How the Mossad stole the most advanced fighter jet in the world

On the morning of August 16, 1966, at exactly eight o'clock, a foreign fighter jet landed at the Hatzor military airfield. It was not a friendly plane on a routine visit. The emblem of the Iraqi Air Force was displayed on the wings, and in its cockpit sat a thirty-year-old pilot who had landed of his own free will in enemy territory. Within minutes, the significance of the event became clear: the State of Israel had laid its hands on a MiG-21 — the most classified and advanced Soviet fighter jet of those days, a weapon that all Western governments dreamed of getting their hands on. Behind this dramatic landing stood almost three years of intelligence activity, one of the most complex that the State of Israel had ever known, an operation that received the name "Diamond", and by its other name — "Blue Bird".

A plane that no one knew

The story begins not in Baghdad, but in Moscow. In the second half of 1962, disturbing information reached Israel: the Soviet Union had begun supplying neighboring Arab countries with MiG-21s — a new generation of interceptor aircraft, fast and sophisticated, whose true capabilities were unknown to the Israeli Air Force or any of its allies, including NATO countries. The one who understood the magnitude of the threat was the Air Force Commander, Major General Ezer Weizman, who in April 1965 met with the head of the Mossad, Meir Amit, explained to him that the Air Force must know everything about the MiG-21 in the hands of Arab countries, and asked him for an inconceivable request: to obtain a MiG-21 for the Air Force so that they could get to know it in depth.

The pilot whose religion blocked him

Although on paper it was an imaginary and impossible mission, the Mossad decided to take up the challenge. The solution did not come from technological espionage or breaking into a military base, but from something much more human: frustration. Since the 50s, the Mossad had maintained a Jewish agent living in Iraq who had close ties in government and military circles. Through him, they managed to locate Munir Redfa, a commander of an air force unit in Mosul in northern Iraq — an appreciated and talented pilot, whose rise up the ranks stopped when he reached the rank of captain. The reason was not professional: Redfa was a Christian, a member of a religious minority in Iraq, and because of this, he was blocked from promotion despite his skills. This frustration, along with his ambition to emigrate to the West, made him the ideal candidate.

Mossad personnel contacted him with great caution. Part of the preparations for the operation took place far from the Middle East — in a cafe in Rome, in January 1966. At the meeting between Mossad personnel, Redfa, and an Air Force officer who was loaned to the Mossad for the mission. Around an Italian coffee table, the final details of one of the most daring espionage operations in Israel's history were agreed upon. At one point, Redfa was even brought for a secret visit to Israel for 24 hours, where he met with the head of the Air Force Intelligence Branch to prepare for the most complicated stage: accurate identification of the landing field in Israel, one that would allow him to land safely without making a mistake and landing, heaven forbid, at an enemy base.

One of the operational challenges facing the Mossad personnel was the need to find a way to convey to Redfa that all the details were closed and he could set out on his way. The risk of sending a direct message to a person located in the heart of Iraq was too great. The solution was an open radio broadcast. The song "Marhabtain Marhabtain" was chosen as the transmission tool. Its playing on the Kol Yisrael station in Arabic was the agreed signal. When Redfa heard the song playing, he knew the moment had arrived.

The escape: precise navigation and nerves of steel

On August 16, 1966, Munir Redfa boarded his plane and took off from his base — but not in the direction of the usual mission. He turned west, crossed almost two thousand kilometers in the air, on a route that required precise navigation and nerves of steel. Near the Israel-Jordan border, he was spotted by two Mirage jets of the Israeli Air Force, which intercepted him and escorted him westward. Redfa signaled to the Israeli pilots his intention to land in Israel, and they led him safely to the Hatzor base.

The day after the landing, the media reported on an "Iraqi Air Force MiG-21" that had landed "yesterday at eight in the morning at one of the Air Force bases in Israel", while its pilot "is now under investigation" — without revealing, of course, the full operational background behind the story. Immediately upon the plane's landing at Hatzor, the Israeli Air Force began to examine it in depth. The desire was intense: to finally understand what exactly the MiG-21 was capable of doing. Israeli pilots took off and landed in it again and again, tested its performance, limitations, and advantages — until the tires of the wheels were simply worn out completely and the plane was grounded. But the damage to the tires was negligible compared to the intelligence gain. The information collected from the investigation of the plane made a huge contribution to the understanding of the MiG-21 — knowledge that was also passed on to Israel's allies, led by the United States, which received a rare glimpse into a plane that had until then been a mystery to the West.

The legacy

Operation Diamond, which was also nicknamed "Blue Bird", is still considered one of the most prominent achievements during Meir Amit's tenure as head of the Mossad. It was not the product of a technological breakthrough, but of deep human understanding — identifying the frustration point of one person, and cultivating with patience and caution trust relationships that lasted nearly three years. Dozens of Mossad, intelligence, and Air Force personnel were involved in the operation, the result of which went far beyond obtaining a single plane — it significantly strengthened the international status of the Mossad as one of the most sophisticated intelligence services in the world. Munir Redfa himself, who replaced his previous life in Iraq with a new life under a different identity, became a legendary figure in the history of Israeli intelligence — a pilot whose religion prevented him from promotion in one army, and opened a door for him to a completely new chapter in his life.