The Prime Ministers: An Intimate Narrative of Israeli Leadership (55 page)

Prime Minister Begin’s initial draft of “Proposed Principles” for Palestinian autonomy in Judea, Samaria and Gaza, December 1977, to which reference is made in this discussion. (Paragraph 7 offers Palestinians the future option of voting and election to the Knesset)

Carter:
Mr. Prime Minister, in my view the obstacle to a peace treaty with Egypt is your insistence on keeping political control over the West Bank and Gaza, not just now, but to perpetuate it even after five years. I had hoped we could reach a point of possible success of the peace process, but now we are on the verge of seeing it all lost.
[1]

It was on this sour note that the first round of the White House talks ended. They continued the following day, again in the Cabinet Room, when President Carter, reading from a typed page, addressed the prime minister with disdain in his voice and fury in his eyes, saying:

“Mr. Prime Minister, the Israeli position, as I understand it, is that even if there were a clear statement by us
against
a total Israeli withdrawal from the West Bank and
against
a Palestinian state, and even if this were to be accepted by Egypt, Israel would still not stop building new settlements or the expansion of settlements; Israel would not give up the settlements in Sinai; Israel would not permit an Egyptian or
UN
protection over the Israeli settlements in Sinai; Israel will not withdraw its political authority from the West Bank and Gaza; Israel will not recognize that Resolution 242 applies on all fronts, including the principle of withdrawal from the West Bank; Israel will not give the Palestinian Arabs, at the end of the [five-year] interim period, the right to choose whether they want to be affiliated with Israel, with Jordan, or live under the interim arrangement. This is my understanding of the present situation. If I am correct, the likelihood that the peace talks can be resumed with Egypt is very remote. There are no immediate prospects of a substantial movement toward a peace agreement. I would like to have your comment.”

Carter’s words were met with an oppressive silence. Dayan’s face remained impassive; Begin’s was ashen. But after a few moments of silence, this political combat brought out the defiance in him, and in a spitfire tongue, he declared:

“Mr. President, you have seen fit to couch all your definitions in negative terms. I shall state them positively. Israel has made a two-part peace proposal which is positive and constructive. Part one: we are resolved to negotiate peace treaties with a view to reaching a comprehensive settlement with all our neighbors. We have accepted Resolution 242 as the basis for negotiations with all our neighbors. We are determined that the negotiations be direct. We want secure and recognized boundaries, as called for in 242, but that same Resolution does not call for a total withdrawal on all fronts. The possibility of less than a total withdrawal applies not only to Judea and Samaria, but also to Sinai and the Golan. Nevertheless, Israel has stated its willingness for a total withdrawal to the international border in Sinai. We have asked for the demilitarization of the Sinai beyond the Gidi and the Mitla Passes. We have also suggested that after our total withdrawal from Sinai
–
which, I repeat, is not called for by 242
–
two United Nations zones be established embracing our settlements there, which will be under the protection of Israeli contingents. We could have demanded border changes with Egypt, but again, I say, we have not done so, for the sake of peace.

“And now to part two of our positive peace proposals, dealing with Judea, Samaria and Gaza. We have proposed self-rule
–
or administrative autonomy
–
for the Palestinian Arabs in these areas. They will be enabled to elect their own administrative council which will deal with all issues of daily life, with no interference from Israel. Israel will reserve for itself control of security and public order only. This means that our forces will be in designated camps in Judea, Samaria and Gaza. The question of the future sovereignty of these areas shall remain open. We are dealing here with human beings, not with the status of the territory. The Palestinian Arabs shall have full self-rule and the Palestinian Jews security. We agree that there should be a review of the situation after five years. We suggest that people on both sides, Jew and Arab alike, be given the opportunity to work and live side by side together, and we shall see how this reality unfolds. After five years everything will be open to review. This, Mr. President, is part two of our positive peace proposal.”

Begin’s words made no impression. The stalemate was absolute. The White House encounter was simply nasty. Arriving back at Ben-Gurion Airport two days later, Menachem Begin made no bones about the seriousness of the situation. He told the waiting press:

“Our talks in Washington were difficult. Certain demands were made of us which we could not accept. Our lives would have been made much simpler had we been able to say ‘yes’ to the demands of the greatest power on earth, but we could not. We represent a small yet courageous nation, and we, its spokesmen, are concerned only with safeguarding our people’s future. Always remember that what is, admittedly, a matter of important policy for the mighty United States of America, is for us a matter of life and death. On the table were issues which I cannot yet reveal. We shall, of course, continue to maintain contact with the president and his advisers. I have no doubt that the U.S. government desires peace in the Middle East. We, certainly, aspire to it with all our hearts. And so we hope the peacemaking process will continue, despite all the present difficulties.”

Next, Begin answered some of the pointed questions the journalists had.

“It has been publicized that a senior U.S. representative has asserted that in order to make peace Israel will have to replace its prime minister. What is your reaction to that?”

“I do not know to whom you are referring, but the prime minister was chosen by the people of Israel, and not by a representative of the United States of America.”

“While you were en route back to Israel, your Minister of Defense [Ezer Weizman] called for the establishment of an emergency national peace government. How do you view this proposal?”

“I have not read my colleague’s remarks. If a peace government is required
–
it already exists. The government in which the Defense Minister is Defense Minister is a peace government.”

“You said in your opening remarks that you hope the peace process will continue. In what way will it continue? What form will it take?”

“In every form available to us.”
72

In the tense and frustrating months that followed, the best way available turned out to be an enormous gamble on the part of President Carter. In September 1978, he invited Prime Minister Begin and President Sadat, together with their senior aides, to Camp David, the presidential retreat in Maryland. Here, confined behind locked gates, far from the maddening pressures of Washington and the ever-prying eyes of the press
–
in what Menachem Begin dubbed a “concentration camp deluxe”
–
the two parties went at it hammer and tongs for thirteen days and nights, with Carter serving as an indefatigable go-between. Finally, a two-part accord was reached, the first calling for the implementation of an autonomy plan for the Palestinian Arabs of Judea, Samaria and the Gaza Strip, to be followed after five years by a negotiated permanent settlement. The second was a framework for the conclusion of a peace treaty between Israel and Egypt, with full normalization and diplomatic relations, in return for Israel’s complete withdrawal from Sinai within three years, and the dismantling of all of its settlements there. In recognition of these accords, Menachem Begin and Anwar Sadat were jointly awarded the Nobel Prize for Peace.

The Egyptian and Israeli teams went home, and continued their work of intensive negotiations to translate the general principles agreed upon at Camp David into the binding language of concrete contracts. This proved to be easier said than done, and necessitated a last-minute, whirlwind visit by President Carter to both Jerusalem and Cairo to dot the
i
’s and cross the
t
’s of the treaty with Egypt, and to put into place the machinery for a Palestinian autonomy negotiation. Although this latter ultimately came to naught, and despite the fact that the Arab world was in uproar, Sadat nevertheless decided to go ahead and sign his peace treaty with Israel.

Axiomatically, Washington, on the White House lawn, in the presence of Jimmy Carter, was where the ceremony would take place.

Last page of Prime Minister Begin’s draft of speech at Egypt-Israel peace-signing ceremony, written on the morning of the ceremony, 26 March 1979

Tapping his temple and radiating an inscrutable smile, the prime minister quipped, “Yehuda, it’s in here. You’ll have it as soon as it’s finished in here.”

It was 25 March 1979, the ceremonial signing of the peace treaty was but a day away, and Menachem Begin’s speech, scheduled for worldwide broadcast, was still incubating in his mind. His original intention had been to draft it during the long and tedious flight from Tel Aviv to Washington, but the journey turned out to be too distracting. We were traveling in an antiquated Israel Air Force Boeing 707, refurbished with discarded El Al seats, many of which were occupied by cabinet ministers, and, as a demonstration of national unity, a sizable contingent of opposition members, led by Yitzhak Rabin and Shimon Peres. His fellow travelers kept the prime minister engaged for much of the time, and the turbulence over the Atlantic was so severe it made me feel like a piece of salad in a colander tossed by a particularly energetic chef. So, by the time we’d unpacked at the Washington Hilton on Connecticut Avenue, where we were lodging, I was longing for bed.

“Go to bed,” said the prime minister, when I walked into his suite to check on the status of his speech. “You look done in. I’ll ring you first thing in the morning, when it’s ready.”

And so he did
–
at five
a.m.

Still bedraggled and bleary-eyed, I dragged myself to his suite and found him in a dressing gown, full of beans. “Kindly shakespearize this,” he said, passing me eight pages of his tight, vertical scrawl.

I immediately set to work, handing page after polished page to my secretary, Norma, who checked and rechecked it with particular attention to the English translation of Psalm 126, which the prime minister wrote down in its original Hebrew, and which I copied into English from a Gideon Bible I found in a bedside drawer. After going over the typed version one last time, I placed it in a luxurious black leather folder which I had brought with me from Jerusalem for the occasion, and carried it to the prime minister’s suite, where I found him breakfasting with Foreign Minister Moshe Dayan and Defense Minister Ezer Weizman.

“Please place it on the desk by the window,” he said. “If there are changes, I’ll let you know.”

Hearing nothing from him all morning, I pocketed his handwritten draft, and having shaved, showered and generally spruced myself up, boarded the minibus marked
‘
ISRAELI DELEGATION
–
Prime Minister’s Staf
f
, ’ to be driven to Blair House, where Secretary of State Cyrus Vance was hosting a noon luncheon for the Egyptian, American, and Israeli delegations. The Begins and the Sadats were to lunch an hour later with the Carters at the White House, after which they were to step out onto the North Lawn for the signing ceremony before a crowd of dignitaries, at two o’clock sharp.

Traveling to Blair House down Connecticut Avenue, our American driver drew up at a traffic light, but General Poran suddenly began pounding the dashboard and ordered him not to stop. “Jump the light!” he commanded. But the man stared back at him bewildered, as did we all, not having seen what Freuka had seen in the rearview mirror
–
a band of thirty or so Arab demonstrators exiting a side street and rushing toward us, yelling slogans.

The driver inched forward, hooting, through the snarled traffic, but it was too late. The demonstrators swarmed around us, some carrying anti-peace placards, and all of them ranting wild curses and threats against Sadat and Begin and their peace treaty. Cowering, I peered out of the window at faces full of hate and venom, while my traveling companions seemed to be maintaining a remarkable sangfroid. But then a man with a kaffiyeh started to pound the roof with a stick; others whacked with their fists, booing, hissing, and spitting, and then they all began heaving the minibus from side to side. The driver, numb with dread, was incapable of running the tormentors down, even if he had wanted to. And as the vehicle pitched and tossed, we all stared fixedly ahead gripping our seats as best we might, until we were rescued by mounted police who, truncheons flying, cleared a path to let us through. The driver revved up the engine, gunned the vehicle forward, and pulled away with a tire-wrenching jerk, his knuckles white. When he brought us safely to our destination he acknowledged our thanks with a scowl, and hissed, “That’s the last frigging time I’ll ever drive Israelis again.”

Checking ourselves in the large mirror of the Blair House entrance hall, we decided none of us looked the worse for wear, so we joined the crowd at the buffet table. Hardly had I picked up a salad plate when Ovad, a member of the prime minister’s security detail, accosted me, telling me that Begin was searching for me urgently. He dialed a classified number and put me through.

“Mr. Begin, you’re looking for me?” I panted.

“Yes, where’s my speech?”

“On the desk by the window in your suite, where you told me to put it.”

“No, not that one
–
my original.”

“It’s in my pocket. You need it?”

“Yes
–
immediately!”

“When are you leaving for the White House?”

“At twelve forty.”

I looked at my watch. The dial said twelve twenty. A shiver ran down my spine. “I’ll bring it over right away,” I said, not having the slightest idea how. But then I spied Secretary of State Cyrus Vance casually chatting with an Egyptian, and in desperation, brandished the speech in his face and said with deadly seriousness, “Mr. Secretary, unless I get this document to Mr. Begin at the Hilton Hotel within ten minutes there will be no signing ceremony today.”

He stared at me in disbelief.

“Come with me,” he snapped, and he strode to the front door, where he collared a senior police officer who ran down the steps to a waiting police car, and ordered the cop inside, “Get this man to the Hilton in ten minutes or I’ll have your head. Step on it.”

Siren blaring, we hit eighty kilometers an hour within a block, whereupon the policeman extended a massive paw, and said,
“
Sholom aleichem!
My name’s Abie Finegold. I’m one of four Jewish cops on the Washington police force. Pleased to meet you.”

“
Aleichem shalom
,” I said, flabbergasted. “Are we going to make it?”

“Sure, you bet. When Abie Finegold presses on the gas, people know to keep out of my way. Hey, lady!” He was yelling at an aging driver in an aging car, at a signal light. “That light’s green, and it isn’t going to get any greener. Go! Go! Go!” He peeled off around her, and she made an obscene gesture as we passed by. Another car made the near fatal mistake of slowing at an intersection that had no stop sign or traffic light. Abie flashed his headlights, blasted his horn, raised the siren to an even higher hysterical pitch, did a sharp swerve, swore, and clucked, “Jeez, I almost hit the bastard.” He swore again as he bore down on a forty-kilometer-an-hour sluggard, then tailgated a guy who, in despair, mounted the sidewalk to let him pass.

I was beginning to like this: High Noon on Connecticut Avenue, and I was Gary Cooper.

“
Mazal tov!
We made it!” chirped Abie, screeching to a halt in front of the Hilton.

The clock on the dashboard read 2:39.

I ran into the lobby just as Mr. and Mrs. Begin were exiting an elevator surrounded by a bevy of bodyguards.

“
Baruch Hashem! ”
cried Begin when I handed him the pages. “Thank God you caught me!”

“The speech that I left on your desk
–
it’s not what you wanted?” I asked, somewhat peeved. “You weren’t happy with my changes?”

“Oh, no, they’re fine,” he assured me. “It’s just that as I was going over the typed text I suddenly had the feeling that today of all days I want to read my own speech exactly as I wrote in my own hand.” And to make the implicit explicit, he added, “I wrote it from the heart and I want to read it from the heart.”

President Carter was the first to speak, then President Sadat, and then Prime Minister Begin. All three promised the sixteen hundred invited guests on the White House lawn, along with a worldwide television audience in the millions, that warfare between Egypt and Israel was banished forever. All three quoted, coincidentally, Isaiah’s famous phrase about swords being beaten into plowshares. Yet even as they pronounced these stirring words, the shouts of thousands of Arab protestors from nearby Lafayette Park drifted across Pennsylvania Avenue toward the White House, a reminder that the whole of the Arab world was implacably opposed to the document to which the leaders had just put their signatures
–
the first treaty of peace between an Arab nation and the Jewish State.

Begin’s address was by far the most highly charged with personal emotion. “Peace is the beauty of life,” he sentimentalized. “It is sunshine. It is the smile of a child, the love of a mother, the joy of a father, the togetherness of a family. It is the advancement of man, the victory of a just cause, the triumph of truth.”

To Sadat, he said, “It is a great day in your life, Mr. President of the Arab Republic of Egypt. In the face of adversity and hostility you have demonstrated the human value that can change history – civil courage. A great field commander once said, civil courage is sometimes more difficult to show than military courage. You showed both, Mr. President. But now it is time for all of us to show civil courage, in order to proclaim to our peoples and to others: no more war, no more bloodshed, no more bereavement – peace unto you; shalom, salaam, forever.” And then, husky with emotion, “This is the proper place, and the appropriate time, to bring back to memory the song and the prayer of thanksgiving I learned as a child in the home of my father and mother, that doesn’t exist anymore because they were among the six million people – men, women and children – who sanctified the Lord’s name with their sacred blood which reddened the rivers of Europe from the Rhine to the Danube, from the Bug to the Volga, because – only because – they were born Jews; and because they didn’t have a country of their own, nor a valiant Jewish army to defend them; and because nobody – nobody – came to their rescue, although they cried out ‘Save us! Save us!’ de profundis, from the depths of the pit and agony: that is the Song of Degrees written two millennia and five hundred years ago when our forefathers returned from their first exile to Jerusalem, to Zion.”

Here Begin felt into his pocket and took out a black silk yarmulke, which he placed on his head, and in a gesture pregnant with symbolism, recited in the original Hebrew the whole of the Psalm of David
–
“
Shir hama’alot b’shuv Hashem et shivat Ziyon hayinu k’cholmim
”
–
without rendering it into English.

“I will not translate it,” he said. “Every person, whether Jew, Christian or Moslem, can read it in his or her own language in the Book of Books. It is simply psalm one hundred and twenty-six.”

A general applause greeted his remarks, and one could tell from the areas of louder applause where the Jewish groups were sitting. Everybody rose to their feet and clapped ecstatically when the three men wholeheartedly grasped each other in a three-way hand clasp, a picture of reconciliation so memorable that the cheers lingered on long after the three had departed the platform to reenter the White House.

That night, under a great orange and yellow marquee on the South Lawn
–
the marquee longer than the presidential mansion itself
–
more than thirteen hundred invitees gathered for a state banquet to celebrate the peace. The fifteen-page guest list offered the novel sight of Arab and Jewish names succeeding each other alphabetically. Practiced observers of Washington politics and politesse commented that it was the first time so many of the Washington social establishment had entered the Carter White House, making it the largest presidential dinner in memory.

Everybody seemed to know everybody else, and the guests mingled and table-hopped with all the informality of a high school reunion. I was chatting with Yitzhak Rabin when Henry Kissinger came threading his way through the crush, his arms open wide as though to embrace his old antagonist and friend.

“Yitzhak! What a day,” he exclaimed, with a broad grin. “You and I can take pride in having helped to make this happen.”

The former prime minister gave his half smile. “How many people here know that, Henry?” he said mildly. “How many people know that my nineteen seventy-five Sinai interim agreement with Sadat was the first step toward this peace?”

“And how many people know that I had to drive you crazy to make it happen?” quipped Kissinger, tease and truth in delicate balance.

“Forgive me, Henry,” said Rabin in all seriousness. “We differed on details, but not substance. We both sought the same thing
–
disengagement and diffusion on the Egyptian front.”

“And it sure worked,” said Kissinger with a sparkle.

Photograph credit: Ya’acov Sa’ar & Israel Government Press Office