Oren Michael B. Six Days of War. June 1967 and the Making of the Modern Middle East

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262 SIX DAYS OF WA R

“What can you do?” the prime minister asked. Elazar spread out a map and

pointed to Za‘ura, noting that from there to Damascus the road was open. “I

don’t need additional forces. I don’t need anything. I can get up there today,

capture positions and advance. Of course we’ll have casualties, but it won’t be a

slaughter. We can do it.”

“The government must authorize the conquest of the Golan,” urged Allon.

A call then came through from yet another spokesman of the settlers, Haim

Ber. “We’re being shelled nonstop!” he shouted into Eshkol’s telephone. “We

demand that the government free us from this nightmare!”

The prime minister was deeply perplexed. “Why, then, is the defense min-

ister opposed?” he asked Elazar, but the general just shrugged: “I have no idea

what his reasons are, but they can’t be operational or tactical.”

Exiting the office, Elazar ran into Eshkol’s wife, Miriam. “I have a birth-

day coming up and I want the Banias,” she told him.

“I’ll do everything I can to get it for you,” the general promised her, “but

you have to do your part too.”

Elazar was arguing his case in Tel Aviv while, up north, the army proceeded with

its preparations for Operation Hammer. No sooner had the last of the Jordan

bridges been destroyed when Elad Peled’s Ugdah swung out of the West Bank,

heading north. Albert Mendler’s 8th Armored Brigade and the 80th Paratroop-

ers of Dani Matt were also transferred from Sinai. The streets of Israel’s major

cities were clogged with tanks, trucks, and troops; the highways were hopelessly

jammed. On the Golan itself, the Israeli air force, unaware that Hammer had

been canceled, leveled an intense barrage on Syrian bunkers and tank emplace-

ments in what American sources characterized as “an apparent prelude to a large-

scale attack in an effort to seize the Heights overlooking border kibbutzim.”

Diplomatically, too, the Israelis appeared to be laying the groundwork for

the offensive. “There still remains the Syrian problem, and perhaps it will be

necessary to give Syria a blow as well,” Yariv confided to McPherson. Though

no action had taken place on the Golan yet—“unfortunately,” Yariv said—Israel

was likely to undertake it “to get more elbow room.” In a conversation with

Eban, McGeorge Bundy intimated that it seemed strange that Syria, having started

the war and caused much Arab suffering, had gone unpunished and was free to

start the “whole deadly sequence again.” Though Rusk warned Barbour against

any further Israeli initiative—“such a development, following on the heels of

Israeli acceptance of the cease-fire resolution, would cast on Israeli intentions

and create gravest problems for U.S. representatives in Arab countries”—Eban

concluded that the White House would welcome Syria’s defeat.

Washington spent the morning of June 8 much as it had the previous day,

monitoring the war from a safe distance. Close track was kept on the fate of

Day Four, June 8 263

beleaguered U.S. embassies and consulates in the region and on evacuating

endangered American citizens. The Middle East Control Group at the White

House gave special consideration to Israel’s appeal for forty-eight A-4 jets,

noting Russia’s resupply of Egypt’s military through Algeria. The question was

whether the administration could respond to Israel’s requests but ignore oth-

ers that might arrive from Saudi Arabia or Jordan. “If we don’t suspend aid to

all of them, we’re going to have another McCloskey,” recommended Bundy,

recalling the State Department’s ‘neutral in thought, word, and deed’ gaff. Most

attention, however, remained focused on the Big Lie and American efforts to

refute it. To verify that no U.S. forces were participating in the war, Libyan

officials were invited to visit the Wheelus base. Rusk sent the Saudis’ King

Faisal his “own solemn assurances” that Nasser’s allegations were false, and

further pledged to “steer an even-handed course” in opposing “efforts to change

frontiers or to resolve problems by force of arms.”

Virtually removed from Johnson’s concerns was the possibility of direct

American involvement in the fighting. Communications with the Kremlin had

been frank and constructive, while at the UN, Federenko refused to cooperate

with Goldberg. Though the war had spun off in unanticipated directions, there

was little reason to fear that it would reach 6th Fleet vessels stationed at least

240 miles away.

But one boat was significantly closer. Just before dawn, the USS Liberty came

within thirteen nautical miles of the Sinai coast, just outside Egypt’s territorial

waters. The ship began plying between al-‘Arish and Port Said, in a lane rarely

used by commercial traffic and which had been declared off-limits to neutral

shipping by Egypt. The vestiges of fighting were clearly visible on the shore.

Anxious about these factors, Commander McGonagle, the ship’s skipper, asked

the 6th Fleet for a destroyer escort. His request was denied. The Liberty, wrote

Vice Admiral William Martin, “is a clearly marked United States ship in interna-

tional waters and not a reasonable subject for attack by any nation.”

But neither Martin nor McGonagle had received the five cables sent by the

Joint Chiefs of Staff the previous night ordering the Liberty to withdraw as far

as 100 miles from the front. The navy’s overloaded, overly complex communi-

cation system had routed the orders as far east as the Philippines before relay-

ing them back to the Liberty.

The cables would arrive the following day, by

which time they would no longer be relevant.

That same morning, at 5:55

A.M., Israeli naval observer Major Uri Meretz

was flying a reconnaissance run seventy miles west of the Gaza coast. Below, he

noted what he believed to be an American supply vessel, designated GRT-5. At

Israeli naval headquarters in Haifa, staff officers fixed the location of the ship

with a red marker, indicating “unidentified,” on their control board. Research

in Jane’s Fighting Ships, however, established the vessel’s identity as “the elec-

tromagnetic audio-surveillance ship of the United States, the Liberty.” The

marker was changed to green, for “neutral.” Another sighting of the ship—

264 SIX DAYS OF WA R

“gray, bulky, with its bridge amidships”—was made by an Israeli fighter aircraft

at 9:00

A.M., twenty miles north of al-‘Arish. Neither of these reports made men-

tion of the five-by-eight-foot American flag which, according to the testimony of

the Liberty’s crewmen, was streaming from its starboard halyard. The crew also

claimed that Israeli aircraft continued to fly over the ship, giving them ample

opportunity to identify it. But Israeli pilots were not looking for the Liberty, but

rather for Egyptian submarines, which had just been spotted off the coast.

That coast, home to 90 percent of Israel’s population and industry, was woe-

fully vulnerable. Egypt’s fleet alone outnumbered Israel’s by more than four to

one in warships, including the new Osa and Komar-class guided missile boats,

and could call on support from some seventy Soviet vessels in the area. In stark

contrast to its air and ground forces, Israel’s navy had performed desultorily in

the war. Combined naval and commando attacks on Syrian and Egyptian ports

failed to inflict serious damage—six Israeli frogmen fell captive in Alexandria—

while IAF jets nearly shot at Israeli torpedo boats off the coast of Tel Aviv. Though

the U.S. 6th Fleet remained in the eastern Mediterranean as a counterweight to

the Soviets, the Israelis had no way of contacting it directly. Their repeated re-

quests for a naval liaison with the Americans went ignored.

Beset by these factors, Rabin summoned Comdr. Ernest Carl Castle, the

U.S. naval attaché in Tel Aviv, and told him that Israel would defend its coast

with every means at its disposal. The United States should either acknowledge

its ships in the area or remove them, Rabin advised. All unidentified vessels sail-

ing at over twenty knots—a speed attainable only by gunboats—would be sunk.

At 11:00 A.M., while Israeli warships hunted for Egyptian submarines, the duty

officer at IDF Naval Headquarters, Capt. Avraham Lunz, concluded his shift. In

accordance with procedures, he removed the green “neutral” marker from the con-

trol board on the grounds that it was already five hours old and no longer accurate.

As far as the Israeli navy was concerned, the Liberty had sailed away.

Twenty-four minutes later, a terrific explosion rocked the beaches of al-

‘Arish. Though the blast was caused by an ammunition dump igniting, Israeli

observers noted two naval vessels offshore and concluded that the Egyptians

were shelling them from the sea. Such a bombardment had indeed taken place

the previous day, according to both Israeli and Egyptian reports.

Shortly after the explosion at al-‘Arish, the Liberty reached the eastern limit

of its patrol and turned 238 degrees back in the direction of Port Said. In the

Pit, meanwhile, news of the purported shelling unsettled Rabin, who had been

warned of a possible Egyptian amphibious landing near Gaza. He reiterated

the standing order to sink any unidentified ships in the war area, but also ad-

vised caution: Soviet vessels were reportedly operating nearby. Since no fighter

planes were available, the navy was asked to intercede, with the assumption

that air cover would be provided later. More than half an hour passed without

any response from naval headquarters in Haifa. The general staff finally issued

a rebuke: “The coast is being shelled and you—the navy—have done nothing.”

Day Four, June 8 265

Capt. Izzy Rahav, who had replaced Lunz in the operations room, needed

no more prodding. He dispatched three torpedo boats of the 914th squadron,

code-named Pagoda, to find the enemy vessel responsible for the bombard-

ment and destroy it. The time was 12:05

P.M.

At 1:41

P.M., Ensign Aharon Yifrah, combat information officer aboard the

flagship of these torpedo boats, T-204, informed its captain, Comdr. Moshe

Oren, that an unidentified ship had been sighted northeast of al-‘Arish at a

range of twenty-two miles. Yifrah twice measured the ship’s speed and esti-

mated it to be thirty knots. This information, added to the fact that the ship

was streaming in the direction of Egypt, led Oren to conclude that this was an

enemy vessel fleeing to its home port after shelling Israeli positions.

The torpedo boats gave chase, but even at their maximum speed of thirty-six

knots, they did not expect to overtake their target before it reached Egypt. Rahav

therefore alerted the air force, and two Mirages were diverted from a routine

patrol over Sinai. The squadron’s commander, Capt. Yiftah Spector, was warned

of the presence of Israeli torpedo boats in the area, and instructed to ascertain

whether the suspect ship was Israeli. If not, the planes were cleared to attack.

At this point—1:54—one of the IAF controllers, Lazar Karni, whose func-

tion was to listen to ground-to-air communications and make occasional sug-

gestions, blurted out, “What’s this? Americans?” He later told Israeli

investigators that his question arose from a gut feeling, his sense that the Egyp-

tians were unlikely to send a lone boat to shell al-‘Arish. Yet, when another

controller on the line retorted, “Americans, where?” Karni did not respond.

“An attack was underway on an enemy vessel,” he testified, “and I didn’t think

it was my place to press what was merely a hunch.”

Spector, meanwhile, located the ship and made an identification pass at

3,000 feet. He saw “a military vessel, battleship gray with four gun mounts,

with its bow pointed toward Port Said . . . [and] one mast and one smokestack.”

Apart from some “black letters” on the hull, the ship had no other markings. Its

deck had not been painted with the blue-and-white cross that distinguished all

Israeli vessels. The pilot concluded that this was a “Z,” or Hunt-class destroyer,

and since his plane was armed only with cannons, he requested additional jets

loaded with iron bombs.

The Liberty sailors would later deny that the Israelis made any reconnais-

sance runs, but immediately dove. The Americans would also reject Israel’s

claim that inquiries about the Liberty’s whereabouts were submitted to Comdr.

Castle, though Castle, in fact, knew nothing about the ship. On one point,

however, both versions dovetail: At 1:57

P.M., the Mirages began their attack.

The first salvos caught the Liberty’s crew in “stand-down” mode, helmets

and life vests removed. McGonagle and several officers had been sunning them-

selves on the deck. Suddenly, 30-mm cannon shells stitched the ship from bow to

stern, severing the antennas and setting oil drums on fire. Nine men were killed

instantly and several times that number wounded, among them McGonagle,

266 SIX DAYS OF WA R

seriously injured in both legs. He refused to be evacuated, though—he would

later be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor—but ordered the ship to

turn full right, out to sea. Urgently he cabled the 6th Fleet, “Under attack by

unidentified jet aircraft, require immediate assistance.”

The Mirages made three strafing runs from the Liberty’s stern to bow; over

800 holes would later be counted in its hull. “We’ve hit her a lot,” Spector

reported, “I think she’s putting out smoke on purpose, it’s coming out of the

smokestack.” The chief IAF controller, Shmuel Kislev, twice asked whether

the ship was responding with anti-aircraft fire, but the pilots seemed too en-

gaged to answer. Three and half minutes into the attack, with their ammuni-

tion expended, the Mirages flew off and were replaced by a squadron of Mystères.

These had just returned from bombing Egyptian infantry, and for the task were

armed with napalm. While this, too, was an ordnance ill suited for naval war-

fare, the Mystères managed to swoop in low and deliver their payloads. Sec-

onds later, much of the bridge and the deck were aflame, and the entire ship

was enshrouded by smoke.

The Mystères were readying to strike again when the navy, alerted by the

absence of return fire from the ship, warned Kislev that the target might in fact

be Israeli. “If there is a doubt [about identification], don’t attack,” Kislev told

the pilots. The navy quickly contacted its vessels in the area—none were under

fire—and signaled the air force to continue. “You may attack,” said Kislev.

“You can sink it.”

Yet Kislev was still disturbed by the lack of any response from the vessel—

“This is easier than [shooting down] MiG’s,” another controller commented—

but also concerned lest the navy get the credit for the kill. “If you had a two-plane

formation with [500-pound iron] bombs . . . it would be a blessing,” Capt.

Yossi Zuk, the Mystères’ commander, said. “Otherwise the navy will be here in

ten minutes.” Then, in the thick of these countervailing pressures, Kislev re-

quested one last attempt to identify the ship. “Look for a flag if they [the pilots]

can see one. See if they can identify it [the ship] with a flag.”

Still flying at a low altitude, still strafing, Zuk responded that “there’s no

flag on her,” but noticed what he thought was the letter “P.” He then corrected

himself: “Pay attention, the ship’s markings are Charlie-Tango-Romeo-five.”

“Leave her!” Kislev cried, aware that Egyptian warships were almost in-

variably marked in Arabic, rather than Latin, letters. His own guess was that

the assaulted ship was American.

The news terrified Israeli officers in the Pit. Rabin feared that the ship was

Soviet, not American, and that Israel had just given Moscow pretext to inter-

vene. With Dayan away visiting Hebron, and Motti Hod en route from a brief-

ing, the chief of staff took personal command of the situation. He sent two IAF

helicopters to look for the survivors whom the jet pilots thought they had seen

jumping overboard. Rabin also ordered that the torpedo boats, still in pursuit,

remain at a safe distance from the ship.

Day Four, June 8 267

The scene on the Liberty meanwhile was hellish. Men with ghastly napalm

burns, their bodies torn by shrapnel, streamed into the petty officers’ lounge

that had been converted into an emergency hospital. In the communications

room, radiomen sent out uncoded distress signals. Other able-bodied sailors

frantically burned classified papers and flew up a large holiday American flag,

to replace the original naval ensign that had been shot away. None of them had

a clue as to who, exactly, their assailants were. Most thought they were Egyp-

tian MiG’s.

The same smoke that obscured the Israeli jets from the Liberty’s view now

hid the Liberty from Capt. Oren. The Pagoda squadron arrived on the scene at

2:44, twenty-four minutes after Rabin ordered to it to hold back. But while that

order appeared in T-204’s logbook, Oren later claimed that he never received

it. He paused, nevertheless, at 6,000 meters and scrutinized the ship. In spite of

the smoke, he could see that the vessel was not the destroyer that had presum-

ably shelled al-‘Arish, but most likely a freighter that had either serviced that

destroyer or evacuated enemy soldiers from the beach. He consulted his intel-

ligence manual, and found that the ship’s silhouette resembled that of the Egyp-

tian supply ship El Quseir; the captains of the other two torpedo boats reached

the same conclusion independently. Moreover, when he tried to signal the ship,

asking for its identity, he received no explicit response. Oren ordered his squad-

ron into battle formation.

As Pagoda neared the Liberty, the Liberty’s distress signals finally reached

the USS America. “Help is on the way,” came the reply. The carrier was in the

middle of strategic exercises; the planes on its deck were armed with nuclear

payloads, and there was no time to replace them with conventional ordnance.

A detachment of eight F-4s took off in the direction of the Sinai coast, only to

be recalled minutes later by Vice Admiral Martin. If Rabin feared that the ship

was Russian, Martin suspected that its attackers were, and, without authoriza-

tion from the highest level, would not risk starting a nuclear war.

Help never arrived from the America, but the Israelis came within range.

McGonagle, who had tried to return their signal with a hand-held Aldis lamp—

the searchlights had all been smashed—ordered his men not to fire at the ap-

proaching torpedo boats. One of the sailors, though, failed to hear the command,

and opened up with one of the ship’s four machine guns. Another machine gun

also fired, triggered by exploding ammunition. Oren was now being shot at by

a ship he assumed was Egyptian. He radioed Izzy Rahav at naval headquarters

and requested permission to return the fire. After some hesitation, Rahav at

last relented.

Of the five torpedoes fired at the Liberty only one found its mark, a direct

hit on the starboard side, killing twenty-five men, almost all of them from the

intelligence section.

“Kislev, it’s an Egyptian supply boat,” reported the IAF’s liaison with the

navy. “I won’t have anyone telling me again that the air force has a problem

268 SIX DAYS OF WA R

with identification.” Momentarily vindicated, Kislev instructed the helicopters

to continue their rescue mission but to exercise caution. The command went

out: “Tell the helicopters that they aren’t Americans, they’re Egyptians . . .

Tell them [Israeli forces] at al-‘Arish, that Egyptian sailors are arriving from

the sea, from a boat that they [the navy] sank.”

The navy had yet to sink the craft, however. Rather, the torpedo boats

closed in with cannons and machine-guns, raking the Liberty’s hull—its life

rafts as well, according to the crew. One of those rafts, picked up by T-203, was

found to bear U.S. Navy markings. Oren began to suspect that the ship might

not be Egyptian. Then, circling the badly listing craft, he confronted the desig-

nation, GRT-5. But Oren’s attempts to contact the crew via megaphone went

unanswered, and another half-hour would pass before the ship’s identity was

established. Thirty-five thousand feet above the area, an American EC121M

spy plane picked up the torpedo boats’ signals. “Hey Chief,” Mike Prostinak, a

Hebrew linguist, alerted his commander, Petty Officer Marvin E. Norwicki,

“I’ve got some really odd activity on UHF. They mentioned an American flag.”

Word of the ship’s American nationality arrived as the IDF general staff

considered the possibility of Soviet reprisals. “I must admit I had mixed feel-

ings about the news—profound regret at having attacked our friends and a

tremendous sense of relief [that the boat was not Soviet],” Rabin recalled. An

apology was immediately sent to Castle who in turn informed the 6th Fleet.

Another wing of jets, these armed with conventional bombs, had just been

launched from the Saratoga. The pilots, though warned not to fly too near the

coast or to pursue attacking aircraft, were authorized to “use whatever force is

necessary to protect the USS Liberty.”

Martin called back these planes as well, and the only aircraft to reach the

Liberty were the two IAF Super Frelon helicopters. Realizing finally the iden-

tity of his attackers, gesturing coarsely, McGonagle waved them away. Another

Israeli chopper carrying Castle—he dropped his business card onto the deck,

inserted inside an orange—was unable to land because of darkness. By 5:05

P.M., the Israelis had broken off contact, and the Liberty, navigating virtually

without systems, with 34 dead and 171 wounded aboard, staggered out to sea.

Nearly two hours later, Johnson received a cable informing him that the

Liberty, “located 60-100 miles north of Egypt,” had been torpedoed by an un-

known vessel. The president immediately assumed that the Soviets were in-

volved. To forestall further escalation, he hot-lined the Kremlin with news of

the attack and of the dispatch of jets from the Saratoga. Kosygin confirmed the

receipt of this information, and promised to pass it on to Nasser.

Still the

question remained: Who had tried to sink the Liberty?

Another two hours passed before the Israeli embassy in Washington con-

firmed what it termed the “mistaken action.” An official letter of apology

promptly followed from Harman. Johnson’s initial reaction, like Rabin’s be-

fore, was relief that the Soviets had not been involved. While “strong dismay”

Day Four, June 8 269

was conveyed to Harman, so too were the administration’s thanks for the can-

dor of Israel’s notification. “Please accept my profound condolences and con-

vey my sympathy to all the bereaved families,” Eshkol hastened to wire, followed

by Eban: “I am deeply mortified and grieved by the tragic accident involving

the lives and safety of Americans.” In a personal note to the president, Evron

wrote, “I grieve with you over the lives that were lost, and share in the sorrow

of the parents, wives and children of the men who died in this cruel twist of

fate.” Within forty-eight hours, the Israeli government offered to compensate

the casualties; $12 million was ultimately paid.

These offers of restitution and regret at first seemed to satisfy the adminis-

tration, eager to downplay the affair. “Its [the Liberty’s] proximity to the scene of

the conflict could feed Arab suspicions of U.S.-Israeli collusion,” warned Barbour

in Tel Aviv, while from Cairo, Nolte urged, “We had better get our story on the

torpedoing of USS Liberty out fast and it had better be good.” There may also

have been fear that the incident would draw attention to the presence of U.S.

submarines—codenamed Frontlet 615—operating in Egyptian waters. The De-

fense Department issued an official release acknowledging that “a U.S. Navy

technical research ship” assigned to “provide information regarding the evacua-

tion of American citizens from the Middle East” had been attacked in interna-

tional waters “15 miles north of the Sinai Peninsula.” Israel had admitted

responsibility for the attack, the communiqué said, and had apologized. Other-

wise, a total media clampdown was placed on the incident.

Presently, though, American officials began caring less about the way the

incident looked and more about why it had happened. A great many questions

arose: Why did the Israelis attack a neutral ship on the high seas, without the

slightest provocation? How had they failed to see the Liberty’s flag or the freshly

painted markings on its hull? How could they confuse the Liberty with the El

Quseir, a far slower, smaller boat, with no distinctive antennae? And finally,

how could a ship sailing at five knots, whose maximum speed was eighteen, be

gauged at thirty?

“Beyond comprehension,” fumed Rusk: “we cannot accept such a situa-

tion.” Clark Clifford, a staunchly pro-Israel adviser to Truman and Kennedy,

head of the Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board under Johnson, described the

attack as “inexcusable . . . a flagrant act of gross negligence for which the Israeli

Government should be held completely responsible.” He recommended that

the incident be handled “as if the Arabs or the USSR had done it.” While no

official could explain what motivation Israel might have had for assaulting an

American vessel, neither did the facts seem to square. Either the Israelis had

exhibited rank incompetence—in the midst of their faultless victory—or they

had struck the Liberty on purpose. Indeed, many in the administration had al-

ready concluded that the attack was intentional and that Israel’s explanations

were entirely disingenuous.

The charge of criminal negligence gradually gave

way to one of premeditated murder.

270 SIX DAYS OF WA R

The Israelis moved to dispel these accusations with three internal reports,

the last of which was a full inquiry under military jurist Col. Yeshayahu

Yerushalmi. All three admitted the IDF’s culpability in erroneously reporting a

naval barrage on al-‘Arish, in miscalculating the Liberty’s speed, and in confus-

ing the ship with the El Quseir. They pointed out the faulty communications

between various branches of the army, the pilots’ exhaustion after four days of

uninterrupted combat, and the navy’s eagerness to compensate for its previous

failures in the war. Yet all three studies concluded that the attack was an “inno-

cent mistake,” with no malice or gross negligence involved. “For all my regret

that our forces were involved in an incident with a vessel belonging to a friendly

state,” Yerushalmi wrote, “I have not discovered any deviation from the stan-

dard of reasonable conduct which would justify a court martial.”

“This makes no goddamned sense at all,” Eugene Rostow grumbled upon

reviewing these findings. The attack, wrote Rusk, was “quite literally incom-

prehensible . . . an act of military recklessness reflecting wanton disregard for

human life.” Umbrage was taken at the Israelis’ suggestion that the Liberty had

no business being where it was, had failed to inform Israel of its presence, and

had failed to use all means (semaphores, flares, flags) to identify itself. Evron’s

assurances that IDF officers would be “severely punished” for negligence proved

groundless. The White House now demanded that Israel not only pay com-

pensation but admit wrongdoing and try those responsible for the attack “in

accordance with international law.”

That demand, however, did not reflect a willingness on the part of the

United States to investigate the incident thoroughly. A navy court of inquiry,

convened in Malta by Rear Adm. Isaac C. Kidd, Jr., shortly after the attack,

posited that, for lack of sufficient wind, the Liberty’s flag might not have been

visible to Israeli pilots, and that the attack appeared to be “a case of mistaken

identity.” Further reviews were conducted by the CIA, Joint Chiefs of Staff,

the House Appropriations Committee, and the NSA.

But at no time were

answers sought to the questions of who sent the Liberty, lightly armed and

incognito, into the middle of somebody else’s war zone, and for what purpose.

Never was it suggested, much less charged, that the Liberty’s mission was an

egregious mistake.

The absence of such answers would later give rise to a mélange of con-

spiracy theories purporting to explain the incident. Israel was said to have

launched the attack to prevent the Liberty from reporting on its gains in Sinai,

its alleged execution of Egyptian prisoners, or its interception of messages be-

tween Cairo and King Hussein. The most widespread of the charges held that

Israel—Dayan, in particular—wanted the Liberty destroyed in order to conceal

preparations for the coming thrust into Syria.

None of the theories withstood historical scrutiny, however, or even made

much sense. Israel did little to hide from the Americans either its progress in

Sinai or its intentions vis-à-vis the Golan. Jordan was already hors de combat by

Day Four, June 8 271

June 8. No evidence was found that Israel conducted mass executions of POW’s

or that it sought to disguise that act by killing Americans. Indeed, with their

obsessive concern for U.S. opinion and their ingrained fear of the Soviets, the

Israelis would have been loath to antagonize, much less make war against, their

sole superpower protector. And while the IDF could have easily sunk the Lib-

erty, the fact remained that it did not; it ceased firing the instant the mistake

was realized, and offered to assist the ship. The logic of these arguments would

be employed by Arab and Soviet commentators—ironically—who asserted that

the Liberty had been spying for Israel during the war and was only erroneously

attacked.

The Liberty incident, with its faulty identifications and close brushes between

American and Soviet forces, spotlighted the ease with which the superpowers

might inadvertently come to blows in the Middle East. “Israel must be careful

not to push its advantage too far,” Goldberg advised Eban, noting how the

Arabs’ wholesale defeat had increased the danger of Soviet intervention. Citing

a secret Soviet source, the CIA had reported on the growing likelihood of di-

rect Soviet involvement in the war—“we have no other choice,” the source

explained. Kosygin, too, seemed to be threatening a more aggressive Soviet

role. “Israel’s actions have placed the Arab States in such a situation they can-

not but conduct a lawful defensive war against the aggressor,” the premier wrote

in his next hot line message to Washington. “Until complete withdrawal of

Israeli troops [is obtained] . . . the reestablishment of peace in the Near East

cannot be ensured.”

The best hope for preventing superpower clashes lay in the Security Council,

which reconvened at 2:00

P.M. after a hiatus of nearly twenty-four hours. The

atmosphere had hardly improved. Now, in addition to the vast gap separating

the U.S. and Soviet positions, discrepancies also emerged between the U.S.

and Israeli positions. Eban opposed any linkage between the cease-fire and the

return of Israeli forces to the June 4th line. He wanted no reference to the

Armistice Agreements by the Council, no mention of the word withdrawal.

Goldberg, in turn, reminded Eban of the requisites of public opinion. “It is

necessary . . . that Israel should not emerge from the current situation as a

power with designs to infringe on the territorial integrity of other countries.”

Rather patronizingly, he invited Eban to consult McGeorge Bundy “on how

peace might be best brought about and the rancor and humiliation felt by the

Arabs overcome.”

American-Israeli differences, though sharpening, were minuscule compared

to those between Israel and the Soviets. “Israel’s military hordes [are] follow-

ing in the bloody footsteps of Hitler’s executioners,” ranted Federenko, and