Of course, second-guessing—especially of a war so obviously bungled—is too tempting for any former general to resist. In fact, Lahad says he still keeps in touch with his Israeli military contacts and occasionally meets with them for informal brainstorming sessions. Lahad says he complained to them about their dogged reliance on air power in this conflict, which he considered dangerous and ineffective. Still, he says his own gripes are tame compared to the mudslinging he sees on Israeli television. “Their criticism of each other is even more ruthless than what I had to say to them,” he says with a laugh.
Former Israeli leader Golda Meir once tartly complained that in Israel “there are 3 million prime ministers.” That much was clear this week, as the local media exploded into a firestorm of recriminations over the conduct of the war. Wary of appearing unpatriotic, most Israelis—three quarters in one recent poll—insist their country was right to go to war with Hizbullah. But in Israel, where at least three years of compulsory military service is part of growing up, the debate over tactics and missed opportunities is as vigorous as it is varied. “Now we have a country of 7 million generals,” says Gerald Steinberg, the director Bar-Ilan University’s conflict-management program.
As thousands of Israeli troops streamed back into Israel this week, even the grunts played armchair general. “The whole way of resupply was really messed up,” says Alon Gelnik, an infantryman from Israel’s Nahal brigade, which fought Hizbullah guerrillas in Lebanon’s southern villages. “We ran out of water. We forgot to bring food. For a couple of days, we only had a roll of bread. It was the worst experience of my life.”
The only ones who aren’t particularly talkative are the actual generals—officers like Chief of Staff Dan Halutz, who spearheaded the Israeli assault. A former fighter pilot who helped develop Israel’s policy of “targeted assassinations” of Palestinian militants, Halutz is coming in for some of the loudest criticism. Hawks insist Halutz’s faith in air power was useless against Hizbullah’s small-caliber rockets; doves gripe that the whole operation was folly from the start. By midweek reporters were even poring over Halutz’s bank statements. Just after the kidnapping, the general sold $26,000 worth of stocks in his personal portfolio—which is legal, but may not say much about Halutz’s confidence in his own operation. For his part, Halutz shrugs off calls for a commission of inquiry into the conduct of the war. Asked by an Israeli television reporter recently what he thought of a potential probe, the general replied flatly: “I don’t care.”
Such thick-skinned indifference may suit the military man. But elected officials like Prime Minister Ehud Olmert won’t get off so easy. “He’s in deep trouble,” says Steinberg. “The [whole] coalition is in trouble.” Olmert, who was elected back in March with a smaller-than-expected mandate, is already weathering attacks from political opponents like former prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu. More troubling: some of the most vicious backbiting is coming from within Olmert’s own Kadima Party. Former prime minister Ariel Sharon established the party precisely to lead further withdrawals from occupied territory. But for ordinary Israelis, a month of Katyusha attacks drove home what Israeli hawks have been saying for years: that pulling out of the West Bank could leave Tel Aviv vulnerable to the same kind of barrages. The upshot, according to Steinberg, is that “Kadima may self-destruct.”
What happens then? There’s no obvious answer. A security hawk like Netanyahu could benefit, as he has in the past, from perceptions of Israeli malaise. And of course, so could Israel’s enemies. Hizbullah leader Hassan Nasrallah once gave a speech comparing Israeli public opinion to a “spider’s web”—soft and easily broken. Vigorous debate may strengthen societies in the long run, but in the short term the ferment makes it harder for Israelis to prove Nasrallah wrong. Some worry that the perception of internal division is especially dangerous at a time when a potential conflict with Iran seems more likely than it has in years.
The problem of Iran inspires some of the most aggressive armchair generalship. Antoine Lahad, for one, is a supporter of a campaign to topple the Islamist regime. He admits he doesn’t have access to the intelligence Israeli officials do, and he doesn’t offer any compelling ideas about how to solve the maddeningly complex problem. But what he lacks in concrete tactics, he makes up for in enthusiasm. “What are they waiting for?” Lahad demands. “Until they have the bomb?” It all seems to make perfect sense to the general, as he reclines in his armchair by the sea.
