Israeli Culture on the Road to the Yom Kippur War 0739185942, 9780739185940

Table of contents :
Title Page
Acknowledgments
Preface
Introduction
The Historical and Theoretical Context
Complacency and Euphoria?
The Theoretical Framework—”Normalization of War”
The Post-1967 War Normalization Mechanisms
Government Control of Cultural Production
A Literary Intermezzo
Normalization Mechanisms in Israeli Culture, 1967–1973
War Euphemization Discourse
War Naturalization Discourse
The Just War Discourse
Conclusion
Bibliography
Index
About the Author

Citation preview

Israeli Culture on the Road to the Yom Kippur War

Israeli Culture on the Road to the Yom Kippur War Dalia Gavriely-Nuri

LEXINGTON BOOKS Lanham • Boulder • New York • Toronto • Plymouth, UK

Published by Lexington Books A wholly owned subsidiary of Rowman & Littlefield 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.rowman.com 10 Thornbury Road, Plymouth PL6 7PP, United Kingdom Copyright © 2014 by Lexington Books All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Gavriely-Nuri, Dalia, author. Israeli culture on the road to the Yom Kippur War : the nemesis of victory / Dalia Gavriely-Nuri. p. cm. "The sudden eruption of the Yom Kippur War in 1973 took Israel--and the world--by surprise. While many scholars have tried to explain why Israel was caught unawares despite its sophisticated military intelligence services, Dalia Gavriely-Nuri looks beyond the military, intelligence, and political explanations to a cultural explanation. Israeli Culture on the Road to the Yom Kippur War reveals that the culture that evolved in Israel between the Six Day War and the Yom Kippur War played a large role in the surprise. Gavriely-Nuri lays out the cultural environment at the time to show that an attack of any kind would have been experienced as a strategic surprise despite the amount of intelligence available"--Provided by publisher. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-7391-8594-0 (cloth : alk. paper) -- ISBN 978-0-7391-8595-7 (electronic) 1. National characteristics, Israeli--Political aspects. 2. National characteristics, Israeli--Social aspects. 3. IsraelArab War, 1973--Causes. 4. Political culture--Israel--History--20th century. 5. Israel--Social conditions--20th century. I. Title. DS113.3.G39 2014 956.04'8--dc23 2013047495 TM The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for

Information Sciences Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992. Printed in the United States of America

This book is dedicated to Dafna Raveh

Acknowledgments This book was published with the support of The Harry S. Truman Research Institute for the Advancement of Peace, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, and Hadassah Academic College, Jerusalem.

Preface Anyone involved in research on the 1973 Yom Kippur War must leaf through one of the gloomiest chapters in Israeli history, one that refuses to close. The trauma of this short war, lasting only nineteen days—from 6 to 24 October 1973—contributed immensely to the formation of Israeli identity. Neither Israeli society as a whole nor its individual citizens would ever be the same. Throughout my research, I could never free myself of the thought that the abstract and academic debate over the events also referred to thousands of personal, unbearable tragedies as well. Like so very many children born in Israel since establishment of the State, I am well-acquainted with the experience of war on one level or another. The Yom Kippur War was not the first war I had experienced. By the age of four I had managed to accumulate memories of the Six Day War; by my eighteenth birthday, I was a veteran of my third war, the First Lebanon War, which I experienced as a young recruit in the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF). But my memories of the Yom Kippur War are exceptional. At the time of the Yom Kippur War I was a ten-year-old living in my native Holon, a city close to Tel Aviv. It now seems quite absurd, but I remember the war period as pleasant, even exciting. For example, I remember painting dark blue stripes on the family car lights so that we could use it during the hours of the government-imposed blackout that affected Israel’s center; I also remember that it made us feel like adults as we contributed to the war effort. For the children in our building, the hours spent practicing quick entry and departure by way of the basement bomb shelter’s emergency exits, made us feel as if we were taking part in the action. I can see the building’s residents, adults and children, racing down the stairs to the shelter as the sirens wailed because we were forbidden to use the elevator. We lived on the eighth floor; the journey down became a competition, with us children reaching the shelter first, panting but thrilled. What an experience! The shelter’s odor of mildew came to signify a marvelous adventure. Throughout the war, my entire family—my mother and grandmother, my sister and brother—slept on mattresses in the living room so that we could all quickly run down to the shelter should the alarm be heard. This did not include my father, who found himself stranded in Iran while on a trip, unable to return to Israel until the war’s end. This did not include, sleeping together in the same room which was great fun. The warmth of these childhood memories is a major force driving this book. As an adult, the character of these memories disturbed me. Is it really possible to remember war as a pleasant and exciting childhood experience? Did London’s children experience the blitz in a similar way? Yet, I continued to find it impossible to explain to myself how my perception of this war could have been so unrealistic. This book is my attempt to obtain some insights into what I felt as a child as opposed to my adult judgment of the same events. From conversations with Israeli friends, I have

learned that this dissonance is not an individual experience. It characterizes the thinking of many others. The subsequent careful review of my memories of the Yom Kippur War led me to recall some different, unpleasant events. My grandmother, the late Yehudit Yoel, whom I loved dearly, refused to go down to the shelter. She said that as long as her sons were fighting—one in the Suez Canal and the other in the Golan Heights—she would not hide in a shelter. Once, while we were running down to the shelter, I noticed that she was missing. When no one was looking, I ran out and buzzed her through the intercom. I tried to persuade her that it was dangerous to stay upstairs, that the building might be bombed and that sitting alone at home would not help her children. She remained unconvinced, and I continued to worry. My grandmother also swore during the war that she would not dye her hair, which she usually kept raven black, until the last of Israel’s war prisoners and missing in action was home. The act of dying of her hair had become a ritual. It ended after one of her sons, who suffered from shell shock, finally did come home. Her hair quickly turned white, and remained untouched until her last day. These scenes remind me of one woman, my grandmother. My mentioning them is a bit unusual because women’s writing about the mundane aspects of the Yom Kippur War is rare, and texts written about women during that war even rarer.[1] Without overgeneralizing, I can say that Israeli writing about the war is usually done from a male point of view, with the overwhelming majority of authors writing about war in general and the Yom Kippur War in particular being men. Readers of the newspaper supplements dedicated to the fortieth anniversary (2013) of the Yom Kippur War might get the impression that the war was waged solely by men: soldiers, intelligence officers, and politicians. These reports might lead one to believe that the Yom Kippur War was waged only on the battlefield, at the Chinese Farm, the Bakha Valley, and military strongholds. Almost everything appearing, whether in scholarly journals or the daily press, tells of the male experience of war. Four decades later, it is time to broaden our view. Women and children also pay the price of war, while some men, such as ultra-Orthodox Jews, do not fight at all. Their stories also need to be incorporated into the published history of Israel’s wars. Time has therefore come to address what has been neglected, meaning the events that took place on the Israeli home front during October 1973. This book’s guiding assumption is that repeating the analysis of the Yom Kippur War in terms of the Israel’s leadership’s failures prior to October 6 is no longer relevant. The main characters have all passed the age of eighty or are no longer among us, which makes the assignment of personal responsibility rather irrelevant. New analyses of the battles or of the intelligence network have entered the world of archaeology because the technological capabilities and modes of gathering of military intelligence have changed so radically on both sides. This book is, therefore, written from the viewpoint of Israel’s civilians. It focuses on the culture that emerged in Israel in the wake of the Six Day War and how this culture contributed to the surprise of the Yom Kippur War.

*** I began thinking about this particular strategic surprise about two decades ago, on the twentieth anniversary of the Yom Kippur War. That year, I came across a newspaper dedicated to the event and, like most Israelis, I read it from cover to cover. Since then, I have obsessively read almost every article and book published on the subject. My reading has helped me to slowly develop my own analytic perspective, a task I could not have completed without the sympathetic support and assistance of many people who shared their wisdom and warmth during the often bleak journey I had undertaken. Dr. Yigal Sheffy of the Security Studies Program, Tel Aviv University, was the first teacher to guide me in my study of the Yom Kippur War. He introduced me to the scientific tools needed to begin my investigation of the war and encouraged me to continue my research. Several years later I wrote my doctoral dissertation under the supervision of Dr. Orly Lubin of the School of Cultural Studies, Tel Aviv University. Her uncommon incisiveness frequently came to my rescue when I found myself caught in the vortex of my attempts to understand the cultural mechanisms operating in Israel after the Six Day War. This book is based on that research. Brigadier General Dr. Yossi Ben Ari, a steadfast colleague and courageous as well as wise student, wrote his dissertation at the same time I did. Our subject was the same—the strategic surprise of the Yom Kippur War—and I believe that our dissertations were the first written in Israel on the subject. His friendship and cooperation made the writing much less lonely. I also wish to express my appreciation to the staff of Yad Tabenkin, the Efal Seminar; they helped make the archives and library my second home. Special thanks go to Aharon Azaty and Rivka Har-Zahav for their patience and generosity. Many thanks also go to Gila Dubkin-Gottschell, Director, the National Sound Archives, and to the staff of the Israel State Archives, Jerusalem. I also wish to thank Shlomo Sela, director of the Galili archives, for his help in my research of Israel’s security forces, and Yehudit Ronen, director of Golda Meir’s personal archives, kept by the Golda Meir Memorial Association. Especially warm thanks go to Michal Tzur and Doron Aviad of the Israel Defense Forces archives on their exceptional efficiency. I am greatly indebted to the Truman Research Institute, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, for its generous support of the book’s publication, and especially to Professor Menahem Blondheim and Naama Shpeter. I would like to express my deep gratitude to my academic home, Hadassah Academic College, Jerusalem. I feel especially fortunate to be associated with this welcoming, scholarly institution. I wish to thank Professor Bertold (Tolo) Fridlender, the College’s President, and Dr. Tzachi Milgrom, its Academic Director, for the exceptionally warm atmosphere they created. Their endless support and encouragement of my academic work has been invaluable. I would also like to sincerely thank Professor Arye Naor, Chair, the Department of Politics and

Communications, Hadassah College, I am thankful for his being a true friend and superlative source of knowledge about the history of the State of Israel, which enriched my world during our daily conversations. In 2013, Hadassah Academic College held a photography competition in order to find a photograph appropriate for the book’s cover. I am in special debt to Dr. Ayelet Kohn, head of the Department of Photographic Communications, who offered to organize the competition. Ekaterina Bourindine’s photograph, was chosen to grace the book’s cover. I would like to ardently thank all those students who attended my annual course on the Yom Kippur War and taught me so much, especially, Itamar Cohen. Much appreciation is also due to my friends at the Department of Politics and Communications. Erin Walpole, Johnnie Simpson, and Ethan Feinstein of Lexington Books, the volume’s publisher, deserve special mention for their recruitment to the project, which had to be completed quickly so that the book would be available on the fortieth anniversary of the Yom Kippur War. They answered each question and every request with alacrity and limitless patience, making the completion of the entire project possible. My deepest thanks also go to Nina Reshef, so responsible, exacting and loyal, who patiently and thoughtfully translated this book from the original Hebrew. She always found intelligent and creative solutions. Nina has accompanied my writing for many years; her contribution to my work is inestimable. Among all those who supported me, a special word of thanks is due to Professor Tamar Sovran for her friendship and collegiality. But most of all, I dedicate this book to my family, with love. I am indebted to you all. Dalia Gavriely-Nuri, Kiryat Ono, October 2013

NOTES 1. Vidas, T. (2004). Voices Always with Me. Tel Aviv: Maariv & Hed Arzi.

Introduction Four decades and numerous military conflicts of different scales later, the memory of the Yom Kippur War continues to fester at the heart of Israeli society.[1] The war’s sudden eruption is one of the three most dramatic strategic surprises witnessed during the twentieth century. What nonetheless differentiates the surprise of the Yom Kippur War from that of the other two major strategic surprises— Operation Barbarossa (the 1941 German surprise attack on the Soviet Union) and the bombing of Pearl Harbor (the unanticipated Japanese attack on the American fleet during the same year) is the quality of the information obtained by Israeli intelligence on the eve of the war. That intelligence was better in quality and quantity than the intelligence available to the American authorities just prior to Pearl Harbor’s bombing. Furthermore, unlike the highly detailed and well-planned smokescreen constructed by the Germans in Operation Barbarossa, the deception employed by the Egyptians in the Yom Kippur War was relatively simplistic in character.[2] The Israeli public’s surprise was therefore accompanied by intense pain but also by curiosity, with the war’s fascination only intensifying over the years. Each of the war’s anniversaries still sees the appearance of a spate of new books offering different explanations for how it was that Israel, despite its sophisticated military intelligence services, was caught so dramatically unawares. The main contribution offered by this book, which sees its publication on the fortieth anniversary of the Yom Kippur War, lies in its attempt to examine Israeli culture’s contribution to the surprise of its outbreak in 1973. It deviates from the existing literature, which is replete with researchers’ efforts to evaluate how military, intelligence, political, and psychological factors contributed to the event, by suggesting that the decisions made by the highest civil and military ranks in the hours and weeks preceding the Egyptian and Syrian attacks were not reached in a vacuum. My explanation for their failures searches elsewhere, in the food that nourished the conceptions guiding their behavior, that is, in the culture that evolved in Israel between the Six Day War and the Yom Kippur War.

Research on the Strategic Surprise of the Yom Kippur War Research on the failure to anticipate strategic surprises has dwelt on three types of fundamental malfunctions: conceptual, group, and institutional-organizational. 1.

Conceptual failure: When considering this type of malfunction, responsibility for being surprised is assigned to the individuals who, due to erroneous assumptions or interpretations, acted according to biased or distorted perceptions of reality. This direction of research first appeared in 1962, with the publication of Roberta Wohlstetter’s pioneering work Pearl Harbor: Warning and

Decisions.[3] Wohlstetter’s research pointed to the limitations of human decoding of the “signals” indicating the enemy’s true intent as a potentially major factor leading to the failure to anticipate strategic surprise. The concept misperception, subsequently coined by Robert Jervis, repeatedly appears in the literature on this type of failure.[4] 2. Group failure: Failures of group decision making are thought to result from psychosocial group dynamics. Groupthink,[5] the concept capturing the flavor of the cognitive processes leading groups to reject and discredit alternative ideas, was first employed by Irving Janis in his seminal book Victims of Groupthink (1972).[6] 3. Organizational failure: This type of failure originates in the hierarchical character of large organizations, whether the army, intelligence services, or national security systems.[7] Organizational or institutional failures result from compartmentalization, rivalry within and between units, lack of coordination, and other bureaucratic maladies. These failures are conceived in this book as a series of widening circles.[8] The inner smallest circle includes only one person; the wider second circle includes an entire group; the third and widest circle encompasses the organization. Going beyond the three is a broader circle, that of the cultural environment in which the other circles take form. The book’s analysis focuses on this last circle. The cultural environment is exceedingly comprehensive; continually changing, it influences and drives the activities performed in the three inner circles; at the same time, it is likewise motivated as well as influenced by them. One of the central arguments developed in the book is that the overt together with the covert interactions connecting the circles created a milieu in which the type of attack that sparked the Yom Kippur War—or any attack for that matter—would be experienced as a strategic surprise. On the eve of the thirtieth anniversary of the outbreak of the Yom Kippur War (5 October 2003), the journalist Doron Rosenblum wrote the following in his column, which he headlined with the phrase: “Tired of Explanations:”[9] The obsessive involvement [. . .], which has already lasted thirty years, will reach its peak today: burrowing into the Yom Kippur War, more exactly – into the minutest details of the mechanics of the surprise [we witnessed] during that same war. This preoccupation usually stays on the micro level: Where the forces breached, who shot at whom [. . .], how I heard the “boom.” During the decade following that anniversary, researchers on the Yom Kippur War appear to have not taken Rosenblum’s critique to heart, with research flourishing in the study of strategic surprise. Each anniversary has thus seen new volumes on the trauma displayed in Israeli bookstores. But do these books truly offer new

perspectives on the subject? The research and documentaries produced have focused on the three main types of malfunction noted. The surprise of the Yom Kippur War has thus been interpreted as a failure of individual intelligence officers, of a group, or of entire organizations.[10] Even so, the wealth of research does not change the fact that the approach adopted in these studies has not altered for years: the bulk of research continues to refer to the battles fought,[11] the intelligence gathered,[12] and the politics[13] of surprise as well as of war in general.[14] Other research continues to dwell on the role of the media[15] during the war and on the economic aspects[16] of the hostilities. At the margins of the research effort we can find studies that also deal with the war’s cultural,[17] gender,[18] psychological[19] and literary[20] aspects. Even when new documents are discovered after archives are opened to allow access to previously confidential material, the analytic point of view taken in the study of these new documents remains oriented toward military and intelligence issues. The research conducted about the war thus continues to suffer from prominent lacunae. Most glaring is the absence of research about the home front, research dealing with women, children, and men not enlisted.[21] All told, about thirty percent of the total civilian labor force was called up.[22] But what did the remaining seventy percent of Israeli population experience during the fighting? The importance of posing such questions goes beyond any academic interest. Ever since the Second Lebanon War (2006), civilians have become strategic participants in Israel’s wars. Hundreds of thousands of Israeli noncombatants spent many long days in shelters during that war, as well as during the Gaza War (2008) that came later. The study of home front behavior during the Yom Kippur War is most valuable because of the precedents it established. Many of the parameters of future Israeli behavior during conflicts spontaneously emerged during that war. The current volume returns to focus on the war’s surprise but does so in order to fill one of the main lacuna in the existing literature—it deals with the contribution to that strategic surprise made by Israeli culture in years preceding the surprise, that is, 1967–1973 (hereafter: “the research period”). These contributions were major in their effect throughout the civilian as well as the military arena.

Strategic Surprise as a Culturally Dependent Phenomenon The approach applied in this book is anchored in envisioning strategic surprise as a phenomenon extending beyond its military aspects. As I will argue, the state of surprise is also influenced by the culture of the surprised party. In contrast to the research conducted by Israel’s military and intelligence services, the book’s main objective is not to identify fundamental conceptual failures in order to reduce the possibility of another strategic surprise. Rather, the book’s objective is simultaneously more modest and more ambitious: to analyze the interaction between the state of unpreparedness and the culture governing strategic

assessment, decision making, and planning. The raw data collected on the military and intelligence aspects of strategic surprise are often limited to historical events that are currently irrelevant because many of the intelligence-gathering mechanisms and military maneuvers setting the stage for a surprise have become outdated or discarded. The conclusions and implications of such research have thus become short term or circumscribed in their applicability. Alternatively, analysis of the cultural components that made the surprise possible may reach far beyond any specific set of circumstances because by their nature, culturally dictated beliefs and behaviors affect entire societies for lengthy periods. On the theoretical level, the research at the foundation of this book provides a case study demonstrating how cultural processes and military actions on the one hand, and conceptions of crisis and of conflict on the other, together affect the military’s execution of its role. The application of scientific methods from the field of cultural studies to topics normally perceived as belonging to the military sphere exclusively and efforts to bridge the gaps dividing the two disciplines so that they may be mutually enriching are additional important contributions. To some, the claim that the cultural environment of the events in question is yet to be addressed may seem somewhat exaggerated. That objection is, in fact, partially correct. Recognition of the link between the Yom Kippur War and the general culture in the years preceding it has been deeply assimilated into the research and intelligence discourse dedicated to strategic surprise, but even more so into the public discourse. According to this line of thought, Israel’s surprise resulted from cultural entrenchment of the “complacency,” “arrogance” and “euphoria” felt after Israel’s lightning victory in the Six Day War. According to this approach, the complacency-arrogance-euphoria triad deceived Israeli society into overestimating its own power while underestimating the capacity of its adversaries. Moreover, it created a fundamental willingness to “live by the sword” due to the belief that this state of affairs could be sustained at a bearable cost, one sufficiently low to prevent upsetting the national consensus. Complacency, arrogance, and euphoria nonetheless brought about marginalization of other, contradictory voices during the period. They also prevented decision makers from properly assessing the danger inherent in the deployment of the enemy’s forces on 6 October 1973 and reaching the conclusion that war was imminent. This argument regarding the ambience pervasive during the years 1967–1973 may appear overly general, vague, or trivial. It is, in fact, currently considered a cliché in the Yom Kippur War historiography. While the complacency argument and its sources will be extensively discussed later, two of its main weaknesses as an operational framework or core cultural narrative should be mentioned as hints of the situation’s complexity: 1.

The complacency argument does not seem to fit with the massive Israeli investment in armaments made during the six-year interim between the wars.

2.

While euphoria and arrogance may have characterized the public’s mood in the weeks and even months after the Six Day War, it is doubtful that complacency governed the public’s temperament throughout the period of research given that 260 military and civilian casualties that Israel sustained during the War of Attrition (March 1969–August 1970).

These preliminary conclusions point to the innovation of this book’s attempt to systematically and comprehensively analyze the contribution made by Israeli culture to the surprise of the Yom Kippur War. To understand the collective failure, it would be insufficient to point to any specific errors in military intelligence, political leadership, or decision making. A common denominator is required sufficiently broad to enable an accurate interpretation of a range of events and their causes. The culture that developed in Israel after the Six Day War provides exactly such a common denominator. The significance of cultural research therefore lies in its explanatory value, which can be generalized beyond any particular temporal or spatial conditions. Like countless other studies, this book views the root causes of this case of strategic surprise as growing out of the Six Day War’s astonishing victory. Research of that war has engendered an impressive body of literature that has become more nuanced and complex over the past four decades. Numerous studies have reexamined the war and its military, political,[23] media,[24] cultural,[25] ideological[26] and other[27] facets. I have chosen to focus on the cultural products engendered by the Six Day War. More than any other war, the Six Day War—to be more precise, its victorious conclusion—engendered a monumental wealth of cultural products, unusual in their scope and close connection with the military and the security system: books for children and adults, movies and works of art, an unprecedented number of popular songs, all focusing on the war.[28] This abundance provides a rich source of raw materials appropriate for study of the period’s culture. This book deals with the “soft” sides of the surprise associated with the Yom Kippur War. It attempts to fill some gaps in the cultural, sociological, and nonmilitary research on that war. It is based on the assumption that the cultural history leading to the surprise is shared by all Israeli citizens, meaning that it belongs to neither the private history of specific leaders nor to soldiers or men.

The Cultural Narrative and Normalization Mechanisms[29] The cultural exploration of the years preceding the Yom Kippur War will be aided by the core analytical concept cultural narrative. A cultural narrative should be understood as the beliefs system serving any society’s socio-psychological, political, and ideological needs in any specific era; it is a mechanism through which a common field of social knowledge is organized and distributed. The main argument developed in this book states that a multifaceted and

confused cultural narrative evolved in post-1967 Israel. This narrative was a product of the contradictory forces and aspirations marking Israeli society after the Six Day War. The narrative was constructed of two seemingly irreconcilable themes: the longestablished “security narrative,” according to which Israel is in the middle of a continuous war, and the “normalcy narrative,” according to which the conditions created after the war were de-facto conditions of peace. This double cultural narrative, which flowered in the postwar period, crucially distorted the popular understanding of the concepts “war” and “peace” to the point where both lost their precise meanings; they became vague. The same narrative contributed to misleading understandings of events and misinterpretations of severe security threats, which were perceived as normal parts of everyday life. This narrative eventually blinded the leadership to the Egyptian and Syrian preparations for war observed in October 1973. The structural contradictions between those two narratives necessitated of additional mechanisms—“normalization mechanisms,” discursive and rhetorical stratagems meant to subjugate security-related events and concepts to the normalcy narrative—meant to harmonize the two. These normalization mechanisms imbued the enemies’ preparations, observed during the weeks and days preceding the Yom Kippur War, with an aura of habit. Normalization mechanisms thus became the cultural cradles that rocked Israel’s population to sleep and inadvertently made possible the surprise of the Yom Kippur War.

The Book’s Structure The book is divided into two parts. Part 1 presents the historical, political and theoretical framework: That is, it describes post-Six Day War Israel. Chapter 1 discusses the complacency and euphoria narrative, as it appears in literature, and its weaknesses. Chapter 2 presents to the theoretical framework and the concept normalization of war. Chapter 3 describes the inclusion of the normalization mechanism within Israel’s post-1967 cultural discourse. Closing this part, chapter 4 analyzes the Israeli government’s control over cultural production during the research period. Between parts 1 and 2 I offer an intermezzo in which I discuss the literary and historical roots of the normalization mechanisms identified in Part 1, particularly the euphemization of war. Part 2 delves into the culture that set the stage for the surprise and describes the normalization mechanisms that were activated. Chapters 5 to 7 provide detailed analyses of Israeli war discourse as it unfolded from 1967 to 1973. In order to describe the discourse’s evolution I turn to a comprehensive corpus of the cultural products that convey core concepts: the “beautiful war” (chapter 5), the “natural war” (chapter 6), and the “just war” (chapter 7). The concluding chapter explores the contribution of normalization mechanisms to the surprise of the Yom Kippur War. Closing the book is an appendix containing the entire corpus of cultural products

referred to in the book’s pages.

NOTES 1. Lomsky-Feder, E. (1998). As if there was no war. Jerusalem: Magnes, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem (in Hebrew); Solomon, Z., & Oppenheimer, B. (1986). Social network variables and stress reaction—lessons from the 1973 YomKippur War. Military Medicine, 151(1), 12–15. See also: Bar-Yosef, R., & PadanEisenstrak, D. (1977). Role System under Stress: Sex Roles in War. Social Problems, 20, 135–145; Herzog, H. (1999). Women in Politics and Politics of Women. In: D. N. Izraeli et al. (Eds.), Sex, Gender, Politics (pp. 55–307). Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad (in Hebrew); Herzog, H. (2005). Knowledge, Power and Feministic Politics. In: B. Kimmerling (Ed.), Sociology of Politics (pp. 387–406). Ra’anana: The Open University (in Hebrew). Also See: Avital-Epshtein, G. (2010). The Yom Kippur War—The Construction of War Narrative in Israeli Collective Memory and its Expression in Israeli Culture 1973–2003. PhD Thesis. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University (in Hebrew); Boyne, W. J. (2002). The Two O’clock War: The 1973 Yom Kippur Conflict and the Airlift That Saved Israel. New York: Thomas Dunne Books, St. Martin’s Press. 2. Haber, E., & Schiff, Z. (2003). The Yom Kippur Lexicon. Or Yehuda: Zmora Bitan Dvir. Entry: “Strategic Surprise” (in Hebrew). 3. Wohlstetter, R. (1962). Pearl Harbor: Warning and Decision. Stanford: Stanford University Press. 4. Jervis, R. (1968). Hypothesis on Misperception. World Politics, XX, 454–479; Jervis, R. (1976). Perception and Misperception in International Politics. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. 5. Ben-Zvi, A. (1975). Who are the victims of groupthink? State, Government and International Relations Vol. 7 141–151. Vertzberger, Y. (1990). The World in Their Minds: Information Processing, Cognition, and Perception in Foreign Policy Decisionmaking. Stanford: Stanford University Press. 6. Janis, I. L. (1972). Victims of Groupthink. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. 7. Under this rubric we can include studies that deal with the relationships formed between policymakers and intelligence services. For a thorough analysis of the contribution of academics to the Yom Kippur war’s ‘state of surprise’ see: Ben-Ari, Y. (2004). The Contribution of Academic Experts in Formulating and Disseminating The Israeli Perception of The Conflict With The Arabs during The Period between The War Of Attrition and The Yom Kippur War. PhD Dissertation. Haifa: University of Haifa. 8. The surprise-related literature that deals directly with the Yom Kippur War is rather limited and cannot be compared in size to, for example, the research devoted to the Pearl Harbor attack or to Operation Barbarossa. Bar-Joseph provides a thorough bibliography dealing with the three circles mentioned here; see: Bar-Joseph, U. (2005). The Watchman Fell Asleep: The Surprise Of Yom Kippur And Its Sources.

State University of New York Press. See also: El Sadat, A. (1977). In Search of Identity: An Autobiography. New York: Harper & Row; El Sadat, A. (1978). In Search of Identity: An Autobiography. Tel Aviv: Idanim (in Hebrew); El-Shazly, S. E. D. (2003). The Crossing of The Suez. San Francisco: American Mideast Research (First edition 1980); El-Shazly, S. E. D. (1978). The Crossing Of The Suez: Memoires of the Egyptian Chief of Staff in the 1973 Arab Israeli War. Tel Aviv: Ma’arachot (in Hebrew). 9. Rosenblum, D. (5 October, 2003). Tired of Explanations. Haaretz. 10. The surprise-related literature that deals directly with the Yom Kippur War is rather limited and cannot be compared, for example, to the size of the research devoted to the Pearl Harbor attack or to Operation Barbarossa. Bar-Joseph (2005) provides a thorough bibliography dealing with the three circles mentioned here. 11. Adan, A. (1991). On the Banks of the Suez: An Israeli General’s Personal Account of the Yom Kippur War. New York: Presidio Press; Blum, H. (2004). The Eve of Destruction: The Untold Story of the Yom Kippur War. New York: Harper Perennial; Boyne, W. J. (2002). The Two O’clock War: The 1973 Yom Kippur Conflict and the Airlift That Saved Israel. New York: Thomas Dunne Books, St. Martin’s Press; Dunstan, S. (2009). Centurion vs T-55: Yom Kippur War 1973. Oxford: Osprey Publishing; Gerrard, H. (2003). Campaign 118: The Yom Kippur War 1973: The Golan Heights. Oxford: Osprey Publishing; Golan, H., & Shaul, S. (2003). War Today - Investigation of The Yom Kippur War. Tel Aviv: Ma’arachot (in Hebrew); Gordon, S. (2008). Thirty Hours in October. Tel Aviv: Maariv (in Hebrew); Hampton, W. (2009). War in the Middle East: A Reporter’s Story: Black September and the Yom Kippur War. Somerville: Candlewick; Kfir, I. (2003). The Suez Canal Heroes. Tel Aviv: Yedioth Ahronoth (in Hebrew); Sakal, E. (2010). Will the Regular Soldier Stop? Missed Decisions in the Defensive Battle in The Western Sinai Peninsula During The Yom Kippur War. PhD Thesis. Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University (In Hebrew). See also: Gavriely-Nuri, D. (2006). Israel’s Cultural Code of Captivity and the Personal Stories of Yom Kippur War POWs. Armed Forces and Society, 33, 94– 105; Gavriely-Nuri, D. (2012). Cultural Codes and Military Ethics—The Israeli Leadership and the POWs in 1973 War. Journal of Multicultural Discourses, 7(3), 213–226. 12. Asher, D. (2009). The Egyptian Strategy for the Yom Kippur War: An Analysis. Jefferson, NC: McFarland; Arbel, D., & Ne’emam, U. (2005). Unforgivable Delusion. Tel Aviv: Yedioth Ahronoth (in Hebrew); BarJoseph, U. & Kruglanski, A. W. (2003). Intelligence Failure and Need for Cognitive Closure: On the Psychology of the Yom Kippur Surprise. Political Psychology, 24(1), 75–99; Bar-Joseph (2005); Shalev, A. (2010). Israel’s Intelligence Assessment before the Yom Kippur War: Disentangling Deception and Distraction. Eastbourne: Sussex Academic Press; Zamir, Z. (2011). With Open Eyes. Or Yehuda: Kinneret Zmora Bitan Dvir (in Hebrew). See also: Kam, E. (2004). Surprise Attack—the victim perspective. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; Lanir, Z. (1983). The Basic Surprise—Military Intelligence in Crisis.

Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad & Center for Strategic Studies, Tel Aviv University (in Hebrew). 13. Hechter, T. (1997). The Development of Political Myths Surrounding the YomKippur War (1973), among the Secular-Jewish Population—From the Yom-Kippur War until the Oslo Accords (1993). PhD Dissertation. Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University (In Hebrew); Kipnis, Y. (2012). 1973, The Way to War. Or Yehuda: Kinneret Zmora Bitan Dvir; Liebman, C. S. (1993). The Myth of Defeat: The memory of the Yom Kippur War in Israeli society. Middle Eastern Studies, 29(3), 399–418. 14. Bergman, R., & Meltzer, G. (2003). The Yom Kippur War—Moment of Truth. Tel Aviv: Yedioth Ahronoth (in Hebrew); Hampton, W. (2009). War in the Middle East: A Reporter’s Story: Black September and the Yom Kippur War. Somerville: Candlewick; Drori, Z., & Shemesh, M. (2008). National Trauma: The Yom Kippur War, a Retrospective of Thirty Years and Another War. The Ben-Gurion research institute for the study of Israel and Zionism, Ben-Gurion University of the Negev (in Hebrew); Kumaraswamy, P. R. (2000). Revisiting the Yom Kippur War. London: Routledge. [first appeared in a Special Issue on Revisiting the Yom Kippur War, Israel Affairs 6, 1 (Autumn 1999)]; Shay (Schwartz), H. (1998). The Yom Kippur War Surprise. In: Ophaz H. & Y. Bar-Siman-Tov (Eds.), The Yom Kippur War: New Perspectives (pp. 79–93). Jerusalem: The Leonard Davis Institute for International Relations, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem (in Hebrew). 15. On the media in the Yom Kippur War see: Goren, D. (1975). The Press in the Yom Kippur War. Secret, Security and the Freedom of Press (pp. 242–253). Jerusalem: Magnes (in Hebrew); Negbi, M. (1985). Paper Tiger. Tel Aviv: Sifriat Poalim (in Hebrew); Peled, T., & Katz, E. (1974). Media Functions in Wartime: The Israeli Home Front in October 1973. In: J. G. Blumler & E. Katz (Eds.), The Uses of Mass Communications: Current Perspectives on Gratifications Research (pp. 49– 69). Beverly Hills: Sage; Negbi, M. (1985). Paper Tiger. Tel Aviv: Sifriat Poalim (in Hebrew). 16. On the economic aspects of the war, see: Marcovitz, Y. (1978). Emergency economy (Melach) in municipalities in the test of The Yom Kippur War. Leket Ma’amarim Vi’ydiot Ba’avoda Kehilatit, 13, 48–52. 17. Sela, R. (Ed.) (2007). Six Days plus Forty Years. Petach Tikva Museum of Art (in Hebrew). 18. Herzog (2005). 19. Lomsky-Feder (1998); Solomon, Z., & Oppenheimer, B. (1986). Social network variables and stress reaction—lessons from the 1973 Yom-Kippur War. Military Medicine, 151(1), 12–15. 20. Grossman, D. (2010). To The End Of The Land (Translated by Jessica Cohen). New York: Alfred A. Knopf; Vidas (2004). See also Ashkenazi, M., Ashkenazi, N., & Nevo, B. (2003). Tonight at Six a War will Break out. Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad (in Hebrew). 21. Gavriely-Nuri, D. (2008). Israeli Civilians in the 1973 Yom Kippur War. In: P. R. Kumaraswamy (Ed.), Caught in Crossfire—Civilians in Conflicts in the Middle East

(pp. 55–74). Ithaca: Berkshire; Kaufman, M. (1977). Kibbutz Civilian Population under War Stress. British Journal of Psychiatry, 130, 489–494. 22. Harold, H. H. (1974). Yom Kippur plus 100 Days—The Human Side of the War and Its Aftermath, as shown through the columns of The Jerusalem Post. New York City: Hart Publishing Company; Kimmerling, B. (in collaboration with Irit Backer) (1985). The Interrupted System—Israeli Civilians in War and Routine Times. New Jersey: New Brunswick. 23. Naor, A. (2005). ‘Behold, Rachel, Behold’: The Six Day War as a Biblical Experience and Its Impact on Israel’s Political Mentality. The Journal of Israeli History, 24(2), 229–250. 24. Keinan, I. (1999). The Six Day War as a mirror of a passing era of communications. In: A. Susser (Ed.), Six Days-Thirty Years: New Perspectives on the Six Day War (pp. 209–221). Jerusalem: Am Oved (in Hebrew). 25. Sela (2007). 26. Naor, A. (2009). Four Models of Political Theology: Labor Movement Thinkers on the Issue of Greater Israel, 1967–1970. In: C. Schmidt (Ed.), God Will Not Stand Still: Jewish Modernity and Political Theology (pp. 170–203). Jerusalem: The Van Leer Institute (in Hebrew). 27. Gavriely-Nuri, D. (2013). Saying ‘Peace’, Going to ‘War’—Peace in the Service of the Israeli Just-War Rhetoric. Critical Discourse Studies (published online 4 October 2013); Segev, T. (2005). 1967: Israel, the War, and the Year that Transformed the Middle East. New York: Metropolitan Books; Segev, T. (2005). Israel in 1967. Jerusalem: Keter (in Hebrew); Sheffi, N., & Razi, T. (Eds.) (2008). The 1967 War and Its Impact of Culture and Media. (Special Issue). Israel, 13 (in Hebrew). 28. Caspi, Z. (2008). The Patriot in the Service of Queen of the Bathtub: The Six-Day War in the Work of Hanoch Levin. Israel, 13, 249-266 (in Hebrew); Grossman, C. (2007). War in Colors. Panim, 39, 83–90 (in Hebrew); Mann, N. (1994). Still Angry With Queen of The Bathtub—a Conversation With Chich. Bamachane, 42 (in Hebrew); Yerushalmi, D. (2008). The Theatrical Ammunition of the 1967 War. Israel, 13, 209–247 (in Hebrew). See also: Darr, Y. (2008). Every Child Will Tell His Son: Constructing the Narrative of the Past to Children In The Midst of An Historical Moment. The Case of The Six-Day War. Israel, 13, 89–108; Naveh, C. (2008). Israeli Radio during the Six-Day War. Israel, 13, 5–30 (In Hebrew); Sheffi, N. (2008). Winning Words: 1967 and the Land Discourse in Israeli Children’s Magazines. Israel, 13, 61–88 (in Hebrew). 29. Gavriely-Nuri, D. (2013). The Normalization of War in the Israeli Discourse 1967–2008. Lanham: Lexington Books, Rowman & Littlefield Education.

Part I

The Historical and Theoretical Context

Chapter 1

Complacency and Euphoria? Cultural explanations to the Surprise Contrary to the meager number of studies directly investigating the cultural sources of the strategic surprise that set the Yom Kippur War in motion, a significant number of works in various fields have dealt with the subject in passing. When viewed from a considerable distance from the events, literary works written in Israel during the period in question appear to exhibit an interesting trait: they often attempt to explain the causes for the surprise, even if indirectly. The war’s surprise is not generally described as a purely military experience, a position that prevents the military discourse from appropriating the event to its exclusive needs. Instead, these works treat the surprise and the war as cultural events, inviting literary and cultural scholars, authors and other artists to offer their own “explanations.” One analysis of this phenomenon is found in Wave after Wave in Hebrew Narrative Fiction (Gal Achar Gal BaSiporet HaIvrit, 1985) by Gershon Shaked, who was one of Israel’s leading literary scholars. Within the confines of a purely literary analysis, Shaked offers an explanation for the war’s eruption and, indirectly, the surprise. In his discussion of A. B. Yehoshua’s 1977 novel The Lover (HaMe’ahev), which plot unfolds in the post–Yom Kippur War period, Shaked develops the thesis that the novel’s main purpose is to provide an explanation for the surprise: “In effect, the entire novel is meant to describe what took place below the level of our consciousness and [the routines of] Israeli everyday life, that led to the Yom Kippur War.”[1] Shaked views the war’s outbreak as an expression of the social and cultural maladies that began to infect Israeli society after establishment of the State, intensified after the Six Day War, and reached their peak in the Yom Kippur War. Shaked is not alone in this opinion. As we shall see, the trauma provoked by the surprise was so severe that a good number of cultural and literary scholars as well as authors writing after the war felt the need to provide their own accounts of the event. Within the literature dealing obliquely with the cultural element of Israel’s surprise, the Agranat Commission Report[2] was central. This quasi-research report earned its special significance on the basis of the wealth of primary documents it revealed, especially those that would otherwise were unavailable to researchers. Despite being outside the formal academic literature, the report is the most comprehensive source on the subject within the corpus. Other sources essential for the conduct of this research are the biographies written by or about Israeli politicians and military leaders[3] who either participated in the decision making or witnessed the process on the eve of the war. These sources can be assigned to “self-defense and apologetics” literature, a personal and highly subjective genre that has limited scientific merit. Written in Hebrew and English, these

works can be considered to offset their Arabic parallel, the “glorification” literature written in Arabic. Whereas the “self-defense” literature attempts to cleanse its author (or the other figure from whose perspective the book is written) of any culpability for the surprise, the “glorification” literature lauds and the leaders responsible for the surprise’s success. The relevance of Israeli “self-defense” literature—and perhaps the source of its richness—stems from the lack of accessible documents dealing with the actions that prepared the groundwork for the surprise. Hence, despite the warranted skepticism surrounding its accuracy and impartiality, the “self-defense” literature is crucial for the conduct of a comprehensive empirical research on Israel’s culture in the years preceding the Yom Kippur War. A thorough reading of these sources enabled us to identify two main cultural explanations for the surprise experienced: first, corruption, moral deterioration, and normative crisis (hereafter: “the first cultural explanation”); and second, arrogance, euphoria, and complacency (hereafter: “the second cultural explanation”). The first cultural explanation focuses on the ills that were perceived as afflicting all state institutions, especially the IDF. The views comprising this explanation decry the loss of “traditional values” of Zionist socialism; simultaneously, they condemn the rise of “careerism,” utilized as a slur in the contemporary lexicon. The second cultural explanation contains a critique of the “complacency” and “arrogance,” the negative fruits of the Six Day War victory, and of the “euphoria” that simultaneously infiltrated “the public” and its leaders.

The First Cultural Explanation: Corruption and Normative Crisis Twenty-eight years after the Six Day War, the journalist Amnon Abramovich wrote an article entitled “If You Were Lucky Enough to be Wounded:”[4] Young readers would not believe it, and if they believed it they would not understand it: For six years, between the Six Day War and the Yom Kippur War, an Israeli [version of the Roman] empire existed here. [. . .] who would believe that IDF generals would come to Tel Aviv to dine; at the end of each month, [IDF] clerks or military assistants would make the rounds of Tel Aviv’s restaurants at the Army’s expense [. . .]. At the same time, emergency depots were filled with tanks lacking brake fluid, with jammed turrets but no machine guns. Abramovich’s article captures the essence of the first cultural explanation in its description of the six post-67 years as a replica of Pompeii’s last days. This moral– normative explanation engenders a “narrative of crime and punishment,” according to which the Yom Kippur War was a punishment imposed upon Israeli society for its betrayal of core Zionist socialist values. Waste and ostentation are interpreted as the outcome of the notable improvement in Israel’s economy following the Six Day War. It almost seems reasonable that the Yom Kippur War could be considered a “just

punishment” for all Israel “transgressions.” The Failure (HaMechdal),[5] a collection of articles written by seven journalists, was published shortly after the Yom Kippur War’s conclusion. It details quite accurately the self-indulgent atmosphere prevailing on the eve of the 1973 surprise: The Six Day War ended and the six-year-long festival began. [. . .] generals [. . .] began to smoke cigars and hold “peace” parties lasting until daybreak, with soldier–servants setting the tables and foreign donors gnawing at bones [. . .]. During one brigade maneuver in which I participated as a paratroop officer I saw two generals sitting in a car together with a stunning girl [. . .]. A Western-style mafia was operating without any interference (p. 286). The Failure was the first postwar volume published containing a scathing critique of the government and the high military ranks; Israeli public opinion was strongly affected by its publishing. According to its contributors, the corruption described was born of “the IDF victory in the Six-Day War, [which] had been described as the greatest military victory in modern history. Thus began a process affecting almost every victorious army—moral degeneration” (p. 135). The authors believed that the corruption seeping primarily through the security system was fed by “a gold mine in the semblance of the Ministry of Defense” (p. 136). Accordingly, they continued, the moral decline observed directly induced the IDF’s faulty state of preparedness on the eve of the war’s outbreak: “Two factors created this situation [of military equipment shortages]. Inadequate planning on the one hand; corruption and immorality on the other” (p. 133). The themes of corruption and moral decline likewise appeared in novels with plots unfolding during the period under consideration. In 1993, two decades after the Yom Kippur War, Hillel Mittelpunkt’s play Gorodish—The Seventh Day[6] was staged. The play delivers a clear and direct indictment of Shmuel Gonen, Gorodish, a wellknown general and hero of the Six Day War. He was relieved of his post as head of the Southern Command due to his failures during the Yom Kippur War.[7] The play’s fictional hero was based on the real Gorodish, and his career was used to symbolize the course taken by the entire IDF. According to the play, the first signs of the IDF’s moral decline appeared on the eve of the Six Day War and reached its peak shortly before the Yom Kippur war. The plot depicts Gorodish assembling a group of devoted and submissive followers, including a close assistance (Epstein), an “administrative assistant for sexual matters,” and a cook, a member of the Druze minority, who prepares all the group’s meals. Accompanying Gorodish are a journalist and a lawyer whose task is to extricate our hero from all unanticipated entanglements. Gorodish commits civilian crimes and military misdemeanors that, he believes, are permissible given his status as a hero of the Six Day War. The plot includes a reenactment of Gorodish’s frequent hunting parties, which he held while availing himself of the best military equipment available. His debased behavior directly affected IDF norms through his training regimen, which included the harassment and mistreatment of

ordinary soldiers. An important addition to the list of literary works motivated by the decline in public norms that was evident before the Yom Kippur War is Shida VeShidot (A Dresser and Dressers), a novel written by Rachel Eytan and published in 1974. The novel describes the life of a young woman from Tel Aviv in the midst of a marital crisis. Written in a quasi-documentary form, it portrays marital betrayal, inebriation, flamboyant parties, and frequent and profligate trips abroad that characterized Eytan’s social circle during that period. Throughout the book, the author highlights the connections woven between senior military officers and the general intemperance. Another body of literature belonging to the first cultural explanation points to the public’s “loss of values” as a cause of the moral decline; as such, it indirectly “explains” the surprise. In 1976, three years after the war, Yaakov Hasdai, a former IDF colonel and one of the researchers sitting on the Agranat Commission, wrote: At the end of the Six Day War, after the sense of danger and siege had dissipated, the foundations maintaining the pioneer values were finally destroyed, with no others arising to take their place. The country had reached the stage where new values should have been promoted, but nothing happened. As result, the values that were so important in the past were transformed into a source of moral corruption. The creativity that beat at the nation’s heart was now directed toward becoming rich and accumulating easy profits.”[8] In closing this brief survey of literary works that illustrate the first cultural explanation, I turn to the film There Was No War in ‘72 (Be’shiviim U’shtayim Lo Hayta Milchama), directed by David (Dudu) Krainer, produced in 1993 and released in 1995. Its ironic title directly confronts the viewer with the heroes’ individual anguish, a state of suffering that does not allow detours in the direction of any “security problem” or “national hardship.” The war referred to here is not the anticipated conflict with the Arabs but a seemingly personal war. The movie’s plot describes the maturation of Yonni, a teenager, and his difficult relations with his father. The events take place during the 1972 Passover break. Yonni, on the verge of completing junior high school, is expelled because of his poor grades. His father, a senior manager, is totally involved in his work but very anxious about his home and children. Yonni’s failure creates a rupture between father and son: The disappointed father beats Yonni and forces him to go to a military boarding school. The strained relations between the parents, the father’s feelings of alienation, loneliness, and anger, the mother’s frustration over her meaningless life, and especially her son’s estrangement from his father are all meant to reflect the normative crisis characterizing the years following the Six Day War. With the “main objective” of the Zionist ethos reached—international recognition of Israel as a sovereign state—and the sense of being under an “existential threat” somewhat eased thanks to the Six Day War, Jewish pioneer values, especially selfsacrifice for the community’s benefit, appeared meaningless or irrelevant. The drive

for self-fulfillment spread throughout society as growing individualism focused on personal rather than social well-being.[9] Scholars came to view Israel’s narrative of moral crisis as a reflection of the international moral crisis afflicting the West throughout the late 1960s. At the same time the War of Attrition stimulated a growing public despair. The sense of having reached an impasse heightened with the rising number of casualties, the unusually protracted fighting and the fruitless peace initiatives.[10] Social consensus simultaneously deteriorated. All these trends came to be reflected in the skepticism, cynicism, and black humor that reappeared in the works dealing with this period. However, despite its trenchant critique, the first cultural explanation would remain marginal in its political implications until the electoral “upheaval” (HaMa’apach) of 1977. During the campaign, the substance of the first cultural explanation was perceived as the main source of the revulsion felt by broad sections of the Israeli public toward its leaders. This loathing culminated in the removal of the left-wing Labor Party from power and its replacement by the right-wing Likud. In his 1977 book The Landslide (HaMapolet), the journalist Arie Avnery scrutinizes cases of economic corruption, most of which came to light after the Six Day War, which he views as factors directly contributing to the political upheaval. These scandals would eventually combine with the deep sense of rupture left by the Yom Kippur War to place the narrative of normative crisis, corruption, and normative deterioration at the center of Israel’s cultural map.

The Second Cultural Explanation: Arrogance, Euphoria, and Complacency The first cultural explanation, despite its dominance, has been challenged by a second cultural explanation, a thesis that looks to arrogance, euphoria, and complacency as the main culprits responsible for the surprise. According to this train of thought, which was strongly embraced by the general public, the lightning victory of the Six-Day War nurtured certain attitudes among members of the security forces as well as the political leadership, which encouraged their lack of preparedness. Consider the following entry in the Israel Security Lexicon,[11] which attempts to identify the causes of the surprise: “The war broke out as result of the lengthy policy stalemate that ensnared Israel within an atmosphere of complacency and repose, but without [ensuring] any appropriate military arrangements.” Under the entry “morale,” the Lexicon’s authors write: “There followed three years of intoxication [after the August 1970 cease-fire], a sensation that everything was fine, that the peace and quiet would be long-lived, [a situation] protected by the best and most secure borders that Israel had ever enjoyed.” We can think of the three strands of the second cultural explanation as metaphors capturing the flavor of the collective emotions described by historiographers as the dangerous outcomes of the Yom Kippur War’s dramatic victory. And yet, irrespective of the tendency to weave these strands into a composite

whole, I argue that they are separate: Arrogance—the sense of superiority vis-à-vis the enemy; Euphoria—the exaggerated mood of elation or well-being; Complacency—the apathy growing out of inflated self-confidence, inducing underestimation of danger. Once braided, the three strands produced an approach akin to the socio-cultural explanation for the failure that would culminate in the surprise: arrogance prevented viewing Israel’s adversaries as potentially dangerous enemies and fostered the inability to correctly assess the balance of power once enemy forces concentrated along the border; complacency precluded recognition of the war’s immediate eruption; euphoria artificially sustained the aura of the Six Day War’s victory. However, in the forty years since the war, the status of the second cultural explanation has deteriorated to the point of cliché, a formulaic explanation entrenched in Yom Kippur War historiography. It has been cited in much of the security and extrasecurity research dealing with the period, most often in relation to one or more of the stated three strands.

Arrogance “Contempt for the enemy,” pre-dates the Six Day War. The visual image of contempt, embedded in national memory, is that of hundreds of abandoned boots, left behind by Egyptian soldiers as they fled during the 1956 Sinai Campaign, an image that became metonymic for the demoralized Egyptian army after its defeat by the Israelis. Arrogance was alleged to emerge immediately after the Six Day War, with the entire senior IDF command targeted by critics’ arrows. It was argued that the sweeping and what would prove to be unjustified conviction regarding IDF superiority vis-à-vis its enemies had permeated all ranks. The Agranat Commission saw the most succinct expression of arrogance in the IDF’s strategy of relying completely on the power of the regular army. The Second Agranat Commission Report introduced a new term to describe this unrealistic condition—the “conception.” This term was used in statements such as “the conception that the regular army would halt” any invading forces immediately entered the national lexicon: We have already stated that there were three causes for the Intelligence Branch debacle. These causes developed within a [specific] psychological milieu. We are referring to the exaggerated confidence felt by everyone, the military and the political elites alike that if, contrary to expectations, the enemy was to attack— the regular army would easily repel its advance and quickly initiate a counteroffensive.[12] As time passed and the war became a more distant memory, the arrogance

narrative entered more deeply into Israel’s collective memory; its veracity was almost taken for granted as it came to be part of the general “common knowledge.” For instance, in 1996, the scholar Evyatar Ben Tzedef wrote: “[The IDF exhibited] boundless disdain for the Arab enemy’s [military] power and the value [capability] of its political and military leaders. This continued despite the IDF’s transparent failures during the War of Attrition.”[13] Arrogance was likewise attributed to various political leaders, especially Moshe Dayan, the Minister of Defense, and Eli Zeira, director of Aman, Israel’s military intelligence division during the Yom Kippur War. In his version of the events, transmitted in a book published in 1993, Zeira’s implies how Dayan’s attitude distorted his own rather accurate reading of the military threat: He [Dayan] [. . .] also excessively estimated the power of the IDF. He didn’t understand that as a result of the array of the Syrian ground to air missile system, an array that he himself described as aggressive, the [Israeli] Air Force had lost its freedom of action on the Golan Heights and that the small contingent of regular forces would be forced to fight without any air cover.[14] Euphoria Twenty-seven years after the Yom Kippur War, the journalist Ze’ev Schiff was to write: “The Six Day War only reinforced the public status of the IDF and its leadership. The public was inclined toward euphoria thanks to the fantastic victory. IDF generals became celebrities in the eyes of the press and the public.”[15] However, when it first erupted, the public’s euphoria expressed its spontaneous and overwhelming joy at witnessing the conclusion of the exhausting prewar waiting period.[16] This sense of well-being was so powerful and widespread that it quickly affected cultural production. The expression “we were like dreamers,” based on Psalm 126.1, which describes the euphoria of the exiles on their return to Zion, was quickly embedded in the contemporary public discourse.[17] The phrase itself, most closely associated with the unification of Jerusalem, was first used by Kadish Luz, the Knesset Chairperson, in an address dedicated to the war’s victory that was delivered at the opening session of the 12th Knesset (June 1967): “We were like dreamers [. . .] as news of conquests and acts of bravery reached us by the hour.”[18] Haim Hefer, one of the period’s major songwriters and frequent unofficial spokesperson of the “public spirit,” wrote a maqama (Arabic rhymed prose) entitled “We Were like Dreamers” which described an imaginary meeting between Yitzhak Rabin, Chief of the General Staff during the Six-Day War, and King David. During the meeting, upon hearing the war’s results, King David sings a psalm: “To the victor, to Yitzhak, a song of praise.”[19] In retrospect, however, that euphoria donned a negative dress. Mentions of

euphoria began to arouse criticism to the effect that the joy had exploded beyond proportion.[20] An incisive critique of the “holiday atmosphere” is found in The Failure. The book that describes, among other phenomena, the publication of victory albums immediately after the Six Day War: At the focus of the accolades and general adoration was the IDF top echelon, whose members roamed from one victory parade to another, from one victory party to another, with each and every one memorialized in the hundreds of victory albums that inundated the whole world. [. . .] in one [album] a photograph of one commander appeared not less than 20 times.[21] A more moderate, almost apologetic description of the country’s mood after the Six Day War is provided by Golda Meir, destined to become Israel’s prime minister two years after the war (1969), in the autobiography (1975) she wrote: There was no sense of rejoicing, only a massive surge of hope. In fact, the feeling of relief that victory gave us, our happiness at the discovery that here we are alive and almost unharmed. [. . .] the entire country went on a sort of vacation that continued almost throughout the entire summer. I do not believe that there was one family in Israel, including my own, which did not take a short holiday immediately after the Six Day War.[22] Complacency The Agranat Commission conducted the official national investigation for the roots of the surprise, one of which it identified as the IDF’s complacency: “. . . together with the sense of pride for what had been achieved [in those six days], there appeared the phenomenon of complacency, an easing of tension.”[23] The Failure directly pointed to complacency as the main factor contributing to the surprise although by attributing it to another source: “Soviet–Arabic psychological warfare [. . .] ‘complemented’ the Israeli elite’s—and through it the general public’s—feelings of complacency, [. . .] like a lid fits its pot. These were exactly the things that the political and military elite yearned to hear.”[24] Uri Bar-Joseph,[25] in the comprehensive study he published thirty years later, repeatedly stresses the atmosphere of public complacency that had issued from the sense of Israel’s military superiority. The wide gamut of what he believes to be the possible causes of the “warning malfunction” does little to undermine the importance of those feelings on the IDF’s cognitive failure. The weaving of these three argumentative strands into a single theory reinforced the power of the second cultural explanation and colored it with the aura of an incontestable “truth.” This same process simultaneously blurred the limits of each separate argument; it thus obscured the need for a meticulous examination of each

separate strand’s validity while it hindered the development of independent research capacities. Generalized application of the “arrogance—euphoria—complacency” formula enabled the second cultural explanation to retain its paradigmatic status for a long time. However, irrespective of second cultural explanation dominance in Israeli discourse for over four decades, its components contradict some uncontestable facts. Above all, the complacency argument in particular ignores Israel’s stepped armaments production and massive investment in advanced weapons, especially those imported from the United States. The military budget as a proportion of Israel’s GNP grew from 9.4 percent in 1966–1967 to 20.8 percent three years later (1969– 1970). In 1969, the value of military expenditures reached 23 percent of Israel’s GNP. This was one of the highest proportions in terms of GNP worldwide, being more than twice the rate of United States and more than three times the rate of UK military expenditures. In 1969, about 40 percent of Israel’s national budget was allocated to the military.[26] By 1972, the proportion of GNP dedicated to security reached 24 percent.[27] The huge investment required to construct [and maintain] the Bar Lev line[28] was an additional material and symbolic expression of the accelerated military rearmament that Israel initiated. Moreover, the second cultural explanation, especially the complacency argument, also diverges from another accepted image of the post–Six Day War years, that of it being the golden era of Israeli military power. That is, the second cultural explanation is unable to reconcile the frequent use of phrases such as “the thirst for power” and “intoxication with power” in allusions to the Israeli ambience in the aftermath of the Six Day War.[29] Writers attempting to describe the six years between the Six Day War and the Yom Kippur War tend to jumble concepts such as “living on a sword’s edge”[30] with terms such as “complacency,” “euphoria,” and “arrogance” that describe a contradictory state of mind. Viewing “euphoria” as the characteristic feature of those six years becomes even more unreasonable if we consider that immediately upon conclusion of the Six Day War, three years of fighting began. Conducted with varying levels of intensity, the War of Attrition reached a peak in casualties in 1970, when the annual number of military dead rose to 122.[31] In 1972, three acts of terror would be permanently etched in the national memory: the first, on May 8, involved the hijacking of a Sabena aircraft and its forced landing at Ben Gurion Airport (then known as Lod Airport); the second, on May 30, known as the Lod Airport Massacre, was perpetrated by the Japanese Red Army, which sprayed machine gun fire at passengers in the airport’s Arrivals Hall; the third, on September 4, led to Black September’s murder of eleven Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics. Attempts to associate “euphoria” with public response to these events appear detached from the Israeli reality. The meaning of such attributions may, perhaps, be better found in attempts to perpetuate the aura of the Six Day War victory beyond its true dimensions.

* * * I have devoted this chapter to describing the two most commonly accepted cultural explanations that shaped, directly and indirectly, public discourse regarding the surprise of the Yom Kippur war. Of the two explanations, the second achieved prominence as the main explanatory narrative. Post–Six Day War Israel has thus been consistently described as “arrogant,” “complacent,” and “euphoric” for four decades. However, the argument’s weaknesses have motivated me to suggest a different perspective on the contribution of Israeli culture to the surprise. I develop that perspective in the following chapters.

NOTES 1. Shaked, G. (1985). Wave after Wave in Hebrew Narrative Fiction.Tel Aviv: Sifriat Poalim (in Hebrew), p. 44. 2. The Agranat Commission Report. (1975). The official National Commission of Inquiry—The Yom Kippur War [Intermediate Report] 1 April, 1974. Tel Aviv: Am Oved (The First Report); The Agranat Commission Report. The official National Commission of Inquiry—The Yom Kippur War, additional partial report: arguments and supplements of the Intermediate Report of 1.4.1974 [The Second Agranat Report] 10 July, 1974; The Agranat Commission Report. The official National Commission of Inquiry-The Yom Kippur War, the Third and Final Report [The Final Report] 30 January, 1975[. Jerusalem. Milstein, U. (1999). The Agranat Commission. In: A. Ophir (Ed.), Fifty To Forty-Eight-Critical Moments in The History Of The State Of Israel (pp. 241–250). Jerusalem: Van Leer Institute (in Hebrew). 3. See for example: Baron, A. (1997). Moshe Dayan and the Yom Kippur War. Tel Aviv: Yedioth Ahronoth (In Hebrew); Bartov, H. (2002). Dado, 48 years 20 days. (Revised and expanded edition). Or Yehuda: Dvir; Ben-Porat, Y. (1991). Neila:OnThe Surprise of the Yom Kippur War. Tel Aviv: Idanim (in Hebrew); Dayan, M. (1976). Story of My Life. New York: William Morrow and Company; Dayan, M. (1976). Milestones: An Autobiography. Yedioth Ahronoth Edition. Jerusalem: Idanim (in Hebrew); Meir, G. (1975). My Life. New York: G.P. Putnam and University of Michigan; Meir, G. (1975). My Life. Tel Aviv: Maariv (In Hebrew); Zamir, Z. (2011). With Open Eyes. Or Yehuda: Kinneret Zmora Bitan Dvir (in Hebrew); Zeira, E. (1998). The Conception and The Surprise. In: H. Ophaz & Y. Bar-Siman-Tov (Eds.), The Yom Kippur War: New Perspectives. Jerusalem: The Leonard Davis Institute for International Relations, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem (in Hebrew); Zeira, E. (2004). Myth versus Reality—The October 1973 War: Failures and Lessons. Tel Aviv: Yedioth Ahronoth (in Hebrew). 4. Abramovich, A. (2001). If You Were Lucky Enough to Be Wounded. Ha’ir, 20 September 2001 (in Hebrew). 5. Ben-Porat, Y., Dan, U., Geffen, Y., Haber, E. Karmel, H., Landau, E., & Tavor, E. (1974). The Failure. [unknown publisher]. Tel Aviv (in Hebrew). 6. Mittelpunkt, H. (1993). Gorodish: Hayom Hashvii. Tel Aviv: Or-am.

7. The Agranat Commission report specifically cites Gorodish as bearing considerable responsibility for the dangerous situation in which the IDF found itself at the beginning of the Yom Kippur War. 8. Hasdai, Y. (1978). Truth in the Shadow of War. Jerusalem: Zmora Bitan Modan. See also: Yehushua, A. B. (1980). In Praise of Normalcy. Jerusalem & Tel Aviv: Schocken (in Hebrew). 9. Almog, O. (2000). The Sabra: The Creation of the New Jew. Berkeley: University of California Press; Almog, O. (1997). The Sabra: The Creation of the New Jew. Tel Aviv: Am Oved (in Hebrew). 10. Bavly, D. (2002). Dreams and Missed Opportunities. Jerusalem: Karmel (in Hebrew). 11. Haber, E., & Schiff, Z. (1976). Israeli Security Lexicon. Tel Aviv: Zmora Bitan Modan (in Hebrew), p. 27. 12. The Second Agranat Report (1974) Vol. 1, p. 156. 13. Ben-Zedeff, E. (1996). Did Israeli Journalism Warn Enough Against the Yom Kippur War? Patu’ach, 3, 27–64 (in Hebrew), p. 28. 14. Zeira (2004) [First published in 1993], p. 135. 15. Schiff, Z. (1990). From Our War Correspondent. Tel Aviv: Journalists Association (in Hebrew), pp. 11–15. 16. Hadari, Y. (2002). Messiah Rides a Tank. Jerusalem: Hakibbutz Hameuchad (in Hebrew). 17. Mann, R. (1998). It’s Inconceivable. Or Yehuda: Hed Arzi (In Hebrew), “We were like them that dream” (Hayinu Ke’cholmim). 18. Quoted in Mann (1998). 19. Ibid, Ibid. 20. Herzog, C. (1998). The War of Atonement—The Inside Story of the Yom Kippur War, 1973. London: Greenhill Books (First addition 1975); Herzog, C. (1998). The War of Atonement. (New and Revised Edition). Tel Aviv: Yedioth Ahronoth (in Hebrew). 21. Ben Porat et al. (1974), p. 26. 22. Meir (1975), p. 268. 23. The Third Agranat Report (1975) Vol. 1, p. 7. 24. Ben Porat et al. (1973), p. 116. 25. Bar-Joseph, U. (2005). The Watchman Fell Asleep: The Surprise Of Yom Kippur and Its Sources. State University of New York Press; Bar-Joseph, U. (2001). The Watchman Fell Asleep: The Surprise Of Yom Kippur and Its Sources. Or Yehuda: Zmora Bitan (in Hebrew). 26. Keidan, A. (1970). Crushing Blows For Moderating the Intensification of Arab Extremism—Words of Defense Minister Moshe Dayan to the Journalist Club 12/11/1969. Skira Hodshit, 2, 15 (in Hebrew). 27. Rubinstein, A., Haaretz, 10 May, 1970. 28. A chain of strongholds built by Israel along the eastern coast of the Suez Canal after it captured the Sinai Peninsula from Egypt during the 1967 Six-Day War.

29. Eisenstadt, S. N. (1973). Continuity and Change, Problems and Challenges— Israeli Society on Israel’s 50 Year Anniversary. Skira Hodshit, 18-24 (In Hebrew), p. 18; Eisenstadt, S. N. (1984). Processes and Tendencies in Israeli Society’s Consolidation. Skira Hodshit, 3-4, 30-45 (in Hebrew); Eisenstadt, S. N. (1987). Israeli Society: 30 Years of Consolidation. Skira Hodshit, 3–4, 24–30 (in Hebrew); Golani, M. (2002). Wars Do Not Just Happen—Memory, Power and Choice. Ben Shemen: Modan (in Hebrew); Kimmerling, B. (2008). Patterns of Militarism in Israel. In: B. Kimmerling (Ed.), Clash of Identities: Explorations in Israeli and Palestinian Societies (pp. 132–153). New York: Columbia University Press; Pedatzur, R. (1996). Embarrassments ‘Victory-Israel’s Policy in the Occupied Territoriesafter the Six-Day War. Tel Aviv: Bitan (in Hebrew). 30. Ben-Eliezer, U. (1998). The Making of Israeli Militarism. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. 31. Dishon, D. (Ed.) (1977). Middle East Record. Vol. V: 1969–1970. Jerusalem: Israel Universities Press, p. 172.

Chapter 2

The Theoretical Framework—”Normalization of War” Any experienced student of culture will admit that the attempt to delve into Israeli culture’s contribution to the surprise of the Yom Kippur War is far from straightforward. Such a project begins with a basic question: What do we actually mean when we refer to “culture”? Once asked, this question leads to another, more specific question: What do we mean by “Israeli culture during the years 1967–1973,” that is, how do we define a temporally framed national culture? Immediately following is a query about the essence of “strategic surprise”: Is it logical to include factors generally viewed as external to military and intelligence systems when investigating this phenomenon? Finally, to legitimate the study’s scope, we must ask whether the two domains, culture and strategic surprise, are truly interconnected. Stated differently, as a researcher of culture, my mission here is to explain my theoretical and methodological justifications for linking two such highly different spheres of activity—Israeli culture, its creators, processes, and products on the one hand, and strategic surprise on the other—in my investigation of the events that led to the Yom Kippur War. The questions of what we mean by “culture” gives rise to a long list of subsidiary questions. Is it possible to gather all the diverse cultural products produced during a specific period and subsume them under a single analytic category? Instead of discussing these weighty issues at length, I take a more empirical and practical tack. In the following pages, I focus on a long list of written texts that, while produced in various domains, capture what I consider to represent “Israeli culture” as it evolved in the period prior to the Yom Kippur War. This compendium—what I refer to as the research corpus – was constructed in an attempt to embrace the different realms of Israel’s culture as they appeared during the research period. I examine this corpus for the purpose of isolating the period’s “cultural narrative” as a possible explanation for the strategic surprise experienced by Israel’s population in 1973.

The Research Corpus Two methodological assumptions provide the cornerstones for our attempt to link Israel’s national culture to the strategic surprise. First, “strategic surprise” is a cultural as much as it is a military, intelligence, political, and psychological phenomenon. Second, an examination of the “war discourse” and its construction in the texts comprising the research corpus will facilitate the identification of the main cultural suppositions that framed Israeli thinking about war, peace, and as well as the relationship with the enemy. The corpus referred to in the analysis contained about two hundred written texts, canonical and noncanonical alike, mainstream as well as protest, belonging to a wide

variety of genres. All were produced between 1967 and 1973: 1.

Official discourse: Speeches, interviews, biographies, and autobiographies of leaders such as Prime Minister Golda Meir, Minister of Defense Moshe Dayan, and Chief of Staff David Elazar. 2. Literary works: Books and stories directed at children and young people, penned by prominent writers (Yigal Mosinzon, Dvora Omer, Yemima AvidarTchernovitz, On Sarig [Shraga Gafni] and others), as well as fifty-one issues of the children’s magazine Haaretz Shelanu (“Our Country”), published from September 1970 until August 1971; Prominent examples of adult literature written by well-known authors (A. B. Yehoshua, Amos Oz, Amalia KahanaCarmon, Rachel Eitan, Hanoch Levin, Dan Ben-Amotz, Nathan Shacham,and others). 3. Popular and military band songs: The favorite songs heard during annual song festivals and daily broadcast hit parades.

The Cultural Narrative, 1967–1973: Security vs. Normalcy I consider the dominant “cultural narrative” belonging to a selected society during a specific period to be the system of beliefs and notions delineating its sociopsychological and ideological needs. The “cultural narrative” organizes core behavioral and conceptual codes meant to shape a group’s worldview, legitimate its social order, integrate its members, and direct them toward action.[1] The narrative’s expression in cultural products belonging to various genres and dealing with seemingly disparate subjects transforms its codes into the group’s cultural building blocks. Narrative analysis was therefore chosen as the methodological approach most likely to elucidate the internal logic of Israeli culture in the pre–Yom Kippur War period. It was applied in order to shed light on the transformations that Israel’s cultural system had undergone after the introduction of its new political reality in the wake of the Six Day War. These shifts were observed in the ways in which Israeli culture supported government policy while facilitating the public’s enjoyment of the economic and social fruits of that policy. One of the main arguments developed in the following pages is that the cultural narrative emerging after 1967 was complex and confused due to the contradictory nature of its two composite “subnarratives.” The first of these was the security narrative, a well-established narrative that describes Israel as engaged in a constant state of war; the second was the normalcy narrative, which describes post Six Day War Israel as enjoying a de facto state of peace. In the next chapter (3) I carefully detail the formation and consolidation of these two subnarratives. The Six Day War was effectively viewed as a litmus test of the security narrative’s validity. At the same time, the lightning victory inadvertently nurtured expectations of change. The Israeli public came to anticipate freedom to live a “normal life” following its release from the specter of the existential threat posed by

the surrounding Arab states. Victory appeared to sound the opening chimes of a new and promising story: the normalcy narrative. To ease the cognitive tension between these two contradictory sub-narratives, mechanisms created to reconcile the discrepancies and thereby ensure their continued simultaneous existence. These I call normalization mechanisms.

Normalization Mechanisms Normalization mechanisms are a collection of rhetorical and discursive devices[2] meant to subordinate security-related events and notions to the interpretation of reality dictated by the normalcy narrative. During the research period, these mechanisms neutralized recognition of the danger inherent in events exhibiting clearcut security characteristics, a trend that interpreted those events as routine fixtures of Israeli life. For instance, “summer visits,” a phrase that penetrated the Hebrew vernacular, depicted the Palestinian’s passage to and from Jordan as tourism conducted by the residents of two friendly nations, an image that was very far from the connotations associated with situations of occupation. Another commonly used idiom that soon appeared was “Golda’s shopping basket,” a phrase referring to Prime Minister Golda Meir’s arms purchasing expeditions to the United States. The homely banality of the language served to reverse the accepted meaning of the Middle East arms race into its antithesis, an innocent, “normal” and purely financial activity. Euphemization, Naturalization, and Justification of War Further analysis of the corpus identified three themes characterizing the normalization mechanisms applied: euphemization, naturalization, and justification. The three themes emerged from the theoretical distinction suggested by John B. Thompson in his Ideology and Modern Culture (1990).[3] Thompson’s mode of analysis requires identification of the practices associated with the application of ideologies as well as the discursive strategies used to generate meaning within their framework. He identifies five such practices—legitimation, dissimulation, unification, fragmentation and reification—as well as major strategies employing the original five. I have selected three of his suggested themes, chosen based on their relevance to the research period: Euphemization—The description of social activities, institutions, or social relations in terms that endow them with positive worth. Naturalization—The depiction of social activities and social institutions as natural and inevitable, Justification—Arguments meant to rationalize existing or future social activities and institutions for encouraging their support.

The three themes acquired the following content within the context of “war”: Euphemization of the idea of war was rooted in the Six Day War’s outcomes. For a very short war, it pervasively altered Israel’s international image in addition to its economy. Euphemization was achieved by excluding, discounting, or ignoring the prohibitive costs in terms of human lives, physical and psychological suffering, destruction, brutality, and moral decline. The outcomes recognized were redrawn in positive dress. Naturalization of the idea of war altered the perceived nature of war from an aberrant to a “normal” occurrence, something to be routinely anticipated. Naturalization denuded the notion of war of its threatening dimensions by neutralizing realization of the event’s severe digression from daily life. Justification of the idea of war was achieved through the inculcation of pseudo-moral and pseudo-rational arguments that blurred war’s cruelty. This discursive strategy’s scope was sufficiently broad to justify Israel’s military operations as well as its failures to achieve peace. Taken together, the three normalization mechanisms acted to deter critical evaluation of the national policies and institutional behaviors in force in the interwar period (1967–1973). * * * By the time the Yom Kippur War erupted, the three discursive normalization mechanisms, Euphemization, Naturalization and Justification had already been instilled with tremendous power. Illogical or unanticipated military deployments along the borders, especially the enemy’s potentially dangerous military exercises, were perceived as lying within the boundaries of normal events.

NOTES 1. Gertz, N. (2000). Myths in Israeli Culture—Captive of a Dream. New York: Vallentine Mitchell; Gertz, N. (1995). Captive of a Dream: National Myths in Israeli Culture. Tel Aviv: Am Oved (in Hebrew). 2. Gavriely-Nuri (2013). 3. Thompson, J. B. (1990). “The Concept of Ideology.” In: J. B. Thompson (Ed.), Ideology and Modern Culture (pp. 28–73). Stanford: Stanford University Press.

Chapter 3

The Post-1967 War Normalization Mechanisms The two cultural explanations introduced in chapter 2 are inherently judgmental. They are based on the mythic paradigm of “crime and punishment” and each focuses on a different socio-cultural ill that contributed to surprise of the Yom Kippur War. The moral paradigm can be summarized as follows: because of the crimes of moral deterioration and arrogance, Israeli society received punishment in the form of a war. In contrast to the morality embodied in those explanations, the current chapter will try to understand the logic of the cultural system that dictated such interpretations.

The Six Day War Victory and Subsequent Expectations The craving to hold onto the sensations aroused by the Six Day War’s conclusion, stimulated rapid commercialization of war memorabilia and collectibles: key chains, plates, mugs, and watches decorated with the victory’s heroes (Dayan and Rabin) quickly flooded the market. Children’s board games, such as The Victory Game, appeared in addition to victory albums,[1] songs, and compilations of jokes. The war and victory songs published during and after the war, were later collected and released as albums. The most successful of these—Jerusalem of Gold—Songs of the Six Day War—appeared immediately after the war; it remained among Israel’s best-selling albums until the early 1990s.[2] Books recounting the war’s preparations and its battles were written and published in record time. A series of films were also soon produced—Six Days to Eternity; Is Tel Aviv Burning?—60 Hours to Suez; HaMatarah Tiran (U.S. subtitle: The Story of the Six Day War)—among many more. Construction also began on the “Victory Swimming Pool” in Holon (near Tel-Aviv), one of the largest municipal pools built in Israel up to that date. Feelings of ecstasy if not mysticism infused the vocabulary used to describe the victory, with terms such as “salvation,” “delivery,” and “miracle” inundating press reports.[3] The voices demanding moderation of this “victory festival”[4] were greeted with caustic reproach. In a column entitled “It’s Hard to be a Winner,” the journalist Ruth Bondi wrote the following: It isn’t fair: A brief month ago we were the favorite candidate for destruction, and all the world was on our side. Now that we have refused to be eradicated for purely egoistic reasons, delicate souls have begun to say: It’s not nice to win a war; only the strong win, [like] militarists [. . .]. We’ve now spoiled everything thanks to this professional victory. Maybe we made a mistake by doing so, by winning so quickly [. . .]. Ah, if we were now under Nasser’s rule and the fedayyun were running amok in Tel Aviv, what a wave of sympathy we would be enjoying.[5]

The Six Day War put the security narrative accompanying Israeli society since the State’s establishment[6] to the test: The ethos extolling military power and bravery passed this trial with honors, with the war transformed into the jewel in the security narrative’s crown. Security-related operations, fighting, and soldiers were placed in the limelight; military officers were now permitted to forsake their political aloofness and take a central place in public affairs. It thus became acceptable for officers to publicly influence decision making, especially regarding the budget, which became increasingly tilted in favor of military spending. Yet, it appears that the Six Day War victory represented the swan song of the security narrative: The ethos of living at sword’s edge, under the constant shadow of existential threat, accompanied by the sense of being “a small country surrounded by enemies,” all seemed outdated. Established truths lost their relevance. The public began to believe that it would henceforth live in peace. The end of the war appeared to signal the opening of a new and promising story entitled “normal life.” The public’s urge to revise the security narrative could be seen in the name assigned to the violent confrontation waged in 1967: the “Six Day War.” This name draws an implicit parallel between the “wonder” of the war’s lightning success and the wonder of God’s creation of the earth, described in Genesis as taking six days. The marvelous victory thus created an opportunity to “revise” the Zionist narrative, replacing its security-related images. The main image in that former narrative was the weak David, surrounded by Philistines and threatened by Goliath that is, the 100 million Arabs, all of whom “are about to destroy us”. On the policy level, the victory created expectations of finalization of a long-term solution to the Arab–Israeli conflict.[7] Israel reinforced its position as a regional superpower and improved its relationships with numerous countries in the Americas, Europe, and Africa. The strength of relations with the United States, together with the financial aid received from Jews throughout the world, reached an unprecedented peak. The wave of immigration from the Soviet Union seemed to auger another meaningful chapter in the story of normal life.[8] Victory thus appeared to initiate a string of events that were interpreted as directly supporting this new era of serenity, of normalcy. The first of the respective phenomena was easily defended “natural borders,” accompanied by “strategic depth.” Israel’s escape from the “state of siege.”[9] The subsequent economic prosperity, accompanied by Israeli entry into the globalizing economy, further spurred aspirations for normal life. The “normalcy narrative” produced was received as feasible as the “natural” outcome of the war. Golda Meir’s description of the days following the war’s conclusion aptly reflects the general state of mind: If I had to choose one particular act from that period that captures the general atmosphere I would definitely point to the destruction of the concrete and barbed wire barriers that had divided Jerusalem in two since 1948. More than anything else, those despicable barricades had symbolized the abnormality of our lives.

When bulldozers demolished them and transformed Jerusalem, overnight, into a united city, the event became a sign, signaling that a new era was ahead.[10] The irony of Meir’s description—which also indicates the strength of the normalcy narrative she maintained—lies in her treatment of Israel’s annexation of East Jerusalem, announced shortly after the war’s conclusion, as a de facto peace established between Jerusalem’s two populations. Annexation, she assumed, would introduce a major element of normalcy into the city’s way of life despite the political subjugation it implied. In May 1970, a few days after Israel’s twenty-second Independence Day and the third anniversary of the Six Day War according to the Hebrew calendar, the journalist and legal scholar Amnon Rubinstein[11] described the intervening years in a column entitled: “Three Years after the War.”[12] Despite mention of the daily difficulties created by the soon to be concluded inconclusive War of Attrition, the article overflows with optimism. It can be read as a paean to Israel’s accomplishments since 1967: These last three years must arouse our admiration. While in the midst of fighting a difficult war against a hostile Arab world and the great power [the Soviet Union] supporting it, Israel has succeeded in producing miracles. During these three years, 100,000 immigrants came to Israel. [. . .], about a million Jewish and nonJewish tourists flouted threats of Arab terrorism and visited Israel. The gross national product (GNP) rose at an unprecedented rate: from $3.86 billion in 1967 to $5.4 [billion], according to forecasts for 1970. The number of students studying in the universities rose by about 10,000, and compulsory education has expanded [. . .]. If the current rate of growth continues, by 1972 we will reach a GNP equal to that of Egypt, with its population 15 times greater than that of Israel. [Israel] has managed [. . .] to preserve a regime of unprecedented freedom of expression during war that has seen no parallel. In order to obtain the correct perspective, we should remember what happened to other enlightened, democratic countries such as England and the US when they were at war [. . .]. We have maintained civilized relations between Jews and Arabs [at home]. No violence against the Arabs erupted last year. Although 20,000 Arabs are employed in Israel, there were no disturbances in the workplace. Jews and Arabs maintain neighborly relations in Haifa, Jaffa and Jerusalem (compare that with the situation in Belfast, Montreal and New York). Despite all the warnings broadcast, we have not become cruel conquerors, nor have we instigated acts of vengeance in retaliation to the bloodshed [seen] in the territories [. . .] even though we rarely discuss the subject. We have done a great deal to raise the standard of living in the [Occupied] Territories. We see almost no unemployment as well as a significant improvement in the refugees’ conditions. [. . .] Life in Israel is more interesting and more exciting today than in any previous period. There are few places where we can find such a marvelous combination of

individual freedom and collective responsibility as in Israel. Few societies are known to fight as well or enjoy themselves so much, to wage war and sustain our love of culture, art and life. There is no place like Israel for anyone who loves life. The ceasefire negotiated in August 1970, which ended the War of Attrition (1969–1970), apparently reinforced the normalcy narrative. Israel’s control of the Occupied Territories and its population lent credence to the belief that the country had finally arrived at the stage of orderly “normalcy.” Brigadier General Rephael Vardi, Commander of the West Bank, described the situation in these terms: “[We see] complete quiet in security terms, with the Arab population primarily involved with their routine habits, adjusting itself to the situation and trying to take advantage of its benefits.”[13] Campaign posters hung by the Ma’arach [formerly the Labor Party] timed to coincide with the third anniversary of the War of Attrition cease-fire (August 1973) declared that: “Quiet reigns along the Bar-Lev Line on the banks of the Suez Canal, as it does throughout the Sinai Peninsula, the West Bank and the Golan. Our borders are secure, settlements are being established, and our political position is strong” (7 August, 1973). Earlier that year, the 30 March, 1973 edition of the daily newspaper Maariv quoted Moshe Dayan, the Minister of Defense, as saying: “Until recently, I was still uncertain, but now I do believe that we are nearing the peak of the 100 years since our return to Zion.”

Cracks in the Normalcy Narrative Despite the powerful influence of the normalcy narrative, its weaknesses could not be hidden for long as the true costs of the war began to surface. Although the Occupied Territories did add to Israel’s strategic depth, they created the need to control a civilian population of over one million people.[14] Paradoxically, by distancing Israel’s borders from the nation’s interior, victory created the need for a larger standing army. The civilian population was now forced to pay the debts incurred by the 1967 victory: compulsory service for men was lengthened from 2.5 to 3 years, with many soldiers called up for tours of reserve duty lasting up to two months annually. Most pointedly, the War of Attrition broke out almost immediately, again along the Egyptian front. It soon became evident that territorial gains, improvement in Israel’s international stature, and economic prosperity at home were insufficient to remove the security narrative from the national agenda or to replace it with the normalcy narrative. The Israeli public soon realized that their astounding military victory in the Six Day War had neither eliminated the threat nor brought peace. It had in fact intensified Arab frustrations. Moreover, the victory receded into national memory. Victory albums stopped being published and promises of a normal life remained unfulfilled. The Six Day War’s symbolic associations with Genesis raised expectations of the “day of rest” to follow its six-day duration. And yet, these same associations blinded the public to its transition into a new casus belli that would

trigger the War of Attrition, soon dubbed the “Thousand Day War” or the “War after the War.” The August 1970 ceasefire thus represented a watershed in the region’s history. At first glance, its signing eased the security burden: Fighting along the Suez Canal ceased and the number of terrorist acts declined. Yet, the security narrative refused to give way. In an article dedicated to the celebration of Israel’s twenty-second Independence Day (May 1970), the columnist Yoel Marcus chose to describe the public mood. Under the title “Without Joy, Without Sorrow,” he adds a subheading —“The Public Has Started Living a Normal Life”[15] —to clarify the tensions that accompanied the yearning for peace: [. . .] There was no joy but also no sorrow to be observed at the Tank Exhibition held at Kikar Hamedina [central plaza in Tel Aviv]. Mesmerized children climbed the tanks while their parents pensively stood by. For some, the tanks reminded them not of the [Independence Day] celebration but of the difficulties they faced during their reserve duty. Some looked at their children and imagined the day approaching when these youngsters would be climbing into the same tanks as part of their compulsory military service. Would they still be at war? [. . .] What made this day so special was the [annual] Israeli Song Festival [. . .]. The first prize had been won by a song about a young man’s realization that he was in love: “Suddenly now, suddenly today” [“Ahavti’ha,” “I Loved Her,” lyrics by Tirza Atar]. The second prize had been won by a song about Rabbi Akiva, written by the sensitive poet Dahlia Ravikovitch; the third went to a song by Leah Goldberg, describing Teresa Dimon’s feelings of love. What were our singers doing just now, following three wars, the War of Attrition at its height, and the possibility of a fourth on the horizon? Singing love songs instead of marches. Is this a sign of war weariness? Perhaps. The public’s sincere yearning to live a normal life filled with flowers and love? Certainly. Our twenty-second Independence Day was a holiday given over to ruminations and answer-less questioning by an obstinate people carrying a heavy burden on the shoulders. This same yearning for normalcy was echoed in the weekly column written by Ruth Bondi for Davar, the Labor Party newspaper: We remain very tense, with each day adding something—someone killed, a mine exploding, a threat, a demand. What we need is to stop the world for four weeks, a global annual vacation [. . .]. We want a rest, newspapers with headlines about a murder or bank fraud [. . .]. We want a country where nothing of any historical importance happens during an entire month [. . .] We want a month of boredom. Then we can go on with history.[16] Even partial realization of the promise regarding normality, of “a month of boredom” in Bondi’s wishful phrase, would henceforth require employment of a new

rhetorical mechanism, one that would elaborate and sustain the normalcy narrative while simultaneously maintaining the security narrative. I call the tools for juggling the two normalization mechanisms.

Recruitment of Culture in Favor of the Normalcy Narrative To balance between the two contradictory and conflicting narratives[17] determining Israel’s attitudes toward war and peace, a cultural, rhetorical, and psychological space was needed, that will contain both stories. This challenging situation required the formation of concepts and conceptual mechanisms capable of blurring their original divergent meanings. What emerged was a process that reclassified security events as normal events. One approach to realizing this task was to treat the two narratives as “currencies” that could be “exchanged,” one for the other. The promise of a normal life could now be “exchanged” for the willingness to bear the security burden. Stated differently: The key to living a normal life—expressed, among other things, in material improvements—was enduring the difficult security situation. A statement made by Moshe Dayan after a meeting (spring 1970) held with the head of the Kiryat Shmona Local Council following one of the intensifying missile barrages directed at this poor town situated in the northern periphery, very close to the Lebanese border, reflects this new approach: There is no doubt that we have to improve our defensive capacities. However, nothing we do can totally prevent the rain of missiles originating [less than] ten kilometers beyond the border. At the same time, the state must do the maximum possible to improve the quality of life here, first of all in economic terms. Kiryat Shmona’s residents should not be left to feel that they are living in a remote, neglected corner of the country.[18] That is, under the government’s tutelage, the public would learn to manipulate security issues for the purpose of improving their standard of living. In order to grasp the shift taking place in public perceptions of the problems, consider the response to Dayan’s statement, made by a young Kiryat Shmona resident: “I want to live here, but when I see that institutions [i.e., the government] don’t build any shelters [or services]. . . [. . .] We want a hospital [. . .] If you want to keep young people [in Kiryat Shmona], how can you do so without providing any chances of getting an apartment here?”[19] Yet another instance reflecting the complexity developing in the relationship between the normalcy and the security narratives is the attempt to present normalcy as equivalent to security. The public’s continuation of its regular behavior was thus advertised as promoting security. In his efforts to prevent cancellation of the “1970 Tel Aviv Fair,” an international economic and commercial event, the Tel Aviv Municipality’s spokesperson wrote:

The Municipality considers it of great national importance that we do not cease in our efforts to keep the tradition of holding international fairs at this time [. . .]. The end of such activities would prove that the enemy has won in its War of Attrition against us. Holding the fair [. . .] would prove the opposite, that the War of Attrition has failed and that we are continuing to develop our economy and maintain commercial and economic relations [. . .]. We believe that the 1970 Tel Aviv Fair has great importance, going beyond its economic benefits.[20] From a conceptual perspective, transformation of security and normalcy into “exchangeable” or even interchangeable items, appears to eradicate the narratives’ contradictions. Rather than competing over the same piece of the pie, they appear as complementary, that is, the greater the security achieved the greater the normalcy, and vice versa. Thus, the narratives come to be viewed as supportive of one another.

Blurring the Concept “Peace” Another approach applied to minimizing the contradiction between the two narratives was “semantic blurring” of concepts related to conflict and avoidance of providing any precise definition of either “war” or “peace.” These acts of obfuscation are epitomized in the bizarre definition of the Middle East political situation as an intermediate phase of “no peace, no war.” The introduction of vagueness into how the nation conceptualized peace thus directly contributed to the “normalization” of war. In the wake of the Six Day War, cultural definitions of peace became blurred. This meant that peace would no longer be cast as a tangible condition, the result of alliances, the binding contracts that ordered international relations. Active cooperation between states or peoples gradually retreated as a criterion of peaceful relations. As the contents of peace become more amorphic and utopian in character, the charged relations maintained between Israel and its neighbors was perceived as de facto peace. Reframing the fluid reality as “normal,” and “peaceful,” at a time when hostility marked Israel’s relationships with its neighbors, became embedded in the political lexicon, especially that employed by Moshe Dayan and Golda Meir. Dayan was most creative in coining vague concepts: We are now enjoying a situation of peace [. . .]. I believe that in time, this situation of peace will become a formula for peace, a kind of agreement. I hope and believe that the current situation will be consolidated into a formal framework.[21] Next to the semantic juggling that broadened its reach while obscuring its substance, peace acquired a permanent string of new modifiers and metaphors. Golda Meir said: “We all want peace; no one can compete with us over the yearning for peace. But more dangerous that the lack of peace is a pretend peace, which leads to yet another war.”[22]

The word “peace” would often be attached to catchphrases, a practice that distanced the term from any concrete or legal reference. Consider “a hand extended in peace,”[23] a metaphor for Israel’s willingness to achieve peace but, within Israeli culture, this metaphor stresses the literal and emotional rather than the operational or policy aspects of peace. A typical instance of metaphor is found in statement made by Meir elaborating her attitude toward negotiation with the Arabs: “And if I discard a lot and concede a great deal, is there any assurance that at the end of the road will I find a hand extended in peace?”[24] Peace might be transformed from a concrete objective into a laudable, perhaps sublime but abstract and thus unattainable aspiration once the phrase “yearning for peace” appeared. In her autobiography My Life, Meir treats peace as a sort of precious stone or magic potion, the product of a unilateral search to be obtained only after an exhausting quest, equivalent to the Holy Grail. This mystical or magical approach appears to have dictated her attack against the April 1970 request made by Dr. Nahum Goldmann, president of the World Zionist Association, for government approval of a meeting to be held with Egypt’s ruler, Gamal Abdel Nasser, as part of Goldmann’s peace initiative. In her description of Goldmann as one of “those who have recipes for achieving peace by taking shortcuts,”[25] Meir stressed the illusory nature of peace and what she perceived as the self-defeating struggle for its attainment: “But we’ve decided to defend the cease fire lines without drawing Nasser’s and Fatah’s attention to the fact—and we will continue our search for peace, [despite] the accompanying disappointments.”[26] Meir demonstrates another striking feature of Israel’s evolving lexicon in the way she expressed her attitude toward the “cost of peace,” a phrase capturing the economic approach to peace as a product subject to market analysis. In an interview given to the journalist Dov Goldstein from Maariv, Meir stated: Goldstein: A feeling shared by the public at large is that peace has been position behind some wall. . . . Meir: Yes, behind a wall? We are standing on the other side of the wall and are not giving in, not giving in [. . .]. OK, let’s see. The public, the entire public, wants peace. And we are all ready to pay the price demanded. That’s the truth. However, thank God, not only the government but the vast majority of Israelis says: Peace—peace. We want it very much, but how much will it cost? Will one type of peace cause us such losses that had we agreed, we would find that we perhaps wasted the possibility for a real peace? That from eagerness to achieve peace we didn’t notice its essence?[27] The approach to peace as simultaneously abstract and concrete, much like the paper currency used to pay merchants, demonstrates the concept’s flexibility but also how easily it could be emptied of content as a result of its rhetorical status as a stock phrase due to its endless repetition. A bitter comment on the character of Meir’s unique “peace rhetoric” was written by the playwright Hanoch Levin in his satiric play

Malkat Ambatya (Queen of Bathtub, staged April 1970). In one scene, the Queen—a clear reference to Meir—delivers a monologue, a segment of which follows: From this important platform I make an impassioned call to our cousins [the Arabs] wherever they may be. Our faces are turned toward peace. Peace is our sole aspiration. Bring us peace. We want peace. Everyone is interested in peace. Bring us peace. We beg for peace. Bring us peace.[28] Levin’s Queen of Bathtub, with her mechanical repetition of pat phrases about peace, was just one of the characters created by Israeli authors belonging to what can be referred as the period’s “alternative literature.” Their texts made critical use of the peace rhetoric that had overtaken the public discourse. In Lo Sam Zayin (1973, Don’t Give a Damn), the novel written by Dan Ben-Amotz, the closing scene takes place on the lawn between a mental institution’s bungalows. Rafi, the book’s hero, and his friend Fogel are engrossed in a game of chess: Through the barred window of one of the bungalows, comes a monotonic voice of a man reading aloud in short, rhythmic pauses: “Peace peace peace peace peace peace peace. . .” without varying the force of his voice or its melody. Five minutes pass. The chess pieces are already arranged but Fogel and Rafi remain entranced by the cries of peace coming from behind the barred window.[29] A bit later, we read: Fogel: He’s finally stopped. What’s gotten into him? Rafi: I don’t know. Every day it’s the same thing. And always about peace, peace, peace. It can make you nuts! (p. 296) Ben-Amotz demonstrates how the word “peace” has been emptied of its original intent or interpretation through monotonic repetition. The speaker, an “abnormal” person hospitalized in a mental institution, replicates the Israel’s leadership’s use of the concept of “peace.” Ben-Amotz, less subtle than Levin, clearly insinuates that speaker’s models are also insane. The author thus compares current references to peace as a sign of “abnormality.” Within this cultural context, war ironically belongs to the world of the sane, the healthy, the young and the “normal.” In other words, BenAmotz has quite accurately identified the phenomenon in question and located peace outside the “normalcy narrative.” He illustrates how war has been “rehabilitated” and integrated into that narrative. * * * The Six Day War engendered contradictory narratives supporting the parallel existence of security-oriented values and values derived from some image of normal life. Due to its swift integration within Israel’s cultural fabric, this dual “securitynormalcy” narrative was revealed to be versatile and sophisticated in terms of its use of rhetorical mechanisms. Furthermore, because the narrative was capable of fulfilling

the needs of Israel’s government as well as those of the public, it facilitated adaptation to changing security-related events. The three mechanisms constructed —“euhemization of war,” “naturalization of war” and “justification of war”—which are discussed in depth in the second part of this book, became central to the normalization of war, within Israeli culture, the phenomenon lying at the heart of this book. The semantic and conceptual blurring of the meaning of war and of peace in the public discourse led to Israel’s missing of two opposing opportunities, that of achieving peace and that of waging a preventive war. With the aid of the war normalization mechanism that I will continue to discuss in the following chapters, the Israeli leadership’s repeated failure to take advantage of the numerous peace initiatives, created an atmosphere that peace, in its new constricted meaning of “no war,” had been achieved. By the same logic, the inappropriate reading of the enemy’s preparations for the Yom Kippur War led Israel to miss the opportunity to wage a preventive strike that might have prevented the strategic surprise, an issue to which I return in the book’s concluding chapter. On the way toward constructing my argument, I next discuss the unique character of the control exercised by the regime over Israeli cultural production.

NOTES 1. On victory albums see: Gan, A. (2002). The Discourse That Vanished? “Discourse Culture” As an Attempt to Consolidate Special Identity to Second Generation Kibbutz Members. PhD Thesis. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University (In Hebrew), p. 73; Segev, T. (2005). Israel in 1967. Jerusalem: Keter (In Hebrew), pp. 459–464; Sela, R. (Ed.) (2007). Six Days plus Forty Years. Petach Tikva Museum of Art (In Hebrew), pp. 59– 100. 2. Gavriely-Nuri, D. (2007). The Social Construction of Jerusalem of Gold as an Unofficial Anthem. Israel Studies, 12(2), 104–120. 3. Hadari (2002). 4. One of the most salient books in this category was Fighters Talk (Siach Lochamim), a compendium of conversations among young reservists from the Kibbutzim, after the Six Day War. Shapira, A. (Ed.) (1967). Independent Publishing. (in Hebrew) 5. Bondi, R. (1975). Suddenly at the Heart of the Orient. Tel Aviv: Zmora Bitan Modan (In Hebrew), p. 29. 6. Golani (2002), Pedatzur (1996). Zuckermann, M. (2001). On the Fabrication of Israelism—Myths and Ideology in a Society of Conflict. Tel Aviv: Resling (in Hebrew). 7. Nadel, C. (2006). Between the Two Wars. Tel Aviv: Ma’arachot (in Hebrew). Yaacobi, G. (1989). How an Israeli-Egyptian Settlement was Lost and the Yom Kippur War Not Avoided. Tel Aviv: Idanim, Yedioth Ahronoth (in Hebrew). 8. Arbel, N. (Ed.) (1983). Great Stages in the History of The Land of Israel. Vol. 11: A winning nation awaits peace – 1967–1973. Jerusalem: Revivim (in Hebrew);

Schueftan, D. (1989). Attrition; Egypt’s Post War Political Strategy 1967-1970. Tel Aviv: Ma’arachot, Ministry of Defense (in Hebrew). 9. Raz-Krakotzkin, A. (1993, 1994). Exile in Sovereignty, to critique the denial of exile in Israeli Culture. Teoria U’vikoret, 4 (1993), 23–55, (1994), 113–132. ​ 10. Meir (1975), p. 202. 11. In 2006, Rubinstein won the Israel Prize for law. 12. Haaretz, 19 May, 1970. 13. Quoted in: Kapeliouk, A. (1975). Not by Omission: The Policy That Led to War. Tel Aviv: Amikam (In Hebrew), p. 25. 14. Gazit, S. (2003). Trapped Fools—Thirty Years of Israeli Policy in the Territories. London: Frank Cass. 15. Haaretz, 14 May, 1970. 16. Bondi (1975), p. 46. 17. Gamson, W. A., & Herzog, H. (1999). Living with Contradictions: The Taken-forgranted in Israeli Political Discourse. Political Psychology, 20(2), 247–266; Katriel, T. (2009). Inscribing Narratives of Occupation in Israeli Popular Memory. In: M. Keren & H. H. Herwig (Eds.), War Memory and Popular Culture: Essays on Modes of Remembrance and Commemoration (pp. 150–165). Jefferson, NC: McFarland. 18. Dayan (1976), p. 546. 19. Ibid. ibid. 20. The Fair and the War of Attrition. Haaretz, 31 May, 1970. 21. Quoted in Kapeliouk (1975), p. 32. 22. Tirosh, A. Maariv, 9 April, 1970. 23. Gavriely-Nuri, D. (2010b). If Both Opponents ‘Extend Hands in Peace’ Why Don’t They Meet?—Mythic Metaphors and Cultural Codes in the Israeli Peace Discourse. Journal of Language and Politics, 9(3), 449–468. 24. Tirosh, A. Maariv, 9 April, 1970. Meir (1975) p. 272. 25. Tirosh, A. Maariv, 9 April, 1970. 26. Meir (1975) p. 272. 27. Goldstein, D. Maariv, 8 September, 1972. 28. Levin, H. (1987). What Does the Bird Care. Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad (In Hebrew), p. 79. 29. Ben-Amotz, D. (1973). Don’t Give a Damn. Tel Aviv: Bitan Publishing, p. 292.

Chapter 4

Government Control of Cultural Production Israel’s social structure, which had remained basically intact since establishment of the state until 1977, together with the exceptional power of the ruling party during 1967–1973, made it possible to mould the public’s voices and the active market of ideas into a relatively uniform whole. Some of the mechanisms employed had been in operation at the state’s birth. Others, primarily those rooted in technological and media development, strengthened. What emerged resembled a circular, almost hermetically closed system of cultural production, a characteristic contributing to its centralized direction. I therefore devote this chapter to briefly reviewing how cultural production in Israel was controlled after the Six Day War. The cultural system’s internal structure allows us to readily isolate the messages repeated during the research period. These were transmitted, in parallel, on the nation’s sole television channel as well as in the press, in movies and in songs sung by the military bands which enjoyed great popularity among the civilian population. The same messages could be heard in the interviews given by prime ministers on the eve of national holidays and read in any number of children’s books. As we shall see, repetition in diversified channels ensured that the Labor Party, which had controlled the government for decades, would retain its hegemony. The regime’s ability to foster, and thus channel, cultural production toward own objectives did not totally exclude alternative voices from penetrating the cultural discourse. What it did do was undermine public awareness and appreciation of those voices, to the point of nearly total marginalization. This interconnectedness made identification of the dominant cultural narrative relatively simple. Before proceeding, I list the main structural factors that facilitated dissemination of ideology through channels of cultural production. Israel as an emerging state. At the research period the national value system and elite groups were still being consolidated. This fact reinforced the government’s power and its ability to control the flow of information. This process effectively limited access to information that was thought to be contrary to government interests. Restrictions on access to information was rationalized as protecting society’s interests. Israel’s social fabric, woven primarily of immigrants and ethnic groups. A significant segment of this population had arrived from regions in which the participation of Jews in political life and criticism of the government had been severely constrained. Widespread consensus. Agreement among Jewish Israelis over core national goals was especially widespread. This consensus often clouded over substantive differences between groups while it induced bitter denunciation of those who dared to challenge accepted notions.[1] The government, the military and, quite often, the state administration achieved an elevated status as abstract ideas, valued beyond their actual instrumental accomplishments.[2] Concepts

such as “Israeli society” and “the Jewish state,” became hallowed, a condition that often placed informal prohibitions on publicly voiced criticism. At this temporal juncture, the Occupied Territories and Israel’s foreign policy were still minor points of conjecture and insufficient to rally political challenges to the ruling party. Economic control. Upon independence from the British (1948), the government began to exercise increasing control over the economy, with the state budget controlling more than half of all market resources. Thanks to its massive control, the government could regulate the market as well as governmental entities, which implied a degree of censorship over what was produced among providers of culture. Parallel to the structural elements that strengthened the regime’s control, the media became a major actor in steering the period’s market of ideas and delivering desired messages to every Israeli household. Government control over cultural production and the channeling of formal information was done by exercising of its monopoly over the electronic media, which was to end only in 1990. Informal control was conducted through various devices, often facilitated by personal and ideological ties, as described in the following. Government’s control over sources of information. Members of the government and of the Knesset, senior officials, and party activists had direct access to the press. Messages were transmitted to the public by means of press conferences, official announcements, and government publications. Although all parties use these mechanisms, the relatively narrow base and access to resources ensured that alternative messages would be ineffectively disseminated. The presence of only one television channel, which began transmitting in 1969, is the most blatant example of the relative ease with which the media could be controlled. Radio transmissions were likewise regulated. Cooperation from public representatives on media governing boards was widespread as these appointments had to be approved by the responsible minister. The Editors’ Committee was established by the press for the purpose of institutional self-censorship or, as many argued, voluntary compliance with government dictates.[3] Other, overtly autonomous entities likewise tended to function as extensions of the government, often because of their monopolistic power over diverse arenas of cultural production. For instance, the publishers Am Oved (“A Working People”), an organ of the Histadrut, Israel’s federation of Labor, was founded for the purpose of publishing books targeted at the average Israeli household. As the largest among Israel’s publishers, Am Oved came to control the publication of original as well as translated literature. Through its financial support, the government also held sway

over the funds allocated to movie and play production by the Israel Film and Theatre Council (currently the Israel Film Council). Within the context of Israel’s small size and its isolation, such a closed and centralized structure of cultural production was self-reinforcing in its actors as well as messages. It was thus able to exert power over the formation of public opinion to a degree rarely observed in other Western democracies. * * * The structural, political, and media factors described in this chapter operated in tandem to create a rather uniform culture, one that was subject to government control and manipulation. Post-1967 Israeli culture was, therefore, quite consensual in character and spoke in one dominant voice. From a methodological perspective, the widespread consensus facilitated identification of the 1967-1973 “cultural narrative.”

NOTES 1. Kahana, R., & Cna’an, S. (1973). Journalistic Behavior in Stressful Security Situations and Its Impact on Public Support in the Government. Jerusalem: The Hebrew University of Jerusalem (in Hebrew), p. 19. 2. Horowitz, D., & Lissak, M. (1972). From a Settlement to a State, Change and Continuity in Israel’s Political Structure. Jerusalem: The Hebrew University of Jerusalem (in Hebrew). 3. The Editors Committee is an informal forum comprised by the editors and owners of the main Israeli media. Until the 1980s, it took a central role in the self-censorship practiced by the Israeli media. See: Goren, D. (1971). Journalism In a Country Under Siege. PhD Thesis. Jerusalem: The Hebrew University of Jerusalem (in Hebrew); Lahav, P. (1993). The Press and National Security. In: A. Yaniv (Ed.), National Security and Democracy in Israel (pp. 173–195). Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner; Lavi, Z. (1987). The Editors Committee—Myth and Reality. Yearbook of the Association of Journalists, 63–67 (In Hebrew); Negbi, M. (1995). Freedom of the Press in Israel— the Legal Aspect. Jerusalem: The Van Leer Institute (in Hebrew); Zak, M. (1993). Censorship and Journalism in Five Wars. Kesher, 13, 5–20 (in Hebrew).

A Literary Intermezzo Israel’s war discourse flowered in the fertile soil of historical regeneration.[1] Hebrew literature, from the beginnings of Zionist settlement at the end of the nineteenth century and until the Six Day War’s conclusion, was an active player in the process of that regeneration. I review the highlights of war discourse in modern Hebrew literature from its nascence to its flowering in 1967 in this literary intermezzo. Anita Shapira, in Herev HaYona (Land and Power: The Zionist Resort to Force, 1881–1948, 1992),[2] writes about Israeli society’s changing attitudes toward the ethos of military force. She identifies the conceptual origins of the opposition to

applying military power that held sway during Zionism’s beginnings in the following: The Zionist leadership’s traditional reluctance to being identified as worshippers of war deities did not flow solely from a recognition of the universal condemnation of war and of the superiority of peace but from the deepest normative alignments. This recoil expressed Jewish aversion to the use of force. (p. 9) Shapira stresses the nature of the gradual change in this early relationship that ended with the establishment of the state. She describes the complex interactions between the two national creeds rationalizing the use of force: the defensive ethos and the offensive ethos. The defensive ethos detached the conflict with the Arabs from everyday life, as if it were an abnormal or deviant event. Framed by the basic optimism of its adherents, the defensive ethos predicted that future relations between the two peoples would be built upon economic and social cooperation, nurtured by peace and fellowship. Shapira argues that peak acceptance of the defensive ethos characterized the period 1922–1936. And yet, this attitude’s hold over public opinion gradually waned. A string of events, some internal—particularly the Arab pogroms against the Jewish population in Palestine during 1936–1939—and others external— e.g., World War II—motivated a shift to the offensive ethos. Recognition of the valor displayed at Masada and its transformation into a national symbol (captured in the phrase “Masada will never fall again!”) marked the transition. When looking at how war is portrayed in Israeli culture and literature, that is, the way in which the idea of war is elaborated over the years, we find a dual or perhaps an ambivalent approach to the use of military power. On the one hand, the discourse euphemizes and rationalizes war while glorifying the combatant; on the other, it stresses the tragedy, pain, suffering, destruction, and injustice that war inflicts. The main argument I develop later is that after the Six Day War victory, the attitudinal pendulum stalled, to become fixed at the pole euphemizing and rationalizing war. Up until World War I, few works of Israeli literature had war or military battles as their subject; an example is the novel Ashmat Shomron (The Guilt of Samaria, 1865), written by Abraham Mapu, who used several genres to describe what he imagined as a Jewish military force.[3] By the end of the nineteenth century, a trend toward idealization of battles and bravery had begun to appear.[4] Authors such as Max Nordau, Micah Josef Berdichevsky, Shaul Tchernichovsky, and Chaim Nahman Bialik became involved in envisioning an active, combative Judaism, detached from the contemporary ghetto ways of life.[5] Yet, it soon became apparent that the realization of the Zionist ideal in contemporary Palestine entailed recurring episodes of fighting, bereavement, and destruction. This insight had an immense influence on the works written during that period. The Hebrew authors writing in the 1920s and 1930s saw their role as helping to establish the spiritual equilibrium lost following painful experiences of violence between Jews and Arabs, which they did by injecting optimism regarding Zionism’s future into their works.[6] The literary scholar Dan Miron

(1992) cites 1929, when Arab violence against Jews began to intensify, as the watershed year. A stylistic and rhetorical turn toward the glorification of war and its combatants subsequently appeared. Two new approaches blossomed in the next decade, the 1930s. One continued to maintain the literary focus on the tragedy of the battlefield experience, with its physical and moral suffering. The other direction glorified conflict as a “transcendent collective experience.”[7] The approach first was represented by a small but dominant group of writers and poets headed by Avraham Shlonsky, who began to argue against the literary euphemization and rationalization of combat.[8] Its members adopted the European pacifism that had appeared toward the end of World War I. Shlonsky wrote, among other things: “To the degree to which Zionism is indelibly bound to nationalism and militarism, it is invalid at its core.”[9] Natan Alterman, who was then Shlonsky’s devoted disciple, in his poem “Al Titnu Lahem Rovim” (Don’t Give Them Rifles, 1934), wrote in the voice of a World War I soldier about the experience of death from mustard gas. These modernist artists incited rage as well as condemnation by the Yishuv society (the Jewish community living in Palestine), which perceived them as unpatriotic. Alterman himself renounced his antiforce and antiwar stance shortly afterwards, a shift captured in his 1941 volume of poems Simchat Anyyim (The Joy of the Poor). According to Miron: “War, despite its menace and atrocities, is perceived [. . .] [in this collection] not as a chaotic situation, as disintegration, desolation and despair but as the concentration of the forces of existence, a clear intellectual exposure of all existential truths.”[10] Mitzrayim’s exaltation of war reached its epitome in Shire’i Makot Mitzrayim (Songs on the Ten Plagues of Egypt, 1944), where he “returns to war paeans as resembling imposing marble or bronze monuments.”[11] During World War II, and especially after Israel’s War of Independence (1948), a new group of authors emerged who eventually acquired the label “Dor BaAretz” or “Dor Tashach” (“the 1948 Generation”), denoting the pivotal event of Israeli independence.[12] These writers were “born” into a world suffused with war. Their attitudes toward war were often captured in depictions of personal experiences.[13] Many of their stories, such as those by S. Yizhar, excel in the historical accuracy of their descriptions of the battles fought during the War of Independence. Miron is convinced that S. Yizhar and Amir Gilboa “set the [standard] for the graphic and realistic transmission of the immediate experience of battle as a starting point from which short stories and poems were to be written.”[14] These sharply contrasted with the works about the war written by veteran authors (Shlonsky Altermann, Uri Zvi Greenberg, Agnon, and Hazaz, among others), which were plagued by “spiritual collapse, especially in the way they treat the topics of death and bereavement.”[15] Miron identifies three central failures in the latter’s “poetry of war and bereavement” that, I suggest, are particularly relevant for our discussion of the literature written during 1967–1973:

“Purposeful silencing or minimalization of [war’s pain].”[16] Miron argues that the majority of Alterman’s “HaTur HaShvi’i”[17] (Seventh Column) poems, written throughout the war, are characterized by this failure. He insists that Alterman’s poetry was propagandist, and points to the poet’s optimistic tone and full confidence in the struggle’s justice and eventual victory. These poems are empty of any mention of the price paid by the fallen, or of the devastation inflicted on the lives of the bereaved, characteristics that would return in the post-1967 war discourse. 2. “Drowning” the reality of war in a flood of superlatives and metaphoric allusions. These literary devices target the character of war’s young recruits,[18] who are portrayed as glorious figures.[19] 3. Stressing war’s rationality and morality, with lack of choice (the “no choice” or “just” war”) employed as a central motif in the attempt to diminish national responsibility for its negative outcomes. 1.

Based on her analysis of newspaper articles and literary works written during Israel’s War of Independence, Nurit Gertz describes the staggering confidence in the ability of human effort to ensure victory reflected in the contemporary war discourse. [20] Israeli journalism during that period actively incorporated narratives taken from the ancient past as well as from the present. These narratives were chosen, she argues, not for their historical accuracy, but for their correspondence with the emerging Israeli self-image, considered appropriate for the nascent anti-ghetto, non-Diaspora Israeli society. Such a model was thought crucial for the war’s fate because it encouraged Yishuv perseverance during the Arab siege of Jerusalem and optimism in apparently hopeless situations. Oz Almog notes that many of the memorial collections and books about the war written after establishment of the state describe the military officer “as a person with a broad view, who hates war, and for whom military life and military prescripts had yet to regiment his thinking.”[21] That is, moral superiority was added to the attributes of fighting ability, bravery, and self-sacrifice already embedded in the soldier’s image. The period’s literature therefore found itself once more divided and attracted to one of two contradictory sentiments: amazement with the force, ability, and determination that Israeli soldiers demonstrated in battle on the one hand, and the tragedy of lost young lives that awakened doubts regarding the justice of war and the use of force on the other. This ambivalence would reappear, with greater intensity, after the Sinai Campaign (1956). That discourse focused on the commonly held image of the Israeli soldier in addition to the value of military bravery precisely because the Campaign was the first of what would be considered Israel’s “un-just wars.” The legitimacy of living at sword’s edge was sharply scrutinized.[22] Questions regarding the legitimacy of triggering events as justifications for the occupation of the Sinai Peninsula, such as whether the Sinai Campaign could be considered a “just war,” and the role played by

the leaders who made the crucial decisions continue to provoke controversy to this day.[23] The changing character of the Sinai Campaign debate seeped into the literature that it inspired. Uncertainty over the campaign’s necessity prodded authors to mull over the validity of the security discourse and the morality of glorifying military heroes. Michael Keren (1991) is convinced that many of the most important literary works written during the 1960s dealt with the moral issues associated with the Israeli-Arab conflict.[24] The negative impression made by the Sinai Campaign and its implications is clearly felt in the indirect references to the war found in the works of A. B. Yehoshua, Aharon Appelfeld, and many others. The debate motivated Yehoshua to write his first allegories, including HaMefaked HaAcharon (The Last Commander, 1962), which centers on a group of soldiers who prefer apathy to war. The story therefore hints at the gap existing between activist militarism and the aversion to war felt by the exhausted post-Sinai generation. Nonetheless, Israel’s rapid conquest of the Sinai Peninsula, together with the relatively small number of casualties, bestowed upon the Israeli soldier with an aura of unusual qualities, who came to be viewed as the “human wonder that Zionism had produced.”[25] The image of Moshe Dayan, the Chief of Staff and the campaign’s mastermind, came to symbolize the new Israeli hero. Metaphysical terms were used to describe IDF’s superiority; soldiers were portrayed as reincarnations of Yehoshua Bin-Nun and Judah the Maccabi. Paratroopers and pilots replaced Palmach foot soldiers in the contemporary military pantheon. “The public perceived the aerial supremacy of the Israeli pilot as an expression of the human superiority of the native Israeli, the Sabra.”[26] The Sinai Campaign thus initiated another phase of mystification into the Israeli war discourse. Mystification, as a conceptual process, recast the Campaign’s military victories as acts of salvation and as “miracles” (this lexicon would be vocally revived after the 1967 taking of east Jerusalem), and is most pertinent for our analysis. The Sinai Peninsula’s association with the biblical Mount Sinai was resurrected in this secular myth. As Yona Hadari wrote: “The Sinai Campaign join[ed] a line of miracles beginning with the Exodus from Egypt, Hanukkah, and the miracle of Genesis itself.”[27] Hadari views this process as a digression from previous literary traditions: The change in direction [after the war] was sharp and sudden. Poems, songs, newspaper articles, press documentation and speeches appearing in the daily press and journals, philosophizing and literary theorizing, too, dedicated themselves to the portrayal of the young soldier as a knight on a messianic mission.”[28] One unprecedented trend to materialize in this context was what Almog (1997) has labeled “linguistic purification;” it peaked after the Six Day War. Linguistic purification was most conspicuous in press reports, especially with respect to

attitudes regarding the initiation of military power. “Professional terms such as ‘artillery’, ‘assault’ and ‘automatic fire’ [. . .] describe the war in the jargon of a captivating war game.”[29] These phenomena will be further discussed in the coming chapters. * * * Our survey of the relationship between Israel’s wars and the war discourse as it subsequently evolved, indicates that this discourse, as reflected in Israeli literature, was characterized from the very beginning by moving between two poles: with one pole euphemizing war and the other emphasizing war’s grim outcomes. The friction between the two became more severe after each successive war. This duality sheds light on the anomaly characterizing the post–Six Day War Israeli. Following the war, euphemization came to occupy a central place on the cultural map, whereas the alternative was relegated to the sidelines and vilified as belonging to the subversive tradition of “alternative literature.” Just how this brief but glaring halt of the pendulum contributed to the surprise of the Yom Kippur War is the topic of a later chapter.

NOTES 1. Hager, T. (2005). Is War a Terrible Thing? Representations of War and Peace in Israeli Children’s Literature in The Eighties and Nineties. In: H. Gur (Ed.), The Militarization of Education (pp. 206–219). Tel Aviv: Bavel (in Hebrew); Cohen, A. (1985). An Ugly Face in the Mirror: National Stereotypes in Hebrew children’s Litrature. Tel Aviv: Reshafim (in Hebrew); Rahav, A. (1991). The Development of nonCanonical Original Children’s Literature in the Fifties: Hasamba as a Case Study. MA Thesis. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University. See also: Darr, Y. (2006). Called Away From Our School-Desks—Yishuv In The Shadow of The Holocaust and In Anticipation of Statehood In Children’s Literature of Eretz Israel, 1939–1948. Jerusalem: Magnes (In Hebrew). 2. Shapira, A. (1992). The Dove’s Sword—Zionism and Power 1881–1948. Tel Aviv: Am Oved (In Hebrew). 3. Miron, D. (1992). In Face of the Silent Other—Studies of Israeli Independence War Poetry. Jerusalem: The Open University (in Hebrew), p. 23. 4. Bitan, D. (1996). Noble Strength Rising: Myths of Bravery in Battle at The Beginning of Zionism. In: D. Ohana & R. S. Wistrich (Eds.), Myth and Memory— Transfigurations of Israeli Consciousness (pp. 169–188). Jerusalem: Van Leer Institute (in Hebrew); Reuven, G. (1980). Who Is a War Hero? Ma’aracht, 276–7, 75 (in Hebrew). 5. Bitan (1996), p. 186. 6. Miron (1992), p. 31. 7. Ibid., p. 36. 8. Shlonsky, A. (1930). Thou Shall Not Kill, Yachdav, Tel Aviv. 9. Quoted in Miron (1992), p. 35.

10. Miron (1992), p. 41. See also Hever, H. (2001). Suddenly the Sight of War— Nationalism and Violence in Hebrew Poetry in the 1940’s. Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad (in Hebrew). 11. Ibid. 12. See also: Hever, H. (1992). Poetry and Reportage during Israel’s War of Independence. Iyunim Bitkumat Israel, 2, 427–448 (in Hebrew). 13. Nave, H., & Menda-Levy, O. (Eds.) (2002). A Day of Battle and its Eve and the Day After—The Representation of the War of Independence in Hebrew Literature and Culture in Israel. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University (in Hebrew). 14. Miron (1992), p. 49. 15. Ibid., p. 51. 16. Ibid., Ibid. 17. Finkelstein, M. (2011). The Seventh Column and the Purity of Arms: Natan Alterman on Security, Morality and Law. Bnei Brak: Hakibbutz Hameuchad. 18. Sivan, E. (1991). The 1948 Generation—Myth, Portrait and Reality. Tel Aviv: Am Oved (in Hebrew). 19. Golani (2002), pp. 63–66. 20. Gertz (1995), pp. 35–66. 21. Almog (1997), p. 203. 22. Yariv, A. (1985). War of Choice—War of Necessity. In: A. Yariv (Ed.), War of Choice—a Collection (pp. 9–29). Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad & Center for Strategic Studies, Tel Aviv University (in Hebrew). 23. See: Bar-On, M. (2001). Smoking Borders: A Study of Israel’s History 1948– 1976. Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi (in Hebrew); Barzilai, G. (1992). Democracy during War—Consensus and Controversy in Israel. Tel Aviv: Sifriat Poalim (In Hebrew); Kafkafi, E. (1994). War of Choice, The Way to the Sinai Peninsula and Back 1956– 1957. Ramat Efal: Yad Tabenkin (in Hebrew); Morris, B. (1996). Israel’s Border Wars 1949–1956. Tel Aviv & Jerusalem: Am Oved & Truman Research Institute (in Hebrew). Also see: Golani, M. (1996). Ben-Gurion, With or Against Dayan? Israel on The Road Towards Initiating War. Katedra, 81, 122–152 (in Hebrew); Tal, D. (1996). Between Ben Gurion, Sharet and Dayan: the Battle Over Initiating a Preemptive War 1955. Katedra, 81, 119–122 (in Hebrew). 24. Keren, M. (1991). The Pen and the Sword. Tel Aviv: Ramot (In Hebrew), p. 84. 25. Almog (1997), p. 211. 26. Ibid., p. 213. 27. Hadari (2002), p. 84. 28. Ibid. 29. Almog (1997), p. 215.

Part II

Normalization Mechanisms in Israeli Culture, 1967– 1973 In this part we immerse ourselves in the depths of Israeli culture as it developed after 1967 to reveal a long list of cultural products that contributed to the conceptual transformation of “war” from a brutal to a benign, even natural, event. Beginning with speeches made by Israel’s leaders, and going on to the spheres of literature, popular songs, and film, these works provide some essential keys to comprehending the surprise of the Yom Kippur War.

Chapter 5

War Euphemization Discourse A balanced presentation of war, as an actual real-life event, or as a comprehensive theoretical concept, requires attending to its complementary facets: first, war’s costs, the havoc it wreaks and its ugliness; second, war’s benefits, whether to a group—in this case, a nation—or to individuals. The Six Day War victory provided an opportunity to minimize, if not expunge, war’s negative aspects from public discourse. The wealth of security, political and economic benefits gained from the war, discussed in the previous chapters, rationalized the Israeli public’s repression of war’s direct and indirect disagreeable outcomes: damage to body and spirit, private and public financial losses, and the unique costs accompanying control over one million vanquished people. The preferred idea of a “lovely war” nurtured a plethora of images that were incessantly drilled into the public consciousness. In this chapter we therefore examine how these optional views were expressed in our corpus. We turn to works minimalizing and marginalizing war’s costs before reviewing the works extolling its rewards.[1]

Euphemization of War’s Costs Euphemization of war’s costs derived from the character of the two major wars waged prior to our research period: The Sinai Campaign and the Six Day War, among the shortest wars in history. They therefore cannot be directly compared with wars conducted in previous centuries, which often continued for dozens of years, or with the two world wars fought in the twentieth century. Iconic images of soldiers apparently acting out of routine while stranded in snowy fields, memories of European campaigns and the last century’s world wars are absent from Israeli cultural memory. The two Israeli wars are not remembered as bloody campaigns in Israel’s collective memory. Scenes of killing fields and mass graves, integral to cultural memories of the two world wars and other regional conflicts, are also absent. Israel’s civilian population was spared a direct confrontation with battlefield horrors up to and including the Six Day War because the battles were fought in enemy territory, in strict accord with Israel’s defensive doctrine. One of the exceptions to this rule was the shelling of homes in Jerusalem and, more blatantly, the barrages against frontier settlements in northern Israel’s Hula Valley. The War of Attrition, begun shortly after the conclusion of the Six Day War, was conducted even farther away and was thus the least threatening to daily life on the home front. Because of the physical distance—along the banks of the Suez Canal, far from the pulse of daily life in Tel Aviv—the public’s perception of “war” was further distorted, and, despite its length (seventeen months according to official figures[2] ), Israeli historiography does not describe the War of Attrition in dramatic terms. Its very name—“War of Attrition”—in fact refers to a slow war fought by each side for

the purpose of weakening the other. Although the number of casualties suffered during those seventeen months reached 260,[3] the war has gone down in Israel’s historical memory as a narrative without major watersheds or crises—very differently from the “narrative of quick and glowing victory” characterizing the Six Day War or the “narrative of surprise” associated with the Yom Kippur War. Against this background, the War of Attrition failed to enter Israeli discourse as anything other than an amorphous, relatively pale memory. To these factors we should also add the tepid role played by the media. Twenty-five years after the War of Attrition’s conclusion, the film director Ra’anan Shor pointed an accusing finger at the media, which he believed contributed to the war’s banishment from public awareness, especially regarding its costs: The War of Attrition was experienced as if it was taking place far away; only the brief sound bites released by the IDF Spokesman and broadcast by the statecontrolled radio stations made mention of its daily outcomes: the battle’s dead and injured. We saw none of its [true] aspects in the absence of any real television; we heard none of its actual voices due to the [nationalistic] “state” radio, we read no true witness accounts because of the self-censored “patriotic” press that true to the defense establishment’s agenda.[4] The uniqueness of the Six Day War and the War of Attrition created situations that facilitated omission of the wars’ heavy costs from the public discourse. As we shall see, war’s brutality, destruction, havoc, and moral corruption were rarely mentioned at the time. In contrast, bereavement, the main cost borne by Israeli civilians, received diligent attention. To frame the descriptions of bereavement I later discuss, I preface my discussion with some citations from the novel Eifoh hayita beShishah beOctober? (And Where Were You on October 6?) by Orit Shaham-Gover, published in 2001, almost three decades after the Yom Kippur war. Shaham-Gover’s descriptions of the war and its battles differ drastically from those found in the corpus: On descending from the plane we saw six dilapidated stretchers on the ground . . . clotted blood . . . covered bodies . . . only their shoes peeked through. I had originally thought that they were Egyptians . . . We couldn’t possibly have suffered so many casualties . . . [. . .]. With our descent, they started filling the plane with stretchers carrying the severely wounded, on their way north. . . . I then understood that we had been given a lift by a plane meant for the wounded, on its way back to pick up more. . . . Those stretchers . . . moved very slowly toward the plane . . . the white bandages seeping with blood . . . the slow line of stretchers with the dead and wounded made its way to the airplane from which just a moment ago, a platoon of living soldiers had exited.[5] Scenes such as these frequently appeared in the novels written shortly after the

Yom Kippur War.[6] In these novels, despair and shock predominated the public’s responses to the death and bereavement accompanying the war. The presence of these feelings deeply contrasted with the literature produced after the Six Day War. Exclusion of Killing and Bereavement from Children’s Literature Children and young adults are primary recipients for the cultural messages that help them interpret their surroundings. In the majority of works examined, war is presented as an almost abstract, risk-free event, with fighting described as far from the dangerous activity it is in reality. Enemy soldiers might occasionally be wounded, but not Israeli soldiers, who are so very rarely hurt. A typical plot portrays healthy injury-free Israeli soldiers returning to their base at the conclusion of some operation. This presentation of war’s costs significantly differs from those found in the children’s books written before 1967, which include difficult scenes containing war victims and casualties, including children. For example, in the works written by Chaim Eli’av, a popular author during the 1950s and 1960s, killing is frequently described without any filters or mollification. In his book Yaldei HaIr HaAtika veHaMatmon miBaghdad (The Old City’s Kids and the Baghdad Treasure, 1958), the narrative details how a group of children, the story’s heroes, bring about a bloody clash between Israeli and Syrian forces. The plot does not whitewash the fact that the children, unthinkingly and irresponsibly, caused an unnecessary and escalating confrontation. Nor does Eli’av spare his young readers from repeated descriptions of the wounded: In the meanwhile, the cruelty and battles continued, inducing casualties on both sides [emphasis added] [. . .] because the unit, which had only just been deployed, had still not dug in properly. There was an especially large number of casualties; vast numbers of dead and wounded, whose exposed bodies in the endless fields were waiting to be collected. The battle was especially difficult and cruel . . . [and] had no outcome despite its many victims, whose [deaths] were a waste. Its only results were the destroyed surroundings; that’s what war is like— useless and futile. (p. 70–83) This trend is drastically reversed in the books written for children in the period examined. In these works, young protagonists tend to be caught up in “just” confrontations that generally leave them with “no choice” but to engage in violence. However complex the battle, no one gets hurt, certainly not the children themselves. Enemy soldiers are also usually immune to injury, as we see in Chaim Orgil’s Hamisha Re’im beMivtza HaTayas HaAmitz (Five Friends in the Brave Pilot Operation): four youngsters, a dog, and five Israeli soldiers overcome an armed Syrian “gang,” numbering about twenty, without spilling one drop of blood. Throughout the story, the children are described as capable of ambushing the Syrian gang that has caught Uri, an Israeli pilot. The plot itself is straightforward but full of messages

regarding the nature of war and Israel’s part in the Arab-Israeli conflict. To begin with, the reason for Uri’s capture is the Syrians’ hope that they can force him to reveal the location of Israeli airports, information necessary for completing their mission of destruction. The youngsters thwart the plan by employing rather naïve subterfuges. Avishai, an Israeli military officer, instructs them on how to overcome the Syrian soldiers: “When the gang reaches the turn in the road it will be surrounded. We will use our machine guns to shoot from all sides, in every direction, while you shout ‘get at them’ with all your strength. I want to totally surprise them” (p. 70). Then, in response to one of the children’s question about the possibility that Uri might also be injured during the shooting, Avishai responds: “Didn’t you notice that I said we’d fire in each and every direction? We don’t like to kill people [. . .] I’m sure that we’ll be able to overcome them in this way” (ibid.) The ambush is clearly modeled after the biblical conquest of Jericho (Joshua, 5): Their shouts and screams are meant to frighten the enemy and conclude in their surrender without any real fighting on the part of our heroes. Such narratives endow war with a soothing, even benign image. Books that describe war as a “meeting” between rivals, perhaps competitors, make it difficult for young readers to identify its inherent threat. This distortion is extended paradoxically to soldiers’ weapons, which are often treated as harmless instruments or, at the very most, tools for inflicting minor or fleeting pain. Weapons are, however, multidimensional symbols in Israel’s war. They symbolize Israeli technological progress and sophistication, attributes added to Israel’s image following the Six Day War. The children’s literature of the period thus includes references to the cunning with which Israelis use their weapons. The book written by On Sarig (Shraga Gafni) called Danidin, Gibor Yisrael (Danidin, Israeli Hero, 1970) provides an excellent example of psychological warfare at its best, whose success rests on the hero’s deep technological understanding. In the work cited, Danidin, one of the most popular heroes in Israeli children’s literature, convinces Egyptian military commanders that they are the targets of highly sophisticated weapons by creatively using scrap iron and empty cans. That is, Danidin expertly uses “junk” to arouse fear in the enemy’s heart and causes him to abandon the idea of initiating another war— without, of course, firing a single shot. Literary use of weaponry as evidence of Israeli ingenuity and strength essentially veils the lethal character of these tools and ultimately distorts the child’s comprehension of war’s reality. An exceptional but oblique statement regarding the relationship between war, death, and bereavement is found in Dvora Omer’s Nu-nu-nu Yotze LaMilchama (The Dog Nu-nu-nu Goes to War), first published in 1968.[7] The book is part of a series centered on the Maoz family. In addition to parents, ten-year-old Nurit, and her sixyear-old brother Danny, the family includes the dog, Nu-nu-nu, the book’s protagonist. Omer provides quite a balanced and fair description of life during periods of war and peace in this volume. Despite its undertone of yearning for a return of the unique atmosphere sustained throughout the Six Day War, the joy of victory, and the required pilgrimage to the Temple’s Western Wall in Jerusalem, the book does not neglect the

war’s tragic facets. For example, in a scene taking place after the war, the father is grief-stricken when recalling his fallen comrades. This grief is openly displayed, not hidden from the children: Daddy is again almost the same daddy he was before the war [. . .]. Sometimes, when he’s quiet for a whole hour, we know he’s thinking about what happened [. . .]. And sometimes he tightly hugs Nurit and Danny and tells them that war is a terrible thing and that he hopes that they will never come to experience it. (p. 51) However, other than the one unspoken display of personal grief, bereavement is euphemized, distanced, and blurred even here. It is therefore difficult to imagine that the book’s young readers will be able to deeply identify or sympathize with the fathersoldier’s distress. The Exclusion of Death and Bereavement from Popular Music There is little doubt that popular music was a major venue for inculcating war’s values, attitudes and behavioral models into Israeli culture. One of the main vehicles employed for that purpose in post–Six Day War Israel was the institute of the military band (lehaka tzvait). The goal of these official entertainment units was presumably straightforward: to entertain the troops with songs and skits. Their popularity was so great that their number expanded during this period from four to seventeen.[8] Some of the country’s major talents either served in these units or prepared their material. The military bands achieved high status in civil society and were integrated into the general popular culture. This fact in itself represents a step in the euphemization of war and military activity. The songs these groups sung repeatedly demonstrate use of a small set of stratagems meant to minimize bereavement and diminish its impact on national memory. One rhetorical stratagem commonly employed was the injection of clichés and idioms in references to military casualties. These expressions blur or exclude the concrete dimensions of death; by distancing as well as generalizing the event, they depersonalize stories of individual pain. For example, the lyrics written by Dudu Barak for “BeSayeret Shaked” (In the Shaked Company), and “BeSayeret Egoz” (In the Egoz Company) “nationalize” individual bereavement by shifting the tragedy to the collective sphere. Another aspect of this phenomenon, also found in the songs originally sung by the military bands, is the subjugation of the bereavement narrative to a second more dominant narrative. This second narrative unfolding in the song’s lyrics may deal with romance, loyalty, or valor. The combination of the two narratives is achieved in various ways although the outcome is identical: a shift in attention away from bereavement. Consider for example “BaShvil el HaBreychot” (On the Path to the Pools, lyrics by Yoram Tehar-Lev), which recalls what appears to have been the sole romantic encounter enjoyed by a young woman and a soldier on the eve of the young

man’s departure to the front, from which he does not return. The experience is recounted as romantic heartbreak, disappointment from unrequited love rather than an instance of mourning. Another frequent combination is the pairing of exemplary valor with bereavement. In these cases, demonstrations of valor, in their full narrative force, are meant to dull feelings of bereavement. Such stories justify or at least rationalize death; they make death meaningful. Consider the song about the battle fought on Givat HaTachmoshet (Ammunition Hill, in Jerusalem) in the popular song of the same name (lyrics by Yoram Tehar-Lev). The lyrics tell the story of Eitan, who valiantly protects his comrades from the Jordanian barrage until his own death. Eitan’s fate is attributed to his uncompromising commitment to his comrades while performing his mission. Within the narrative’s framework, his valor blurs the personal dimension of his death in preference to its normative meaning. Songs sung by the military bands frequently linked long-term, close friendship with bereavement. In “Anachnu Me’Oto HaKfar” (We’re from the Same Village, lyrics by Naomi Shemer) and “HaHar HaYarok Tamid” (The Evergreen Mountain, lyrics by Yoram Tehar-Lev), bereavement is not an autonomous situation; as an event, it suddenly cuts short a beautiful and powerful story of friendship between boys who have become soldiers serving their country. In both songs, bereavement acts as the final crescendo to long-lasting male friendship, a relationship crucial for nation-building and effective fighting in wars. The epitome of this mixing of themes is reached in the song “Balada LaChovesh” (Ballad for the Medic, lyrics by Dan Almagor). The song tells the story of a medic who tends to the wounded with unquestioned dedication. His own death on the battlefield is not, however, presented as the price he pays for his service but as a symbol of the higher national values he embodies. Bereavement is thus as transformed to an elevating experience representing friendship and total commitment to one’s wartime mission. Banishment of Brutality War’s chaos provides perhaps the ultimate opportunity for demonstrations of self-sacrifice and commitment but also for viciousness and inhumanity. And yet, the mainstream literary works in our corpus consistently avoid presenting an authentic portrait of the dilemmas presented by that chaos. Post–Six Day War literary production provided descriptions of battlefield conduct devoid of any hint that may cast doubt on Israeli soldiers’ morality or raise suspicions regarding their inappropriate use of force. It is interesting to note that even in his subversive novel Don’t Give a Damn, Ben Amotz carefully adheres to the tenets of battlefield morality. Stubborn loyalty to those principles is precisely what leads to the book’s tragic outcomes. At the novel’s heart we find Rafi, a young Israeli paratrooper who, after being shot in the spine, becomes a paraplegic. However, the circumstances surrounding the injury lead us to conclude that the true cause of Rafi’s paralysis is his

moral stance: during a chase after terrorists, he hears what he believes to be children’s voices, coming from the cave in which the terrorists have hidden. As he turns around to warn his platoon about the children, he is shot. The absence of references to brutality in literary texts is further underscored by the absence of a clear discussion of the psychological state accompanying the participation in battle: fear. Surprisingly, discussions of fear and its control, however rare, do appear in children’s books. One work, Sarig’s Danidin beMilchemet Sheshet HaYamim (Danidin in the Six Day War, 1968) can be viewed as a training manual for the conquest of fear. The book opens with the story of Avigdor, a young soldier who “didn’t believe [. . .] that he could fight the enemy as required; he was thus afraid to go to war with the rest of his unit [. . .]. Yes, even among Israeli soldiers, known throughout the world as exceptionally brave, we can still find someone who is unable to overcome his fears” (p. 18). Avigdor’s fears are particularly glaring when compared to the thirst for battle expressed by his comrades, who start singing on the eve of the battle: “The day we were awaiting has arrived; the day we were awaiting has dawned! Let’s go! Onward to the decisive battle! For [the sake of] our beloved country!” (p. 49). When Avigdor confesses his fears to Danidin, “Danidin couldn’t believe his ears. ‘You are an Israeli soldier and you don’t yearn to take part in the war?’” (p. 50). Danidin thus comes to Avigdor’s aid and helps him conquers his fears. Avigdor even earns a number of citations for bravery during the campaign. War’s costs in “Alternative Literature” After reading the previous chapters, one might very well conclude that the hegemonic euphemization discourse was so powerful that it left no space for alternative voices that will recount the costs of war. Although such a conclusion is not very far from the truth, “alternative voices” opposing mainstream culture did appear at Israeli culture’s margins. They were few and weak when compared with the alternative culture that sprung up a decade later, just after the First Lebanon War (1982). Substantiating this conclusion is the fact that Dan Ben Amotz, one of the major members of the small group of alternative voices, places war at the heart of his novel despite his critical stance. In this respect, Ben Amotz paradoxically contributed to war’s normalization (see below). Tentative as their suggestions may be, the agenda promoted by the voices producing the alternative literature attempted, first and foremost, to focus public debate on the weighty costs of war. Hanoch Levin earned a special place in the group, especially after his satirical play, Queen of a Bathtub was staged. The play was first performed at the Cameri Theatre on 1 May 1970, and as a result of public pressure, the Cameri’s management ended its run on 19 May 1970. Much less well-known is HaShahaf (The Seagull), an allegorical piece written by Lova Eliav while he served as a member (Labor Party) of the Knesset. This allegory, which is particularly relevant to our topic, describes a boat sailing on peaceful waters but commanded by officers drunk on their recent victory. A single seagull flies above

to warn them of the dangerous bank of rocks they are approaching. The officers, however, ignore the bird’s warning.[9] Eliav submitted his story for publication in the newspaper Davar in mid-September 1973, barely three weeks before the outbreak of the Yom Kippur War. The newspaper’s editors rejected it, claiming that its subject was too sensitive and should not be printed in the middle of an election campaign.[10] Two other works belonging to the alternative literature will be discussed in greater length below: the previously mentioned novel Don’t Give a Damn by Dan Ben Amotz and Regel Shel Buba (A Doll’s Leg), the documentary novel written by the journalist Yaakov Haelyon.[11] Both were published just a few months before the 1973 war erupted. The extremely popular and often-reprinted A Doll’s Leg describes the injury suffered by a tank crewman during the Six Day War. The book delves into the causes of the war and accompanies the hero throughout the long months of treatment. As to Don’t Give a Damn, Ben Amotz honestly and explicitly dealt with the psychological, physical, and financial price a soldier pays for his participation in the war.[12] As previously mentioned, Rafi, the protagonist, is a young (perhaps twenty years old) parachutist whose world crashes around him after a bullet enters his spine and he loses the ability to move his lower body. He cuts off all those closest to him, including his girlfriend Nira (while claiming that he doesn’t want her to remain in a relationship that society has forced upon her), argues with his brothers and parents, retreats into himself, and becomes obsessed with photographs of injured and disabled soldiers. In his novel, Ben Amotz unhesitatingly addresses two of Israeli society’s greatest taboos, almost totally absent elsewhere: the sexual life and procreative capacities of paralyzed soldiers. The author’s style, like the political opinions and social criticism he so bluntly and frequently proclaimed, instigated harsh criticism, which motivated others to defend him. Some inkling of the ensuing debate is provided by a reader, B. Sharon, in a letter sent to the editors of Haaretz and published on 18 June 1970: The atmosphere surrounding the people identified with the peace camp is very troubling [. . .] most astonishing is the campaign denouncing Dan Ben Amotz. It is patently clear that the campaign against him and the ideas he represents lacks any hint of reason and is deceptive in its superficiality, for the [sole] purpose of tarnishing his public image and deterring others. Haelyon’s book, despite its documentary approach, resembles Ben Amotz’s novel in its unique presentation—for the period—of the difficult yet shrouded experiences of injured soldiers. Haelyon describes the hero’s facial mutilation in the first person: I wouldn’t want to be in the position of a woman who, just a week ago, looked at her healthy full-bodied husband and now has to face this shadow of his former self. My face, eyes and arms were covered in dried blood and burns, and

splattered with black spots, shrapnel that had lodged in my body. My head, eyes and cheeks were bandaged; my left leg was in a cast. Yael tightened her lips. Afterwards she told me that she was “consoled” at least by the fact that I was the only injured patient in the room whose face had remained white. All the others, most of whom were tank crewmen, were black as coal. They’d been badly burned. It was horrible to look at them. One or two had died after the desperate attempts to save them had failed.[13] Haelyon also unflinchingly describes pain: Their exposed flesh tortured them. When changing their bandages every two days, they were moved to a special room. When they awoke from their narcotic sleep, pain would pierce their flesh. They screamed, wailed and cried. (p. 40) These two novels, Don’t Give a Damn and A Doll’s Leg, deconstruct to the minutest of details, the rather bland and diffuse phrase “injured in war.” Their texts fulfill one of the major tasks of the alternative voices: They give substance to the phrase “price of war,” most especially the personal price paid by wounded soldiers, a price generally muted in public discourse. Euphemization of the Idea of “War” War is a brutal and expensive undertaking. When war becomes an acceptable tool by the leadership, means must often be found to make that idea palatable for the civilians. At that point euphemization, a rhetorical mechanism for altering how we perceive an offensive idea or event by making it appear as something positive or innocuous, can be set into motion. In the Israeli case, we find such a transformation of war conducted along two complementary paths. The first entailed the exclusion or veiling of war’s ugliness from civilian awareness. The second path involved emphasizing and even embellishing the positive outcomes of war in general and of the Six Day War in particular. Euphemization also tended to be carried on indirectly. As a rule, there was no mention of any desire for war, and certainly no overt public elaboration of the national and personal nonsecurity benefits to be gained from the initiation of large-scale military violence. Instead, other values were extolled: the socio-economic rewards of military service (exclusive of actual fighting) and the spiritual strengths that soldiers exhibit in battle: heroism, commitment, and self-sacrifice for the greater good. The cardinal event propelling a change in Israel’s established war discourse was the Six Day War and its victorious conclusion. This war was perceived as representing the most modern manifestation of military conflict; as such, it motivated the emergence of a new set of images and new strategic models for emulation. The victory also suggested a radical new equilibrium between war’s costs and its benefits: In “exchange” for what was considered a “reasonable” price—six short days of

fighting and the deaths of “just” hundreds of soldiers—Israel could reap unprecedented tangible benefits. The victory tripled Israel’s land area, dramatically improved its international status, and signaled the end of the “lean” years of deep recession by inaugurating six “fat” years of economic prosperity. These outcomes led to the revision of war as a positive concept in Israel’s cultural lexicon, a feat rather easily achieved given the historical context. Joy over Jerusalem’s reunification together with delight in the acquisition of new territory made war appear a worthwhile venture. The Celebration of Territorial Expansion One of the most conspicuous changes in Israel’s situation following the Six Day War victory was the massive increase in its territorial dimensions, an expansion celebrated in popular songs.[14] “HaShir al Eretz Sinai” (The Song about the Land of Sinai, lyrics by Rachel Shapira), first sung at the 1972 Israel Song Festival, was perhaps the major song to effectively capture the nation’s excitement over the acquisition of the Sinai’s massive space. It obviously made no mention of the conditions under which Sinai was included within Israel’s new borders. “LaTzafon BeAhava” (To the North with Love, lyrics by Dudu Barak) mentioned Israel’s new map, which now stretched from the Hermon Mountains in the north to the southern desert. “Carnaval BaNahal” (Carnival in the Nahal),[15] lyrics by Lea Naor) does the same regarding the redrawn map extending from the Golan to the Sinai Peninsula. The most precise map is presented in “Chag Yovel” (25th Anniversary, lyrics by Dudu Barak), the song that won third place in the 1973 Children’s Song Festival. Its lyrics list each of Israel’s regions, one after the other with the addition of the areas acquired in the war: Judea and Samaria, Jericho, Mount Sinai and Ophira. Jerusalem’s Reunification The Six Day War thus provided Israelis with access to human and geographic horizons that had previously been beyond their purview. The jewel in the crown of these new territories was East Jerusalem, which included the Old City of Jerusalem, especially the Western (or Wailing) Wall that had originally been part of King Solomon’s temple. The Wall’s religious and political significance was monumental. About 250,000 Israelis visited the site during the Shavuot holiday that began on 15 June 1967, just a few days after the war’s conclusion, in what the press called the “greatest pilgrimage [to take place inside Israel] since destruction of the Temple.” The almost mystic exaltation surrounding one’s first visit to a reunified Jerusalem was conveyed by Dvora Omer in the aforementioned Nu-nu-nu Yotzeh LaMilchama (The Dog Nu-nu-nu Goes to War, 1968). In the book, the children’s mother recounts her experiences in the Old City:

We reached the wall that divides the two parts of the city, New Jerusalem and the Old City. During all the preceding years, [Jordanian] Legion soldiers had stood on top, making sure that no one came close. Now, there was no Legion on the ramparts; we could [freely] walk about and cross over to the second side of the city. We simply walked about as if it was nothing special [. . .]. We walked along the winding street, too excited to talk” (p. 64). Together with this sense of excitement, the author adds touristic details about the family’s travels in the new territories. Following their walk around the city, Maoz family visits the West Bank—and buy souvenirs and other objects:[16] Danny and Nurit asked if they could buy a souvenir from the [. . .] West Bank: ‘I want to buy a pen in the form of an umbrella [. . .]. Tal brought five pens back from the West Bank’ said Nurit [. . .]. We all bought souvenirs: You [the father] a lighter, me a key chain, Nurit pens, mom–clothespins (p. 103). Omer nonetheless introduce some measure of irony and perhaps skepticism into the descriptions of these scenes with their touristic insinuations. Hints of colonialism also enter: The colonists (i.e., the Israelis) express amazement at the small “treasures” provided by the “natives.” These descriptions of the small purchases— and the innuendos—do not, however, negatively impact on the festive character of the visit to the Western Wall after nineteen years of Jordanian rule over the eastern part of Jerusalem. Power and Force Together with the intoxicating sense of victory and wonder at territorial expansion, Israelis were astounded by the sheer power displayed. The Six Day War provided an extraordinary demonstration of mechanized force: it was the finest hour of state-of-the art armaments and the technological prowess of the two great world powers, the United States and the USSR. The war confirmed once more that the Middle East provided a comfortable and efficient “natural” laboratory for the fieldtesting of new weapons. This did not prevent the military parade held on Israel’s Independence Day in 1968 from being viewed by the public as a paean to Israel’s power. The Israel Broadcasting Authority took advantage of the occasion to conduct its first direct telecast, which amplified the event’s place in Israel’s collective memory and emerging national culture. The same sense of wonder penetrated the literature intended for children, young people as well as adults. The author Yigal Lev wrote with exceptional honesty that: “Yes, there is beauty in war, despite all its cruelty and stupidity; this terrible incongruity in which human beings kill their fellows has a certain charmed beauty. [Think of] the elegant movement of aircraft; the majestic galloping of tanks.”[17]

Euphemization of the Occupation Euphemization was most directly challenged by the occupation of Gaza and the West Bank; hence, references to this issue were elaborated with the most vivid terms found in the corpus. The goal of euphemization here was to disguise the occupation’s violent character and normalize the condition of occupation by stressing the benefits it brought to the conquerors as well as to the conquered.[18] Consider what Golda Meir wrote in her biography about the period immediately following the war: Everywhere we went during that summer of spiritual uplifting, of almost complete lack of worry, we met Arabs from territories that now belonged to us. We smiled at them, bought their goods and held conversations; we shared with them— sometimes without actually speaking—the vision of peace that had suddenly become a reality. We tried to imbue them with our happiness over the fact that we could now all live normal lives together.[19] Moshe Dayan adopted a more ironic tone when responding to the occupation’s opponents: Did you know that 100,000 Arabs came here from the neighboring and even distant Arab countries in order to spend their vacations here? [. . .] They decided of their own free will to spend their summer vacations here, under our occupational government, in our occupied territories, under our occupational regime.[20] Through exaggeration and repetition (“occupational government,” “occupied territories,” “occupational regime”), Dayan attempts to brighten the dark side of the occupation and present an almost utopian image of Arab-Israeli neighborliness. The term “vacation” is meant to remove some of the occupation’s sting. And so, the occupied territories, now subject to a military government, are presented as touristic sites. According to the repertoire of “normality” images that Dayan cites, the Arabs coming to Israel had adopted Israeli-Western vacation habits. He therefore implies that Israel’s contribution to this process lies in attracting residents of the occupied territories and the nearby Arab countries to Western culture. Neutralization of the negative character of the occupation is especially prominent in children’s literature. Omer’s The Dog Nu-nu-nu Goes to War, delivers a simple resolution of the complexities arising from conquest of the West Bank and Gaza: the moment the war ends, yesterday’s enemies are instantaneously transformed into good neighbors; animosity is immediately dissolved. During a visit to the Old City of Jerusalem, Mrs. Maoz states: “Why, we are roaming around a place that only a few weeks ago was filled with enemies; and now, everyone is smiling at us and offering us food and drink (for money, of course), souvenirs, Chinese pencils, soap, jars made of Hebron glass and bath sponges” (p. 66). When Nu-nu-nu barks at an Arab

passerby, she says: “The dog has to get used to Arabs. You should see how he growls when he just sees an Arab in the street. That’s not right; if peace comes soon, Nu-nu-nu will have to get to know Arabs and like them” (p. 100).

“The Beautiful Soldier” From the collective experience of happiness initiated by the Six Day War’s victory, I now turn to war’s benefits for the individual. Those benefits include a glorified self-identity, an improved psychological state and numerous material rewards. As constructed in the corpus, war opens the door to new opportunities, endows people with a sense of communal belonging, rejuvenates and recharges one’s being. Beautification of the soldier’s personality resulted from the glamorization of war’s benefits. Public leaders began to incessantly praise soldiers in their speeches for their self-sacrifice, resolution, professionalism, and technological superiority—features that are advantageous in any environment. Soldiers, especially combat soldiers, were lauded as the Jewish people’s finest representatives. As Golda Meir declared: “When we remove the external layer, we are a wonderful people! A wonderful nation! I go to gatherings, to meetings with our armored corpsmen, artillery gunners, paratroopers and pilots—look at these boys! They are magnificent!”[21] Public adoration of soldiers became so lavish that even the image of soldiers who performed tasks only marginally related to the actual fighting was improved. In the song “Mekaplot HaMitznachim” (Folding the Parachutes, lyrics by Yair Rosenblum) acknowledges girl soldiers who perform the boring task of folding the parachutes, far from the front and far from its glory. Rhetorical beautification of the soldier thus encouraged women to try to fulfill their dreams and, according to the song, marry a paratrooper. But if folding parachutes during military service provides social advantages, the dimensions of those advantages were far greater for combat soldiers and their commanders. After the Six Day War, a clear hierarchy of military tasks was established. At the head of the pyramid stood pilots, paratroopers and “fighters;” higher ranks were clearly preferred to lower ranks. This hierarchy was so esteemed, and so rigid, that it would be reproduced in civilian life and continue to influence one’s self-perception. Participation in War—The Defining Experience in an Israeli’s Biography It was military service that gained special significance in every Israeli’s life, regardless of any state of war. A person’s involvement with issues touching on national security appears to provide that individual with special extra merit or appeal, perhaps especially during the period in Israel. The novel Shida VeShidot (A Dresser and Dressers, 1974) by Rachel Eitan[22] provides a precise and faithful picture of those attitudes and the surrounding atmosphere.

Eitan’s novel explores military service as an almost indispensable segment of the biography of its major characters. Military service had become a natural and anticipated phase, a crucial rite of passage into mainstream normative Israeli society. As evidence of its importance, each character’s introduction in the novel includes a word about his or her military experience, which appears to provide vital information regarding the character’s current life. For instance, one of the novel’s characters, Mira Schatz, continues to view her military service as the peak of her personal history many years later, even after she has become a grandmother: “The War of Independence [1948] was the highlight in Mira Schatz’s life. During the years when empty women sat at “Ginati” [a popular café in Tel Aviv] listening to waltzes and leafing through magazines, [. . .] Mira had dodged sniper bullets in Jaffa and traveled in open trucks and jeeps” (p. 51). The importance of military service in everyday life is acutely demonstrated in the 1968 novel Michael Sheli (My Michael) by Amos Oz:[23] “Tell me about yourself [Hannah asked]. Michael said: ‘I didn’t fight in the Palmach. I was in the communications corps. I was a wireless radio operator in the Carmeli Brigade.’ After that, Michael chose to tell me about his father” (p. 107). Similar to A Dresser and Dressers, the detail that opens the story of the geology student protagonist’s life is his military past. Michael begins with a kind of apology: He didn’t actively fight in the legendary Palmach, but he did serve. Only after situating himself on the military map does Michael feel free to tell the story of his family. Participation in war has its own aura; it provides what is generally assumed to be an interesting chapter in any individual’s life, full of gripping tales about battles and adventures. These narratives help individuals consolidate their own identity. On the national level, wars provide raw material for cultural production. Songs are written, myths born, and memories consolidated, all of which become cornerstones in the construction of a shared national identity. On the personal level, wars provide individuals with convenient frameworks for the personal stories that reinforce their self-image and earn them social recognition. War stories are flexible narratives available to individuals interested in embedding them with instances of their own personal valor. The passage of time enables personal war stories to be colored with nostalgia and longing, especially if they end happily. Importantly, these stories do not remain the personal property of their soldier-authors; they also belong to civilians. Israeli literature, like other formative national literatures, took advantage of these processes. Yigal Lev, in his novel Be’Elohim, Ima, Ani Soneh et HaMilchama (Mom, I Hate the War), was therefore able to write: “Only wars can transform their heroes into legends, and relate their life stories in song, as a great gift” (p. 15). In KahanaCarmon’s VeYrach BeEmek Ayalon (And Thou, Moon, in the Valley of Ayalon), it is clear that Noa Talmor, the novel’s heroine, greatly enjoys recounting her own and her family’s experiences during the Six Day War. Nostalgia and fondness pervade her descriptions:

The principal got it into her head that the school should contribute a helicopter to the IDF. I still have no idea what a helicopter costs. Could we at all buy a helicopter? But within two days, we, the mothers, collected 6,000 Israeli pounds [. . .]. (p. 146) In Israel of the mid 1960s in particular, these benefits did not remain on an abstract or emotional level. The symbolic capital provided by military service was readily exchanged for economic benefits. We are thus told the following about Amnon, one of the main characters in A Dresser and Dressers: “[The newspaper Davar printed] a short announcement: The Minister of Agriculture will to fly to Europe and the US next week on a mission [. . .]. Accompanying him to Europe will be Mr. Amnon Schatz, a second lieutenant in the Negev Division” (p. 206). Amnon’s military past had provided him with the training necessary to qualify him for his current position, and thus with access to the role of the Minister’s envoy. The symbolic capital associated with his military past was later transformed into clear economic worth. An ironic presentation of the economic benefits of participating in war, but more of being injured in its course, appears in Don’t Give a Damn. In the chapter “Disability Pays Off,” Ben Amotz describes in finicky detail the plethora of benefits available to war-wounded soldiers. The list is preceded by a legal preamble, and includes all the entitlements: a car, a wheelchair, housing, supplementary equipment, monthly stipends, VAT exemptions, discounted income and property taxes. Emotional Benefits Whereas war rewards the nation with the opportunity for renewal and revitalization, it also provides the individual with complex emotional benefits: temporary respite from daily struggles and irritations, a sense of renewal in addition to opportunities to release tension together with aggression. War strengthens social attachments: “That same cloak of apathy, cynicism and unconcern disappeared with the storm [i.e., with the war’s outbreak] like dust that has settled on a tree’s branches”[24] and promises unparalleled experiences that nurture a unique perspective on the meaning of life. War creates common sources of national collective memory while assisting individuals to join that collective: “Maybe we needed this cruel war in order to feel our origins” (ibid.) In the novel Mom, I Hate the War, Lev uses the psychological need to find release from tedium, feelings of being trapped, and the meaninglessness of life in the pressure cooker of modern Israeli society in order to explain his character’s yearning for another war: Rami was eager for war. He had recently finished his required period of conscription and had wandered about since, unemployed. Perhaps to himself, or maybe to me, he whispered: ‘It’s hard to believe, but I’m dying for a war to break out [. . .]. I’m totally bored. Eating, sleeping, having a good time, I need

something to push me forward [. . .]. I need a war, because I can’t decide for myself. Believe me, I don’t have the strength for this [current aimlessness]. I suddenly have to make decisions, what to do, what occupation to choose use, what girl to marry’ [. . .] (p. 9) In its own unique way, war can make a person feel alive and, perhaps, young again. A soldier’s duties reverberate with immense energy: shooting, throwing grenades, bombs, explosions—acts committed by men but bursting with a destructive force going beyond nature. A poignant summary of war’s advantages for civilians is found in A. B. Yehoshua’s novella BiTchilat Kayitz 1970 (Early in the Summer of 1970). The war’s outbreak gives the story’s protagonist, an elderly teacher, an opportunity to pressure the principal of his school into agreeing to cancel his upcoming retirement: Three years ago I had been due to retire, and had indeed resigned myself to the inevitable [. . .], but the war broke out suddenly and the air about me filled with the rumble of cannon and distant cries. I went to the Head to say I was not going to retire, I was staying on till the war would end. After all, now that the younger teachers were being called up one by one he would need me the more.[25] Heroism as a Core National Value Valor, amicability, and altruism are three of the main qualities ensuring that individual soldiers can coalesce into a group, fight for each other, and protect each other. Of these three qualities, valor was valued the most during this period. Within the corpus, valor is described as a quality that transforms the soldier into an elevated model for emulation. For such a highly valued quality, valor has yet to be defined with great precision. After the Six Day War, the notion of valor was molded into two distinct forms, each of which was appropriate to the period’s new if diverse circumstances. The first model, active heroism, was constructed of daring, the ability to take chances and overcome fear; it was inspired by the behavior exhibited in the battles fought during the Six Day War. The second model, passive valor, involved the ability to endure in the most difficult circumstances. This behavior characterized life in the Israeli strongholds situated along the Suez Canal that were built after the Six Day War but now typified the life of average citizens, especially residents of the settlement situated along Israel’s borders. In an address delivered upon the formation of the new government while the War of Attrition still raged, Prime Minister Golda Meir stated that: Our fortifications and strongholds withheld the enemy bombardments. Residents in the periphery in the east and in the north have bravely withstood and continue to withstand the burden of the campaign with superhuman heroism [. . .]. No one

has abandoned his position, while children in the peripheral settlements have adjusted to life in the shelters as if it were normal.[26] The meaning of valor in this period was thus configured within a thick cultural network, including the Law of Decorations in the Israel Defense Forces, enacted in 1970 for the purpose of institutionalizing this quality as a national value. Following a sixteen-year hiatus in which the original bill lay dormant in the Knesset, it was finally passed within just two months. In a series of formal state ceremonies conducted while celebrating the twenty-fifth anniversary of Israel’s independence (April 1973), 527 decorations for bravery were awarded retroactively to the country’s war heroes. [27] Other important venues for inculcating the value of heroism were children’s books[28] and magazines aimed at young people, one of the most prominent of which was Haaretz Shelanu. The Construction of Heroism in Haaretz Shelanu A close reading of the fifty-one issues of Haaretz Shelanu published in 1970/71[29] indicates the predominance of valor as a motif appearing in all the magazine’s sections. Beginning with “Reports from the Editor’s Notebook,” continuing to “Letters to the Editors” and current events articles as well as advertisements, the magazine continuously exposed its readers to tales of heroism while stressing the positive normative value attached to such behavior. Haaretz Shelanu thus served as a pivotal educational tool. The success of this internalization process can be ascertained by a poem contributed by Tova Yudenfeld, a teenage girl living in New York: To Israel’s Soldiers To all Israeli heroes I write a song of praise I will spread news of your valor today, tomorrow, forever.[30]

One of the characteristics of valor as it was disseminated on the pages of Haaretz Shelanu was the bloodlessness of its expression in war or battles. Valor was thus presented as a positive but abstract value, akin to “wisdom” or “tolerance.” And, similar to other descriptions of war in the corpus, the descriptions of valor on the magazines’s pages exclude or marginalized its costs, especially injury or death. For example, under the heading “How We Overcame the Hijackers,” a journalist described how Shlomo Vider, an El Al steward, thwarted the hijacking of an airliner: The door was opened by Mr. Vider himself [. . .]. We immediately recognized him by the large bandage that adorned his head. He nevertheless looked marvelous, tanned, smiling and content despite the bullet from the hijacker’s revolver still lodged behind his ear. “They’ll be able to remove the bandages in another two days” he said, “and next month it’s back to work.”[31]

Veneration of the “fighter” is captured in the description of the bandage as “adorning” Vider’s head, and that he looks “marvelous, tanned, smiling and content.” In contrast, his personal pain and suffering are ignored despite the fact that the bullet has not been removed. This fact is glossed over and treated as something ordinary, matter-of-fact. It is worth noting that this hero is a civilian, an employee of Israel’s national airline, not a soldier on duty. The reader is therefore urged to assume that the valor expected in the military can extend into the civilian world. We can characterize the Israeli hero as portrayed in Haaretz Shelanu during the selected year: He (heroes are usually male) is brave, deliberate, in control, energetic, determined, full of initiative, and usually quite good-looking. The hero harbors no doubts or misgivings, he is highly goal-oriented, and independently formulates the most efficient route to achieve his goals. A hero is also reserved; he never confides in others regarding his suffering, or frustrations. Valor is also expressed in the hero’s refusal to succumb to despair: Life in contemporary Israel is an ongoing adventure as a result of security issues, with everyone expected to take part. Hence, heroes, although they tend to be soldiers, can sometimes be civilians: stewards, bus drivers or alert teenagers who prevent terrorist attacks by spotting unusual objects or people. Everyone owes the hero a debt of gratitude. Due to his efforts, children can sleep in peace and civilians can maintain their normal life in the shadow of war. “I cut Maccabees from a carton”: Valor in the alternative literature The national obsession with valor also marked the literature produced by the “alternative voices” opposing the war euphemization discourse. Yigal Tumarkin’s sculpture “He Walks in the Fields”[32] exemplifies this approach. Under the statue’s photograph, printed in the catalogue of the exhibition Lichyot im HaChalom (To Live with a Dream, 1989, Tel Aviv Museum of Art), we find the following explanation of the artist’s intent: “Yigal Tumarkin passes judgment on the myth of the Sabra [. . .] and present his hero with open trousers and his tongue sticking out of his mouth [. . .].”[33] Tumarkin’s statue represents a counter-image to that of the heroic soldier. He portrays the hero naked, a grotesque—or ridiculous—figure. Another such total parody of valor is very rarely found among the period’s cultural products. Contrary to Tumarkin, most other “alternative” artists appear to have been divided on the subject; their conflictual attitudes were expressed in attraction–repulsion. A typical example of this stance is found in the writings of Amos Oz, to whom we turn next. At the beginning of the Six Day War, Oz wrote the text of the Order of the Day (Pkudat Yom) in the name of General Israel Tal;[34] this message was to be distributed to all the soldiers under Tal’s command (Division 162, also known as the Steel Division). It reads: Soldiers of the Steel Division! The signal has been given. Today, we go forth to crush the hand sent out to

choke us [. . .]. With blood, fire and steel we will rip this plot from his heart […]. We rush forth to tear the gates of Egypt’s blockade from its hinges [. . .]. Today the Sinai desert will feel the Steel Division’s power, and the land will begin to quake. Although the order lacks any explicit mention of valor, it is studded with clear declarations of esteem for military power and encourages the use of force: “We go out to crush,” “with blood, fire and steel we will rip out” and “the Steel Division’s power.” In his books, however, Oz takes a more ironic stance toward “soldiers and their heroes.” In My Michael,[35] published in 1968, Oz speaks through Hannah, its heroine. Hannah expresses revulsion toward Palmach heroes and their mythological tales of fearless heroism. Her ironic attitude toward valor is carefully captured in her seemingly trivial response to Michael’s question regarding her duties in a Jerusalem kindergarten: “I’m doing what every kindergarten teacher in the world does. A month ago, at Hanukkah, I pasted dreidels [spinning tops] and cut Maccabees out of a carton” (p. 22). The historical Maccabees symbolize Jewish bravery; by transforming these figures into a simple poster, Hannah cuts away at their symbolic content and lofty status. As a fitting closing to this short survey of “alternative voices,” I present excerpts from one of the most significant volumes to be published after the Six Day War. Entitled Fighters Talk (Siach Lochamim),[36] this book contains a long series of interviews conducted with kibbutzim members who saw action in the Six Day War. Written in the weeks immediately following the war, the book was initially banned from publication by the Military Censor; in disregard of the order, almost 100,000 copies were informally distributed. Amos Oz, a member of Kibbutz Hulda, was active in its editing and publication. The collection contains one of the first published substitutes for the accepted idea of valor. Through the examples elaborated by the interviewees, we learn that the accepted definition of valor was no longer perceived as determination and spiritual strength but as an outcome of social pressure, randomness, or simply “luck.” The collection contains repeated references to valor as a technical act, the product of fatigue-fraught training more than of choice or conscious risk-taking: “In the IDF, acts of bravery have become almost mechanical. We’ve transformed heroism into a skill” (p. 37); “I think that our training for commitment to the mission was what worked here” (p. 47). Other speakers comment on the social pressure that produces valor: “What causes soldiers to charge ahead? A sense of history, the lack of choice, education, awareness. I think that it can all be summarized in one sentence: ‘What will the guys say?’” (p. 37). “The fact that you are still part of a group that will judge your behavior later on adds something” (p. 48). It would be reasonable to say that for the majority of the soldiers quoted in Fighters Talk, valor ceased to function as a core value and has been replaced by other motivations. As one interviewee states: “All the romanticism about war and battles is gone and won’t return. I will never again believe

any story about war’s esthetics or that it’s wonderful to fight and die. There’s no such thing” (p. 56). * * * The corpus produced during the years 1967–1973 indicates that war was envisioned as a beneficial event for the nation and the individual. Many approaches were taken in order to euphemize war and its warriors. This process progressed along two complementary routes: First, the exclusion of the difficult and nasty features of war: bereavement, devastation, emotional pain, and moral decline; and second, exaggeration of the benefits fighting awarded to the average individual and the nation. Other voices nevertheless began to be heard during this period. They contested each of the established assumptions and sought to expose war’s true reality. In the next chapter, we go one step further to examine another strategy employed to normalize war: intended to turn war into a part of daily life and even in natural law.

NOTES 1. Mosse, G. L. (1990). Fallen Soldiers: Reshaping the Memory of the World Wars. New York: Oxford University Press; Mosse, G. L. (1993). Fallen Soldiers: Reshaping the Memory of the World Wars. Tel Aviv: Am Oved (in Hebrew). 2. See also: Schueftan (1989). 3. Ibid., p. 440. See also, Haber and Schiff (1976). 4. Shor, R. (1994). The Smell of Napalm is still in the Air. Bamahane, 27–28, 45 (in Hebrew); Talmon, M. (2001). Nostalgia, Groups, In-Groups and Collective Identity in Israeli Cinema. Tel Aviv: The Open University (in Hebrew). 5. Shaham-Gover, O. (2001). Where Have You Been on October 6th. Tel Aviv: Sifriat Poalim, Hashomer Hatzair, p. 153. 6. See, for example, Ben-Amotz, D. (1974). Beautiful War. Tel Aviv: Bitan Publishing. 7. Omer, D. (1968). The Dog Nu-Nu-Nu Goes To War. Tel Aviv: Amichai. 8. Tessler, S. (2007). Songs in Uniforms. Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi (in Hebrew); Shahar, N. (1997). Military Bands and Their Songs. Idan, 20, 298–318 (in Hebrew). 9. Eliav, L. (15 February, 1974). The Seagull. Yedioth Ahronoth. 10. Kapeliouk (1975), p. 36. 11. Ben-Amotz (1973); Haelyon, Y. (1973). A Doll’s Leg. Tel Aviv: Am Oved. 12. Mautner, M. (2001). Galai Zahal or the Unification of Rock and Death. Plilim, 9, 11–51 (in Hebrew). 13. Haelyon (1973), p. 35. 14. Yiftachel, O., & Roded, B. (2004). “We Judaize You, Our Homeland: On the Presence of Israeli Patriotism in Song and in the Landscape.” In: A. Ben-Amos & D. Bar-Tal (Eds.), Patriotism—Homeland Love (pp. 239–274). Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad (in Hebrew). See also: Regev, M., & Seroussi, E. (2004). Popular Music and National Culture in Israel. Berkeley: University of California Press. 15. Nahal is an acronym of Noar Halutzi Lohem, Fighting Pioneer Youth, and refers to

an IDF program that combines military service and establishment of new agricultural settlements, often in outlying areas. 16. Amalia Kahana-Carmon’s heroine does much the same; see her book, VeYareach Be’emek Ayalon (And Thou, Moon in the Valley of Ayalon) 1971. 17. Lev, Y. (1967). Mom, I Hate the War. Tel Aviv: Bitan (in Hebrew), p. 46. 18. Gavriely-Nuri (2009b). 19. Meir (1975). p. 268. 20. Harris, K. (23 January, 1972). A Few Months Left. Maariv. 21. Goldstein, D. Maariv, 8 September, 1972. 22. Eitan, R. (1974). A Dresser and Dressers. Tel Aviv: Am Oved. 23. Oz, A. (1968). My Michael. Tel Aviv: Am Oved. 24. Lev (1967). p. 73. 25. Yehoshua, A. B. (1973). Early In the Summer of 1970. Jerusalem and Tel Aviv: Schocken, p. 11. 26. Israeli Government Yearbook, 1970, p. 9. 27. Gavriely-Nuri, D. (2009a). “It is not the Heroes Who Need this, but the Nation” The Latent Power of Military Decorations in Israel, 1948–2005. Journal of Power, 2(3), 403–421. 28. Shavit, Z. (1996). Introduction to Poetics of Children’s Literature. Tel Aviv: The Open University (In Hebrew). 29. Between September 1970 and August 1971. 30. Haaretz Shelanu, Issue 13, 1970. 31. Haaretz Shelanu, Issue 6, 1970. 32. Tel Aviv Museum of Art Collection. 33. Donner, B. (Ed.) (1989). To Live With The Dream. Tel Aviv Museum of Art & Dvir (in Hebrew), p. 200. 34. General Israel Tal was an armored-division commander in the Sinai Peninsula during the Six-Day War. 35. The book has been translated into numerous languages, and is recognized as one of the most famous novels yet to be written in contemporary Hebrew. The original version in Hebrew was completed prior to the Six Day War but published only later. 36. Shapira, A. (Ed.) (1967). Independent Publishing.

Chapter 6

War Naturalization Discourse This chapter turns to a description of the transformation of war into a “natural” event, perceived as inherent to human nature and life’s daily course. Naturalization was particularly dominant during the years following the Six Day War. As I will later argue, naturalization’s contribution of this mechanism to the surprise of the Yom Kippur War was crucial, because it lent a neutral tone to perception of the war’s very occurrence. The enemy’s preparations on the eve of the war were consequently treated as “standard” or “routine,” a misperception that prevented Israeli intelligence from realizing that military escalation was in the offing. “Naturalization” discourse is here defined in terms of two dimensions: As a discourse aimed at positioning war within the framework of human nature or natural law; As a discourse meant to transform war into a routine event, to be anticipated as part of a typical civilian way of life. War’s naturalization and its presentation as part of the Israeli citizen’s daily life were not distinctive to the period in question. The fact that civilians, as reservists, comprise a major segment of Israel’s military forces (i.e., Israeli Defense Forces or IDF) is one of the main factors transforming this institution, a mechanism charged with conducting war, into a prominent element on the Israeli public agenda.[1]

Naturalization of War in Literature Literature’s contribution to the naturalization of war as a new feature in Israeli culture occurred on various textual levels. War would often appear as a work’s main subject, a phenomenon especially conspicuous in the children’s literature written during this period, such as the Danidin and the Hasamba[2] adventure novels; it might represent a central element in the depiction of daily life, especially the “Israeli narrative,” as evoked in the novel Dresser and Dressers; war might be a major plot component or compositional axis, as in the novel My Michael; or it can function as the preferred semantic field for construction of metaphors used to describe internal and external landscapes, as found in the works of A.B. Yehoshua. Within this context, A. B. Yehoshua (1980) stated that: We can say that about half of all the artistic works created in Israel, in all spheres, in one way or another touch upon the question of “Israel’s situation,” which is characterized by the centrality of the [Arab-Israeli] conflict. Novels, short stories, poetry and plays, films, paintings, symphonies, cantatas and other forms of expression deal with issues connected to the conflict.[3]

“Alternative literature” paradoxically helped integrate the apparant critical examination of the idea of war into the war naturalization discourse. The very preoccupation with war and its difficult outcomes, a subject typical of ironical or satirical works, contributed to transforming war into a taken-for-granted element of life. As we shall see, Hanoch Levin’s satiric caberet At, Ani VeHaMilchama HaBa’ah (You, Me and the Next War, 1968), one of the major works produced by the “other voices” after the Six Day War, is a prime example of this trend. Despite the title’s irony, the presentation of a romantic “triangle” of two people and a war furthers war’s naturalization. By depicting war as an anticipated event (“the next war”), the very expectation of its occurrence transforms this form of violence into a “normal” element of contemporary Israeliness. My Michael (Amos Oz, 1968) The plot of My Michael unfolds in Jerusalem during the 1950s, the decade witnessing the Sinai Campaign. As noted in the previous chapter, My Michael’s text manifests an ironic attitude toward soldiers and military heroes, elaborated by the novel’s heroine, Hannah. Hannah’s aversion to Palmach heroes and their mythological stories of heroism is quite obvious. However, war permeates the text in various ways to become a core factor as the story unfolds. The Militarization of Civil Space: Jerusalem. My Michael follows the life of a couple from Jerusalem, Hannah and Dr. Michael Gonen, throughout their married life up to the point where Hannah’s mental state deteriorates and she slowly sinks into a world of delusion. The novel takes place primarily in Jerusalem during the first decade after Israel’s rebirth as a nation. These spaces, as seen through Hannah’s eyes, are projections of her disturbed mind. Hannah’s internal conflict provides the literary rationalization for the description of Jerusalem characterized by conflict and war. Hannah’s gaze repeatedly shapes a dangerous and threatening space: “A city of closed courtyards, whose spirit is stamped behind gloomy walls at the top of which shards of broken glass are embedded.”[4] The 1948 War returns to occupy a greater place in Hannah’s memories: “When I was little, the British army was stationed here and machine guns protruded between slits [in the walls]” (p. 115). The war’s echoes reverberate in her daily habits, too: “On the way to the bus, a scary man sat on a nearby bench. He was a war invalid or perhaps a refugee from Europe [. . .]. He apparently received a large and difficult wound during the war” (p. 98–99). Hannah’s entire environment speaks of the recent difficult war, with destruction and neglect observable everywhere. War as the Subject of Humor and Games. War naturalization can also be effected through the mechanism of humor that may be used for “cleansing” war of its violent and dangerous character. The corpus often reveals how war inspired jokes, anecdotes, children’s stories, and children’s games. My Michael demonstrates this approach in its scenes describing the relationships woven between Michael’s father and his grandson: “During dinner, Yehezkiel would tell his grandson about good Arabs

and bad Arabs, about the notrim [Jewish guards] and the wicked [Arab] gangs” (p. 102). Yehezkiel then “pulled out a faded and creased noter uniform, including its turbin [. . .]. He put the turbin on his grandson’s head, which almost hid the child’s eyes, because it was so big. The grandfather himself would wear the uniform on top of his pajamas, while still wearing them.” (p. 105). “Children’s stories” about the war and “war games” were two additional modes in which war echoes throughout Oz’s novel. War is revealed in My Michael to be a flexible and versatile concept, capable of serving the heroine’s oppressive moods but also of betraying the childish impishness binding the grandfather to his grandson. A Long Heat Day, His Despair, His Wife and His Daughter (A.B. Yehosua, 1968) At first glance, A.B. Yehoshua’s novella[5] is the unmistakable story of “normal life” lived very far from the front. It tells of an Israeli hydraulics engineer living an ordinary life with his family. War exists only in the background, for instance, in metaphors: “The guitar hung on her back, protruding from her shoulder like a rifle’s barrel” (p. 191), or the rather casual: “Between the telephone bill and the municipality’s bulletin peeked an envelope with an IDF stamp upon it” (p. 175). Burying the IDF envelope between a bill and a bulletin transforms it into one among many ordinary documents received in a world existing far from war’s menace. The mixture of the military and civilian spheres repeats itself several times as the engineer, the novella’s narrator, organizes his wife Ruth’s letters and documents: “Dozens of Ruth’s school certificates, her rank insignia (she was an officer), their marriage certificate, her ketuba (marriage contract), her own and Tamara’s birth certificates [Tamara is the hero’s daughter], the purchasing contract for their house” (p. 175). Ruth’s military service is mentioned as if in passing, while stressing her rank. Her military service is presented as one among many other elements composing her basic identity: her education, her marriage, and her birth. We also “accidentally” discover that our hero likewise has a “military past”; when hospitalized, he discovers “an old acquaintance from the war” (p. 175). This random compilation of the military and the civilian is a device reappearing throughout the text. A closer examination reveals that the “military” elements pierce the daily reality in order to construct a specific general attitude toward war. In other words, the novel criticizes the way in which the military appropriates daily life to an extent that war becomes almost taken for granted. This critique gains force because war, fighting, and the military ethos also dictate the plot’s progression. One of the characters is Gadi, Tamara’s boyfriend. Representing the soldierdreamer, Gadi gradually becomes a key figure in the story. Through his eyes, the text constructs expectations regarding military service, all of which will shatter later on. The gap between the engineer and the fresh recruit places the latter in an ironic light. We soon learn that Gadi was not destined to die during his military service because his tour of duty takes place far from the battlefield. However, as the engineer states: “The shooting range is surrounded by a thick orchard” (p. 176). The

shattered expectations also shed an ironic light on the dramatic color Gadi and Tamara’s expectations of military service. During one of their meetings the engineer subjects Gadi to “a brief interrogation: about shooting ranges, equipment, types of weapons, length of training, commanders, punishment and nightly dreams” (p. 176). This cluster ridicules military service but especially Gadi and his romanticism. Nevertheless, the dialogue reveals the father’s intimate familiarity with that experience. The novella also treats stories of valor as well as those describing the death of heroes with irony. As the plot progresses, we learn that Gadi and Tamara met at a school play in which they both appeared: “It seems that she was the love of an underground fighter, a hero who throws himself under the wheels of the vehicle that he explodes. It’s really a very silly story, because Tamara can’t even remember the name of the [play’s] author” (p. 175). The novella marks A. B. Yehoshua as one of the main antiwar voices to be heard in this period and afterward. Woven through the text is an implicit criticism of “war heroes,” “war stories,” and “episodes of bravery,” as components of Israeli identity. Nevertheless, given the constant presence of war, similar to the novels by Rachel Eitan (Dresser and Dressers) and Amos Oz (My Michael), this novella also contributes to war’s naturalization in the period’s cultural discourse.

Literature for Children and Young Adults On the back cover of the novel Be’ikvot Mehablim BiLvanon (Chasing Terrorists in Lebanon, 1975) by Rephael Sahar, we find the following: “In the new series of stories, the author’s sights are on, first and foremost, the Six Day War, the most important and most recent in our generation, [for the purpose] of inculcating awareness about [Israel’s] security in our young people. This he does in his own special way.” This attests for the extent to which children’s books and stories aimed at young people were considered a comfortable and fruitful avenue for the naturalization of war, clearly viewed as part of daily life by the period’s authors. Another overtly didactic series was Azit HaKalba HaTzanchanit (Azit the Paratrooper Dog) by Mordechai (Motta) Gur,[6] who was to serve as Israel’s Chief of Staff from 1974 to 1978. The series follows Azit the dog, who displays great courage when participating in IDF operations. We read about her parachuting in order to save soldiers trapped in the desert and joining submariners as well as tank crewmen. Gur’s descriptions of the dogs daring activities help acquaint children with various branches of the military. The books are written in a semi-autobiographic style, with plots inspired by actual incidents in which the author participated. The first volume in the series, Azit the Paratrooper Dog, published in 1969, is dedicated to the children of the late Lt. Col. Moshe Peles (Stempel), who was killed during the War of Attrition. Gur’s dedication sketches a fitting path for young people to follow, with markers that include war injuries and citations for bravery: Moishele, your father, was my comrade in the paratroopers and in battles for

many years. We went through our parachuting course together—just the two of us, [as if we were] taking private lessons. We served in the same company [. . .] and took part in many operations beyond the border. We were both injured in the raid on the Khan Yunis police station, and hospitalized in the same ward. We even received the Chief of Staff’s citation together for participation in that operation. Children’s literature written during this period contributed significantly to the broad-based education for militarism, as noted by many scholars.[7] These messages, overtly but also covertly integrated into the curriculum, prepare children for military careers as well as for war. Lomsky-Feder argues that the education system transmits thinking patterns that perceive military service as natural, normal, and desirable. Children are given toy tanks and guns to play with as early as kindergarten, and taken on field trips to IDF exhibits. All schools commemorate war and bereavement in memorial services, while high school students are invited to observe military maneuvers and visit military installations. Children thereby internalize the presence of the military and war as integral, natural parts of their lives.[8] The education for militarism reached its peak in the period of interest. Children’s books might contain quizzes on war and battle trivia. By these means the young readers enriched their knowledge about weapons, military leaders, and the history of Israel’s campaigns. For instance, in the 1969 edition of Yemima Avidar-Chernovitz’s Muki HaShovav (Naughty Muki, first published in 1943), we find a chapter entitled Muki Mevaker Etzel Abba BeMiluiim (Muki Visits Daddy in the Reserves). The book, written for preschoolers, describes what little Muki knows about war: Muki knew how to distinguish between air force and tank corps uniforms, between a paratrooper and a seaman. Even though he still had not entered compulsory kindergarten, Muki recognized all the ranks from private to majorgeneral. He knew everything, like all the older kids. He could differentiate when a Mirage or a Vautour was soaring overhead and when a Nord or a helicopter was flying. He knew everything, almost like a second-grader. Really![9] In the Hasamba series written by Yigal Mossinson and published after the Six Day War, the young heroes also display impressive military knowledge. Thus, for example, “Fat Shraga” can readily recite the following details: “A Kalatchnikov’s caliber is 7.62, the rifle’s length (with a wooden shaft) is 87cm; anticipated firing rate: 600 bullets per minute; effective firing rate for single shots: 40 bullets per minute; automatic firing rate: 200 bullets per minute.”[10] In addition to lessons on weapons recognition, young readers of Hasamba learn the names of the defense establishment’s top echelon in the years following the Six Day War. They are thus told that at the party given in honor of Air Force Uri Ben-Gal’s release from active duty, the guests included the Minister of Defense, Moshe Dayan and the Chief of Staff, Haim Bar-Lev. “[. . .] now descending from the aircraft are the generals Rehavam

Ze’evi, David Elazar, Motta Gur and Arik Sharon” (p. 168). Danidin in the Six Day War[11] can also be read as an introduction to tank construction. The seating arrangement inside the tank appears as part of the instruction, with the book’s heroes taking part in an “exercise”: “Amram sat next to the tank’s steering; Yossi—next to the gun mount; Avraham—next to the communications equipment; and Avigdor himself—in the commander’s turret. He closed all the hatches around him and covered the turret. Now he was protected from all and any danger” (p. 75). Information about political as well as current affairs was often combined with knowledge about warfare.

“The Next War”—A Core Theme The motif of the “next war” is a major theme supporting war naturalization. The phrase captures the cultural perception of war as a logical event requiring preparation prior to its future occurrence. Just how much the theme resonated in the public discourse following the conclusion of the Six Day War is found in the opening pages of The Failure. There, the authors quotes an interview held with a tank commander on the Golan Heights, conducted in October 1973: I can’t forget that during one of our last reserve tours in the West Bank, they sent us some paratrooper to explain the local geography. This kid starts talking excitedly about the next war and how we’re going to take Damascus; even then I wanted to hit him (p. IV). The idea of the “next war” entered the discourse in the early 1950s, long before the Six Day War. At that time, the phrase “the second round” began to be heard. “The label was applied to what appeared to be anticipated and even unavoidable—another inclusive war between Israel and the Arab states.”[12] Its roots were planted in the 1948 war that gave birth to the modern state but failed to end in a peace agreement between Israel and its neighbors. Israeli culture consequently transformed expectations of a “second round” into a natural event, the materialization of which was only a question of time. The Naturalization of another, future round of war was also derived from a related concept, “cease-fire,” which describes the status of the military relations maintained between Israel and its opponents. All of Israel’s wars have, in effect, sown the seeds of “the next war” because none have directly concluded in a peace treaty, but only in partial and temporary agreements: “cease-fires.” For this reason, the term so frequently appears in the war discourse. At the conclusion of the Six Day War, Prime Minister Golda Meir stated that: “I don’t think that at any time in history was a triumphant army so sad, because the war that it has just waged [the Six-Day War] never reached its true termination.”[13] The idea of the “next war” was pointedly repeated in statements made by Israeli leaders after the Six Day War. Meir stated:

We were not prepared [after the Six-Day War] to accept their telling us what a wonderful people the Israelis are—they win wars once a decade, and they’ve done it again. [. . .]. Is there any person who could find sufficient courage in his heart to say what we have said: ‘Go home! Start preparing your 9- and 10-yearolds for the next war’? (p. 267) Moshe Dayan likewise treated war as a ubiquitous phenomenon: “I don’t worry about the Arab armies. We have to confront them from time to time, but that’s not a problem. It’s in the nature of war, and we know where we stand [. . .] it’s something that happens for six days, once every 10 years.”[14] War, according to Dayan, is a periodic meeting between armies. It is like the seasons, occurring like other cycles found in nature. Hence, precisely due to its repetitiveness, war is not a particularly worrisome event. This view of Israel’s wars as periodic recurrences had become so strong by this time that it even penetrated “alternative literature.” The “next war” or future wars are the central theme in Hanoch Levin’s satiric cabaret You, Me and the Next War, as the title makes clear. Levin, too, treats the “next war” as part of normal life. He accompanies the young couple in the cabaret from their births until their deaths, with the next war joining the cast as a family member.

War as Removed from Human Choice As previously stated, by installing war within “the natural order,” military violence is transformed into an event beyond human control; it appears as some sort of necessary evil. Several rhetorical devices can consequently be employed to further blur or neutralize human volition as a component in the process. These devices wash the leadership’s hands of any responsibility for either the initiation or the continuation of the violence. Two tactics in particular were employed within the Israeli war discourse: Personification – Transformation of war into an autonomous “performer” capable of acting according to its own will. Abstraction – Transformation of war into a fuzzy concept, divorced from concrete reality and conceived as a “conflict” or “quarrel” maintained between “two sides” or “opponents” but not between actual human beings. A fine example of the personification of the [Arab-Israeli] “conflict” was provided by Moshe Dayan: The conflict is military but also political-national as well as moral. It has acquired a life of its own. The conflict itself was born of and has given birth to outcomes that represent the center of our lives to a considerable degree.[15] Personification was also applied to the concept “borders.” Consider this statement, made by David Elazar, Chief of Staff during the Yom Kippur war:

I am convinced that Israel’s borders have to be converted into [true] borders, borders placed in the same places where Jews live. I am therefore convinced that the security of our borders will be best maintained by [the construction] of [Jewish] settlements [. . .]. These borders have to be kept human [i.e., inhabited], this being their best defense.[16] Elazar’s reference to borders as if they were people having their own independent lives represents an additional expression of the “personification” attached to war and to the basic concepts of the conflict. Abstraction likewise made it possible for the public to distance the war from its immediate awareness. The process was aided by the geographic dimension of the Six Day War’s conclusion, which led to the physical stretching of Israel’s borders by hundreds of kilometers. Capture of the Sinai Peninsula made postwar Israel part of a “huge” subcontinent in Israeli terms. The majority of Israelis were not required to directly “see” the War of Attrition because it was fought hundreds of kilometers away. While bombs were raining down on Israeli bunkers along the Suez Canal, where the border with Egypt passed, all was quiet at the home front. For most—meaning even families whose sons were elsewhere—this fact removed the war to the realm of the intangible and “abstract.” Similarlym the abstraction of opponents entered into the rhetorical repertoire concurrently. This device also lent the conflict a deterministic and “objective” character. For instance, in his book Li’hiyot Am Chofshi (To Be a Free Nation, 1977), Amnon Rubinstein wrote: “Arab enmity thwarted the dream and drowned it in rivers of blood,”[17] a comment made after stating that “Israeli society [. . .] was born into a hostile world, in a land surrounded by its enemies on all sides” (p. 127). In place of Jordanians or Syrians Rubinstein refers to “Arab enmity” and “a hostile world.” These abstractions rob Israel’s foes of their human face together with any personal responsibility for the situation. Lack of sense of personal responsibility for the war’s initiation would appear repeatedly in statements made by Golda Meir: “I would advise every member of the government not to promise the people that there won’t be a war [. . .]. We are forbidden from telling the people that a war will not erupt because it doesn’t depend on us.”[18] Our initial impression is that the Prime Minister is claiming that the war’s outbreak depends not on “us,” the Israelis, but on the Arabs. And yet, she does not directly refer to the Arabs; her wording implies that responsibility for the impending war lies in some external nonhuman realm, perhaps in that of fate. The combination of war’s personification on the one hand, and its abstraction on the other, together with its geographic distancing, helped recast war as a chess game played by “natural forces,” independently of human intervention.

Naturalization of Bereavement In his book of essays BiZchut HaNormaliyut (In Praise of Normalcy, 1980), A. B.

Yehoshua wrote: “I remember how the American media reported on the Vietnam War casualties; they would smuggle in the weekly death toll between items on road accidents and items on sports” (p. 164). Yehoshua’s somewhat bitter comment refers to the Israeli approach to bereavement in war, a response that did not escape the filter of the war naturalization discourse. The press made a weighty contribution to this process. The terminology and mode of reporting tended to spread an aura of “normalcy” over the awesome facts. We thus find that during the War of Attrition, Haaretz Shelanu, a magazine geared to a young audience, included a section entitled “This Week’s Losses” in its weekly current events column. Such wording induces a complex effect. First and foremost, it prepares the reader for more “losses” in the following weeks, an expectation that makes death and injury a regular part of society’s structure of expectations. Moreover, by linking its measured wording to the calendar —“this week’s losses”—the title introduces a sense of normal routine, implying continuity of the events but also comparison, whether to last week’s or next week’s losses, last month’s or next month’s losses. This routinization weakens any sense of tragedy the reader might associate with the events as it dulls his or her emotional response. Routinization of organizational bereavement was also employed by Skira Chodshit (the Israel Defense Forces Monthly), a journal targeted at IDF officers. Casualty reports appearing in the journal were very concise; they consisted of numbers and dates but no names. For instance, the February 1970 issue reports: “Four IDF soldiers were killed in an ambush placed by the Egyptians on 5 February [. . .]. Four IDF soldiers were killed on 9 February [. . .]. On 23 February, an IDF officer and an Israeli civilian were killed.” The flat chronological transmission contributes to a sense of order —it is, after all, a list—one belonging to a seemingly “natural” continuum of events. Fallen soldiers were to be mourned, but not for too long; others would naturally be added to the list next month. Ironic use of this device is found in Dan Ben-Amotz’s Don’t Give a Damn. The incident in which Rafi, the novel’s hero, is injured is described as follows: “The IDF Spokesman: In an encounter [. . .] in the Jordan Valley, a squad of five El Fatah terrorists was destroyed in the early morning hours. Our forces suffered one dead and two injured. Notification has been transmitted to the families” (p. 69). Ben-Amotz uses the IDF’s phrasing to heighten the disparity between the dry announcement and the heartbreaking reality.

Naturalization of War and the “Fate of the Jews” Israel’s leadership furthered the naturalization of war by inextricably connecting military violence to those ideas about the Jews’ fate that had evolved in the Diaspora. Throughout the years following the Six Day War’s conclusion, political and military leaders persistently referred to the continuing state of war as inherent in the Jewish people’s historical identity and therefore inevitable. Life lived on the sword’s edge was

presented as a “trademark” of this identity and of the Israeli condition as the reborn Jewish state. Stark depictions of war as a “natural” event in the “Jews’ fate” appear in many contemporary statements made by Golda Meir. In one radio interview she declared: “You could say that I have [some] complexes [. . .]. They erupted in Kiev,[19] then Masada, followed by the Meora’ot[20] and Israel’s wars; they are all complexes. The Holocaust is also a complex.”[21] In ridiculing allegations regarding the psychological rather than empirical sources of her fears for the future, Meir links the calamities suffered by the Jewish people with Israel’s wars. She therefore uses the Diaspora Jews’ cultural memory as “proof” of her contention that life lived under the threat of violence is Israel’s “natural” condition. In her autobiography, Meir refers to her January 1973 meeting with Pope Paul VI: “And I heard how my voice shook mildly with anger: ‘Your Holiness, did you know that the first thing preserved in my memory is anticipation of a pogrom in Kiev?’”[22] In another interview she declared: “To be a Jew means to be proud of belonging to a people that has protected its unique identity for more than 2,000 years despite all the pain and suffering endured.”[23] In an address following formation of the national unity government in 1969 she again connected the War of Attrition with the past: “The Jewish people have endured 2,000 years of persecution and knew how to strengthen itself against every oppressor and hooligan.”[24] As the previous citation indicates, Meir was well aware of the accusations directed at her regarding her assumed “Holocaust complex,” which was interpreted as the source of her inability to pursue a peace treaty with the Arabs. On one occasion she replied to these accusations in these words: “I’m also tired of hearing about my imaginary complexes from people who think that we should act in a way that would place Israel at the mercy of President Sadat or, perhaps even better, of Mr. Arafat. It has become clear to me that this means that I should stop remembering lessons learned from the past.”[25] As Israel’s prime minister, Meir’s refusal to question those lessons received widespread public attention.

War as a Challenge One of the lessons Meir was referring to—the need to firmly confront instances of oppression or pay the price of intimidation—may have contributed to the presentation of war as a “challenge” or as a “test.” Whatever the other sources, this image clearly contributed to war’s euphemization and naturalization. Euphemization was accomplished by treating war as a golden opportunity for soldiers to demonstrate their finest qualities: bravery, courage, and resolve. Naturalization was achieved by framing this opportunity as available to the ordinary people. Golda Meir and Moshe Dayan were responsible for the most pronounced presentation of war as a challenge. Their attitude toward the terrorist activities that were to frequently batter civilian life after the Six Day War was summarized in the

phrase “national challenge.” The resolution to combat terrorism was described as a mental-spiritual challenge that engendered pride in oneself and one’s nation just because it could be met by everyone. Moshe Dayan, while Minister of Defense, often used the term “test” when congratulating residents of border settlements who refrained from complaining about the problematic security. During a visit to Beit She’an (a border settlement in the Jordan Valley) Dayan declared: This is the main purpose of my visit—the border settlements need to do more than fight, defend themselves as part of our defense system; they must first of all live, in the fullest sense of the word, as economic and social beings. This is the main test to be faced by the State as well as by the border settlements.[26] Dayan then added: The Jewish settlements, the kibbutzim and moshavim [in the Jordan Valley] have adjusted their lives to the conditions of war. With the help of the government and the army they have built shelters and housed their children there at night; they have paved internal roads in order to avoid laying down landmines; they have fortified their guards and installed lighting and fences. However, nowhere have they forsaken even one dunam [a quarter of an acre] of their land. The Gesher [Kibbutz] vineyard has become famous, a symbol. It is located within what was once firing distance of the surrounding Arab Legion’s positions, from which shots would occasionally be fired at its workers. But despite all this [the shootings], they never abandoned it.

Naturalization of Relations: “[Palestinian] Arabs are our Neighbors” Encounters of Israelis with West Bank [Palestinian] Arabs after the Six Day War endowed the Palestinians, yesterday’s enemies, with a dual status in Israeli consciousness. On the one hand, Palestinians remained “the enemies,” similar to the Palestinians residing in Arab states; on the other, the new possibility of Israelis visiting the Occupied Territories transformed the West Bank [Palestinian] Arabs into merchants, employees, and, potentially, friends. The need to resolve the tension between these two positions while maintaining a military regime over an occupied civilian population demanded continuous rhetorical efforts. Dayan, a native Israeli (a sabra), was quite adept at repeating stories about Arab-Jewish “neighborliness” taken from his distant childhood, experiences that, he contended, had influenced his attitude toward Arabs up to the present. Born on a moshav, Dayan had frequently played with Palestinian children in his youth. The following story, taken from an interview, goes back even further: When I was barely nine months old, I became very ill. My mother was extremely worried. She decided to take me to a famous doctor who lived several

kilometers away. On our way there, I felt worse and began to cry. We were in a field at the time. We passed by an Arab who, while tending his goats, heard my cries and offered his help. He milked one of his goats and gave me some to drink while telling my mother that from now on I wouldn’t cry and that I would recover. He was right. It is just possible that he saved my life.[27] In the same interview, Dayan recalled that: I can remember a day when Arab youngsters threw rocks at me while I was still quite young. An old Arab [suddenly] appeared and dispersed the boys; he then took me to his home and gave me food and something to drink while expressing his regret with movements of his hand. He didn’t know how to speak my language [Hebrew] and, at the time, I couldn’t speak his. However, human contact is stronger than any language. After all, I’m a farmer, someone who works his fields. That’s what the fallah [Arab peasant] does. I’m a Jewish farmer; I feel very close to him [the fallah]; I sympathize with him. (ibid.) Through these two stories, these memories infused with a dose of mysticism, Dayan traces the origins of his attitude toward Palestinians. He reveals deep understanding and identification with Palestinians, feelings that dismiss or ignore the conflict. In transforming the “Arab” into a friend and neighbor, Dayan contributes to the naturalization and normalization of the occupation after 1967.

Naturalization of Enemy Threats In the preceding pages we focused on different ways in which naturalization transformed the idea of an “ineviatable war” into an intrinsic component of Israel’s public discourse and Israeli identity. In concluding this chapter we change our vantage point a bit to dwell on an analysis, with concrete examples, of the dangers inherent in the naturalization of the enemy’s military actions. Naturalization of war during the period of interest was accompanied by a similar redefinition or reframing of the military actions initiated by Egypt and Syria. Naturalization caused these actions to seem like ordinary events, posing no threat. The phrase “naturalization of enemy threats” refers to the discursive or rhetorical mechanisms that transform threats into ordinary and natural events by blurring perception of their inherent “abnormal” and “unnatural” features. In the closing chapter of this book we shall see how naturalization became a meaningful element in Israel’s surprise at the outbreak of the Yom Kippur War. War as Commerce:[28] Missile Movements, August 1970 In August 1970, shortly after the announcement of the cease-fire that would end the War of Attrition between Israel and Egypt, Egypt moved its missile installations

closer to the Suez Canal. This came after the Israeli Air Force had prevented a similar move in the months prior to the agreement. Reduction of the installation’s distance from the canal represented Egypt’s first meaningful violation of the ceasefire’s terms. Only later was the shift recognized as a crucial contribution to the success of the Yom Kippur War’s surprise, for relocation of the missiles eventually eliminated the Israeli Air Force’s role as an effective player in this arena once hostilities broke out. The main tool employed in naturalization of the threat was interpretation of the installations’ movement in “economic-commercial” terms. Doing so transformed defense-oriented responses to such events into bargaining chips, to be leveraged by Israel in its negotiations over U.S. military aid. That is, once rhetorically naturalized into “ordinary commodities,” the missiles could be treated as items to be assessed according to their “profitability”: In exchange for Israel’s agreement to refrain from taking military action against this infringement of the cease-fire’s conditions, the U.S. was expected provide Israel with advanced aircraft and other armament. The phrase that perhaps most aptly captures this commercialization was “Golda’s shopping cart,” about which Rafi Mann (1998) has written: The “shopping cart” or, often, the “shopping list,” was an indispensable item during Golda Meir’s trips to the United States in the years she served as the prime minister. Parallel to the policy talks she held with American leaders, she exploited her visits to discuss avenues for fulfilling Israel’s security needs [. . .]. The term “shopping cart” gained a permanent place in newspaper accounts of her visits. [. . .]

War as Sport: Syrian MIG Penetrates Israeli Airspace, Haifa, 1970 On 29 January 1970, a low-flying Syrian MIG 21 managed to penetrate Israeli airspace and pass over the city of Haifa; it announced its presence with a supersonic boom. From a strategic perspective, however, penetration of only one plane was sufficiently serious to warrant a response. And so, within less than an hour after the MIG appeared over Haifa, an Israeli Air Force fighter plane reciprocated with a boom above Damascus, followed later by Israeli aircraft roaring over Homs, Halab, Latakia, and Hama.[29] The next day, the daily press covered the story in detail. Coverage stressed the IDF’s initiative while playing down the fact that the Syrians had set the incident in motion. Instead of treating the provocation as a military threat, journalists portrayed the flights as a “boom war” between two rivals, an image that clearly trivialized the entire episode. The response to belligerence was demoted into a childish game, involving sounds evinced by two competitors playing a round in a benign sporting event. Maariv naturalized the event through its subheading “‘Boom War’ between Israel and Syria” whereas Haaretz provided a technology-focused headline for its coverage: “Supersonic Flights.” Both newspapers ignored the military capabilities that

Syria had demonstrated. Only in the closing sentence of the Maariv article did the journalist mention the strategic uniqueness of the event, an indirect allusion to its implicit menace: “This was the first time since the Six Day War that an Arab airplane crossed the green line.”[30] * * * In this chapter we have shown how naturalization of war, a multidimensional discursive strategy, has been integrated into cultural sites, canonical and popular alike. We have focused on the ways that naturalization rationalized the “next war” into the national consciousness. Delineation of the military space and the constant presence of war in adult novels and children’s literature were then able to support the interpretation of military violence as a “natural” condition. Other naturalization strategies reviewed in this chapter included the abstraction of war and the naturalization of bereavement. The perception of war as an autonomous entity, independent of human actions and decisions, introduced an element of determinism that equated war with those natural forces that appear regardless of human effort. Allusions to war as a “challenge,” a test, were revealed as complementary tactics that helped dress war in the apparel of children’s games or competitive sports.

NOTES 1. Ben-Eliezer, U. (1998). The Making of Israeli Militarism. Bloomington: Indiana University Press; Cohen, S. A. (2008). Israel and its Army: From Cohesion to Confusion. London: Routledge; Levy, Y. (2007). Israel’s Materialist Militarism. Madison, MD: Rowman & Littlefield/Lexington Books; Lomsky-Feder, E., & Ben Ari, E. (1999). Introduction: Cultural Construction of War and the Military in Israel. In: E. Lomsky-Feder & E. Ben Ari (Eds.), The Military and Militarism in Israeli Society (pp. 1–36). Albany: State University of New York Press; Sheffer, G., & Barak, O. (Eds.) (2010). Militarism and Israeli Society. Bloomington: Indiana University Press; Yahav, D. (2002). How Wonderful This War Is. Tel Aviv: Tamuz (in Hebrew). 2. Hasamba is an abbreviation for Havurat Sod Muchlat Behechlet or “The Absolutely Absolute Secret Group” 3. Yehoshua, A.B. (1984). In Praise of Normalcy. Jerusalem & Tel Aviv: Schocken (in Hebrew), p. 168. 4. Oz, A. (1968). My Michael. Tel Aviv: Am Oved, p. 77. 5. Yehoshua, A. B. (1975). Until Winter 1974–An Anthology. Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad. First published in 1968. 6. Gur, M. (1969). Azit the Paratrooper Dog. Tel Aviv: Yedioth Ahronoth. Gur was the 10th Chief of Staff of the IDF. During the Six Day War, he commanded the division that penetrated the Old City of Jerusalem. 7. Lomsky-Feder, E. (1998). As if there was no war. Jerusalem: Magnes, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem (in Hebrew) 8. Gor, H. (2005). Militarization of Education. Tel Aviv: Bavel (in Hebrew).

9. Avidar-Tshernovits, Y. (1969). Naughty Muki. Giv’atayim: Masada (First published in 1943). Unpaged. 10. Mossinson, Y. (1970). Hasamba in a Raid in the Suez Canal, p. 95. 11. Sarig, O. (Shraga Gafni). (1968?). Tel Aviv: Mizrahi. 12. Dankner, A., & Tartakover, D. (1996). Where We Were and What We Did—An Israeli Lexicon of The Fifties and The Sixties. Jerusalem: Keter (in Hebrew). 13. Meir (1975) p. 273. 14. Quoted in Kapeliouk (1975). p. 32. 15. Dayan, Moshe. Speech given by the Minister of Defense at the Diploma Award Ceremony at The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 18 June, 1972. Yad Tabenkin Archives, 15th Division Galili, Container 90, File 2, Certificate 3. 16. An interview given to Al HaMishmar, 3 August, 1973. 17. Rubinstein A. (1978). To Be a Free Nation. Tel Aviv: Schocken (in Hebrew), p. 144. 18. Agmon, Y. (1994). Personal Questions—A Collection of Interviews from the Galei Zahal Program. Tel Aviv: Ministry of Defense (in Hebrew), pp. 223–225. 19. Golda Meir was born in Kiev, Ukraine, in 1898. Her childhood in Russia was a time of pogroms and anti-Semitic violence. 20. Meora’ot, the Arab riots in Mandatory Palestine, 1920–1921; 1929; 1936–1939. 21. Agmon (1994), p. 216. 22. Meir (1975), p. 296. 23. Tamir, N. (Ed.) (1981). Golda Meir—A Collection in Her Memory. Tel Aviv: Am Oved (In Hebrew), p. 151. 24. Meir, Golda. Israeli Government Annuals, 1969–70, p. 9. 25. Meir (1975), p. 293. 26. Dayan (1976), p. 535. 27. Harris, K. Maariv, 23 January, 1972. 28. Gavriely-Nuri (2009b). 29. Mann (1998). 30. “Green Line” refers to the demarcation lines set out in the 1949 Armistice Agreements between Israel and its neighbors after the 1948 War.

Chapter 7

The Just War Discourse The current chapter elaborates the third and final mechanism comprising the war normalization discourse and thus closes the analytic part of this book. That mechanism, which I refer to as the just war discourse, transfigures war and the use of military violence into righteous and rational acts. The moral and logical arguments formulated within its framework therefore present the initiation, continuation, and costs of war in a positive light. Careful analysis of the corpus reveals this to be the mechanism most frequently employed to normalize war between 1967 and 1973. As an introduction, I turn to Moshe Sneh’s[1] rationalization of IDF activities, delivered at the “information kiosk” positioned in the center of Kiryiat Haim (next to Haifa) on the eve of Independence Day, May 1970: We are waging a just war to ensure the existence of the Jewish People, who only 25 years ago were saved from total destruction. We are engaging in a defensive war against the aggression originating in the pan-Arabist refusal to accept history’s injunction that we resurrect the Jewish state. This is the source of our sons’ bravery. This is the secret behind our victory.[2] The historically deterministic intonation of this statement succinctly capture the logic behind the justification discourse. They also illustrate the main discourse objective: to make IDF actions palatable to the Israeli public by framing those activities in historical context, part of the Zionism’s messianic vision. The power of this discourse explains the results of a survey (1970) conducted by Haaretz with respect to reprisal operations carried out by Israeli soldiers during the War of Attrition: “92% of the [Jewish Israeli] interviewees stated that the IDF’s incursions into Lebanon were fully justified.”[3] Justification of military actions provided the theme of the parody of Prime Minister Golda Meir’s public remarks and addresses written by Hanoch Levin. In “A Meeting of the Government,” a skit belonging to Levin’s satiric cabaret Queen of Bathtub (1970), the prime minister delivers the following monologue: I will first make a speech about our Arab neighbors. [The Prime Minister speaking:] Gentlemen, I have attempted over and over again but still cannot, personally, find any flaw. I have been examining myself for 71 years and [continue to] find justice [in my position], God forbid. Each day I am again surprised to find how right I am; right, right and right again.[4] Examples of the justification rhetoric that Levin so grossly overstates can be found in speeches Meir delivered when reiterating the priority of “justice” among the motifs guiding Israeli foreign policy. For instance, in an interview given on the eve of the Jewish New Year, September 1972, she states: “Just a moment, something

general: The question is: Can the position that we will not return to the boundaries effective on June 4, 1967 be justified? Yes! It can! I am fully convinced of it!”[5] Meir would return to justification of Israeli policy in numerous contexts while conflating the issues of war, fighting, terror, and morality.

The Need to Justify War after the 1967 Victory In the post–Six Day War period, observers at home and abroad gradually discerned that Israel was implementing an ambivalent if not self-contradictory policy. Much of the criticism was directed at the government’s role in the collapse of every peace initiative proposed by the great powers and the UN.[6] These trends awakened the realization among Israeli leaders that a more forceful application of war justification discourse was needed. The main issue inciting public debate was the “justice,” the legitimacy, of Israel’s occupation of the West Bank and Gaza. Should Israel retain or, alternatively, waive sovereignty over these territories? The controversy over the territories’ future was quickly suffused with justification rhetoric. Rationalization could be conducted by subsuming the occupation to Israeli social policy, which was directed at “benefiting” the subjugated population. Rafi’s father in Dan Ben Amotz’s novel Don’t Give a Damn was thus free to enlarge on the subject in these words: We paved their roads, provided agricultural consultation, opened bridges, introduced free trade, Hebron grapes are now sold in London. [We built] schools, hospitals. They leapt 20 years [forward] within 3 three years, and they shoot [at us]. (p. 272) When accused of exploiting Mahmud, his Palestinian farm worker, Rafi’s father becomes diffident, even apologetic: What’s the problem? [. . .] When I arrived in Israel, I worked for a pita and olives. Sometimes I didn’t even have these. He’s [Mahmud] like family. I buy him his work clothes, his shoes. He gets lunch and 15 lira a day. I can get workers from Gaza for 8 lira and they’ll even say thank you very much. (p. 264) Israel’s new geographic dimensions also demanded reappraisal of the surrounding threats. One pivotal outcome of the Six Day War was a three fold growth in Israeli territory, now bounded by what appeared to be easily defensible borders, a situation that seemed to reduce the danger of a surprise attack. Metaphors evoking a sense of siege and of a noose about to tighten around Israel’s neck were deemed obsolete. Israel no longer faced the danger of being cut in half at its “narrow hips” or center. The Arab armies’ pre–Six Day War “threats of annihilation” had been shown to be empty. Consequently, the war justification discourse was grafted onto Israeli public discourse in order to staunch the ebbing feelings of geopolitical isolation and devotion

to what was apparently becoming an outdated but interest-laden normative framework. The Six Day War’s victory had, furthermore, spread skepticism regarding the eternal validity of the security ethos that had accompanied the Zionist narrative since the 1920s. Belief that the Zionist project demanded living at sword’s edge, which had served as an ideological cornerstone for a string of role models and graphic metaphors, was now begging for adjustment and transformation. Stock phrases about Israel’s security and international status—such “David against Goliath,” “a few against many,” “a people who shall dwell alone” but with “a hand extended in peace,” “surrounded by 100 million Arabs,” in a “hostile area” where “blood-thirsty enemies” were “waiting to destroy us”—lost their believability in light of Israeli’s astounding display of its military strength. The use of legal, emotional, and especially messianic arguments[7] when justifying the status quo is striking; taken together, these create a discourse rich in allusions to “historical” as well as “Biblical rights.” We thus find the following description in an article entitled “Only the Western Wall Remains in Sammo’a,” printed in Maariv: Nothing remains today of the ancient synagogue in the Arab village Sammo’a, south of Hebron, [. . .] beyond its Western Wall. The isolated [synagogue] rises above all the nearby mud huts, as if looking at them with scorn: My lineage dates back to the third century, you [the resident Muslim Arabs] are our guests. When the Muslims invaded, in about the middle of the seventh century, this synagogue was already about 400 years old [. . .]. Conquerors came, and conquerors went, but the synagogue’s mute stones awaited the momentous hour when its owners would return. And so they did, after almost 1,700 years. They returned to this village, preceded by a pillar of fire and a pillar of cloud. These were none other than the IDF soldiers that entered Sammo’a in February 1967, four months prior to the Six Day War. They came in order to root out terrorist cells and blow up their houses. The Muslim invaders had not only taken control of the land, they had altered its Hebrew name. Sammo’a is nothing other than the ancient Hebrew town of Eshtemoa, which belonged to the tribe of Judah. The town once provided sanctuary, and was associated with Aharon the Priest, as described in Joshua (….) and Chronicles (….).[8] Such legalistic-historical vindications of the Israeli presence in the Occupied Territories became so entrenched that they continue to echo in the contemporary political rhetoric.

Circularity Justification of war frequently rested on circular arguments. The argument might begin with military actions, of whatever type (particularly the unremitting acquisition of

arms), that will be touted by Israel as acts preventing another round of war. In the next stage of the argument, any aggression on part of the enemy, even if instigated by the military actions mentioned in the previous stage, provided a rationale for Israeli reprisals and further arms purchases. Moshe Dayan provided a fine example of such an argument in an address he delivered before the Press Club in November 1969: We are tackling this Arab tendency [to renew hostilities] by means of a positive defense strategy. Not only do we not want to reach the stage of a renewed conflict, we are also taking steps that may prevent it or at least reduce the escalation preceding a war’s renewal. [We are doing so] by increasing the IDF’s strength, adding to our stockpile of equipment, upgrading [. . .] our fortifications, and so forth. This [policy] is also expressed in operations initiated by the IDF, forays beyond enemy lines, air strikes, and other military activities. The purpose of these crushing attacks is to weaken Arab escalation toward war.[9] The paradoxical use of military force to prevent hostilities was based on the assumption that Israel needed to “preserve the strength of IDF deterrence” in the face of the enemy. The more the enemy rearmed, the more the IDF had to rearm. Dayan went on to elaborate this argumentation: At the end of the Six Day War, Egypt was left with only forty percent of its air power and 30 percent of its tanks [. . .]. At present, its overall air power has increased by 170 percent, and its armor also by almost 170 percent when compared to Egyptian strength on the eve of the Six Day War [. . .]. Because I don’t expect renewal of an all-out war in the near future, it is quite possible that if and when such a war should erupt, [Egypt’s] rearmament will be further improved. (ibid.) This rationale was employed by both sides although to varying degrees, initiated the vicious circle characterizing the intensifying arms race. The relentless thirst for arms in expanding quantity and quality transformed the Middle East into a powder keg and, simultaneously, the most advanced weapons laboratory in the world. This situation was readily exploited by the world’s two great powers at the time, the United States and the Soviet Union, for their own political as well as economic reasons irrespective of declarations to the contrary. With each purchase of weaponry by either Israel or the Arab states, the war justification mechanism began another iteration.

“The Threat of Extinction” and “No Partner for Peace” One of the crucial axioms at the heart of Israel’s justification of war was unfolded as follows: The enemy’s fundamental aspiration is to destroy Israel. With this axiom governing public attitudes toward the Arab states and its peoples, it was inevitable

that the assumption of there being “no partner for peace” informed every aspect of the public debate over Arab-Israeli relations.[10] Despite the Six Day War’s immediate outcome, the feeling that the “threat of extinction” constantly hovered over Israel’s head remained inextricably linked to the contention discussed previously regarding danger as an indelible mark of the Jewish people’s “fate.” The phrase “threat of extinction” had been regularly repeated during the three weeks of waiting prior to the onset of the Six Day War. It infiltrated many statements made by Israel’s leadership during those weeks of acute tension and remained in active use in the postwar years. In an interview given to Al HaMishmar on 3 August 1973, Israel’s Chief of Staff David Elazar declared that: “In all of the remarks made [by Egypt’s President Sadat and his advisors], I fail to identify any renunciation of their long-standing goal—destruction of the State of Israel.” More than a year earlier, in January 1972, Moshe Dayan stated during an interview given to the UK’s Observer that: “It will require another complete generation until the Arabs’ heart-felt aspiration to rid themselves [of the Jews] departs from their souls.”[11] Golda Meir as well (and perhaps most often) referred to the “threat of extinction” facing Israel: “Human beings exhibit the tendency to ignore painful facts: The Arab leaders are still not prepared to accept our existence and reconcile themselves to this fact.”[12] In the same speech cited in the previous chapter, Meir had said: Nasser and the other Arab rulers have not learned the lessons of the Six Day War and have yet to relinquish their mission—destruction of the State of Israel [. . .]; we have confronted the threat of losing our independence on three occasions, and even faced the danger of our physical extinction, all because of Arab aggression and because we accepted our friends’ advice to trust in alternatives.[13] Joining those who adhered to the “extinction rhetoric” was Prof. Yehoshafat Harkabi, one of the most respected and influential of Israel’s researchers and policy advisors during this period:[14] We have returned to the habit of shutting our ears and burying our head in the sand when faced with calls for our liquidation and destruction, apologetic analyses of the Arabs and the argument that they don’t mean what they say. [. . .][15] The danger inherent in the enemy’s wish to annihilate Israel was extensively explored in children’s literature. In Hasamba: Adventures with Blood and Fire, the book’s author, Yigal Mossinson, wrote: “War is a terrible and cruel thing [. . .]. We are prepared for peace at any moment but the Arabs are not ready for peace. They have publicly stated that they will throw us into the sea” (p. 14). The motif of “being thrown into the sea” returned in Sarig’s Danidin in the Six Day War. During a briefing given

prior to the battle, Rafi, the division’s commander, announces: “The day that we have been waiting for has finally arrived, the day when we will meet the arrogant, despicable enemy who wants to throw us all into the sea and possess our homeland” (p. 37). In later sections of this chapter we return to closely examine the utilization of the war justification discourse in the daily press. Two major events will serve as our case studies: the first, in the political sphere, was the failure of the April 1970 peace initiative promoted by Dr. Nahum Goldman, President of the World Zionist Association; the second, in the military sphere, was the misguided interception of a Libyan passenger plane in February 1973. These two events were selected to demonstrate the workings of the discourse and its practical outcomes. Due to their uniqueness, the incidents received extensive media attention, a quick government response. Whereas the rhetoric justifying current acts of reprisal was generally retrieved from a long-established bank of responses originating in the early 1950s,[16] the two selected incidents demanded creativity and improvisation. At the time, the justification mechanisms had not yet been embedded into the national culture, implying that the stratagems at their core were still relatively easy to identify. As we shall see, the public awarded the strongest approval to the government and military treatment of both cases.

The Goldman Peace Initiative (April 1970) In April 1970, Dr. Nahum Goldman, President of the World Zionist Organization, informed the public of an unprecedented initiative meant to further peace negotiations with Egypt.[17] Goldman declared that Egypt’s President Gamal Abdel Nasser was willing to meet with him directly. The initiative was formally announced on 6 April 1970, and immediately earned front-page headlines: “Nasser has agreed to meet with Goldman for talks in Cairo. The Israeli government’s response was negative” (Davar). The government’s decision, cited here, had in fact been reached a week before (29 March 1970), but remained secret: The Israeli government is ready to comply with every demonstration on the part of the Egyptian president of willingness to meet for the purpose of clarifying issues urgent to both our countries, with each side selecting its own representatives. For this reason, our response to the Dr. Goldman’s appeal for government approval of his meeting with Egypt’s president must be negative. When considered against the background of the then year long War of Attrition, together with the fear of undue Soviet intervention in the area, the Nasser-Goldman initiative promised a welcome change in the local and international landscape. The initiative brought hope to many of an end to the drawn-out bloodshed. The journalist Teddy Preuss commented on the government’s rejection of the initiative in these words: “No decision has aroused so such debate since the [end] of the Six Day War.

[. . .].”[18] At a 2003 exhibition celebrating his history of public service held at the Beit Hatfutzot Museum, which had been named in his honor, Dr. Goldman was described in the following words: [. . .] among the twentieth century’s most important Jewish leaders, one of the most colorful and arresting figures in the Zionist world. His image is engraved in Jewish collective identity as a unique combination of the diplomat, cosmopolitan, and far-sighted intellectual who has consistently maintained his political and ideological autonomy. This description differs drastically from Goldman’s portrait as drawn in the contemporary press. Scrutiny of the discrepancy reveals that one of the main routes adopted to undermine Goldman’s initiative and justify its rejection was vilification. In acquiescence to this tactic, the Israeli leadership as well as the local press depicted Goldman as naïve and inexperienced in forging international ties and as totally misconstruing Middle East power relations. Immediately after announcing the initiative, Davar informed its readers that: “The veteran Zionist leader has fallen into a trap and thus damaged Israel’s image [throughout the world].”[19] Goldman, who resided mainly in the US, was also described as bereft of any public stature as well as any moral right to participate in a peace initiative or to represent Israel. Golda Meir, as Israel’s Prime Minister, directly accused Goldman of impropriety: “We had the right to demand that before you declared your policy positions abroad, you spend some time in Israel, share our way of life, and visit the peripheral settlements and outposts. [We believe that] only then [would you have the right] to criticize or preach to us.”[20] In addition to his other “weaknesses,” the press also attributed to Goldman the failings of untrustworthiness and irresponsibility. Maariv’s banner headline of 7 April 1970 declared that: “Contradictions in Goldman’s story as told to various ministers have aroused numerous doubts in the government. G. Meir threatens to publish the protocols of the discussions conducted with Dr. Nahum Goldman.” A sub headline stated that: “Opinion emerging in Jerusalem: The president of the World Zionist Organization acted irresponsibly in inflating contacts made with individuals having no authority [to do so]; he has retracted some of the details of his accounts.” We later find another version of the events, dictated by Abba Eban, Israel’s Foreign Minister: “All of Dr. Goldman’s accounts are replete with contradictions [. . .]. There is no whiff of an invitation [. . .]. Goldman has not spoken with anyone authorized by Nasser; the entire drama has been irresponsibly exaggerated.” Another tactic applied as part of the campaign to slander Goldman involved describing him as a megalomaniac seeking personal glory: “Political observers consider that the timing of Dr. Goldman’s own publication of his views, together with those views themselves, are tied to his pretentious aspirations to meet influential Arab leaders in order to discuss possibilities of establishing peace.”[21] One month after the

beginning of the episode, on 7 May 1970, students disrupted Goldman’s lecture at Bar-Ilan University. They booed him while carrying posters bearing the words “traitor” and “foreign agent.” Leaflets distributed after the lecture carried the following message: Israeli defeatists of all strains have united under the leadership and support of overt and covert agents [. . .]. They themselves live here thanks to the IDF’s power and the national unity government. They are once more becoming active and, by means of cheap demagoguery have taken advantage of the blood of those who fell to ensure Israel’s existence. They wave their banners about peace with Nasser, just like Chamberlain did at Munich. Israel fortunately has a responsible leader [alluding to Prime Minister Golda Meir] who represents the entire nation’s, including our young people’s, healthy instincts, good sense and intelligence. The attack on Goldman’s personality was cogently encapsulated in an article appearing in Davar on 7 April 1970: “The former president of the World Zionist Organization majestically struts about like a statesman without a country, requesting that he be crowned Israel’s peacemaker.”[22] When viewing the episode beyond the individual involvement of Dr. Goldman, we conclude that attempts to bring about peace with the Arabs were painted in the negative and lurid colors of the tawdry pursuit of fame. Dr. Goldman was not the sole target of such a campaign denigration. Personal attacks were also lobbied at Egypt’s president Gamal Abdel Nasser, Goldman’s collaborator from the enemy camp. The logic for going beyond Goldman was rooted in the previously discussed assumption that there was “no partner for peace.” From the very outset, the press conveyed the initiative as a subterfuge, as Nasser’s attempt to take advantage of Goldman’s naiveté. A headline appearing in Maariv on 6 April 1970 informed its readers that “[Nasser] wants to exploit the meeting for ceremonial purposes.” The headline’s content transmitted a dual message. On the one hand, Nasser was depicted as a master propagandist who deceived a gullible Israeli; on the other, casting sweeping doubt over Nasser’s intentions reaffirmed the Egyptian leader as obedient to the spirit of “no partner for peace.” Stated differently, Nasser’s participation in the peace initiative confirmed the Israeli mistrust in the Arabs as honest partners in an eventual peace agreement. Importantly, this approach effectively blinded the Israeli public and its leadership to Egypt’s needs and interests. It also blatantly ignored the fact that Nasser’s willingness to meet with Goldman had placed him in a highly problematic position, primarily considering the Khartoum Summit Resolution (1 September 1967), which prohibited any contact with Israel.[23] In parallel, this refusal to recognize the multidimensionality of the Arab definition of the conflict prevented Israel from perceiving the threats posed by enemy preparations for the Yom Kippur War. Ironically, as we will show, the assumption that there was “no partner for peace” laid

the foundations for assuming that there was “no partner for war.” Goldman’s initiative, by reasserting the assumption that Israel and the Jewish people were under constant threat of annihilation, revealed the true fears associated with peace and, thus exposed, the rationale for supporting war. Intensified employment of war justification discourse with regard to Goldman’s peace initiative drove the public debate over peace to unprecedented levels. On 28 April 1970, 58 graduates from a Jerusalem high school wrote to Golda Meir, noting, among other things, that: “After the government has rejected any chances for peace by rebuffing Dr. Nahum Goldman’s trip [to Egypt], we do not know if, under the slogan ‘no choice,’ we will be able to fulfill our duties once inducted into the military.” The letter, which caused a public uproar, would be remembered in Israeli history as the “high school seniors’ letter” (Michtav Hashminiot). During the same month, a violent demonstration protesting the Prime Minister’s actions was held opposite her offices. About four hundred people “sat in the middle of the road and obstructed traffic. Three demonstrators were injured.”[24] Gad Yatziv, a speaker at the demonstration, declared that: “One of the components of Israel’s security lies in [believing that] there is ‘no choice.’ We have just missed an opportunity [to change that condition]. This will cause soldiers to be less willing to fight.” Scuffles also broke out in the universities, with Maariv reporting that: “Students [. . .] at the university hung placards declaring: ‘Golda is afraid of peace.’”[25] However, the protests of these “alternative voices” supporting the peace initiative were to no avail. At the gatherings and conferences organized throughout Israel, Goldman was greeted by heated crowds who often prevented him from speaking. This continued until Israel’s President Zalman Shazar intervened: We have to permit Nahum Goldman to openly express his views [. . .] We must adamantly oppose these distorted views but we must nevertheless abide by the rules of democracy [. . .]. It is most unseemly to instantaneously transform Dr. Goldman into a traitor or bar him from all his surroundings.[26] The president’s words hinted at the divisive potential of Goldman’s message. Findings from a survey published by Haaretz on 10 May 1970 effectively help summarize this two-month-long incident: “High school students yearn for peace but are ready for war—sixty-seven percent object to the letter sent by their peers in Jerusalem and agree with the government’s position regarding the Goldman incident.”[27] Although the survey’s participants were limited in their representation of Israel’s youth—they came from two classes studying in one Tel Aviv high school—its results were reported across a full page. What made the newspaper coverage so relevant were its closing words: “The views reflected in the pupils’ responses reveal that young people want peace but recognize the necessity of war. The majority do not believe in the chance for peace and fear the recurrence of yet another regional or even global conflict.” Justification of war had again won the day. Headlines dealing with the Goldman incident gradually retreated to the

newspapers’ inner pages in the following weeks as the incident lost its place on the national agenda. The Goldman peace initiative aptly illustrates the specific capacities of the war justification discourse as it evolved in the relevant period. However, for a better gauge of just how smoothly and quickly the discourse’s rhetorical mechanisms could respond to challenges to the embedded ideology, we turn to another incident, one that transpired three years later.

Interception of a Libyan Civilian Airliner (April 1973) The need to sustain the Six Day War’s achievements while repeatedly affirming Israel’s military superiority drove the IDF in the early 1970s to initiate actions on occasion that were aimed at demonstrating the enemies’ military inferiority. These exhibitionist acts of delayed retaliation often incited severe international criticism. They also aroused intensive employment of justification mechanisms to rationalize Israel’s use of military force. IDF interception and downing of a Libyan civilian airliner in April 1973 was, however, exceptional. Working in conjunction, the three main institutional actors involved—the political level, the military level and the media— conceived of a rhetorical structure that distanced the deaths of 106 Arab civilians from the center of Israel’s public debate with amazing alacrity. The respective rhetoric was so effective that just a few days after the plane’s interception, the Israeli public had resolved its doubts concerning the attack’s legitimacy and returned to its normal routines. Protests, initially few in number, soon ceased altogether. The Libyan airliner’s interception poignantly demonstrated the extent to which war justification mechanisms had strengthened and improved in the three-year interim since the Goldman incident. The majority of the tragedy’s details are indisputable. At 13:55 (1:55 pm) on 21 February 1973, Libyan Arab Airlines flight F114 from Tripoli to Cairo via Benghazi penetrated the Sinai Peninsula’s airspace, then considered part of Israeli airspace, to a depth of about 200 kilometers. The airliner’s captain and crew were French nationals employed by the Libyan carrier. The majority of the flight’s 106 passengers were Arab civilians. Review of the press reports indicates that the airliner flew about eight to fifteen minutes over Sinai, after which it returned to its original trajectory in the direction of the Suez Canal. Immediately upon the airliner’s penetration into Israeli airspace, Israeli Air Force jets intercepted the plane and transmitted an array of orders to land. The airliner’s pilot, however, did not comply. When the airliner was only a few minutes flying time from the Suez Canal, the Israeli jets initially fired a missile and damaged the plane’s wing. An additional volley caused the airliner to crash. Almost none on board survived. Analysis of the plane’s black box a few days later indicated that a tragic error had initiated the incident: The pilot was convinced to the very last moment that Egyptian MIGs were firing at him and that he was flying within Egyptian territory. The incident provided an acute challenge to the war justification discourse: How could the shooting down of a civilian airliner en route to a destination beyond Israel

and apparently having no warlike intent, be rationalized? In order to meet the challenge, actions were carefully coordinated: Civilian bodies were backed by the military, which was directly responsible for the interception and the order to fire. Publication of legal opinions was coordinated with press coverage. The latter, which uncovered and then concealed flaws in the descriptions of the events, helped to carefully mold public opinion by supplying a long list of justifications for the heartwrenching event. As a denouement, the “civil mechanism” came into play four days later, with civil entities joining government in its effort to vindicate the Air Force’s actions. We thus find Haaretz dedicating a full page to review of the events, which was written with a vocabulary and tone that echoed the statements made by a range of official decision-makers, all of whom expressed sincere regret and shock at the loss of so many civilian lives. An apologetic tenor also informed the newspaper’s front page: “Mrs. Meir: The Government of Israel expresses its deep sorrow [over the events].” Similar headlines appeared on the front page of other dailies, with some including the words “accident” and “tragedy.” The attitude conveyed by the articles published on the day immediately following the downing was that of “widespread embarrassment.” Nonetheless, the administration soon changed its stance to denial of any responsibility for the mistake. The main and almost sole figure still adhering to the “error approach” was the Chief of Staff, Lieut. Gen. David Elazar, the officer who gave the fatal order.[28] In the following paragraphs, we turn to the actions taken by the major actors during this incident. The aim is not to provide any conceptual comparison between individual behaviors but only to understand the overall effect of the mechanisms employed within war justification discourse. We therefore review the impact of cooperation between cultural producers and the political echelon in the construction of the worldview or cultural narrative that would lead to the surprise of the Yom Kippur War. The political echelon: Two press conferences were held within forty-eight hours of the airliner’s interception and downing: During the first press conference, David Elazar, the Chief of Staff, and Mordechai (Motti) Hod, Commander of the Air Force, participated together with the two pilots who had executed the firing; during the second press conference they were joined by the Minister of Defense Moshe Dayan, the Minister without Portfolio Israel Galili, and several other ministers. Moshe Dayan, representing the political level, took two approaches during the second press conference: With respect to the domestic arena, he assigned sole responsibility for the incident to the military while clearing the political ranks of any involvement in the decision. As to the foreign arena, Dayan fully supported the position taken by Elazar, the Chief of Staff, while assigning full blame for the tragedy to the airliner’s pilot. The two tacks were somewhat contradictory regarding their implications. Dayan chose his words carefully: “This was a military event that received the attention of the military ranks. I am convinced that the issues considered when determining the military response were correct and appropriate to the

circumstances.”[29] His diplomatic phrasing would later be replaced by scathing comments directed at the airliner’s dead captain. Dayan also had no compunctions in directing full blame at the Egyptians.[30] Despite the international pressure, Dayan refused to establish an investigative commission to review the incident. Meir’s government eventually consented to paying compensation “beyond that demanded by law” to the victims’ families, although over Dayan’s objections. The military echelon: The military was represented at the first press conference by Air Force Commander Gen. Motti Hod and by the two pilots who took part in the shooting. The pilots, appearing without their military insignia, presented their versions of the events. Their appearance was meant to convey the impression that they had “nothing to hide,” as befitting transparency of government actions. Two days later, the Chief of Staff turned to the media to announce that he was the officer who gave the unfortunate order to down the plane. As previously stated, of all the speakers at the two press conferences, Elazar was the only one to express full and comprehensive personal regret for the actions taken. Some days later, after release of the findings obtained from the plane’s black box Elazar openly admitted that: “Had we known then what we know now, we would never have shot at the aircraft.”[31] The press: For four to five days, Israel’s downing of the Libyan airliner earned major headlines in the major dailies. And then, quite suddenly, the incident seems to have lost public interest; the related items were confined to inner pages before disappearing. In contrast to the Goldman incident, which occupied the press for several weeks, newspaper coverage of the Libyan incident was highly focused and brief. Press capitulation to official justification of the violence took just one day, what we can interpret as an indication of the power of the discourse over the civil arena. To illustrate how quickly the discourse overtook the press we need only mention the main headline appearing in Haaretz the day after the interception: “An investigation has opened into the shooting down of the Libyan airplane in the Sinai.” In the accompanying article, the IDF Spokesperson is quoted as saying: “Today, at 13:55, a Libyan Boeing 727 penetrated the Sinai airspace. The plane flew over IDF installations along the Suez Canal and above the military airfield situated in the Sinai.” The initial wording of the military’s announcement clearly points to its perception of the potential danger inherent in the penetration of the Sinai’s airspace. Readers are nevertheless left to independently deduce the relationship between the airliner’s flight path and its interception; they are also left to wonder whether a flight path above IDF installations was, a priori, a guilty act. In the absence of full information, given the environment, the public had little choice but to accept the official interpretation of the act. Another striking trend characterizing the press coverage was transmission of a string of unsubstantiated and questionable reports under the veil of the security blackout instituted immediately upon the incident’s announcement. For example, as early as the first day, Haaretz printed: “Unverified source: Terrorists had overpowered the airplane with the aim of exploding it over IDF installations in the Sinai.” A subheading read: “The Libyan airliner was not fired upon at all.” On the second day, a

headline in Maariv read: “Rumors in Paris: The pilot had stated that he would take no orders from Israel.” The text under the headline read: “The possibility exists that senior Arab officials other than the former [Libyan] Minister of Foreign Affairs, present on the Libyan airplane shot down in the Sinai, directed the pilot not to comply with orders to land. This is one of the explanations raised in Paris.” Under the cover of journalistic caution, reporters used phrases such as “unverified versions” and “rumors,” terms that, due to their suspicious character and absence of alternative information, facilitated acceptance of the unfounded allegations. Hints of a “threat to national security” pervaded the transmission of what was later disclosed as disinformation. A headline appearing on the front page of Haaretz on 23 February, two days after the downing, declared that: “The IDF is searching for a camera among the plane’s wreckage in the Sinai.” Among the details provided by the said article we find: “Security authorities are not eliminating the possibility that the Libyan airliner’s incursion over sensitive areas in the Sinai was not accidental and that one of its passengers was involved in photographing installations that the Egyptians are finding very difficult to photograph during regular flights.”[32] Notwithstanding their rhetorical revival of national anxiety regarding existential threats to the Jewish people that such rumors inspired, the various newspapers reiterated absolute confidence in the decision-making process that led to the airliner’s downing, the leadership that made those decisions, and the Israeli pilots who executed the order. Under the headline “IDF Searching for Camera,” a Haaretz journalist wrote: “What is patently clear is that the decision to fire [. . .] was taken at the highest level. State-of-the-art communications equipment allows direct contact with the top military ranks within seconds. These officers gave their full support to the pilots who acted according to absolutely precise orders.”[33] Full agreement was reached among journalists and editors alike on these points, discerned in the description of the lead pilot’s appearance at the second press conference: “At first he was somewhat uneasy but in only a few seconds he gained confidence; his remarks sounded completely straightforward. [This pilot] is known for his serious and cautious approach [to the fulfillment of his duties].”[34] The legal level: The war justification discourse promoted ready incorporation of legal arguments especially if they were written in general and blurry legal jargon. Wording of this type gave the arguments an aura of authenticity and legitimacy, a quality necessary for these justifications to penetrate the public lexicon. Among the most frequently repeated phrases applied were: “The State of Israel acted according to the required international laws” and “Israel has protected its aerial rights.” “Factual error” is the first legal defense belonging to the war justification discourse that we explore. Within the present context, the term means that the unfortunate act of interception resulted from an honest misunderstanding of the facts, a position that cleanses the offending party, in this case the Israeli military, from any responsibility for the act and its results. This argument set the legal foundations for the first line of defense taken immediately after the tragedy became known, specifically, an “unfortunate blunder” or the product of an error in information

regarding the circumstances or their interpretation. Officials soon desisted from using the argument because it established a moral balance between the victim and the assumed culprit: The mistakes made by the civilian pilot and by the Israeli decision makers were equivalent in their legal status and repercussions. A factual error can also be considered a “human error.” This phrase was thought to awaken understanding and empathy for the French pilot flying the Libyan plane, who Israel claimed, was the true guilty party. In order to prevent any such an equilibrium and potential bias toward the French pilot, Israel elaborated a new version that accused him of purposefully deviating from course. A headline reflecting this revision appeared in Maariv on 22 February 1973: The French pilot performed an act of deception and evasion [. . .] The Libyan plane’s pilots [. . .] were cognizant of the Israeli Air Force pilots’ orders to fire; they pretended that they were complying with these orders when feigning an “attempted landing” above the military air field in the Sinai; after opening the craft’s landing gear and began their descent, the pilots executed a diversion and took off once more in the direction of the Suez Canal. [35] This transformation of the legal category of human error into premeditated deception helped Israel direct full blame and public censure at the dead French pilot and away from itself. “Self-defense” was another item in the menu of legal arguments employed to rationalize the tragic decision. Its use was based on the already canonical metaphor of Israel as a “nation fighting for its survival.” Within the framework of self-defense, the airliner was shot down in order to prevent another disaster. The incident was thus presented as resembling biblical situations where one must “kill or be killed.” For instance, in the article entitled “Tragedy in Sinai’s Skies” that appeared in Al Hamishmar, we find the author stating that: “They [the international community] don’t understand that in Israel, self-defense is a instinctive and reflexive act.”[36] In this text, self-defense, one of the rare legal arguments sanctioning the use of force, goes one step further to become an accusation against an obtuse and uncaring world. Turning this legal defense on its head thus served to justify war by reinforcing cultural perceptions of who was responsible for the existential threat facing Israel and the Jews. The first condition for contending self-defense is the responsibility of providing evidence that might substantiate the necessity of committing an act of violence. In most Western legal doctrines, burden of proof tends to rest on the perpetrator. He or she must prove that a series of conditions existed, among them the condition of “last resort,” and that the level of violence employed was proportional to the level of threat. The series of actions taken by the IDF prior to the plane’s interception appeared repeatedly and in the greatest of detail in Israel’s newspapers. They provided the overt legal conditions necessary for claiming self-defense, including the “last resort” stipulation, which implied the absence of conditions leading to an alternative course of

action for achieving the desired results. According to press reports, the Israeli airmen had tried to contact the French airliner by radio, visual means—waving their hands (according to an Israeli fighter pilot, at a critical stage they flew at a distance of only five meters from the Libyan plane), warning shots, then firing directly at the plane’s wing to indicate seriousness of intent exclusively. Only after completing this stage were the pilots given the order to open fire and down the airliner. The second condition required for a “self-defense” argument is proportionality. This demand presents the most difficult challenge to the legal system within the context of this case. The principle of proportionality prohibits the use of force, even if employed to achieve a legitimate goal, if the harm that would result is greater than the anticipated benefits, given the level of force to be exerted. In the present case, the comparison is between the damage caused to the Libyan plane versus the damage that the Libyan plane might have caused the State of Israel had it not been downed. Israel argued that the proportionality criterion was difficult to apply under the circumstances because the decision to shoot down the airliner demanded almost instantaneous complex decision making with almost no factual information. Although the nature of the threat changed while decisions were being made, the Israeli response at any given moment was portrayed in the press as a product of the threat’s potential seriousness. Zeev Schiff, Haaretz’s senior military correspondent, described the events in a manner aimed at subverting any critique of proportionality: As long as the plane flew in the direction of the center of Sinai and of Israel, there was justified fear that its aim was to inflict damage on some target in the Northern Sinai. This fear was based on available reports that terrorists had at various times planned a flamboyant suicide attack involving the explosion of an aircraft above crucial sites within Israeli territory. When the plane returned to its course in the direction of Egypt, this fear obviously evaporated in the present case, to be replaced by suspicions that the plane’s mission was to photograph sensitive installations that the Egyptians had been unable to penetrate during regular espionage sorties. The question of whether to allow the airliner to escape or to down it even though it was already on its way out [of Sinai’s airspace] at this stage was subject to the discretion of decision makers. The officers giving the orders as well as the pilots obeying them were sincerely convinced that firing at the plane would not cause it to crash.[37] The inflated depictions of the threat supplied the Minister of Transportation Shimon Peres with a rationale for the article he wrote entitled: “The Libyan Plane Flew in the Direction of Beer Sheva.”[38] Peres used the article to elaborate the claim that any threat to the safety of Beer Sheva’s innocent residents warranted an attack against innocent Libyan civilians, a contention clearly directed at the criteria of proportionality. Public opinion: A force unwittingly reinforcing the war justification discourse in Israeli culture was revealed to be public opinion. Surveys conducted by the major

newspapers while the incident was still fresh indicated persistent public support of the IDF’s interception and downing of the Libyan airliner. These surveys transmitted two messages: They confirmed the success of the various justification mechanisms while simultaneously adding another layer supporting the discourse’s substance and operation. As formative elements in the evolution of the Israeli mindset and its receptivity to the war justification discourse, surveys became acts of cultural production because they invited the convinced as well as unconvinced to reflect on the “correct” or official position, a cognitive act that helped internalize the values conveyed. Five days (27 February 1973) after the interception, we therefore find an article in Haaretz under the banner “Haaretz Spot Survey Reveals: 72.5 percent support the decision to intercept the Libyan airliner.” The article was essentially a collection of quotations culled from statements made by dozens of the Israelis surveyed. The speakers’ names were listed, as were their city of residence, age, and profession, all for the purpose of creating the impression of a universally held point of view. Due to the demographic diversity of those quoted, any reader could find a respondent with whom to identify. The few respondents objecting to the interception are especially interesting in how they reveal just how ingrained the discourse had become. For instance, Interviewee A. Shoshana, a forty-year-old elementary school principal living in the Galilee, noted that: “Despite the great anxiety, we should have let the plane escape because we are sufficiently strong [to permit it].” Shoshana’s criticism disclosed the general tenor of her beliefs, which subscribed to the belief in military force as the core source of the state’s viability. The level of success achieved through use of the war justification discourse to rationalize the Libyan airliner’s interception can be seen in its results: Within just a few days, public calm had been restored, spirits assuaged, and the tragedy replaced by other news items. Manipulation of the press in the service of IDF interests was also implied by the Israeli government’s refusal to comply with international requests to set up an investigative commission to probe what had happened. By adopting the more convenient tack of compensating the victims’ families, the government was able to remove the moral sting of IDF actions while portraying itself as a humanitarian regime, an attribute the press frequently mentioned whenever raising the issue. * * * The Six Day War’s outcomes, particularly Israel’s long-term presence in the Occupied Territories, created the need for an arsenal of justifications for the military’s behavior that would be available for instantaneous use. These rhetorical mechanisms were built upon axiomatic foundations and circular logic, rooted in anxiety before the threat of annihilation, and wedded to the argument of “no partner for peace.” Two unique incidents, the Goldman peace initiative and the interception and downing of a Libyan airliner, demonstrate these mechanisms operated within Israel’s unique sociocultural context. The political ramifications of the war justification discourse

dominated the first incident, whereas the structural features of justification came to light in the second incident. Protests were quickly silenced in both instances and with them, any public doubts regarding the actions taken. Normalization of the abnormal thus continued to be part of everyday life during the six years in question.

NOTES 1. Sneh was one of the founders of the left-wing political party Mapam. 2. Sneh, M. Haaretz, 10 May, 1970. 3. Haaretz, 15 May, 1970. 4. Levin (1987), p. 89. 5. Goldstein, D. Maariv, 8 September, 1972. 6. Kipnis (2012). 7. Hadari (2002); Aran, G. (1988). ‘A Mystic-messianic Interpretation of Modern Israeli History: The Six Day War as a Key Event in the Development of the Original Religious Culture of Gush Emunim,’ Studies in Contemporary Judaism, 4, 263–275. 8. Honn, S. Haaretz, 7 April, 1970. 9. Defense Minister Moshe Dayan to the Journalist Club 12 November 1969. Skira Hodshit, 1, January 1970. 10. Gavriely Nuri (2010b). 11. Harris, K. A Few Months Left. Maariv, 23 January, 1972. 12. Goldstein, D. Maariv, 8 September, 1972. 13. Meir, Golda. Israeli Government Annuals, 1970, p. 9. 14. Ben Ari (2004). 15. Harkabi, Y. (1971). Introduction to The Israeli-Arab Conflict. Tel Aviv: Chief Education Officer, Ministry of Defense (in Hebrew), p. 124. 16. Har-Zion, M. (1969). Journal Chapters. Levin Epstein, Tel Aviv. 17. Bar-Joseph, U. (2006) Last chance to avoid war: Sadat’s peace initiative of February 1973 and its failure. Journal of Contemporary History, 41(3), 545–556; Gazit, M. (1997). Egypt and Israel—Was there a Peace Opportunity Missed in 1971? Journal of Contemporary History, 32 (1), 97–115; Gazit, M. (1984). The Peace Process 1969–1973. Ramat Efal: Yad Tabenkin (in Hebrew). 18. Davar, 10 April, 1970; Goldmann, N. (1976). The Future of Israel. Jerusalem & Tel Aviv: Schocken (in Hebrew). 19. Nissan, E. Davar, 7 April, 1970. 20. Davar, 7 April, 1970. 21. Harrif, Y. Maariv, 7 April, 1970. 22. Nissan, E. Davar, 7 April, 1970. 23. The Khartoum Resolution of September 1, 1967 was issued at the conclusion of 1967 Arab League summit convened in the wake of the Six-Day War, and was attended by eight Arab heads of state. It is famous for containing what became known as the “Three No’s”: “no peace with Israel, no recognition of Israel, no negotiations with Israel.” See: Meital, Y. (1997). Egypt’s Struggle for Peace:

Continuity and Change, 1967–1977, University Press of Florida; Gazit 2003. 24. Zuriel, Y. Maariv, 8 April, 1970. 25. Maariv, 13 April, 1970. 26. Haaretz, 8 May, 1970. 27. Haaretz, 10 May, 1970. 28. A year later, the Agranat Commission, the investigative body established following the Yom Kippur War, would find Elazar to be the sole senior official accountable for the surprise. The commission would exonerate Prime Minister Golda Meir and Minister of Defense Moshe Dayan of any direct responsibility for the events. 29. Schiff, Z. Haaretz, 23 February, 1973. 30. Haaretz, 24 February, 1973. 31. Haaretz, banner headline, 24 February 1973. 32. Haaretz, 23 February, 1973. 33. Haaretz, 23 February, 1973. 34. Schiff, Z. Haaretz, 23 February, 1973. 35. Erez, Y. Maariv, 22 February, 1973. 36. Gefen, M. Haaretz, 23 February, 1973. 37. Haaretz, 23 February, 1973. 38. Hadad, A. Haaretz, 23 February, 1973.

Conclusion Israeli Culture on the Road to the Yom Kippur War This book emerged from my identification of a lacuna in the research on the Yom Kippur War surprise, by which I mean the continued deferral of research into the cultural dimensions of the surprise to the benefit of its military and intelligence dimensions. The main analytic concept I employed in my attempt to decipher the events was “cultural narrative.” The dominant cultural narrative in any specific era or society can be understood as the beliefs that serve group social and ideological needs in a certain period it is the mechanism by which a common set of knowledge, assumptions and behaviors is organized and distributed. My findings, described in this book, suggest that the cultural narrative guiding the conduct of Israeli life after the Six Day War constructed conceptual unity melding two narratives: the security narrative and the normalcy narrative. The Six Day War was a litmus test of the security narrative’s validity. At the same time, victory appeared to sound the opening chimes of a new and promising story: the normalcy narrative. To ease the cognitive tension between these two contradictory subnarratives, mechanisms were created to reconcile the discrepancies and thereby ensure their continued simultaneous existence. These I call normalization mechanisms. The security-normalcy narrative proved itself to be a highly adaptable and

sophisticated mechanism throughout the post–Six Day War period. It satisfied Israel’s government and citizens by elaborating the rationalizations indispensable for accommodating civil life to changing security conditions, whether terrorist attacks or a War of Attrition. Public internalization of the dichotomy also provided numerous benefits to the regime in power. The narrative made it possible for the government to control political and other resources through conceptual containment of the War of Attrition in addition to expectations regarding the “next war.” This was achieved by applying normalization mechanisms to convince the public that their experiences of war were integral to the “narrative of normal life” as Jews in a reestablished homeland, the State of Israel. Shielded by the normality narrative, the security narrative could thrive unimpeded by any serious opposition. The normalcy narrative, due to its culturally fortified link to the security narrative, likewise served as a cover story for the security ideology that permeated government thinking. It helped rationalize continued occupation of the territories and the quashing of any peace initiative proposed. Israel’s conception of normalcy would prove to be so flexible that it made stalemate—“no peace—no war”—a taken-for-granted condition of existence. Demands for change could barely attract an audience. The public, too, gradually learned to take advantage of what came to be popularly known as the matzav, the “situation.” Throughout the six years in question, claims that security expenditures were guarantors of a normal life became mantras, to be chanted whenever criticism of the exploding defense budget arose. And why should the public question the dichotomy: With the security industries (e.g., Israel Aircraft Industries, Israel Military Industries) and the military expanding, unemployment disappeared and the family’s financial security seemed assured. Some mechanism was nonetheless required to bridge the internal contradictions of the discourse when they became visible. Normalization mechanisms—rhetorical devices that subjugated the interpretation of security issues to definitions of normalcy —were formulated. Once in place, normalization voided decidedly security-related events of their violent or dangerous meanings. Occupation and control of more than a million Palestinians in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip was therefore considered “normal” behavior thanks to concepts such as “open bridges” and “summer visits,” which painted oppressive experiences as mutually positive and rewarding. In other areas, Israel’s participation in the Middle East arms race and the region’s transformation into the world’s most sophisticated weapons testing laboratory were masked by references to “Golda’s shopping cart” and its images of benign and nurturing economic progress. In order to demonstrate the power of the War Normalization Discourse, examples taken from a wide variety of texts were provided throughout this book’s analytic chapters. After subjecting these cultural products—leaders’ speeches, children’s and adult literature, movies, and the theater—to analysis, we were able to identify three major rhetorical strategies:

Euphemization hid war’s costs from public consciousness while it superficially magnified war’s benefits for soldiers and citizens; Naturalization transformed war into a normal event by portraying military violence as part of human nature. As a natural force it was an integral part of daily life on the public as well as personal level; Justification applied moral and logical arguments to rationalize perpetuation of the many facets of war. Through the often unintentional and unselfconscious application of these rhetorical devices within our selected historical context, that of post–Six Day War (1967–1973) Israel, the cultural narrative was able to blur, when it did not distort, war’s objective character. Rather than an experience suffused with danger whose outcomes were indeterminate, war was reframed as a guarantor of a normal life and greater security. Internalized, widespread and supported by regime policies and cultural products, the narrative’s strength was such that it deluded the public into perceiving relations between conquerors and the conquered as expressions of (perhaps not equally but definitely) mutually beneficial neighborliness. The complex reciprocities maintained between the security narrative and the normalcy narrative provided the cognitive foundations for processes that peaked in October 1973. Misinterpretation of the events therefore proceeded on all levels, policy, military and intelligence. With respect to Egypt, its preparations on the eve of 6 October 1973 included: Unprecedented strengthening of forces along the Egyptian front and their realignment in attack formation; Evacuation of mines along the descent to the Suez Canal that would ease the transfer of forces toward the Israeli front; and Construction of earthen embankments to enable the transfer of Egyptian artillery in the direction of the Canal. Unusual activity on the Syrian front was also dismissed as “normal”: Massive strengthening of forces along the border and an increase in the level of preparedness; Deployment of missile batteries close to the border; and Forward movement of attack tanks up to the front and that of fighter planes to the forward lines. These, in addition to hundreds of reports submitted by observation posts describing unusual activities along the two fronts, were not treated as alarms (in the intelligence lexicon) signaling intentions to start a war. Due to the cultural normalization of “war,” the events unfolding on the Egyptian front were interpreted as part of a crossing exercise, code-named “Tahrir 41,” similar to other exercises conducted annually. Movements along the Syrian border were similarly read as

recurring preparations for the war games regularly conducted along this front. By blinding Israeli decision makers to the true nature of these activities, the normalization mechanism prevented a timely and appropriate response. The cultural clouding of the difference between “war” and “peace” was so comprehensive that a strategic surprise—the opening of the Yom Kippur War—was its only logical outcome.

Bibliography ARCHIVES The Israel Defense Forces and Defense Establishment Archives (IDFA) Israel State Archives Golda Meir Archive and Info Center Yad Tabenkin – The Research and Documentation Center of The Kibbutz Movement The Center for Defense Studies – Yisrael Galili

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Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Sheffi, N. (2008). Winning Words: 1967 and the Land Discourse in Israeli Children’s Magazines. Israel, 13, 61–88 (in Hebrew). Sheffi, N., & Razi, T. (Eds.) (2008). The 1967 War and Its Impact of Culture and Media. (Special Issue). Israel, 13 (in Hebrew). Shlonsky, A. (1930). Thou Shall Not Kill, Tel Aviv, Yachdav. Shor, R. (1994). The Smell of Napalm is Still in the Air. Bamahane, 27–28, 38– 45 (in Hebrew). Sivan, E. (1991). The 1948 Generation—Myth, Portrait and Reality. Tel Aviv: Am Oved (in Hebrew). Solomon, Z., & Oppenheimer, B. (1986). Social network variables and stress reaction—lessons from the 1973 Yom-Kippur War. Military Medicine, 151(1), 12–15. Tal, D. (1996). Between Ben Gurion, Sharet and Dayan: the Battle Over Initiating a Preemptive War 1955. Katedra, 81, 119–122 (in Hebrew). Talmon, M. (2001). Nostalgia, Groups, In-Groups and Collective Identity in Israeli Cinema. Tel Aviv: The Open University (in Hebrew). Tamir, N. (Ed.) (1981). Golda Meir—a Collection in Her Memory. Tel Aviv: Am Oved (in Hebrew). Tessler, S. (2007). Songs in Uniform. Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi (in Hebrew). Thompson, J. B. (1990). “The Concept of Ideology.” In: J. B. Thompson (Ed.), Ideology and Modern Culture (pp. 28–73). Stanford: Stanford University Press. Vertzberger, Y. (1990). The World in Their Minds: Information Processing, Cognition, and Perception in Foreign Policy Decisionmaking. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Wohlstetter, R. (1962). Pearl Harbor: Warning and Decision. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Yaacobi, G. (1989). How an Israeli-Egyptian Settlement was Lost and the Yom Kippur War Not Avoided. Tel Aviv: Idanim, Yedioth Ahronoth (in Hebrew). Yagol, Y. (1978). The End of Mifleget ha-avoda’s Hegemony. Tel Aviv: Yesod (in Hebrew). Yahav, D. (2002). How Wonderful This War Is. Tel Aviv: Tamuz (in Hebrew). Yariv, A. (1985). War of Choice—War of Necessity. In: A. Yariv (Ed.), War of Choice—A Collection (pp. 9–29). Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad & Center for Strategic Studies, Tel Aviv University (in Hebrew). Yehushua, A. B. (1980). For Normality. Jerusalem & Tel Aviv: Schocken (in Hebrew). Yerushalmi, D. (2008). The Theatrical Ammunition of the 1967 War. Israel, 13, 209–247 (In Hebrew). Yiftachel, O., & Roded, B. (2004). “We Judaize You, Our Homeland: On the Presence of Israeli Patriotism in Song and in the Landscape.” In: A. Ben-Amos & D. Bar-Tal (Eds.), Patriotism—Homeland Love, XXXX (pp. 239–274). Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad (in Hebrew). Zak, M. (1993). Censorship and Journalism in Five Wars. Kesher, 13, 5–20 (in

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THE STRUCTURE OF THE CORPUS Leaders’ Discourse Literature (Children and Young Adults Literature; Novels and Plays—Adults) Pop Songs and Military Bands Numbers Newspapers (Haaretz Newspaper Articles, 1973; Other Newspaper Articles, 1973) Other Sources Late Corpus: Post 1973

LEADERS’ DISCOURSE A draft of a letter by the Chief of Staff David Elazar (No Date). Yad Tabenkin Archives, 15th Division Galili, Container 97, File 5, Certificate 10. Dayan: “Cairo Misled the Pilot.” Haaretz, 24 February 1973. Davar Editions. Mrs. Meir to Goldman: “A Gulf between You and Israel’s Government.” Davar, 9 April 1970. Dayan: “Israel Can Maintain The Current Situation Another 20 Years.” Haaretz, 1 February 1972. Dayan, Moshe. After the Earthquake. Yedioth Ahronoth, 26 December 1973. Dayan, Moshe. Crushing Blows For Moderating Arab Escalation of Violence—a speech for the Journalists’ Association, 12 November 1969. Skira Chodshit, January 1970. Dayan, Moshe. Secretariat Meeting, 12 April, 1973—Yad Tabenkin Archives 15th Division Galili, Container 90, File 2, Certificate 5. Dayan, Moshe. Speech given by the Minister of Defense at the Diploma Award Ceremony at The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 18 June 1972. Yad

Tabenkin Archives, 15th Division Galili, Container 90, File 2, Certificate 3. Dayan: “Sadat’s Threat’s Should Be Taken Seriously. Haaretz, 9 February 1972. Eban, Abba. We Did Everything We Could To Achieve Peace. Haaretz 10 May 1970. Elazar, David. “David Elazar: To Win One Must Attack.” Davar, 17 October 1975. Golda Meir Suggests Establishing A Voluntary Fund for Peripheral Settlements. Maariv 12 April, 1970. Goldstein, Dov. The Annual Interview with the Prime Minister, Mrs. Golda Meir. Maariv, 8 September 1972. Harris, Kenneth. A Few Months Left. Maariv, 23 January 1972. IDF’s Force and Spirit. Al HaMishmar, 3 August, 1973. “If We Had Known What We Know Now, We Would Not Have Shot The Plane.” Haaretz, 24 February 1973 Landau, Harshly Attacked Goldman. Davar, 9 April 1970. Margalit, Dan. Dayan for Comprehensive Settlements. Haaretz, 2 February, 1973. Margalith, Dan. The Chapter of Peace in Golda’s Speech. Haaretz, 29 May, 1970. Meir, Golda. Draft of a letter (No date mentioned, probably written around the end of 1973, and beginning of 1974). Yad Tabenkin Archives, 15th Division Glili, Container 38, File 51, Certificate 32. Meir, Golda. Interview with Ya’akov Agmon, 14 September, 1977. In: Agmon, Yaakov, (1994). Personal Questions—A Collection of Interviews from Galei Tzahal’s Program. Tel Aviv: The Ministry of Defense, pp. 215–223. Meir, Golda. Knesset Annuals 9 June 1970; 9 February 1971; 16 March 1971; 10 April 1973. Milstein, Uri. Interview with David Elazar. 4 June, 1974. Yad Tabenkin Archives, 25th\M. Division, Series 20, Container 60, Certificate 1. Mrs. Meir: “We Will Not Surrender Any Territory Without Conditions.” Maariv, 22 June 1970. Nasser Aims To Use The Meeting As A Display. Maariv, 6 April 1970. Press Conference with Chief of Staff, David Elazar. Broadcast on Israeli Television, October, 1973. Sneh, Moshe. We Are Conducting A Just War. Haaretz, 10 May 1970. Schiff, Ze’ev. The Defense Minister at a Press Conference: “The Airplane’s Captain is to Blame. Damages Should Not Be Paid.” Haaretz, 23 February 1973. Tamir, Nachman (Ed.) (1980). Golda—A Collection in Her Memory. Tel Aviv: Am Oved. Televised Interview with Chief of Staff David Elazar, Channel 1, 28 October 1973 The Full Interview of the Prime Minister in L’Express. Al HaMishmar 13 July

1970 Tira, Yehoshua. Golda Meir: We Shall Hit the Terrorists Everywhere. Ha’artz, 13 September 1972 Tirosh, A. “If We Concede Much—Are There Any Guarantees that At the End of The Road Somebody Is Waiting With A Hand Extended to Peace?” Maariv, 9 April 1970. *Articles in which the name of the authors is not mentioned are either editorials, or articles in which the name of the author is not mentioned.

LITERATURE Children and Young Adults Literature Avidar-Tshernovits, Yemima (1969). Naughty Muki. Giv’atayim: Masada (First published in 1943). Bornshtein, Tamar. (Unknown Year). The Adventures of Chipopo in Egypt. Tel Aviv: A. Zalikovits. Gur, Mordechai (Motta). (1969). Azit the Paratrooper Dog. Tel Aviv: Yedioth Ahronoth. Mossinson, Yigal. (1967). Hasamba in the Service of Counterintelligence. (1970). Hasamba in a Raid in the Suez Canal (Unknown year.) Hasamba in Adventure of Blood and Fire. (Printed 1976). Omer, Dvora. (1968). The Dog Nu-Nu-Nu Goes To War. Tel Aviv: Amichai. Orgil, Hayim. (1968). Five Friends in The Operation of the Brave Pilot. Tel Aviv: Ofer. Sahar, Rephael. (1961). On the Tracks of Terrorists in Lebanon. Tel Aviv: Ofer. Sarig, On (Shraga Gafni). (Unknown year). Tel Aviv: Mizrahi: Danidin in the Hijacked Plane Danidin in the Six-Day War (1968?) Danidin on an Impossible Mission Danidin in Captivity Danidin in the Intelligence Services (printed 1968) Danidin in the Espionage Services (printed 1976) Danidin Israel’s Hero Danidin Capturing Terrorists Danidin Liberating Our Captive Soldiers (printed 1972) * The exact publishing dates of the majority of children’s books published in this period are unknown because this information is generally not provided in the printed copies. Nevertheless, the plots often provide sufficient information to enable us to estimate the years in which they were written and thus include these works in the corpus.

Novels and Plays: Adults Ben Amotz, Dan. (1973). Don’t Give a Damn. Tel Aviv: Bitan Publishing. Eitan, Rachel. (1974). A Dresser and Dressers. Tel Aviv: Am Oved. Ha’Elion, Yaakov. (1973). A Doll’s Leg. Tel Aviv: Am Oved. Kahana-Carmon, Amalia (1971). And Moon in the Valley of Ajalon. Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad. Lev, Yigal (1967). Mom, I Hate the War. Tel Aviv: Bitan. Levin, Hanoch. (1986). The Eternal Patient and His Beloved. Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad. Levin, Hanoch. (1987). Why Does the Bird Care? Satires, Sketches, Songs. Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad. Oren, Uri. (1972). Strangers and Lovers. Tel Aviv: Bitan. Oz, Amos. (1968). My Michael. Tel Aviv: Am Oved. Yehoshua, A. B. (1968). Facing the Forests. Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad. Yehoshua, A. B. (1973). Early In the Summer of 1970. Jerusalem and Tel Aviv: Schocken. Yehoshua, A. B. (1975). Until Winter 1974—An Anthology. Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad.

POP SONGS AND MILITARY BAND NUMBERS Jubilee. Dudu Barak A Balade to the Paramedic. Dan Almagor Allenby Bridge. Yaron London Are You Laughing or Crying? Yovav Katz Armored Corps 69. Yoram Tehar-Lev At Your Gates, Jerusalem. Yossi Gamzu Chase. Yaron London Flowers in the Barrel. Dudu Barak He Is Not So Smart. Yoram Tehar-Lev He Who Laughs Last Laughs Longest. Dudu Barak How Shall I Bless You. Rachel Shapira I Have a Lover in Haruv Company. Haim Hefer In the Nahal Settlement in Sinai. Neomi Shemer In Shaked Company. Dahlia Ravikovitch Israel Is Beautiful. Dudu Barak Jerusalem of Gold. Neomi Shemer My Israel Is Celebrating. Dudu Barak My Jerusalem. Dan Almagor My Soldier Is Back. Neomi Shemer On Silver Wings. Neomi Shemer On the Path to the Pools. Yoram Tehar-Lev

Only in Israel. Ehud Manor Peace Be on Israel. Dudu Barak Praise for Maoz. Neomi Shemer Sayeret Egoz. Dudu Barak Sharm-al- Sheikh. Amos Ettinger Somewhere in the Jordan Valley. Noah Vershuar The Ammunition Hill. Yoram Tehar-Lev The Evergreen Mountain. Yoram Tehar-Lev The Nachal’s Carnival. Lea Naor The Other Days. Haim Hefer The Queens of Mount Hermon. Yovav Katz The Song about the Land of Sinai. Rachel Shapira To the North, With Love. Dudu Barak We Are Both From the Same Village. Neomi Shemer When I’m Older. Rimona Di-Nur

Sources of Lyrics: Barak, Dudu, Heller, Daliah, Shiloni, Amnon (Ed.). (1983). Soldiers on the Road—101 Military Bands Songs, Ministry of Defense Publishing Barak Dudu (1986). The Path of the Land of the Almond. (1986). Hakibbutz Hameuchad, Tel Aviv. http://www.mooma.com http://www.shironet. For inclusion in the corpus, the songs’ release dates were obtained with the kind and patient assistance of Mrs. Gila Dubkin-Gotshel, Director, the Israeli Music Archive, Tel Aviv University. I am deeply grateful to her for her help. Any errors found in the corpus are mine (D.G.N.)

NEWSPAPERS Articles from Haaretz 1973 Schiff, Ze’ev. “The Syrian Pilot’s Level Did Not Improve”, 4 January 1973. Tevet, Shabtai. “Reducing the Length of Service: The Promise and Its Postponement”, 5 January 1973. Litany, Yehuda. “Embarrassment and Lack of Action in the West Bank”, 7 January 1973. Schiff, Ze’ev. “The Air Force Gouged Out the Eyes of Syrian Air Defense”, 9 January 1973. Chief of Staff Warns Syria: “There Will Not Be another War of Attrition”, 11

January 1973. Markus, Yoel. “A Protest Named Hesitation”, 21 January 1973. “The Territories Are Hot Coals in The Hands of Israel”, 2 February 1973. Zarai, Oded. “The Development of the Arab Front”, 2 February 1973. Zarai, Oded. “Economy of the Territories,” 4 February 1973. Fabian, Nahman. “Espionage and Welfare”, 4 February 1973. Haaretz correspondent in the Golan Heights. “Druze Leaders Condemn the Espionage Services’ People”, 5 February 1973. Cohen, Arthur. “Swiss Personality: the USSR Is Fed Up With the Arab World’s Instability,” 6 February 1973. “The Administration Made a Claim Against 25 Kafr Qasim Inhabitants,” 6 February 1973. Chief of Staff: “We Must Be Prepared For Continuation of the Fighting This Year,” 7 February 1973. Schiff, Ze’ev. “The Investigation of the Interception of the Libyan Plane in Sinai Was Launched”, 22 February 1973. Hadad, Amos. “The Libyan Plane Moved towards Beer Sheva”, 23 February 1973. Hadad, Amos. “Fear among Distinguished Figures in the Gaza Strip,” 1 March 1973. Rotstein, Rephael. “The UN’s International Civil Aviation Organization Condemns Israel and Demands Investigation,” 1 March 1973. Gurdus, Michael. “Gaddafi’s Mental Health is Failing,” 2 March 1973. Zarai, Oded. “Deeply Rooted Hatred,” 2 March 1973. Hadad, Amos. “Murder in the Gaza Strip—Fear among the Distinguished and the Citizens, Security Must Be Restored,” 2 March 1973. A Major in Reserve. “Was It Necessary to Open Fire?” 4 March 1973. Natan, Eli. “Supreme Court Verdicts—Return to Beit Jala,” 5 March 1973. Rubinstein, Amnon. “The 1970’s Sabra—the Common Sabra.” 7 March 1973. Schiff, Ze’ev. “Sadat Threatens”, 5 April 1973. Rubinstein, Amnon. “The 1970’s Sabra—A Young Man Goes To War,” 10 April 1973. Maysi, Eliyahu. “Condemnation and Admiration in Newspaper Reports of IDF’s Actions in Beirut,” 12 April 1973. Margalit, Dan. “The Destination for Settlement—Jericho,” 18 April 1973. Markus, Yoel. “Living Together, Without Love,” 18 April 1973. Kna’an, Haviv. “Military Service as a Calling,” 18 April 1973. Gayer, George. “The Strong Man in Iraq,” 18 April 1973. Litany, Yehuda. “The Motives behind the Arrest of Al-Fajer’s Editors,” 19 April 1973. Rubinstein, Amnon. “The Birth of the Mythological Sabra,” 20 April 1973. Shvitzer, A. “The Advantages of Self-Restraint,” 20 April 1973.

Rubinstein, Amnon. “Terrorism –What’s Next?” 22 April 1973. Keidar, Benjamin. “The Masada Complex,” 22 April 1973. Zarai, Oded. “The Threats Conference,” 24 April 1973. Shapira, Amos. “Dangerous Slogans,” 24 April 1973. Margalit, Dan. “Jerusalem Warns of Sadat’s Tendency to Embroil His Country in Belligerency” 25 April 1973. Margalit, Dan. “Obviously Mirage Aircraft,” 25 April 1973. Rubinstein, Amnon. “The 1970’s Sabra—Decline of the Mythical Sabra,” 25 April 1973. Haaretz “Correspondant to Arab Issues. A Journal in Cairo Reveals, in a Photo Article – The Egyptian Infantry is Fully Armed,” 26 April 1973. Schiff, Ze’ev. “The War of Independence—25 Years Later,” 26 April 1973. “Elazar Gave Bravery Decorations To Ilan Egozi and Emanuel Malul,” 26 April 1973. Nesiyahu, Mordechai. “Territorial Compromise,” 26 April 1973. Kna’an, Haviv. “The Price of Arrogance,” 26 April 1973. Margalit, Dan and Golan, Matti. “Golda Will Go On,” 27 April 1973. Rubinstein, Amnon. “The Diaspora Jew—Myth and Reality,” 27 April 1973. Haaretz Correspondent to Arab Issues. “Amman’s Newspapers Add Tension: Israel Took Precautions Along the East of the Suez Canal,” 29 April 1973. Golda Meir In A Public Interview: “The Arabs May Open Fire Even Against Logic and Cost-Benefit Calculations,” 29 April 1973. “The 25th Independence Day Events, From the Golan Heights to Sharm-ElSheikh,” 29 April 1973. Soletsberger, S. L. “The Focus of The Crisis Moves West,” 29 April 1973. Golda Meir: “We Will Not Interfere with Nixon and Jackson in the USSR Jewish People Affair,” 2 May 1973. “An Egyptian ‘No’ to Agreement,” 2 May 1973. Litani, Yehuda. “The Mourning That Surprised Israelis,” 2 May 1973. Haaretz correspondent. Rabin: “The US Position Cools the War-Seeking Voices in the Arab World,” 4 May 1973. Markus, Yoel. “The Secret of Golda’s Power,” 4 May 1973. Zarai, Oded. “Putting an End to the Source of Adversity,” 4 May 1973. Zarai, Oded. “Would Sadat Open Fire?” 4 May 1973.

Other Newspaper Articles “The End of a Series.” Haaretz 4 May 1970. “Students Bombed Goldman’s Talk in Bar Ilan University.” Haaretz 7 May 1970. “Nahum Goldman Should Be Let to Express His Views Freely.” Haaretz 8 May 1970.

“12th Grade Students Crave Peace and Are Prepared For War.” Haaretz 10 May 1970 Gavriel A. David. “Political Schizophrenia.” Haaretz 12 May 1970. Yovel, Yirmiyahu. “Doubts in the Public and Unity among the People.” Haaretz 7 May 1970. Rubinstein, Amnon. “Three Years after the War.” Haaretz 10 May 1970. Markus, Yoel. “Without Joy or Sadness.” Haaretz 14 May 1970. “81%: No Need to Worry About War with the Russians.” Haaretz 15 May 1970. Selfter, Eliyahu. “The Mood in Israel 1970.” Haaretz 29 May 1970. “The Fair and the War of Attrition.” Haaretz 31 May 1970. “The Number of People Killed in May Reached 60.” Haaretz 1 June 1970. “The Labor Party Wants to Meddle In Television.” Haaretz 11 June 1970. Landau, Eli. “The IDF’s Planes Passed 5 Large Cities in Syria–After the MiG Had Penetrated Haifa.” Maariv 30 January 1970. Harif, Yosef. “The Government: Goldman May Meet With Nasser “Personaly,” Not As A Representative of Israel”. Maariv 6 April 1970. Harif, Yosef. “Contradictions Between Goldman’s Stories To Different Ministers Raised Many Doubts In The Government.” Maariv 7 April 1970. Tsuriel, Yosef. “The Protesters Called: “Give Goldman a Chance!”” Maariv 8 April 1970. “Hand Fighting Between Students in Tel Aviv University.” Maariv 13 April 1970. “Rosenfeld, Shalom. “Bubble Bath”. Maariv 24 April 1970. Erez, Yaakov. “The French Pilot Performed Evasion and Deception Operations.” Maariv 22 February 1973. Amit, Meir. (No Title). Maariv 9 November 1973. Nisan, Eli. “Dr. Goldman’s Package Deal’”.Davar 7 April 1970. “I Am Willing To Go Anywhere For Peace.” Davar 7 April 1970. Prois, Ted. “A Long Way to Cairo.” Davar 10 April 1970. “Public Opinion Poll: The Majority of the Public Believes the Government is Making Enough Efforts for Peace.” Davar 21 July 1970. “An Incitement Campaign against Israel.” Al HaMishmar 22 February 1973. Geffen, Mark. “Tragedy in the Sinai Sky.” Al HaMishmar 23 February 1973.

Other Sources Alkoni, Yosef and Aner, Ze’ev. (1967). The 1967 War. Otpaz, Maariv Library, Tel Aviv (Victory Album). Hameiri, Yehezkel. (1970). From Both Sides of the Plateau. Levin Epstein, Tel Aviv. Har-Zion, Meir. (1969). Journal Chapters. Levin Epstein, Tel Aviv. Kishon, Ephraim & Kariel Gardosh. (1967). Excuse Us for Winning. Maariv

Publishing, Tel Aviv. Kishon, Ephraim. (1967). A Bone in the Throat–Humoresques. Maariv Publishing, Tel Aviv. Shagrir, Micha (1969).The War after the War (Documentary). Shapira, Avraham. (Ed.). (1967). Fighters Talk. Independent Publishing. Tevet, Shabati. (1968). Exposed in the Spire. Schocken, Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Zmora, Ohad (Ed.). (1967). Victory–The Six Day War 1967. Levin Epstein, Tel Aviv. (Victory Album.) 51 Haaretz Shelano Booklets. (Youth magazine) September 1970 – August 1971.

LATE CORPUS: POST 1973 Ben-Amotz, Dan. (1974). Beautiful War. Bitan Publishing. Tel Aviv. Bondi, Ruth. (1975). Suddenly, At the Heart of the East. Zmora, Bitan, Modan, Tel Aviv. Eliav, Lova. The Seagull. Yedioth Ahronoth, 15 February, 1974. Grossman, David. (2010). To The End Of The Land (Translated by Jessica Cohen). New York: Alfred A. Knopf. Mittlepunkt, Hillel. (1993). Gorodish. Or-Am, Tel Aviv. Shaham, Natan. (1975). The King’s Witness. Am Oved, Tel Aviv. Shaham, Natan. (2001). Rosendorf’s Shadow. Am Oved, Tel Aviv. Shaham-Gover, Orit. (2001). Where Have You Been on October 6th? Sifriat Poalim, Hashomer Hatzair, Tel Aviv. Vidas, Tiki. (2004). Voices Always with Me. Tel Aviv: Maariv and HedArzi. Yehoshua, A. B. (1977). The Lover. Schoken, Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.

Movies Nesher, Doron. The Band. (1978). Renen Schorr. Late Summer Blues. (1987). Kreyner, David. In 72 There Was No War. (1995).

Index A Abramovich, Amnon, 1.1-1.2 abstraction of Arab opponents, 1 valor and, 1 war naturalization, 1 , 2.1-2.2 Agranat Commission Report, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3 , 4 Almog, Oz, 1 Alterman, Natan, 1 , 2.1-2.2

“ “Al Titnu Lahem Rovim (Don’t Give Them Rifles)” (Alterman), 1.1-1.2

A Arabs abstraction of, 1 normalcy narrative and treatment of, 1 war naturalization and relations with, 1.1-1.2 armament production and purchase, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 arrogance defined, 1 IDF, 1.1-1.2 of politicians, 1.1-1.2 Six Day War giving rise to, 1 in society, 1.1-1.2 strategic surprise through, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 arrogance, euphoria, and complacency as cultural explanation for strategic surprise, 1 , 2.1-2.2 Six Day War giving rise to, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4 , 5.1-5.2 Ashmat Shomron (The Guilt of Samaria, 1865) (Mapu), 1 Avidar-Chernovitz, Yemima, 1.1-1.2

B Ben Amotz, Dan, 1 , 2 , 3 campaign against, 1.1-1.2 on naturalization of bereavement, 1 on paralyzed soldiers, 1.1-1.2

on peace rhetoric, 1.1-1.2 war justification discourse in work of, 1.1-1.2 bereavement children’s literature excluding killing and, 1.1-1.2 friendship and, 1.1-1.2 military bands and, 1.1-1.2 nationalizing, 1 , 2 organizational, 1 popular music excluding, 1.1-1.2 valor dulling, 1.1-1.2 war and focus on, 1.1-1.2 war naturalization through, 1.1-1.2 Bible, 1.1-1.2 biographies, military and political, 1 Bondi, Ruth, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2

C cease-fire, 1 children’s literature bereavement and killing excluded from, 1.1-1.2 extinction threat in, 1 militarism in, 1 , 2.1-2.2 naturalization of war in, 1.1-1.2 occupation in, 1.1-1.2 commercialization, 1.1-1.2 complacency armament production and, 1 defined, 1 IDF, 1 social, 1.1-1.2 in strategic surprise, 1.1-1.2 , 2 See also arrogance, euphoria, and complacency conceptual failure, 1 consensus, 1 , 2 corruption, moral deterioration, and normative crisis as cultural explanation for strategic surprise, 1 in literature, 1.1-1.2 , 2 media on social, 1.1-1.2 political impact of, 1.1-1.2 in society following Six Day War, 1.1-1.2 cultural narrative definition and nature of, 1 , 2.1-2.2

Israeli society and Six Day War, 1 , 2.1-2.2 normalization mechanisms and, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3 , 4.1-4.2 , 5.1-5.2 security and normalcy in, 1967-1973, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4.1-4.2 See also normalcy See also security and security narrative cultural production economic control and, 1 emerging state in, 1 government control of, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 ideological dissemination factors in, 1.1-1.2 Labor Party controlling, 1 literary, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3 media in, 1.1-1.2 widespread consensus in, 1 , 2 culture difficulty defining, 1.1-1.2 military impacted by, 1 normalcy narrative through, 1.1-1.2 normalization mechanisms in 1967-1973, 1 research corpus of Israeli, 1.1-1.2 Six Day War impacting, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4.1-4.2 strategic surprise influenced by, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4 , 5.1-5.2 , 6.1-6.2 , 7.1-7.2 strategic surprise research and, 1.1-1.2 See also arrogance, euphoria, and complacency See also corruption, moral deterioration, and normative crisis See also literature and literary works See also media

D Danidin, Gibor Yisrael (Danidin, Israeli Hero) (Sarig), 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4 , 5 Dayan, Moshe, 1 on Arab-Jewish relations, 1.1-1.2 , 2 arrogance of, 1.1-1.2 glorification of, 1 on “next war” theme, 1.1-1.2 occupation euphemization by, 1.1-1.2 on Syrian airliner incident, 1 on war as challenge, 1.1-1.2 war justification circularity from, 1.1-1.2 war naturalization through personification from, 1.1-1.2 death, 1.1-1.2 defensive ethos, 1

“

“Dor BaAretz” or “Dor Tashach” (1948 Generation), 1

E economy and commerce cultural production and government control of, 1 military participation and, 1.1-1.2 normalcy narrative and, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3 war and war naturalization through, 1.1-1.2 education, militarism in, 1 , 2.1-2.2 Egypt, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 Eitan, Rachel, 1.1-1.2 Elazar, David, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3 Eliav, Lova, 1.1-1.2 enemy, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 euphemization children’s literature and war, 1.1-1.2 definition and nature of, 1 discourse and, 1.1-1.2 of idea of war, 1.1-1.2 as normalization mechanism, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3 , 4.1-4.2 of occupation, 1.1-1.2 popular music and war, 1.1-1.2 of soldiers, 1.1-1.2 of war’s benefits, 1.1-1.2 , 2 of war’s costs, 1.1-1.2 , 2 of weapons, 1 euphoria defined, 1 IDF and, 1 , 2 Six Day War, 1.1-1.2 social, 1.1-1.2 in strategic surprise, 1.1-1.2 , 2 War of Attrition and, 1.1-1.2 See also arrogance, euphoria, and complacency extinction, threat of, 1

F factual error, 1.1-1.2 failure, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2

T

The Failure (HaMechdal), 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3 , 4

F force See power and force friendship, 1.1-1.2

G Gaza, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7 Gertz, Nurit, 1 Gilboa, Amir, 1 glorification or veneration, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 Goldman, Nahum, 1.1-1.2 government response to, 1.1-1.2 , 2 media on peace initiative of, 1.1-1.2 , 2 peace initiative of, 1 , 2.1-2.2 social backlash against, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 war justification discourse and peace initiative of, 1.1-1.2 Gorodish- The Seventh Day (Mittelpunkt), 1 government cultural production controlled by, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 Goldman peace initiative response of, 1.1-1.2 , 2 media controlled by, 1.1-1.2 valor institutionalized by, 1

“ “green line”, 1 , 2

G group failure, 1 Gur, Mordechai (Motta), 1.1-1.2

H Haaretz Shelanu, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3 , 4.1-4.2 Haelyon, Yaakov, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 HaMefaked HaAcharon (The Last Commander) (Yehoshua), 1.1-1.2 Harkabi, Yehoshafat, 1.1-1.2 Hasamba (Mossinson), 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3 HaTur Hashvi´i (Seventh Column) (Alterman), 1 Herev HaYona (Land and Power: The Zionist Resort to Force 1881-1948) (Shapira), 1.1-1.2

Hu Halack Ba’sadot (He Walked Through The Fields) (Shamir), 1 humor and games, 1

I identity war and individual, 1.1-1.2 war justification discourse and Jewish, 1.1-1.2 war naturalization and Jewish, 1.1-1.2 IDF See Israel Defense Forces individual, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 injury and pain, 1.1-1.2 intelligence, Israeli, 1 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 Israel See specific topics Israel Defense Forces (IDF) arrogance in, 1.1-1.2 complacency, 1 euphoria surrounding, 1 , 2 media manipulation and, 1.1-1.2 military superiority display by, 1.1-1.2 naturalization and participation in, 1 , 2.1-2.2 war justification discourse involving, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2

J Jerusalem and East Jerusalem, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 Jews Arab relations with, 1.1-1.2 , 2 war justification discourse and identity of, 1.1-1.2 war naturalization and fate of, 1.1-1.2 justification, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3 , 4.1-4.2 See also war justification discourse

K Keren, Michael, 1 Krainer, David (Dudu), 1

L Labor Party, 1 law and legal defense, 1.1-1.2 Lev, Yigal, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2

Levin, Hanoch, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 linguistic purification, 1 literature and literary works brutality excluded from, 1.1-1.2 cultural production through, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3 military and war in Israeli, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4.1-4.2 military participation in, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 naturalization of war and “alternative”, 1 naturalization of war in, 1.1-1.2 “next war” in “alternative”, 1 peace rhetoric in, 1.1-1.2 Sinai Campaign in, 1.1-1.2 social corruption, moral decline, and normative crisis in, 1.1-1.2 , 2 soldiers in “alternative”, 1 as strategic surprise research, 1.1-1.2 valor or heroism in “alternative”, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 war, 1967-1973, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 war in “alternative voice”, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4 war justification discourse in “alternative”, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 on war’s emotional benefits for individual, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 after Yom Kippur War, 1.1-1.2 See also children’s literature Lo Sam Zayin (Don’t Give a Damn) (Ben Amotz), 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4 , 5.1-5.2

M Malkat Ambatya (Queen of Bathtub) (Levin), 1.1-1.2 Mapu, Abraham, 1 Marcus, Yoel, 1.1-1.2 media cultural production and government control of, 1.1-1.2 IDF and manipulation of, 1.1-1.2 military and war view from, 1 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 normalcy narrative from, 1.1-1.2 on social corruption and moral deterioration, 1.1-1.2 on strategic surprise, 1.1-1.2 on Syrian airliner incident, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 war justification discourse in, 1 on war naturalization and sport, 1 Meir, Golda, 1.1-1.2 , 2 abstraction employed by, 1 arms commerce or “shopping cart” of, 1.1-1.2 on extinction threat, 1.1-1.2

Goldman peace initiative and, 1 , 2 , 3 on “next war”, 1.1-1.2 normalcy narrative from, 1.1-1.2 occupation euphemization by, 1.1-1.2 peace rhetoric from, 1 , 2.1-2.2 on valor, 1.1-1.2 on war as challenge, 1 war justification discourse of, 1.1-1.2 war naturalization and Jewish fate from, 1.1-1.2 metaphors peace, 1.1-1.2 self-defense, 1 Six Day War and change in, 1.1-1.2 war, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4 Yom Kippur War surprise, 1.1-1.2 See also arrogance See also complacency See also euphoria militarism, in education, 1 , 2.1-2.2 military, Israeli bands, 1.1-1.2 culture impact on, 1 defensive and offensive ethos for, 1 economic benefits to participation in, 1.1-1.2 glorification and tragedy in depictions of, 1.1-1.2 glorification of soldier in, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 IDF display of superior, 1.1-1.2 Jerusalem and, 1.1-1.2 literary depiction of, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4.1-4.2 literature on participation in, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 media on, 1 , 2.1-2.2 normalcy narrative and, 1 Sinai Campaign impact on view of, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 Six Day War and view of, 1 , 2 , 3 , 4.1-4.2 , 5.1-5.2 , 6.1-6.2 , 7.1-7.2 in society and social participation, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 strategic surprise and research of, 1.1-1.2 , 2 on Syrian airliner incident, 1.1-1.2 See also Israel Defense Forces Miron, Dan, 1 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 Mittelpunkt, Hillel, 1 morality See brutality See corruption, moral deterioration, and normative crisis Mossinson, Yigal, 1 , 2 music, popular, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 My Michael (Oz), 1 , 2.1-2.2 mystification, 1.1-1.2

N Nasser, Gamal Abdel, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 naturalization of bereavement, 1.1-1.2 definition and nature of, 1.1-1.2 as normalization mechanism, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3 , 4 , 5.1-5.2 See also war, naturalization of normalcy and normalcy narrative Arab treatment in, 1 cultural narrative of security and, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4.1-4.2 culture and discourse for, 1.1-1.2 East Jerusalem annexation and, 1 economic growth, support, and, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3 media on, 1.1-1.2 Meir on, 1.1-1.2 normalization mechanisms in narratives of, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 population control and military in, 1 Six Day War and, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4 War of Attrition ceasefire and, 1.1-1.2 weaknesses of, 1 normalization mechanisms cultural narrative and, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3 , 4.1-4.2 , 5.1-5.2 in culture, 1967-1973, 1 defined, 1 euphemization, naturalization, and justification of war as, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 examples of, 1.1-1.2 peace and war blurred within, 1.1-1.2 for security narrative, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 Six Day War and, 1.1-1.2 summary of, 1 normative crisis See corruption, moral deterioration, and normative crisis

O occupation, 1.1-1.2 , 2 offensive ethos, 1 Omer, Dvora, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 opponents, 1 organizational failure, 1 Oz, Amos, 1 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4 , 5 , 6.1-6.2

P

pain See injury and pain peace catch phrases and rhetoric for, 1.1-1.2 Goldman initiative for, 1 , 2.1-2.2 literature on rhetoric of, 1.1-1.2 Meir’s rhetoric of, 1 , 2.1-2.2 metaphors of, 1.1-1.2 normalization mechanism through blurring of, 1.1-1.2 support of Goldman initiative for, 1.1-1.2 personification, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3 population control, 1 power and force, 1.1-1.2 public opinion, 1.1-1.2

R Regel Shel Buba (A Doll’s Leg) (Haelyon), 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 research corpus, 1.1-1.2 culture in strategic surprise, 1.1-1.2 intelligence and military strategic surprise, 1.1-1.2 , 2 strategic surprise, 1 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4.1-4.2 strategic surprise in traditional, 1.1-1.2 Rubinstein, Amnon, 1.1-1.2

S Sahar, Rephael, 1 Sarig, On, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3 Schiff, Ze´ev, 1 security and security narrative cultural narrative of normalcy and, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4.1-4.2 normalization mechanisms in, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 Six Day War and, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4 , 5 war justification discourse and, 1 self-defense, 1.1-1.2 Shaham-Gover, Orit, 1.1-1.2 Shaked, Gershon, 1.1-1.2 Shamir, Moshe, 1 Shapira, Anita, 1.1-1.2 Shazar, Zalman, 1.1-1.2 Shida VeShidot (A Dresser and Dressers) (Eytan), 1 Shlonsky, Avraham, 1

Shor, Ra´anan, 1.1-1.2 Sinai Campaign, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 Sinai Peninsula, 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7 , 8 , 9 Six Day War arrogance, complacency, and euphoria stemming from, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4 , 5.15.2 Israeli culture developing out of, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4.1-4.2 Jerusalem reunification and, 1.1-1.2 metaphors changed after, 1.1-1.2 military and war view after, 1 , 2 , 3 , 4.1-4.2 , 5.1-5.2 , 6.1-6.2 moral paradigm of, 1 normalcy narrative in, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4 normalization mechanisms following, 1.1-1.2 peace definition after, 1 power and force displayed in, 1.1-1.2 security narrative in, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4 , 5 social corruption and moral deterioration following, 1.1-1.2 territorial expansion celebration and, 1.1-1.2 war commercialization from, 1.1-1.2 war justification discourse needed after, 1.1-1.2 war naturalization after, 1 Sneh, Moshe, 1.1-1.2 society, Israel arrogance in, 1.1-1.2 complacency in, 1.1-1.2 cultural narrative and normalization mechanisms in, 1 , 2 , 3 , 4.1-4.2 , 5.1-5.2 euphoria in, 1.1-1.2 Goldman peace initiative and backlash in, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 military, military participation, and war for, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3 , 4.1-4.2 military bands in, 1 Six Day War, corruption, and moral deterioration in, 1.1-1.2 Six Day War cultural narrative and, 1 , 2.1-2.2 See also culture soldiers in “alternative literature”, 1 euphemization of, 1.1-1.2 glorification or veneration of, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 injury and pain of, 1.1-1.2 paralysis of, 1.1-1.2 sport, 1.1-1.2 strategy and strategic surprise, Yom Kippur War arrogance, complacency, and euphoria in, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 biographies and literature as research on, 1.1-1.2

culture influencing, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4.1-4.2 , 5.1-5.2 failure in, 1.1-1.2 , 2 intelligence, military, and, 1 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4 literary works on, 1.1-1.2 media on, 1.1-1.2 metaphors in, 1.1-1.2 research on, 1 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4.1-4.2 Syria, 1.1-1.2 Syrian commercial airliner incident factual error legal defense and, 1.1-1.2 IDF in, 1.1-1.2 legal response to, 1.1-1.2 media on, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 military response to, 1.1-1.2 political response to, 1.1-1.2 public opinion on, 1.1-1.2 self-defense legal defense in, 1.1-1.2 social coordination in justifying, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 war justification discourse in, 1.1-1.2

T territorial expansion, 1 , 2.1-2.2 There Was No War in ‘72 (Krainer), 1 Tumarkin, Yigal, 1

V valor or heroism as abstract value, 1 active, 1 in “alternative literature”, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 bereavement dulled through, 1.1-1.2 government institutionalizing, 1 Haaretz Shelanu on, 1.1-1.2 Meir on, 1.1-1.2 as national value, 1.1-1.2 passive, 1 values, national, 1.1-1.2

W war

in “alternative voice” literature, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4 benefits and costs of, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 bereavement focus in, 1.1-1.2 cease fire relation to “next”, 1 as challenge, 1.1-1.2 children’s literature and euphemization of, 1.1-1.2 Dor BaAretz depiction of, 1 euphemization of benefits of, 1.1-1.2 , 2 euphemization of costs of, 1.1-1.2 , 2 euphemization of idea of, 1.1-1.2 glorification and tragedy in depictions of, 1.1-1.2 individual identity and, 1.1-1.2 individual’s emotional benefits from, 1.1-1.2 for Israeli society, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3 , 4.1-4.2 literary depiction of, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4.1-4.2 literature, 1967-1973, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 , 3.1-3.2 media on, 1 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 metaphors, 1.1-1.2 , 2 , 3.1-3.2 , 4 normalization mechanism blurring, 1 , 2.1-2.2 popular music and euphemization of, 1.1-1.2 preparation necessity, 1 Sinai Campaign impact on view of, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 Six Day War and view of, 1 , 2 , 3 , 4.1-4.2 , 5.1-5.2 , 6.1-6.2 war naturalization through “next”, 1 , 2.1-2.2 See also Six Day War See also War of Attrition See also Yom Kippur War war, naturalization of abstraction in, 1 , 2.1-2.2 “alternative literature” on, 1 Arab relations and, 1.1-1.2 bereavement and, 1.1-1.2 as challenge, 1.1-1.2 commerce within, 1.1-1.2 definition and nature of, 1.1-1.2 enemy threats and, 1.1-1.2 human choice removed in, 1.1-1.2 through humor and games, 1 IDF and, 1 , 2.1-2.2 Jewish fate and, 1.1-1.2 in literature, 1.1-1.2 “next war” theme in, 1 , 2.1-2.2 personification in, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3 Six Day War and, 1 as sport, 1.1-1.2

summary of, 1.1-1.2 war justification discourse in “alternative literature”, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 armament production and purchase through, 1.1-1.2 biblical and historical basis for, 1.1-1.2 circularity in, 1.1-1.2 definition and nature of, 1 enemy threats and, 1 extinction threat and Jewish identity in, 1.1-1.2 Goldman’s peace initiative and, 1.1-1.2 IDF in, 1.1-1.2 , 2.1-2.2 in media, 1 Meir’s, 1.1-1.2 occupation and, 1.1-1.2 public opinion regarding, 1.1-1.2 security narrative and, 1 Six Day War and need for, 1.1-1.2 summary of, 1 See also Syrian commercial airliner incident War of Attrition, 1 , 2 , 3 euphoria reconciled with, 1.1-1.2 Goldman peace initiative and, 1 normalcy narrative and ceasefire of, 1.1-1.2 Six Day War giving rise to, 1 war view impacted by, 1.1-1.2 weapons, 1 West Bank, 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3 , 4.1-4.2 , 5 , 6 , 7 , 8

Y Yehoshua, A. B., 1 , 2.1-2.2 , 3 , 4.1-4.2 Yishuv society, 1 Yizhar, S., 1 Yom Kippur War Agranat Commission on responsibility for, 1 in Israeli society, 1 literature following, 1.1-1.2 See also strategy and strategic surprise, Yom Kippur War Yom Sharav Aroch, Yeu’sho, Ishto U’vito (A Long Heat Day, His Despair, His Wife and His Daughter) (Yehoshua), 1.1-1.2

Z

Zeira, Eli, 1.1-1.2

About the Author Dalia Gavriely-Nuri is a research fellow at The Truman Research Institute for the Advancement of Peace at The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, and a senior lecturer at Hadassah Academic College, Jerusalem. She specializes in the cultural and discursive aspects of peace and war, national security and the Arab-Israel conflict. She has published more than twenty articles on the Israeli war and peace discourse.