production took place at 30 main plants, with subcontracting work undertaken by approximately 200 civilian firms. Civilian concerns invested about $35 million in development of the production infrastructure.⁴⁰

The civilian economy aided IAI considerably in the development of the Kfir fighter plane, with some 160 civilian plants working as subcontractors. TAAS employs about 500 civilian manufacturers, while RAFAEL’s manufacturing policy is to subcontract as much work as possible to civilian plants. During 1978–79, about half of RAFAEL’s production budget was allocated for procurement of weapons subsystems from the other defense industries and from about 150 civilian plants, primarily those engaged in metalwork, mechanics, electronics and industrial chemistry.⁴¹

The threat of war and constant involvement in local conflicts are among the main factors responsible for the expansion of Israel’s defense industries and the dynamics of their growth. This expansion has two principal manifestations, one of which stems from large-scale implementation of production resources in time of emergency, translated into expansion following the crisis (such as massive manufacture of aerial bombs and ammunition for artillery pieces and tanks during the War of Attrition), while the other results from special attention to specific product demands (path-clearing bombs prior to the Six-Day War, air-to-air missiles – such as the Shafrir – during the War of Attrition and Yom Kippur War, button mines and electronic fences to combat terror and drones during the War in Lebanon).⁴²

The ‘Defense Industry’ originated with sporadic weapons manufacture following fierce attacks upon the Jewish community in Palestine at the end of the First World War.⁴³ From the organizational point of view, the first turning point became evident after the 1929 riots, when regular arms manufacture commenced. The ‘Military Industry’ was officially founded subsequently (in 1933) and expanded considerably in terms of number of employees and scope of activities during the War of Independence. During that period, there was also significant development in the area of military research and development; the Science Corps was established and functioned (until 1952) within the framework of the IDF and the Research and Planning Division was established within the Ministry of Defense (and functioned until 1958). An airplane maintenance plant, founded in 1953, was the forerunner of Israel Aircraft Industries. During this period, expansion was manifested primarily in small arms manufacture, partly based upon existing local know-how and technology and mostly upon knowledge imported from abroad. In the wake of the Czech-Egyptian arms deal in 1955 and the Sinai Campaign of the following year, Israel’s defense industries underwent further expansion and organizational change, primarily in the area of research and development, as expressed in the establishment of a coordinated National Armaments Development Authority. At that time, most of the weapons manufactured were intended to complement the French arms systems. Dakotas and Spitfires were overhauled and Fouga Magister trainers were manufactured jointly with France; later on, large-scale development and manufacture of civilian aircraft (the Westwind and the Arava) took place as well.

Expansion attained vast proportions during 1967–1972 – that is, since the Six-Day War and especially during the War of Attrition. Production expanded sixfold for TAAS and more than twofold for the IAI, with increases in personnel of 200 per cent and 350 per cent, respectively. RAFAEL boosted its manpower complement by 250 per cent during the same period.⁴⁴ Immediately after the Six-Day War, the Ministry of Defense established the Procurement and Production Administration to encourage local and civilian manufacture. The foundations were laid for planning an Israeli fighter plane and for development and manufacture of the Merkava Tank. IAI production lines were then allocated primarily for defense projects, while RAFAEL developed approximately 100 new products for the IDF since then.⁴⁵

The year 1971 marked the beginning of transition to development and manufacture of complementary weapons and ammunition for American arms. The Yom Kippur War brought new technological demands and the period following it is characterized primarily by an emphasis upon systems sophistication. Recently, the proportion of local sales by Israel’s defense industries has dropped, while that of its exports has skyrocketed.

While Israel’s constant involvement in war has undoubtedly contributed significantly to the expansion of her defense industries, the springboard for development of a military-industrial complex is generally identified with French President de Gaulle’s 1967 embargo on arms shipments to the Middle East at the time Egypt blockaded the Straits of Tiran, just before the outbreak of the Six-Day War. France had been Israel’s chief source of arms during the 1950s and 1960s, having supplied the Mirage 3, Mystère, Super Mystère, Vatour and Oregan planes, Super Frelon helicopters, AMX tanks and other military systems.⁴⁶ Now, she had blocked all arms supplies to Israel, including Mirage 5 planes. This curtailment of massive French aid effectively proved the necessity for local development and production. Political exigencies of this type emerged repeatedly with other arms suppliers as well. For example, General Israel Tal (Merkava Tank project head) spelled out the main reasons for development and production of the Merkava as follows:⁴⁷

Various nations have always refused to sell new and modern tanks to Israel. With the exception of the M-60 tanks, sold to us by the United States in 1971, no new tank has ever been sold to Israel directly from the manufacturer. This situation compelled the IDF to face the problem of improving and refitting old tanks. It thus emerged that the curse of refusal to sell us new tanks bore a blessing in its wake: we were forced to set up an infrastructure for renovation and adaptation of tanks and to raise generations of ordnance men who are experts in tank technology.

Specifically, General Tal claimed that the December 1969 cancellation of a deal in which Britain was to supply Israel with Chieftain Tanks led to the decision regarding the vital need for development and production of a tank in Israel, since ‘we cannot rely upon others in this area’.⁴⁸ That is, decisions on the need to manufacture weapons systems in Israel were influenced by Israel’s vulnerability to foreign countries’ policies of banning, delaying or altering the timing of arms shipments to Israel, to linking sales to Israel’s acquiescence to unfavorable foreign plans and even to suppliers’ seeking to control the ultimate application of such weapons (as in American stipulations that weapons be used ‘for defense purposes only’). Since the mid-1970s, for example, we recall the Ford government’s ‘reassessment’ of its Middle East policy, the delay in supply of F-16 fighter planes following Israel’s destruction of the Osirak Iraqi nuclear reactor, postponement of the Memorandum of Strategic Understanding between the USA and Israel and a delay in shipment of cluster bombs in the wake of Operation Peace for Galilee.

Such factors undoubtedly served as an impetus for local production which, although it cannot ensure self-sufficiency in weapons systems, at least it somewhat limits Israel’s political dependence and the effectiveness of political pressure. Since Israel’s defense imports have expanded rapidly over the years (at fixed prices, they have increased more than 15 times over the past 20 years: a twofold increase in the wake of the Six-Day War, another during the War of Attrition and another because of the Yom Kippur War, reaching a peak of 17.5 per cent of the GNP), often accounting for about half of Israel’s total defense expenditures,⁴⁹ it emerges that without a significant increase in local procurement, dependence upon importation of weapons systems from abroad would be even greater and consequently political dependence would increase (although not necessarily to the same extent). Furthermore, the need for increased military aid and the growing foreign debt would intensify economic dependence. At present, local acquisitions account for about one third of the overall procurement of Israel’s security system.⁵⁰

Other factors which led to the rapid development of the defense industries in Israel:

•  Constant maintenance of confiscated Russian-type weapons, particularly those for which ammunition and spare parts could not generally be obtained, forced Israel’s defense industries to overhaul, manufacture and especially to provide ammunition for such weapons (including ammunition for heavy artillery, T-54 and T-55 tanks, etc).⁵¹

•  Transition from primary use of French arms to American weapons systems demanded organizational and developmental changes, including new production lines.

•  The constant demand for renovation and improvisation of weapons systems to meet specific Israeli security needs led to creation of an organizational and professional manpower infrastructure.

•  Involvement in a regional arms production race led to Israeli endeavors in parallel fields (for example, the attempt to manufacture a rocket engine in Israel, in the wake of news of an Egyptian attempt to construct missiles with German assistance).

•  Increased international cooperation regarding defense knowhow and manufacture – which up to 1967 was limited almost exclusively to cooperation with France – led to the adoption of new technologies to which there was previously no access and even to incorporation of key foreign-made components in Israeli products (such as GE engines in Kfir airplanes). Furthermore, implementation of sub-contracting work for manufacturers such as Dassault, Boeing and General Dynamics has expanded the scope and variety of activities of the defense industries.

•  An undertaking by foreign companies to purchase Israeli military products in partial fulfillment of acquisitions agreements has ensured a market (although so far of limited dimensions) for Israeli products.

Key factors in the expansion of Israel’s defense industries include her vital need for security – in all its aspects – as well as various political exigencies. Nevertheless, it is virtually certain that the strikingly rapid growth of this industry since the Six-Day War could not be explained by these factors alone, were it not also for economic considerations. Enormous defense investments – despite massive imports – enabled investment in a local production infrastructure as well. While local expenditures have a stronger inflationary influence upon the economy than do imports, local procurement does serve to alleviate the military burden in many respects: Israeli weapons systems are generally less expensive than similar systems which must be purchased abroad; orders from local production lead to employment of thousands of workers and to the rehabilitation of both Defense Ministry-controlled and private firms; local acquisitions prevent further aggravation of the negative balance of payments resulting from import of similar systems, even though local production, too, has an indirect import component (approximately 4 per cent of the GNP at present)⁵² and duplication, waste and inefficiency are likely when both imported and local systems are being purchased.

However, the dynamic development of Israel’s defense industries began primarily because the non-viability of small-scale arms production stimulated Israel to develop a thriving arms export industry, which in turn led to significant expansion of its scope of manufacture. The proportion of defense exports – relatively small prior to the Yom Kippur War – now increased steadily, especially between 1976 and 1981, eventually emerging as the major component of defense industry activities (TAAS and the IAI, for example, each currently export some 60 per cent of their production).⁵³ The military advantages to be gained from arms exports include:

•  Ensuring emergency reserve production capability; i.e., export serves as a supplementary means for control and maintenance of potential defense manufacture.

•  Maintenance of an emergency supply of raw materials (initially intended to fill foreign orders).

•  Substitution of strategic raw materials for weapons systems.

•  Obtaining international defense cooperation.

•  Fostering reciprocal security agreements (i.e. acquisition of vital armaments and weapons systems through export of locally-produced systems and obtaining vital manufacturing know-how).

•  Encouraging foreign approval of sales of sophisticted systems which Israel would otherwise manufacture herself.

•  Exporting itself may constitute a turning point for industrial development; special production lines or plants may be established and new equipment acquired for the purpose of filling weapons systems orders (consider, for example, the sale of 106 mm recoilless cannon after 1967 and the development of a rocket artillery motor in 1968).⁵⁴

In the international political sphere, Israel’s arms exports serve as an instrument of foreign policy which affords her greater flexibility and limits her political isolation. The political ramifications of such exports are at least fourfold: first of all, they may pave the way towards developing formal or informal diplomatic relations and acquiring political support among developing countries, as manifested by current attempts to supply weapons to Zaire and Honduras or past shipments to Uganda and Kenya. Secondly, arms exports represent an Israeli attempt to obtain peripheral strategic support from non-Arab neighbors of the confrontation states (Iran, Ethiopia) or minorities in Arab countries (Christians in Lebanon, Kurds in Iraq). Thirdly, exports represent an effort to close ranks with other diplomatically isolated states (such as Taiwan and South Africa). Finally, arms supply enable acquisition of such raw materials as chromium and petroleum (from Iran, Mexico, South Africa).

Arms exports are of considerable significance in the economic sphere as well: weapons sales earn foreign currency, thus somewhat restoring Israel’s balance of payments – which had worsened because of the rise in military imports (see above) – and alleviating the military burden. Thousands of workers are employed in Israel’s defense industries (about 40,000 persons work in the three major state defense industries alone, nearly half of them in exports, not to mention the multiplier effect of influences upon civilian employment sources). Exports increase the profitability of arms concerns: TAAS, for example, may thus conduct a closed economy with virtually no government support, thanks to export sales in about 36 countries, which since 1977 alone totalled more than $1 billion, while those of Israel Aircraft Industries exceeded $1.3 billion.⁵⁵ RAFAEL, too, has succeeded in overseas marketing of defense developments, especially scientific knowhow.

Arms exports also reduce unit production costs, which decrease as a function of increasing quantities because of the economics of scale. The defense system may thus acquire more weapons for a given budget or a specified amount at a lower price. Furthermore, production of certain weapons systems would not prove profitable were it not for exports, owing to the limited dimensions of local market demands. Foreign sources claim that Israel’s defense exports also include captured (and sometimes overhauled) weapons – a product which is being sold with obvious financial profit.

Some of the other spin-off effects of weapons manufacture and export are:

•  Geographic dispersion of development and production centers, including numerous development regions⁵⁶ (11 such centers for TAAS and 10 for the IAI), helps foster regional growth.

•  Adoption of foreign technologies and knowhow and the transformation of basic knowledge into new techniques and products benefit the civilian sector as well, and intensified military research and development activity increases the overall scope of Israeli research and development activities.⁵⁷

•  Further advantages include large-scale initiation of productive activity, increasing industrial production, increasing the potential of civilian trade with countries to which arms are shipped, etc.

Israel maintains a comparative advantage over many other countries in manufacture of weapons systems, thanks to the reputation and know-how attributed to the IDF. Nevertheless, alternative government investments in civilian production and development infrastructure may also have led to similar rates of export.

While overseas arms orders greatly expanded the scope of activities of Israel’s defense industries, military aid generally had a reverse influence. Grants and the grant component of loans in U.S. military aid to Israel financed some 41 per cent of Israel’s defense imports during 1973–1978,⁵⁸ yet generally (with few exceptions) limited her to military acquisitions abroad. Hence it had somewhat of a limiting effect upon the development of local defense industries. Recently, Israel has tried to divert some military aid (with U.S. government permission) towards development of a local production infrastructure.⁵⁹

The pace of development of Israel’s defense industries also results partly from a long-term establishment struggle between the institution responsible for economic and organizational activity within the security system, that is, the Ministry of Defense, and the military implementing arm and operative body for the operative aspect, namely the Israel Defense Forces. Peri describes relations between the civilian (Ministry) and military (IDF) arms as follows:⁶⁰ ‘The annals of the 30 years of Ministry-IDF relations are a tale of a constant struggle over the definition of spheres of operation, authority, power and influence.’ With regard to weapons systems procurement, the IDF generally preferred to purchase arms abroad – especially up to the mid-1960s – owing to speed of supply and the quality and reliability of the systems, whereas the Ministry of Defense tended towards expansion of local production and acquisition. Although the IDF had the upper hand in most areas of dispute with the Ministry, the latter’s status has been preserved and at times even reinforced as a result of the rapid expansion of the defense industries which are under its control. The 1967 French embargo effectively halted the establishment debate on importance of local defense manufacture, which was further defused by transition of senior military officers to positions of control within the defense industries and key positions in the Defense Ministry.

Relations between Israel’s defense industries and the IDF are more than simple supplier-client commercial ties. The military system is monolithic, virtually autonomous, bureaucratic and unidirectional, demanding perfection and reliability in implementation. There is close supervision of Israel’s defense industrial system by the IDF as regards minute military specifications, quality control and systems implementation. IDF operative demands are high, often extreme and naturally not always economically based. The IDF requires systems which derive from actual experience in battle, suit local climatic and topographical conditions and conform to IDF military doctrine. Rewards and incentives for cooperation between the defense industries and the IDF are different from those which prevail in the United States, for example, where military officers sometimes attempt to please the giant arms concerns which can offer them an additional career. In Israel, however, the transition from the IDF to defense industries has only recently acquired prominence. Furthermore, the defense industries try to supply the needs of their IDF client, primarily for patriotic-security reasons. Consequently, preference may be accorded to locally-produced systems over those manufactured abroad for wide military use.

However, as indicated above, certain changes have taken place since 1967, prior to which cooperation focused primarily upon supplying the IDF with ammunition and supplementing imported weapons systems, with less attention paid to development and manufacture of weapons systems.

The success of Israel’s defense industries in manufacturing and marketing weapons systems – reflected in a mighty increase in both local and global sales volume and in the growing interest expressed in her combat-proven products – results from a number of factors:

•  Israel-produced weapons systems are of a high technological level and incorporate unique features, based upon the IDF’s extensive experience under actual battle conditions. (For example, improvements in disruption of guided ground-to-air missiles resulted from the lessons of the Yom Kippur War and proved themselves during Syrian missile battles in Operation Peace for Galilee).

•  Nearly all Israeli weapons systems are cheaper than similar systems produced abroad. Kfir fighter planes, for example, were sold for $4 million apiece.⁶¹

•  The arms market is characterized by a rather small number of arms exporters (primarily the two major powers, plus France, Germany, Great Britain, Italy, Czechoslovakia and Poland) and a large number of buyers (see U.S. Arms Control and Disarmament Agency data, 1981).⁶² Some of Israel’s defense clients are interested in varying their sources of arms and thus reducing their dependence upon the major powers, while others are politically isolated (Taiwan, South Africa).

•  Israel possesses a successful military research and development manpower system, including the world’s largest per capita concentration of scientists and engineers engaged in natural science research and development (30 per 10,000 inhabitants) and the largest per capita number of scientists who have published books or papers (10.2 per 10,000 inhabitants).⁶³ As indicated above, the flow of government resources towards military research and development in Israel is especially high.

•  Israel’s marketing system includes a network of Ministry of Defense overseas representations and numerous independent arms dealers.

Israel’s arms manufacturing and marketing capabilities have recently begun to attract certain multinational corporations (prior to 1967, such corporations considered investment in Israel as too risky a proposition, as the country’s physical survival was thought to be endangered); for example, GTE today holds about half the stock of Tadiran, CDC controls Elbit while the IAI is carrying out some subcontracting work for McDonnell Douglas, General Dynamics and Boeing.⁶⁴ Galloway⁶⁵ argues that big business tends to multinationalize major arms suppliers and that many of the European defense contractors (e.g. Bull GE of France, Construcciones Aeronauticas of Spain) are now substantially owned by US multinational concerns. This process is likely to continue in Israel, owing to accelerated development of the defense industries and their increasing dependence upon external projects. Multinational activities in the local defense sector have numerous ramifications and may lead to exacerbation of the local arms race. Israel’s success in sale of weapons has also encouraged a number of local nongovernmental companies to enter the Israeli stock market (Ayit and Urdan, for example); their stocks have now increased strikingly following Operation Peace for Galilee.

Israel’s defense industries have thus undergone extensive expansion since the pre-State days of clandestine arms manufacture. Activities have recently accelerated rapidly because of a combination of political factors, special security needs, constant involvement in wars and in the arms race and crude economic interests.

Summary

A vast military-industrial complex has developed rapidly in Israel. The turning point for its accelerated development may be perceived in the Six-Day War; the deployment in the administered territories, the increase in preventive measures against Arab terror, the growth in military production as a result of various embargoes and the intensified arms race, which continued to accelerate in the wake of the Yom Kippur War. This article distinguished between core and associated members of the Israeli complex, noting the increase in its joint activity and influence. We also raised a number of problems stemming from the complex’s accelerated development, primarily the widespread transition of senior officers to key positions in other components of the complex and the increase in the defense sector’s share in Israel’s industrial economy. We also detailed the growth dynamics of one of the complex’s central components – the defense industries.

At present, Israel’s military complex serves not only as a tool for preserving the physical security of the state, as demanded by national interests, but also as a key national economic factor with considerable influence upon levels of employment and unemployment, the profitability of arms manufacture, the magnitude of Israel’s exports, and so on; as a key factor in influencing Israel’s foreign policy and its policies in the territories; as a supplier of health and welfare service and as an agent of socialization.⁶⁶

There is some concern that this complex will overstep the demands of national interests, owing to the combined self-interests of its component parts and the increased dependence of industry upon the defense sector, implying inability to cut the local defense budget, consequent escalation of the arms race, inability to divert more resources for welfare and development and an overall failure to decrease the military burden. National policymakers and the public at large must relate to the accelerated increase and influence of the complex in toto. There is an urgent need for a comprehensive study to formulate recommendations on the optimal boundaries of spheres of activity and levels of influence of the complex’s components. In the interim, Israel’s leaders must consider instituting a number of immediate operative measures (some of which have already been initiated), including:

•  Encouraging partial – if gradual and limited – transition of defense industries to civilian production, especially through concentrating upon implementation of key national projects, thus leading to partial diversification of the weapons industries and consequently reducing industrial dependence upon defense production.

•  Establishing cooling-off periods for the transition of senior officers to key positions in other components of the complex and private defense industries and determining policies regarding contacts between senior reserve officers currently employed by the defense industries (the supplier) and the IDF (the client), clearly defining whether or not retired senior officers may represent multinational corporations, etc., thus limiting the influence of personal interests upon the defense sector.

•  Establishing clear criteria based upon national, ethical-social considerations (even if at the expense of economic ones) regarding Israel’s arms exports policy and the transfer of most defense export administration to the Foreign Ministry, thereby limiting the activity of the complex in the international political sphere.

•  Essential reliance upon the IDF – rather than upon foreign orders – in decisions concerning weapons manufacture, thus ensuring that production indeed suits IDF operative needs and national security demands; transfer of part of the foreign procurement budget to local production, thus reducing the overall procurement volume, eliminating duplication and alleviating the military burden.

•  Gradual (if limited) reduction of the IDF absolute monopoly over the defense budget and over appointments to other arms of the complex.

If such measures are not implemented, the complex/monster may rise up against its creator.

NOTES

1.  See, for example, John K. Galbraith, How to Control the Military (New York: New American Library, 1969).

2.  Jerome Slater and Terry Nardin, ‘The Concept of a Military-Industrial Complex’, in Steven Rosen, ed., Testing the Theory of the Military-Industrial Complex (Lexington: Lexington Books, 1973), pp. 27–60.

3.  Rosen, ibid, pp. 2–3.

4.  Ibid., p.3. See also Charles C. Moskos, Jr., ‘The Military-Industrial Complex: Theoretical Antecedents and Conceptual Contradictions’ in Sam C. Sarkesian ed., The Military-Industrial Complex: A Reassessment (Beverly Hills: Sage Publications, 1972), pp. 3–24.

5.  Michael Reich, ‘Military Spending and the U.S. Economy’, in Steven Rosen, ed., op. cit., pp. 85–102.

6.  Rosen, op. cit., p.8.

7.  Marc Pilisuk and Thomas Hayden, ‘Is There a Military-Industrial Complex Which Prevents Peace?’, Journal of Social Issues, 21, No. 3 (July 1965), p. 98.

8.  Seymour Melman, Pentagon Capitalism (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1970).

9.  See, for example, Charles Wolf Jr., Military-Industrial Complexities (The Rand Corporation, P-4177, 1969).

10.  See Vernon V. Aspaturian, ‘The Soviet Military-Industrial Complex: Does It Exist?’, Journal of International Affairs, 26, No. 1 (1972), pp. 1–28; William T. Lee, ‘Soviet Military Industrial Complex’, Armed Forces Management (May and April 1970); and Mikhail Agursky, ‘The Soviet Military-Industrial Complex’, Jerusalem Papers on Peace Problems, 31 (1980), pp. 1–32.

11.  Agursky, ibid., pp. 6–7.

12.  Aspaturian, op. cit., p. 20.

13.  See Alex Mintz, The Politics of Resource Allocation in the U.S. Department of Defense (Boulder, Colorado: Westview Press, forthcoming).

14.  Richard J. Barnet, The Roots of War (New York: Atheneum, 1972).

15.  See David Kochav, ‘The Economics of Defense in Israel’, International Symposium on Military Aspects of the Israel-Arab Conflict (Jerusalem, October 1975); Pinchas Zussman and Dan Tolkowski, The Defense Establishment and Its Contribution to Technological Progress (Jerusalem: The Van Leer Institute, 1973; Hebrew); Haim Barkai, Defense Costs in Retrospect (Jerusalem: The Maurice Falk Institute for Economic Research in Israel, 1980; Hebrew); Eitan Berglas, Defense and the Economy: The Israeli Experience (Jerusalem: The Maurice Falk Institute for Economic Research in Israel, 1983); Martin C. McGuire, ‘US Assistance, Israeli Allocation, and the Arms Race in the Middle East’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, 26, No. 2 (June 1982), pp. 199–235; Yoram Peri, ‘Some Aspects of the Relationship Between the Military and the Polity in Israeli Society’, Ph.D. dissertation (London School of Economics, July 1980); Baruch Kimmerling, ‘The Israeli Civil Guard’ in Louis A. Zurcher and Gwyn Harries-Jenkins, eds., Supplementary Military Forces: Reserves, Militias, Auxiliaries (Beverly Hills: Sage Publications, 1978), pp. 107–25; and Dan Horowitz ‘The Israel Defense Forces: A Civilianized Military in a Partially Militarized Society’, in Roman Kolkowicz & Andrzej Korbonski eds., Soldiers, Peasants and Bureaucrats (London: Allen & Unwin), pp. 77–106.

16.  Government data on most of these indicators were unavailable (classified or unpublished) in the 1950s and 1960s. They can now be obtained from a number of sources (see, e.g., the data sources in Table 1).

17.  On the discrepencies between the Central Bureau of Statistics’ data and the Budget data, see Berglas, op. cit., pp. 9–10.

18.  See, International Institute for Strategic Studies The Military Balance (London: International Institute for Strategic Studies, Annually); Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, World Armaments and Disarmaments: SIPRI Yearbook (London: Taylor and Francis, Annually); and U.S. Arms Control and Disarmament Agency, World Military Expenditures and Arms Transfers 1970–1979 (Washington, D.C.: ACDA Publication, 1982).

19.  Aspaturian, op. cit.

20.  See, for example, Shevach Weiss ‘Retired Generals and Polities’, Social Research Review, No. 4 (1973; Hebrew), pp. 24–42; and Peri, op. cit.

21.  Peri, ibid., p. 313.

22.  See also Peri, ibid.

23.  See Table 1 for data sources. For a comparison of Israel’s defense expenditures with those of other countries, see Kimmerling’s contribution to this volume.

24.  Peri, op. cit., pp. 78–79.

25.  Joseph Evron, The Israel Defense Industry (Tel Aviv: Publishing House, Ministry of Defense, 1980), p. 486. (Hebrew).

26.  The Times (21 February 1983); and The New York Times (24 August 1981).

27.  Nehemia Hassid and Oded Lasser, ‘Economic Resources Available for Defense’ The Economic Quarterly, 28, No. 110–11 (November 1981), p. 247. (Hebrew).

28.  Evron, op. cit., p. 486.

29.  Scientific Research in Israel (Jerusalem: National Council for Research and Development, 1982), p. 18.

30.  See, for example, Kurth, on the dynamics of aerospace system procurement from the major defense contractors in the US; James R. Kurth, ‘Aerospace Production Lines and American Defense Spending’, in Steven Rosen, ed., op. cit., pp. 135–56.

31.  See, for example, Uzi Benziman, ‘The Defense Budget: 1981’ Ha’aretz (26 December 1980) (Hebrew).

32.  Barkai, op. cit., Table 1, p. 23.

33.  Public education expenditure in Israel increased from about 6 per cent of the GNP in the early 1960s to almost 9 per cent of the GNP in the late 1970s. Public health expenditure rose also during that period (from a level of about 5.5 per cent of the GNP to about 7.7 per cent). See Central Bureau of Statistics, Monthly Bulletin of Statistics, supplement to Vol. 33, No. 2 (February 1982), p. 8; and supplement to Vol. 33, No. 9 (September 1982), p. 48.

34.  See Zussman and Tolkowski, op. cit., p. 2.

35.  See Israel Government Yearbook, 1981/82, (Jerusalem: The Information Center, 1982), pp. 110–42 (Hebrew).

36.  See Israel Government Yearbook, 1981/82; and Israel Tal, ‘The Merkava Project’, Ma’arachot (May 1981), pp. 38–40.

37.  Based on Israel Government Yearbook, 1981/82, pp. 110–42; and Evron, op. cit.

38.  Tal, op. cit., pp. 38–40.

39.  See The DMS Report (Greenwich, CT: DMS, Inc. 1981).

40.  Tal, op. cit., p. 40.

41.  Evron, The Israel Defense Industry, p. 355.

42.  Based on various chapters in The IDF in Its Might (Tel Aviv: Revivim, 1982) (Hebrew).

43.  The following discussion is primarily based on The IDF in Its Might Vol. 17; and Evron, op. cit.

44.  Evron, ibid.

45.  Israel Government Yearbook, 1981/82, pp. 110–42.

46.  The IDF in Its Might, Vol. 17.

47.  Tal, op. cit., p. 39.

48.  Ibid., p. 39.

49.  Central Bureau of Statistics, Monthly Bulletin of Statistics (supplement to No. 4, April 1982), Table 1.

50.  Kochav, op. cit.

51.  Evron, op. cit., pp. 202–203.

52.  Berglas, op. cit., p. 15.

53.  Evron, op. cit., p.297 and p. 491.

54.  The IDF in Its Might, Vol. 17.

55.  Evron, op. cit., p. 307 and p. 491.

56.  Israel Government Yearbook, 1981/82.

57.  Zussman and Tolkowski, op. cit., p. 16.

58.  Bank of Israel, Annual Report 1978, p. 162.

59.  For manufacturing the Lavie aircraft in the Israel Aircraft Industries (IAI) for example.

60.  Peri, op. cit., p. 535.

61.  Anthony Sampson, The Arms Bazaar (New York: Bantam Books, 1978), p. 364.

62.  US Arms Control and Disarmament Agency, op. cit.

63.  Scientific Research in Israel, pp. 19–20.

64.  See The DMS Report.

65.  Jonathan F. Galloway, ‘Multinational Corporations and Military-Industrial Linkages’ in Steven Rosen, ed., op. cit., p. 272.

66.  On the role of the IDF as an agent of socialization see Moshe Lissak ‘The Israel Defense Forces as an Agent of Socialization and Education: A Research in Role Expansion in a Democratic Society’, in M.R. Van Gills, ed., The Perceived Role of the Military (Rotterdam: Rotterdam University Press, 1971), pp. 325–40.

New Immigrants as a Special Group in the Israeli Armed Forces

Victor Azarya and Baruch Kimmerling

Introduction

Most armed forces in the world, like many other large-scale organizations, are quite heterogeneous in terms of the social background of their manpower whether they be all volunteers or conscript types. They are composed of various subgroups on the basis of ethnicity, religion, education, socio-economic background, etc., some of which are ‘special groups’ in the sense that, because of some clear differentiation from the rest of the manpower, they are expected to behave differently within the organization and are offered special treatment in it, or at least are thought to be entitled to such treatment. Special groups may be thought to possess superior qualities to the rest of the population and could be asked to assume special responsibilities or they might be regarded as groups who do not measure up to the standard requirements of the organization but should be given special consideration because of their ‘justifiable’ special characteristics. The term ‘special group’ does not in itself denote a judgement on the level of performance. It should be noted that special groups generally form small minorities within the organization’s manpower, and they are most likely (though not necessarily) to be formed around some primordial characteristics, such as ethno-cultural background, racial or gender differences.

Armed forces differ in the extent to which special groups exist and/or are legitimized in their ranks. Special groups may exist as a problem in armed forces, i.e. they can be viewed as harmful phenomena which clash with the accepted values, goals and policies of the organization or of the parent society. Steps may be taken to limit the scope and impact of such phenomena. On the other hand the existence of special groups may be regarded as legitimate, perhaps reflecting the pluralism of the larger society and ensuring the representation of various sectoral interests in one of the society’s most central institutions, or perhaps as a means to offer a specifically defined group the opportunity to achieve higher education, vocational training, upward mobility, or greater acceptance and integration in the national collectivity. It is well known, of course, that primordial ethnic, religious, or regional allegiance do play an important role in decision making regarding manpower recruitment and role allocation in many countries’ armed forces.¹ The military might also be controlled by a rather homogenous group, mostly of high status origin, in an otherwise more heterogenous society. Pluralism is more likely to be found in conscript armies than in all-volunteer ones because of the latter’s narrower basis of recruitment. The existence of special groups in the military can also be enhanced as a result of programs in which especially deprived groups are recruited into the armed forces as a special service in order to provide them with an opportunity for education, vocational training, upward mobility, prevention of crime, etc., even though they do not meet the regular standards of induction into military service. In Israel, the ethno-cultural pluralism of the larger society, in addition to universal conscription (92 per cent of the physically able 18 year old men and 50 per cent of the same age women,²) and the widespread use of military service as a means of education for disadvantaged youth combine together to create a relatively greater number of special groups in the military organization.³

It is possible, of course, for special groups, to ‘dissolve’ and disappear within the military organization. This does not mean that they would lose their collective identity which crystallized before their recruitment into the organization, but their group affiliation will not play a role in the job-allocation and performance expectation within the organization. Members of an ethnic or racial minority, for instance, will not be any less visible, nor would they loosen their ties with fellow members of the same group. But they will dissolve in the organization in terms of the roles they perform and the positions they occupy. They will not be assigned to special units, they will not be given special assignments or special rights and obligations. Nor would they concentrate in certain positions in the organization even if there were no conscious intention on the part of the organization to put them there. They will randomly disperse in various roles and positions within the organization and as such will cease to exist as a special entity within the organization though they might continue to exist as such in the larger society. One should note in passing that in certain cases, such as perhaps women in the military, people who do not form a ‘special group’ in the society at large will become one within the organization because of the special treatment they receive in it and because they are considered to have certain collective traits which do not qualify them for all positions.

It should be emphasized that a certain special group’s failure to dissolve in the organization does not necesarily indicate institutional discrimination on the part of the organization. If we adopt Alvarez’s definition that institutional discrimination is unjustified, disproportionate distribution of positions and rewards in the organization, i.e. disproportionate allocation based on traits irrelevant for accomplishing the organization’s task,⁴ we can clearly see that certain special assignments and role allocations given to groups which result in their maintaining their special status are directly related to the accomplishment of the organization’s mission. Hence, for task-related reasons, special groups are preserved (or even created) in the organization without those groups being discriminated against. We should also bear in mind that failure to dissolve (or assimilate) does not necesarily indicate a lack of adjustment on the part of the group in question. A special group can be considered to have adjusted to the organization if full advantage is taken of its skills and if the rewards offered correspond to the group’s aspirations. Assimilation on the other hand means that the group in question is distributed throughout the organization in the same proportion as the overall population. We shall see below the crucial importance of this difference between assimilation and adjustment. Our contention will be that new immigrants not only do not dissolve (or assimilate) in the IDF, but nor is full advantage taken of their skills. However, the special position occupied by the new immigrants in the military does not necessarily clash with their wishes and expectations. In some cases, it does, in fact, derive from what is considered to be the new immigrants’ special wishes and interests.

New immigrants are an important special group in the Israeli society. Their special needs are recognized and they are entitled to special privileges and assistance from governmental authorities in housing, employment, education and training opportunities, tax cuts, etc. The public displays relative (though decreasing) tolerance to their unfamiliarity with Israeli ways and their lack of knowledge of the Hebrew language. Despite the steady decline in the number of immigrants arriving in Israel, immigration (which in Hebrew is called aliya, meaning ascent, versus emigration, which is called yerida, meaning descent) has retained great symbolic importance and still occupies a central place in collective consciousness and goal articulation. Immigration continues to be seen as a principal way to achieve Zionism and hence is one of the main components which legitimize the very existence of the state.

However, the recognition given to new immigrants as a welcome special group and the concomitant special privileges that they enjoy are considered legitimate only in so far as they are temporary. New immigrants are expected to relinquish their special status after a few years, and not after a generation or more as in other countries of large-scale immigration. After all, half of the Jewish population of Israel were once new immigrants, and if they had remained new immigrants throughout their generation, there would scarcely be an Israeli population. In the pre-independence period and in the first twenty years after independence, the collective ideological expectation was one of rapid ‘Israelization’ of the new immigrant, and military service was seen as an important means to achieve this aim. Since the 1970s, a more pluralistic approach has come to replace the ‘melting pot’ ideology. New immigrants are not expected to undergo a rapid and overall Israelization but rather to join one of the existing ethno-cultural subgroups based on their country of origin. Ceasing to be new immigrants, they legitimately become North Africans, Russians, Anglo-Saxons, Persians, etc. all comprised within the larger Israeli identity but displaying different cultural traits and segmented solidarity ties. Belonging to one of the ethno-cultural subgroups is not considered temporary any more and is passed on to the Israeli-born generation. On this point, a basic transformation seems to have started in the articulation of the society’s goals. But belonging to the new immigrant category is still perceived to be temporary and hence the particular special group is legitimate only on the condition that a rapid turnover occur among its members.

The new immigrants recruited to the IDF (Israel Defense Forces) are therefore expected eventually to dissolve themselves in both the military organization and the larger society. However, paradoxically, the special conditions under which they are conscripted work against their disappearance as a special group. As we shall see in the empirical evidence presented below, the absorption process of the new immigrants in the IDF puts them on a different track from other recruits and leads to their concentration in certain, rather peripheral positions, with possible trickling effect on peripherality or status incongruence in post-service civilian life as well. Thus, while military service performs a rite de passage function into inclusion in the Israeli collective identity⁵ it also freezes new immigrants in certain positions or paths of adjustment within the armed forces and hence prolongs their separate existence as a special group in contradiction with the ideological basis of the larger society. The Israeli armed forces, which in the early years following independence were regarded as the primary agent of Israelization and elimination of special group characteristics of various sectors of the population, now, in effect, provide a further moratorium to a special group which, even in the new pluralistic approach, is expected to dissolve itself eventually.

Before moving to the empirical part of this article, we should note that some of the points discussed here were first mentioned in an earlier article.⁶ The earlier article was of a more preliminary and exploratory nature because of the limited empirical data available to us at the time of its writing. In the present article, we are in a position to carry the discussion some steps further with the help of more detailed statistical evidence. Relying on the new data, we would like: (a) to present a more detailed analysis of the special positions occupied by new immigrants in the IDF compared to non-immigrant servicemen; (b) to subdivide the new immigrant recruits into different categories on the basis of education and country of origin (on which we had no data in the first article), and (c) to present a multiple regression analysis of the factors of variance between the positions occupied by new immigrants and nonimmigrants in the IDF (this point was also discussed in general terms only in the first article, for lack of empirical data). Finally, the role allocation of new immigrants and non-immigrants in the IDF is discussed here from the perspective of differentiation and special group performance in large-scale organizations, rather than from the point of view of civil-military relations and the role expansion of armed forces as in the first article.

The statistical data presented below are based on a sample of about 16,000 male soldiers who were drafted and completed their regular military service between 1968 and 1976. This sample is divided into a sub-sample of new immigrant soldiers (defined as any conscript who became a new immigrant up to four years before he was drafted)⁷ and a control group of nonimmigrant recruits. The new immigrant sample is subdivided on the basis of country of origin, into 46 per cent coming from Eastern European countries (including the Asian Republics of the Soviet Union), 18 per cent coming from Western countries (Western Europe and other Anglo Saxon countries), 9 per cent from Latin America and 26 per cent from Africa and Asia. Less than 1 per cent were born in Israel, probably children of parents who emigrated from Israel. Unfortunately, we do not have comparable data on the country of origins of the fathers of the non-immigrants and therefore cannot present a systematic comparison between immigrants and nonimmigrants on the basis of country of origin.

Background Characteristics of New Immigrant Draftees

New immigrants have to register at the IDF recruitment centers three to six months after they obtain their immigrant status and they are generally drafted in the following two years, except for students in higher educational institutions, whose service is deferred until the end of their studies. The length of military service for new immigrants changes according to their age on arrival in Israel, their family status and the year they acquired the status of immigrant.⁸ Special regulations exist for physicians (including dentists) because of the special importance of their profession for the military.

Since most new immigrants are beyond the regular recruitment age of 18 at the time of their immigration, and many are also married with children, they serve relatively short periods of regular service followed by the reserve service common to all (up to 45 days a year until the age of 55). Table 1 shows us, for example, that 81.6 per cent were above the regular draft age when they were recruited compared to only 14.8 per cent of non-immigrants who were recruited above the regular age. Of new immigrants, 34.7 per cent were married when they were drafted to military service (and 3.4% had children) compared to 11.1 per cent of non-immigrants who were married when they were drafted (and 2.7% had children). Not surprisingly, almost half (47.3%) of the new immigrants served half a year or less in regular service and only 18.3 per cent served more than two and a half years, while the overwhelming majority of the non-immigrant draftees (84.2%) served more than two and a half years and only 7 per cent served half a year or less. As we shall see below, this great difference in the length of service is the core reason for the persistence of new immigrants as a special group in the military. It is the basis of the special treatment offered to new immigrants with respect to military service⁹ and it affects to a large extent the special positions that they occupy in the military organization. It also contributes to keeping an awareness among the new immigrants of their separate identity and enhances the recognition of their collective rights, interest and grievances.

Looking now at the background characteristics of the new immigrant draftees, we were surprised to find that they were superior to those of the non-immigrant control group. This finding contradicts the well entrenched common perception held in the Israeli society, and shared even by the new immigrants themselves, that, as a group, new immigrants form a lower quality military element than non-immigrants.¹⁰ Table 2 summarizes the background characteristics of new immigrant and non-immigrant draftees in the level of education, intelligence, psychiatric disability and the military’s Adjusted Comprehensive Aptitude Test (KABAM). It shows that the new immigrants in our sample have scored slightly, but consistently, higher than non-immigrants on all four traits.

TABLE 1

AGE AND LENGTH OF SERVICE OF MALE NEW IMMIGRANT DRAFTEES COMPARED TO NON-IMMIGRANTS (MALES ONLY)

The level of education is the only one of the four background traits which was not measured by the IDF’s own tests. The higher score of the new immigrants is partially due to the fact that a much higher percentage of new immigrants had the opportunity to have university education (whether in Israel or abroad) before being drafted, while for non-immigrants, the Israeli draft law makes it almost impossible to have college education before being drafted. Still, even disregarding college education, the data on primary and secondary education show that new immigrants reach a higher level than non-immigrants.

With regard to psychiatric disability, we see that non-immigrants tend more than immigrants to have at least one such disability. The new immigrants have also scored slightly higher than non-immigrants in the intelligence tests administered by the military. The difference between the two groups is slightest in the Adjusted Comprehensive Aptitude Score, which is intended to give the military an overall picture of the draftee’s potential as a soldier. This test is of crucial importance as a measure for induction, role allocation and rising in the ranks in the IDF, and because of its importance, draftees are sometimes given the opporunity to correct their scores after their induction (usually after basic training). The data reported on Table 2 is the corrected score and hence, unlike the other characteristics is not determined entirely prior to induction. The Comprehensive Aptitude Test is composed of four parts: level of education, intelligence, knowledge of Hebrew and motivation to serve, thus including in it two of the traits, intelligence and education, which were separately discussed above. Furthermore, for new immigrants, the Hebrew language score is not taken into consideration in determining the general score. Therefore, if as it appears in Table 2, the superiority of new immigrants over non-immigrants is smaller in the Adjusted Comprehensive Aptitude Score than in the level of education and intelligence, it might be inferred that the trend is reversed in the motivation to serve, non-immigrants scoring higher than new immigrants and narrowing the gap created by the latter’s superiority in intelligence and level of education. However, a more definite statement on this point necessitates knowledge (which we do not have) on the precise method by which each component is weighed in determining the overall Comprehensive Aptitude Score.

TABLE 2

BACKGROUND CHARACTERISTICS OF MALE NEW IMMIGRANT DRAFTEES COMPARED TO NON-IMMIGRANTS (MALES ONLY)

Military Role Allocation to New Immigrants

New immigrants very clearly do not dissolve as a special group in the military organization. They serve special lengths of time, are absorbed in special channels and are acutely aware of their special rights and distinctive identity. They are also highly over-represented in certain corps, occupations and ranks compared to others. New immigrants occupy relatively peripheral and low status positions in the military, in striking contrast with their superior background characteristics over non-immigrants. In this section we shall examine some statistical data pertaining to the special and rather peripheral positions occupied by the new immigrants in the IDF.

TABLE 3

NEW IMMIGRANT REPRESENTATION IN SELECTED CORPS (MALES ONLY, 1968–1976)

Corps
Ratio of Representation*

Civil Defense (including Guard Corps)

5.75

Medical

3.33

Artillery

2.75

Engineers

2.29

General Service

1.18

Nahal

1.15

Infantry

.66

Air Force

.52

Armor

.45

Signals
.24

* The ratio is computed by dividing the percentage of new immigrants in each category by the percentage of non-immigrants in the same category.
Source: Computed from classified data provided by the Israel Defense Forces

Table 3 shows us that new immigrants are heavily concentrated in a small number of corps. Some of them, such as Civil Defense, Guard Corps and General Service are known to be of secondary military importance. Others such as Artillery and Combat Engineers are the least prestigious of the IDF’s combat corps, and they have become the principal channels for those new immigrants who, being physically fit to serve in combat roles, are not sent to more marginal support units. The highly professionalized Medical Corps does indeed enjoy high status, but the over-representation of new immigrants in it derives from their having acquired the medical profession prior to their military service (and probably even prior to their immigration). Such an opportunity did not present itself to non-immigrants who were drafted before they could pursue their higher education. Finally, the relatively high representation of new immigrants in Nahal (which combines military service with work in collective agricultural settlements) is due to the special effort made by the Nahal command to organize youth movement cells of new immigrants, hoping to encourage them to join rural settlements. It also follows the general extra-military civic educational role attributed to Nahal by the IDF and by the larger society.¹¹

New immigrants are also over-represented in low military ranks, combat versus non-combat roles and military occupations which are not applicable to civilian life. As can be seen from the figures in Table 4, new immigrants are over-represented by a ratio of 2.67 over non-immigrants among privates, but this ratio falls sharply to .35 and .38 among NCOs and junior officers¹² respectively. Representation in the ranks is obviously a much better indicator of hierarchical position than corps affiliation. The prestige rank of the corps is approximate at best and hierarchical grading is not inherent to it as it is with ranks. Furthermore, corps are too large and diversified units which include in themselves a broad differentation of ranks and occupations. Anyhow, the combination of over-representation in the lowest rank and in the relatively less elite, less prestigious corps show very clearly that new immigrants not only do not disappear as a special group in the military framework but also occupy a peripheral, low status position.

The figures in Table 4 also show that new immigrants are more likely than non-immigrants to serve in combat roles and in military occupations which have little application to the civilian sector. At first sight, this seems to contradict the assumption of peripherality and low status of the new immigrants’ military position, since in Israel combat roles carry higher prestige than non-combat positions. However, a closer look at the prestige attributed to combat roles discloses that it is limited to a selected number of corps and units which portray a heroic figure image. It does not extend to all combat troops and least of all to the lower ranks of artillery and combat engineers, where new immigrants are concentrated. Soldiers serving in these corps have to carry out physically hard and dangerous work without being at the forefront of the combat forces and hence without capturing the public imagination with ‘fighter’ qualities. At the same time, they serve far from home and do not enjoy the comforts that generally accompany auxiliary and service jobs. Low ranking combat roles in these corps thus depict an inability to obtain ‘choice positions’ within the military apparatus.

The overrepresentation of new immigrants in combat roles should therefore be viewed in conjunction with their corps affiliation and does not in any way enhance their status or centrality in the military organization. Their relative lack of access to service and auxiliary roles is partially due to the fact that service and auxiliary jobs require better knowledge of Hebrew and familiarity with the Israeli society than the new immigrants possess. It is also related to their short period of service and follows from the military’s tendency to channel most short-service personnel to a few predetermined units and occupations, reducing the cost of diversifying the channels of training and absorption. Our data show a clear positive relationship between long service and non-combat roles and civilian-applied military occupations. It also shows that those serving short service, whether new immigrants or not, are more likely to be posted in artillery and combat engineers compared to other combat corps. Allocation to a limited number of low ranking combat roles which have a large and steady demand for manpower and are not very specific in their qualification requirements is less costly from the organization’s point of view than allocation to a large number of specialized roles which have a lower demand for manpower and more specific qualification requirements. Most service and auxiliary roles, except for civil defense and general clerical jobs are of the latter kind and are not taken into consideration when allocating military occupations to new immigrant draftees serving short periods. To be sure, this wholesale channelling of new immigrants to a limited number of predetermined and not very specialized outlets (except for doctors) creates a waste of skill, especially in view of the new immigrants’ superior background characteristics,¹³ but from the organization’s point of view, the difference in effectiveness that might be obtained from a more careful screening and role allocation may not be worth the extra cost of a more refined procedure.

TABLE 4

NEW IMMIGRANT REPRESENTATION IN MILITARY RANKS AND OCCUPATIONS (MALES ONLY, 1968–1976)

Last Rank
Ratio of Representationa

Junior officerb

.38

NCOc

.35

Private

2.67

Combat vs. Non Combat Roles

Combat

1.39

Auxiliary (support)

.74

Service

.73

Military Occupation

Applicable to the civilian sector

.46

Not applicable to the civilian sector
1.26

a. The ratio is computed by dividing the percentage of new immigrants in each category by the percentage of non-immigrants in the same category
b. All the ranks from Warrant Officer to Lieutenant
c. All the ranks from Lance Corporal to Regimental Sergeant Major
Source: Computed from classified data provided by the Israel Defense Forces

The same organizational necessities can also explain why new immigrant draftees are more likely than their non-immigrant counterparts to be allocated to occupations which cannot be used in the civilian sector. As a result, not only are the specific qualifications of new immigrants not taken sufficiently into consideration (with the exception of doctors) but, because of their being channelled to a few large combat roles, new immigrants are also offered less opportunity than non-immigrant recruits to obtain, in the course of their military service, occupational-vocational training and experience for future use in civilian life.

Finally, in the context of new immigrants’ adjustment to military service, we also checked comparative data on some indicators of maladjustment such as the rate of unauthorized absenteeism and breaches of discipline. The results showed that non-immigrants had 1.7 times more absences than new immigrants; 27.4 per cent of the non-immigrants had at least one day of unauthorized absence compared to only 16 per cent of the new immigrants who were absent for at least one day. Of non-immigrants, 18 per cent were subject to military courts, imprisonment or other disciplinary actions compared to 5.5 per cent of new immigrants who were ever subjected to such action during their service. The difference could indeed have derived from the two groups’ different lengths of service. Serving for a much longer time the non-immigrants had more opportunities to be absent or subject to disciplinary action. Nonetheless, the fact remains that new immigrants are involved in less breaches of discipline than non-immigrants. It seems that new immigrants are a particularly quiet group in the military. They may be problematic to the military in terms of role allocation, but not in terms of discipline and deviance. If they suffer from maladjustment to military service, they suffer in silence and cause less disciplinary problems to the organization than do the non-immigrant draftees.

What Keeps the New Immigrants a Special Group in the Military?

Length of service is the key variable which determines the new immigrants’ special track of absorption in the armed forces and leads to their persistence as a special peripheral group. Shortened military service is offered as a special help to new immigrants; it is designed to enable them to fulfill their national obligation without undue disruption in the early stages of their adjustment to their new country. But this assistance, given to enable their general adjustment in society, sharply limits their social mobility opportunities within the military organization, which indirectly might also affect their overall status in the Israeli society. The empirical data presented below do support the crucial importance of length of service as an explanatory factor, but we would like to know what other factors affect the special position occupied by new immigrants in the Israeli armed forces. In studies of general occupational mobility in the Israeli society, level of education and country of origin are found to be important factors.¹⁴ We would like to see what influence, if any, they have on the military experience of new immigrants. Furthermore, new immigrants have been discussed until now as a homogeneous group. It is time to break it into component parts on the basis of education and country of origin and see what changes, if any, occur in the general picture.

TABLE 5

RANKS ATTAINED BY NEW IMMIGRANT DRAFTEES, BY LENGTH OF SERVICE AND COUNTRY OF ORIGIN COMPARED TO THE NON IMMIGRANT CONTROL GROUP (MALES ONLY, 1968–76)

Table 5 presents the ranks attained by new immigrants of different countries of origin and serving different lengths of service compared to the non-immigrant control group. We can see from the data that no matter what the country of origin, the overwhelming majority (94.3%) of new immigrants serving up to one year do not move beyond the rank of private. The rate changes slightly according to country of origin from 97.5 per cent among those from Asian-African countries to 88.9 per cent among those from Latin America but these slight variations do not change the overall picture showing that short service (up to one year) is an almost impossible barrier to surmount in military rank mobility. If we add that 60.8 per cent of all new immigrants do in fact serve up to one year (see Table 1) we can see what a formidable barrier short service is for the upward mobility of new immigrants in the military. The importance of length of service on rank mobility is stressed even more when we see that the percentage of new immigrants finishing their regular service at the rank of private declines sharply as the period of service lengthens, from 94.3 per cent to 57.7 per cent among those who serve one to two years and to 35.4 per cent among those serving more than two years. However even those new immigrants who serve a long period still attain lower ranks than non-immigrants; 35.4 per cent of them remain privates and only 1.6 per cent reach officer rank compared to 28 per cent privates and 5.9 per cent officers among non-immigrants, irrespective of their length of service. This shows that, as important as it is, length of service does not explain all the differences in rank between new immigrants and non-immigrants.

Comparing the country of origin of the minority of immigrants who serve more than two years (23% according to Table 2), we see that 61 per cent of those from Western countries, 61.5 per cent of Asian-Africans, 63 per cent of Latin Americans and 72.9 per cent of Eastern Europeans do move beyond the rank of private. There is almost no variation except for a slight advantage of immigrants from Eastern Europe. The percentage of those who reach the rank of officer shows a sharp decline: 5.7 per cent among those from Western countries, 1.6 per cent among Eastern European and none among Latin American and Asian-African new immigrants in the sample. Here the variation between countries of origin is greater but it is statistically suspect because of the small number of people involved. As a whole, country of origin is not found to be an important factor affecting rank differentiation among new immigrants.

Table 5 also reveals an interesting fact regarding the officer rank obtained by new immigrants who served a middle period (one or two years). We see that a larger percentage (8.9%) of new immigrants who served one to two years became officers than those who served more than two years (1.6%). The same finding is consistent in new immigrants of all countries of origin (13.8% to 5.7% among those from Western countries, 7.4% to 1.6% among Eastern Europeans, 13.4% versus nil among Latin Americans and 3.1% to nil among Asian-Africans). At first glance this is a very paradoxical result which attributes to length of service a negative influence on military rank, in sharp contrast with the other data discussed above. But, this apparent paradox is explained by the special conditions of service of new immigrant doctors. Doctors automatically receive the rank of officer upon their recruitment on the basis of the profession acquired prior to recruitment (and in most cases prior to immigration). They also fall mostly into the one to two year service period since draft regulations concerning doctors stipulate that they would serve 18 months if they are aged 26–34, and three years if they are younger than 26. Those who are 35 years or more serve directly in the reserve service and hence are not accounted for here.¹⁵ Since medical studies necessitate 6 to 8 years of university education, one is not likely to find a new immigrant doctor drafted to military service before the age of 26. Hence, they concentrate in the 18 months service category and swell the number of new immigrants with the rank of officer at the intermediate service period, compared with longer service. They also account for the difference between the percentage of new immigrant officers of different countries of origin in the one to two year category (from 13.8% among those from Western countries and 13.5% among Latin Americans to 7.4% among Eastern Europeans and only 3.1% among those from Asian-African countries), since they reflect the differential opportunities that immigrants from different countries had of becoming physicians prior to their immigration and recruitment to the IDF.

As a whole, disregarding the physicians, whose rank is related to the profession acquired prior to recruitment to military service, length of service remains a crucial determinant of rank but cannot explain everything since even those immigrants who serve a comparable period to non-immigrants are still disadvantaged in ranks attained.

In order to reach a more precise measurement of the effects of length of service, level of education and country of origin on the military rank of new immigrant draftees, we have examined them in a Stepwise Multiple Regression analysis whose results are presented in Table 6. This analysis shows how much knowledge of the education level adds to knowledge of length of service in accounting for the rank obtained by new immigrants of different countries of origin. In order to consider the nominal category of country of origin in an ordered form needed for the regression analysis, we have attached it to different levels of education. This also responds to the argument that levels of education may have different meanings in different countries of origin. Thus, rather than examining the influence of education level as a separate variable, we examine what influence it may have in each category of country of origin.

The data in Table 6 show first of all that length of service is indeed the overwhelming determinant of passage from private to NCO ranks. Length of service in itself accounts for 35 per cent of the variance between those ranks while the level of education in different countries of origin accounts for only one per mil of the variance for each category, and together does not even reach half per cent of the variance. There is no doubt, therefore, that short service is the crucial barrier that new immigrants have to overcome in order to move from private to NCO ranks.

With regard to passage from NCO to junior officer ranks, however, the picture changes drastically. Not only does length of service not account for attainment of junior officer rank, but, on the contrary, there is, in fact, a negative relationship between the two. This fact, which was already noted in the discussion of the percentage figures, is due to the fact that among new immigrants the rank of officer is obtained mainly on the basis of professional qualifications (mostly medicine) acquired prior to military service. Since the new immigrants who have acquired those professional qualifications are more likely to be older, be married, and have children, they are also more likely to serve a shorter period of time. Among new immigrants whose rank of officer is obtained at the time of draft, it has very little to do with rank mobility in the course of military service.

For the same reasons, when levels of education according to different countries of origin are introduced into the regression analysis they neutralize the negative effect of length of service. Level of education clearly accounts for the attainment of the officer rank among new immigrants not because it influences the patterns of mobility within military service, but rather because it is a precondition to the pre-military professional qualifications upon which new immigrants receive the officer rank at the outset of their military service. By contrast, among non-immigrants who reach the rank of officer in regular service mostly by means of upward mobility within the service, level of education is a much less important determinant of military rank (virtually all non-immigrants are drafted at the age of 18 as privates and work their way through the ranks in the course of their service). As can be seen in Table 7, level of education accounts for only 1.6 per cent of the rank variance among non-immigrants compared to 5.2 per cent among new immigrants.

TABLE 6

STEPWISE MULTIPLE REGRESSION NEW IMMIGRANT DRAFTEES (MALES ONLY, 1968–76) IN DIFFERENT RANKS BY LENGTH OF SERVICE AND THE LEVEL OF EDUCATION OF GROUPS OF DIFFERENT COUNTRIES OF ORIGIN

The data in Table 7 compare the relative contribution of length of service, education and intelligence score on the military ranks attained by new immigrants and non-immigrants. The country of origin parameter is eliminated from the correlation and military rank is considered as a continuum, without specifying privates versus NCO and NCO versus junior officers. The data show that length of service is a more important determinant than education and intelligence score, for both new immigrants and nonimmigrants. It accounts for 20.2 per cent of the rank variance for new immigrants and 17.5 per cent of it for non-immigrants, but this finding has less importance for non-immigrants since only a small minority serve a short or intermediate period of service (9.6% and 3.9% respectively, see Table 1). With regard to education and intelligence score, we see that among nonimmigrants the intelligence score is a more important determinant of rank, accounting for 8.4 per cent of the rank variance compared to education level which accounts for only 1.6 per cent of the variance. Among new immigrants by contrast, level of education accounts for 5.2 per cent of the rank variance, which is significantly greater than education’s effect among non-immigrants and quite a lot higher than the effect of the intelligence score, which, among new immigrants, is found to have no effect at all on military rank variance. While being much less important than length of service, the relative importance of level of education among new immigrants compared to nonimmigrants and the inverse relationships between level of education and intelligence score in the two groups stress, in yet another way, that education rises in relative importance as a determinant of rank mainly when it affects the pre-draft, professional qualifications which determine rank at the outset of service and not when rank is obtained through upward mobility within the service.

TABLE 7

STEPWISE MULTIPLE REGRESSION OF NEW IMMIGRANT AND NON-IMMIGRANT DRAFTEES AT DIFFERENT RANKS, BY LENGTH OF SERVICE, LEVEL OF EDUCATION AND INTELLIGENCE SCORES (MALES ONLY, 1968–1976)

We see here, again, that the position reached by new immigrants in the IDF does not depend so much on what they do during military service. Their position in the armed forces is determined to a large extent by the structural barrier of short terms of service and by the organizational necessities of the IDF which lead them to a limited number of corps and to mostly combat roles which have little civilian application. Even when education does have an effect on the new immigrants’ position in the military, it works its way through influence on the pre-draft and pre-immigration professional formation of the potential soldier and not through direct influence on mobility within the service. Once the new immigrants arrive in their new country, and even more, once they are drafted into military service, they can do very little to change their opportunity structure which is already determined by their past (profession, age, family status), by the general policies of immigrant absorption in the country and by the organizational necessities of the military apparatus.

Conclusions

We have seen in this article that new immigrants have remained a special group in the Israeli armed forces in terms of the positions they occupy in the organization and the special tracks of absorption reserved for them. The new immigrants, like some other special groups, such as disadvantaged youth especially recruited for educational purposes,¹⁶ are not randomly dispersed in the military organization. They concentrate in a few predetermined units and corps and in lower ranks, thus occupying a rather peripheral position in the military despite their superior background characteristics over nonimmigrants in education, intelligence scores and in the miliary’s own comprehensive aptitude test. A small minority of new immigrants, mostly doctors, on the other hand, follow a completely different, though again quite special, track. Their professional skills, acquired prior to military service, predetermine their role and rank in the military. They do not occupy a peripheral position nor are their qualifications wasted; on the contrary, they are a priori allocated to positions where they can continue to exercise their specialized civilian profession which is in great demand in the military organization. Nonetheless, they still remain in special tracks, though somewhat less in touch with other new immigrant draftees.

Length of service is the key variable explaining the special position occupied by new immigrants and their persistence as a special group within the organization. About 60 per cent of the new immigrant recruits serve less than one third the time of the non-immigrants’ regular service. Short service precludes them from entering into ranks and positions which necessitate long periods of training; it also induces the military not to engage in careful selection processes for them because of the shorter period in which the special skills would be used. We have found that country of origin did not make a difference in the positions occupied by new immigrant draftees. Nor was level of education an important explanatory factor, except for the few professionals for whom it enabled a complete bypass of the length of service barrier. It should also be noted that despite the great importance of length of service differences, even the new immigrants who served more than two years, i.e. a period comparable to that of non-immigrants, still occupied lower ranks than their non-immigrant counterparts (35.4% of them were privates and only 1.6% were junior officers compared to 28% privates and 8.9% junior officers among non-immigrants irrespective of length of service). We do not have any empirical data to explain this difference persisting even after the length of service factor is neutralized. We can only rely on hypothetical assumptions about the specific difficulties encountered by new immigrants because of their relative lack of knowledge of the Hebrew language, their isolation and inability to develop close ties with commanders and fellow soldiers, and their being more distracted by problems at home due to the difficult early stages of adjustment to life in a new country.

The IDF, which is considered a primary agent of integration in the Israeli society, is thus found to preserve in its own framework the special group characteristics of a group whose separate existence is deemed legitimate in society only if it is temporary. Rather than dissolving this group in the course of service, military service in fact provides a moratorium to the new immigrants before they leave their special category and join one of the permanent ethno-cultural or religious subgroups which compose the Israeli society. New immigrants serving in the IDF do undergo a rite de passage to Israeli identity; they are faced with one of the most central facts of Israeli life and culture which overarches the ethno-cultural pluralism. However, by offering them special niches in which to serve, in part in order to facilitate their adjustment to the society at large, the armed forces also enable them to prolong their ‘new immigrant’ subgroup identity.

The special position occupied by new immigrants in the IDF is not a result of discrimination against them on the part of the military. It does not even reflect an unconscious institutional discrimination of the type discussed by Alvarez and his associates.¹⁷ The disproportionate distribution of positions and rewards in the organization is relevant to what is perceived to be the organization’s needs and the new immigrants’ own interests. When the two needs do not coincide, an effort is made to find a solution that would minimize the loss to each side. The special and rather peripheral positions occupied by new immigrants in the military result from the military’s effort to offer them special assistance in order to facilitate their adjustment to the Israeli society. Military service does result in opening to the new immigrants a symbolic entrance to Israeli identity since this role does not depend on the length of military service or the positions achieved in the armed forces. Beyond that, the military, as a large scale organization with more central tasks to perform, should perhaps not be expected to be a suitable framework for the dissolution of the special group characteristics of new immigrants. From an organizational cost-benefit angle, the roles allocated to new immigrant recruits might be optimal but we do not think that any conscious thought has been given to this question in the IDF. The placement of new immigrants seems to follow paths directed by a latent bureaucratic structure along channels of least resistance.

The analysis of the factors which determine the new immigrants’ positions in the military has shown that these factors are, by and large, beyond the control of the new immigrants; they do not depend on what immigrants might do or decide in the course of their military service, and not even, on most of the background characteristics which they bring into the service (with the exception of the professional medical qualifications of a small minority of recruits). The persistence of new immigrants as a special group in the military derives from latent organizational processes which the immigrants themselves are in no position to control. In its treatment of the new immigrant population, as in many other cases, the IDF is subject to cross-pressures deriving from the optimal use of its manpower and demands made by the parent society asking the military to respond to certain general social and ideological needs.¹⁸ The special patterns of new immigrant absorption in the IDF are the result of a large bureaucratic organization’s latent adjustment to such cross-pressures.

NOTES

*This study has been financially supported by the Levi Eshkol Institute for Economic, Social and Political Research at the Hebrew University and the Inter-University Seminar on Armed Forces and Society in the United States. Thanks are due to the Israel Defense Forces, Manpower Branch, especially to Colonel Dr Reuven Gal and Captain Moshe Yisraelshvili from the Military Psychology unit for their gracious cooperation and to our research assistant, Ms Irith Backer, for her help in the collection and analysis of the data.

1.  Cynthia H. Enloe, ‘The Military Uses of Ethnicity’, Millennium, 4 (Winter, 1975–76), p. 220.

2.  See Yoram Peri, Between Battles and Ballots: Israeli Military in Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), p. 9.

3.  See Mordechai M. Bar-On, ‘Education Processes in the Israeli Defense Forces’, in Sol Tax, ed., The Draft (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1967), pp. 138–167; Tom Bowden, Army in the Service of the State (Tel Aviv: University Publishing Projects, 1976); Maurice M. Roumani, From Immigrant to Citizen: The Contribution of the Army in Israel to National Integration (The Hague: The Foundation of Plural Societies, 1978).

4.  Rodolfo Alvarez ‘Institutional Discrimination in Organizations and Their Environments’, in Rodolfo Alvarez, Kenneth Lutterman et al., eds., Discrimination in Organization (San Francisco: Jossey Bass, 1979), p. 21.

5.  Dan Horowitz and Baruch Kimmerling, ‘Social Implications of Military Service and the Reserves System in Israel’, Archives Européennes de Sociologie, 15 (2) (1974), pp. 262–76.

6.  See Victor Azarya and Baruch Kimmerling, ‘New Immigrants in the Israeli Armed Forces’, Armed Forces and Society 6 (Spring 1980), pp. 445–83.

7.  Our operational definition of new immigrant is much narrower than the one used in our previous article and is a marked improvement on it, enabled again by the new data which were not available at the time the first article was written. For the disadvantages of the rather loose definition of new immigrant used in that article, see Azarya and Kimmerling, ‘New Immigrants’ p. 468.

8.  The difference between year of arrival and year of becoming an immigrant is important because most immigrants from western and Latin American countries, unlike those from Eastern Europe and Arab countries, live in Israel as tourists or temporary residents for a number of years before becoming immigrants. When such people are called to the army, their length of service is determined not according to their present age, but according to the age they first arrived in Israel. See Guidelines for the Drafting of Immigrants to Security Service (IDF, Manpower Branch, Drafting Center, April, 1977) pp. 10–12 (in Hebrew).

9.  For other privileges provided to new immigrants during military service, see Azarya and Kimmerling, ‘New Immigrants’, pp. 474–77.

10.  The view that new immigrants rank below non-immigrants might be a legacy of the dominant thought during the early waves of mass immigration in the 1950s. The new findings may also be seen as an embarrassing sign of failure for the immigrant absorption institutions of that time and for the society’s other educational and cultural institutions, since many of the non-immigrant draftees who are now found to score lower than new immigrants are sons of the immigrants of the 1950s.

11.  On this point, see Victor Azarya, ‘Civic Education in the Israeli Armed Forces’, in Morris Janowitz and Stephen D. Wesbrook eds., The Political Education of Soldiers (Beverly Hills: Sage, 1983).

12.  High ranking officers were left out on the assumption that achievement of such ranks necessitated so many years of service that they were technically out of the reach of new immigrants.

13.  For a vivid subjective account of such a sense of misallocation, see Ira Sharkansky, ‘Professor Becomes Army Recruit (Memoir)’, The Jerusalem Quarterly, No. 24 (Summer 1982), pp. 3–12.

14.  See Sammy Smooha, Israel: Pluralism and Conflict (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1978); Yochanan Peres, Ethnic Relations in Israel (Tel Aviv: Sifriat Poalim, 1977) (in Hebrew); Shlomo Swirsky, Orientals and Ashkenazim in Israel: The Ethnic Division of Labor (Haifa: Machbarot L’Mehkar Ulbikoret, 1981) (in Hebrew).

15.  See Drafting of Immigrants, pp. 10–11.

16.  See Azarya, ‘Civic Education’.

17.  Alvarez, ‘Institutional Discrimination’, pp. 2–49; Peter G. Nordlie, ‘Proportion of Black and White Army Officers in Command Positions’, in Alvarez, Lutterman et al., eds., Discrimination in Organizations, pp. 159–62.

18.  See Baruch Kimmerling, ‘Determination of the Boundaries and Frameworks of Conscription: Two Dimensions of Civil-Military Relations in Israel’, Studies in Comparative International Development, 14 (Spring 1979), pp. 22–41; Azarya and Kimmerling, ‘New Immigrants’, pp. 445–83.

Selected Bibliography

(with special reference to civil-military relations and defense doctrine)

1. Books and Monographs (in English)

Yigal Alon, Shield of David – The Story of Israel’s Armed Forces (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1970).

Eitan Berglas, Defense and the Economy: The Israeli Experience (Jerusalem: The Maurice Falk Institute for Economic Research in Israel, 1983. Discussion paper No. 83.04).

Tom Bowden, The Army in the Service of the State (Tel Aviv: University Publishing Projects, 1976).

Michael I. Handel, Israel’s Political-Military Doctrine (Cambridge: The Center for International Affairs at Harvard University, Occasional Papers, No. 30, 1973).

Baruch Kimmerling, Social Interruption and Besieged Societies: The Case of Israel (Amherst, N.Y.: SUNY at Buffalo, Council on International Studies, 1979).

Edward Luttwak and Dan Horowitz, The Israeli Army (London: Allen Lane, 1975).

Shimon Peres, David’s Sling (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1970).

Yoram Peri, Between Battles and Ballots: Israeli Military in Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982).

Amos Perlmutter, Military and Politics in Israel: Nation Building and Role Expansion (London: Frank Cass, 1969).

——, Politics and the Military in Israel: 1967–1977 (London: Frank Cass, 1978).

Samuel Rolbant, The Israeli Soldier: Profile of an Army (New York: Thomas Yoseloff, 1970).

Gunther E. Rothberg, The Anatomy of the Israeli Army (London: B.T. Batsford, 1979).

Maurice M. Roumani, From Immigrant to Citizen: The Contribution of the Army in Israel to National Integration (The Hague: The Foundation of Plural Societies, 1979).

Zeev Schiff, A History of the Israeli Army, 1870–1974 (San Francisco: Straight Arrow Books, 1974).

2. Articles and Chapters in Books (in English)

Victora Azarya and Baruch Kimmerling, ‘New Immigrants in the Israeli Armed Forces’, Armed Forces and Society, 6, No. 3 (Spring 1980), pp. 455–82.

——, ‘Civic Education in the Israeli Armed Forces’ in Morris Janowitz and Stephen D. Wesbrook, eds., Civic Education in the Military (Beverly Hills and London: Sage Publications, 1983).

Gabriel Ben Dor, ‘The Military in the Politics of Integration and Innovation: The Case of the Druze Minority in Israel’, Asian and African Studies, 9, No. 3 (1973) pp. 339–70.

——, ‘Politics and the Military in Israel: The 1973 Election Campaign and Its Aftermath’, in Asher Arian, ed., The Elections in Israel – 1973 (Jerusalem: Jerusalem Academic Press, 1975) pp. 119–173.

Jospeh W. Eaton, ‘Gadna: Israel’s Youth Corps’, Middle East Journal, 23, (Autumn 1969) pp. 471–81.

Ben Halpern, ‘The Role of the Military in Israel’, in John J. Johnson, ed., The Role of the Military in Underdeveloped Countries (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1962).

Aluph Hareven, ‘Disturbed Hierarchy: Israeli Intelligence in 1954 and 1973’, The Jerusalem Quarterly, No. 9 (Fall 1978) pp. 3–19.

Irving Heymont, ‘The Israeli Nahal Program’, Middle East Journal, Vol. 21 (Summer 1967) pp. 314–25.

Dan Horowitz, ‘Flexible Responsiveness and Military Strategy: The Case of the Israeli Army’, Policy Sciences, 1 (1970), pp. 191–205.

——, ‘The Israeli Concept of National Security’, Public Administration in Israel and Abroad, 14 (1974), pp. 45–73.

——, ‘Is Israel a Garrison State?’, The Jerusalem Quarterly, No. 4 (Summer 1977) pp. 58–77.

——, ‘The Israel Defense Forces: A Civilianized Military in a Partially Militarized Society’, in Roman Kolkowicz and Andrzej Korbonski, eds., Soldiers, Peasants and Bureaucrats (London: Allen & Unwin, 1982) pp. 77–105.

Dan Horowitz and Baruch Kimmerling, ‘Some Social Implications of Military Service and the Reserve System in Israel’, Archives Européenes de Sociologie XV (1974), pp. 262–76.

Jacob C. Hurewitz, ‘The Role of the Military in Society and Government in Israel’, in Sydney N. Fisher, ed., The Military in the Middle East (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1963) pp. 89–104.

Baruch Kimmerling, ‘Determination of the Boundaries and Frameworks of Conscription: Two Dimensions of Civil Military Relations in Israel’, Studies in Comparative International Development, XIV, No. 1 (1979), pp. 22–41.

——, ‘The Israeli Civil Guard’, in Louis A. Zurcher and Gwyn Harries-Jenkins, eds., Supplementary Military Forces – Reserves, Militias, Auxiliaries (Beverly Hills and London: Sage Publications, 1978), pp. 107–25.

Moshe Lissak. ‘The Israel Defence Forces as an Agent of Socialization and Education: A Research in Role Expansion in a Democratic Society’, in M.R. van Gils, ed., The Perceived Role of the Military (Rotterdam: Rotterdam University Press, 1972), pp. 325–40.

——, ‘The Israel Defence Forces and the Mass Media: Structural Linkages and Conflicts’, in Ralf Zoll, ed., Public Opinion on Security Policy and Armed Forces. Analysis and Data from Eight Countries, Forum International, No.1 (Munich: Socialwissenschaftliches, Institute of Bundeswehr, 1982) pp. 81–109.

——, ‘Boundaries and Institutional Linkages Between Elites: Some Illustrations from Civil-Military Relations in Israel’, in Gwen Moore, ed., Studies of the Structure of National Elite Groups (forthcoming).

Yoram Peri, ‘The First and Second Careers of Israel Army Officers’, Public Administration in Israel and Abroad, 14 (1974) pp. 106–21.

——, ‘Ideological Portrait of the Israeli Military Elite’, The Jerusalem Quarterly, No. 3 (Spring 1977), pp. 28–41.

——, ‘Political-Military Partnership in Israel’, International Political Science Review, 2, No. 9 (1981), pp. 303–315.

Yoram Peri and Moshe Lissak, ‘Retired Officers in Israel and the Emergence of a New Elite’, in Gwyn Harries-Jenkins and Jacques van Doorn, eds., The Military and the Problem of Legitimacy (Beverly Hills and London: Sage Publications, 1976), pp. 175–92.

Amos Perlmutter, ‘The Institutionalization of Civil-Military Relations in Israel: The Ben Gurion Legacy and Its Challengers (1957–1967)’, The Middle East Journal (Autumn 1968), pp. 415–32.

——, ‘The Israeli Army in Politics: The Persistence of the Civilian Over the Military’, World Politics, XX, No. 4 (July 1968), pp. 606–43.

——, ‘Israel: The Routinized Revolutionary Army’, in Amos Perlmutter, The Military and Politics in Modern Times (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1977) ch.9.

Rozann C. Rothman, ‘Education and Participation in the Israeli Defense Forces’, Jewish Social Studies, 34, No. 3 (April 1972), pp. 155–72.

Maurice M. Roumani, ‘Some Aspects of Socialization in the Israeli Army: The Integration of Oriental Jews’, in Soloman Poll and Ernest Krausz, eds., On Ethnic and Religious Diversity in Israel (Ramat Gan, Israel: Institute for the Study of Ethnic and Religious Groups, Bar Ilan University, 1975), pp. 35–52.

E.O. Schild, ‘On the Meaning of Military Service in Israel’, in Michael Curtis and Mordenchai S. Chertoff, eds., Israel: Social Structure and Change (New Brunswick: Transaction Books, 1973) pp. 419–32.

Israel Tal, ‘Israel’s Doctrine of National Security’, The Jerusalem Quarterly, No. 4 (Summer 1977), pp. 44–57.

Dan Zamir, ‘Generals in Polities’, The Jerusalem Quarterly, 20 (Summer 1981), pp. 17–35.

3. Books and Monographs (in Hebrew)

Haim Barkai, Defense Costs in Retrospect (Jerusalem: The Maurice Falk Institute for Economic Research in Israel, 1980, Research Paper, No. 115).

Dan Horowitz, The Stable and Changing Elements in the Israeli Security Conception (Jerusalem: The Leonard Davis Institute for International Relations, February 1982).

Zvi Lanir, Fundamental Surprise: The National Intelligence Crisis (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad and the Center for Strategic Studies, Tel Aviv University, 1983).

4. Articles and Chapters in Books (in Hebrew)

Eitan Berglas, ‘Security, Standard of Life and Foreign Debt’, The Economic Quarterly, 17, No. 67 (September 1970), pp. 191–202.

David Kachav and Yaakov Lifshitz, ‘Defense Expenditures and Their Influence on the National Economy and Industry’, The Economic Quarterly, 20, No. 78–79 (September 1973), pp. 256–70.

Yaakov Lifshitz, ‘Defence Expenditure and the Allocation of Resources’, in Nadav Halevi and Yaakov Kop, eds., Issues in the Economy of Israel (Jerusalem: The Maurice Falk Institute for Economic Research in Israel, 1975), pp. 75–97.

Israel Tal, ‘The Defence Doctrine: Background and Dynamics’, Ma’arachot, No. 253 (December 1976), pp. 2–9.

Shevach Weiss, ‘Retired Generals and Politics in Israel’, Social Research Review, No. 4 (August 1973), pp. 25–42.

——, ‘Army and Politics in Israel – October 1973’, Social Research Review, No. 5 (December 1973), pp. 75–78.

Dan Zamir, ‘Generals Born to Politics – The Israeli Generals 1951–1968: Their Social Origins and Political Socialization’, Magamot, 35, No. 1, (September 1979), pp. 81–101.