Psychologists argue that waiting is often the most stressful phase. Numerous studies have shown that anxiety peaks in the run-up to a major event and that it intensifies as the period of anticipation drags on. Israel’s history is marked by such stretches of uncertainty, the first and most famous known simply as the “waiting period.”
On May 15, 1967, Egyptian forces crossed the Suez Canal, violating the 1956 ceasefire agreement. The Israeli government, along with newspaper headlines in Israel and abroad, initially described the move as “demonstrations.” As a precaution, the army began a gradual mobilization of reserve forces.
Two days later, Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser demanded that U.N. forces evacuate their positions along the border, in Sinai and the Gaza Strip. At that point, Israeli officials began to understand that the situation was serious and initiated a full reserve mobilization. The United Nations quickly withdrew its forces, and Egyptian troops took their place. On May 21, Nasser announced the closure of the Straits of Tiran to Israeli shipping.
The military pressed the government to launch a preemptive strike as soon as possible. The government spent the following two weeks seeking a diplomatic solution.
The Soviet Union backed Nasser’s moves without reservation and accused Israel of warmongering. France, a key arms supplier to Israel at the time, imposed a regional arms embargo.
The United States, which had already instructed its citizens to leave the Middle East, sent mixed signals. President Lyndon Johnson condemned the violation of freedom of navigation in international waterways, but also warned Israel against initiating war. Sources revealed years later suggest a more direct warning, that the United States would attack whichever country fired the first shot, even if it were Israel. It remains unclear whether the word “Don’t” was explicitly used.
Some American diplomats hinted that Washington might work to reopen the straits if Israel exercised patience. Others proposed compromise formulas under which Egypt would allow passage to ships not flying the Israeli flag.
On May 31, the U.N. Security Council debated whether to call on all sides to “forgo belligerency” or to “act with restraint.” The debate produced no resolution.
The mounting tension took a toll on Israel’s leadership. On May 24, overwhelmed by exhaustion, guilt and growing anxiety, Chief of Staff Yitzhak Rabin suffered a breakdown and was absent for 36 hours, during which Maj. Gen. Ezer Weizman effectively commanded the army. Two days later, Weizman was described as shouting at Prime Minister Levi Eshkol in tears and demanding a preemptive strike.
Eshkol sought to calm the public in a radio address. Because of last-minute edits to his script, he stumbled and even turned on air to an aide to clarify what was written before him. The uncertainty he projected during prime time fueled deep public anxiety.
The press, working closely with military censors, tried to project strength and resilience. It described public support for reserve soldiers at the front. “Long live the fighting people’s government!” wrote Yedioth Ahronoth editor Herzl Rosenblum. “Long live the Israel Defense Forces and its undefeated commanders! There will be no Treblinka here.”
Yet between the lines it was clear that all was not well. Thousands of civilians seized the opportunity to leave the country. Eilat, seen as a potential Egyptian target, was largely emptied of residents. Sandbags were distributed nationwide, and teenagers were tasked with filling and placing them at defensive positions in towns and cities.
At the time, Israeli television had yet to begin regular broadcasts. In the few homes with television sets, Egyptian broadcasts were received, promising Israel’s destruction. In light of the Israeli leadership’s hesitation, Egyptian propaganda was perceived by some as credible. Civil authorities prepared for the worst. Facing projections of tens of thousands of casualties, the Tel Aviv municipality, in coordination with the Chief Rabbinate, prepared open areas in Yarkon Park for mass burials.
Fifty-eight years later, the contrast with today’s Israeli public, the grandchildren of those anxious citizens, could hardly be sharper.
Modern media is more diverse and decentralized, presenting both warnings and complex worst-case scenarios. No one denies that an Iranian attack on Israel would have severe consequences, including destruction and loss of life. The waiting for such an attack has already lasted several times longer than the famous waiting period of 1967.
And yet, Israeli society at large appears, for lack of a better word, calm.
Those who work closely with colleagues abroad sense it even more clearly. Many find it strange that most Israelis they speak with seem outwardly indifferent to what may lie ahead, and some even hope it will come to pass.
“You’re scheduling a meeting with me for next week,” a former colleague told me, “and joking that you might take it from the shelter, that I shouldn’t panic if there are explosions in the background. Are you normal?”
This mindset spans generations. Young and old alike continue their routines in a way that puzzles outsiders.
Some may see this as numbness or collective madness. They are missing something.
In a culture of fierce, sometimes toxic disagreement that has become part of the Israeli experience in recent years, it is easy to get lost in the complex details and overlook the broader picture.
Compared with the Israeli public on the eve of the Six-Day War, today’s society reflects, above all, an extraordinary resilience. The current government is more controversial than the one that preceded that war. The public is more divided on core issues that continue to preoccupy it even now.
Yet it is difficult not to look with a measure of astonishment at the confidence of Israeli society in its ability to defend itself, and in the capacity of its current leaders, however contested in parts of the public, to make the right decisions on this matter.
Despite the fear and dread, the war ended as it did.
One can only hope that the current war, if it comes, will end in similar fashion, and that we will meet again at six o’clock after the victory.