Thirteen Days in September

by Lawrence Wright

  Dayan had visited the site before, but he was moved by Carter’s emotional recounting of the war that tore the young country apart. “He seemed to know every hill and boulder which had served them as cover,” Dayan wrote. “And when he told the story of how the tattered, bedraggled and barefoot Southern fighters had an additional incentive to capture Gettysburg upon hearing that it had large stores of boots, he seemed to be talking about his own family.”

  In fact, Carter’s great-grandfather Littleberry Walker Carter had been in the Confederate ranks at Gettysburg, along with his two brothers. They survived the war and then walked home to Georgia, through the devastated South, the plundered towns, the scorched fields, carrying psychic wounds that would blight the region for another century. Thirty percent of the men in the South of fighting age had been killed in the war. Much of civilization had been scraped away and the region rolled back to frontier. The real cost of such devastation can never be measured, but the graveyard at Gettysburg was a somber reminder—row after row of simple tombstones. Carter observed that it was here at the cemetery where Lincoln made his famous Gettysburg address, when he came to consecrate the resting place of the Union dead.

  “Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”

  Everyone turned in surprise to Begin. His voice was very quiet at the beginning, as if he were reciting the address to himself.

  “Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure …”

  Begin’s voice gained power, and he continued in his distinct Polish accent:

  “But in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate—we cannot consecrate—we cannot hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract …”

  Carter realized that Begin understood Gettysburg in a different way from the military men. For Begin, Gettysburg was not just the site of a significant battle, it marked the spot of one of history’s great moments of presidential leadership, when the power of words rose above the military fray and knit together a devastated nation.

  “It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

  Rosalynn was quivering with emotion. Maybe this was a turning point, she thought; maybe Begin really did appreciate what peace was and what it could be for his country.

  LATE THAT AFTERNOON, back at Camp David, Carter, along with Mondale, Vance, and Brzezinski, met with Begin, Weizman, and Dayan. The time had come to present the American document to each team. “There are phrases in it which both you and Sadat will find difficult to accept—not because they hurt your countries, but because they are different from positions you have taken and statements you have made in the past,” Carter warned the Israelis. He deliberately left certain thorny issues—sovereignty on the West Bank and Gaza, Israeli settlements, and withdrawal from Sinai—for later, although they would eventually have to be addressed as well.

  Weizman noticed the blood drain from Begin’s face as he scanned the American paper—“seventeen pages of high explosive,” as Weizman termed it. When he finished, Begin finally looked at Carter. “We would also ask that you defer giving this to President Sadat,” he said, invoking Kissinger’s 1975 agreement to coordinate any peace proposals with Israel.

  “I did not draft this proposal with the idea that either side would alter it substantially,” Carter said testily. “I have tried to keep in mind what Israel wants and needs. Most essential is your permanent good relationship with Egypt, which would assure adequate security for Israel.”

  Begin fixed on the reference to UN Resolution 242 regarding the “inadmissibility of acquisition of territory by war.” He said that was unacceptable. “The language applies only to wars of aggression,” he said. “The war of 1967 gives Israel the right to change frontiers.”

  “Do you reject United Nations Resolution 242?” Carter asked, his voice rising. “To delete this phrase would mean that we have no basis for negotiation now or in the future. What you say convinces me that Sadat was right—what you want is land!”

  The meeting adjourned till later that night in order to give the Israelis a chance to read the document more carefully. Carter reluctantly sent a message to Sadat that he would not be able to present the document to the Egyptians until the Israelis had had their say.

  After the Americans left, Begin remarked, “Gentlemen, the Americans have simply copied the Egyptian plan.” He was so angry that Weizman worried he might have another heart attack. But Begin’s order to return to Israel was set aside, at least for the moment.

  Carter and the Americans returned for another meeting that night at nine thirty. Begin started off by briefly praising certain paragraphs—“a beautiful number on Jerusalem”—but he now insisted on deleting all references to UN Resolution 242.

  “This is not the time to beat around the bush,” Carter said furiously. If he had known that the Israelis intended to disavow the resolution, he said, “I would not have invited you to Camp David nor called this meeting.”

  “That has been our position for eleven years,” Begin replied.

  “Maybe that’s why you haven’t had peace for eleven years,” Carter snapped. “Israel has repeatedly endorsed 242, but now you are not willing to respect the language.”

  “I am willing to respect it, but not as a basis for what follows in your proposal.”

  Carter thought this was “gobbledygook.” The entire UN resolution consists of a single sentence, he pointed out; it was impossible to excise the objectionable clauses and preserve only the ones that Israel agreed with. If either delegation started throwing out established agreements and resolutions, the summit would be going backward. Besides, the American proposal was flexible; it allowed for the final borders to be negotiated in order to take into account Israel’s legitimate security concerns.

  “Sadat wants an agreement with Israel on his terms, and these are a danger to Israel,” Begin insisted. “We speak here of the very existence of our nation.”

  Begin invariably spoke in such apocalyptic language, which in Carter’s opinion torpedoed rational conversation. Even the other Israelis seemed impatient with Begin’s emotionalism. “Let’s move on,” Weizman urged. But Begin subjected every point on the American proposal to the same agonizing, minute scrutiny.

  “Listen, we’re trying to help you bring peace to your land,” Carter pleaded in frustration. “You would have us feel that we are going out of our way deliberately to be as unfair to Israel as possible.”

  Hours passed. Food and coffee were sent in. Begin brushed aside a provision for keeping the international waterways open, saying the Egyptians had no right to close Suez to Israeli shipping in the first place, so that was not a concession. Even though Carter had withheld the most contentious issues regarding the West Bank and Gaza, Begin continually objected to every remaining reference to the Palestinians; in Carter’s opinion, the Israeli leader was utterly unconcerned with their plight. Begin rejected the reference to their “legitimate rights,” saying that it was a tautology and who knows where it might lead.

  Carter had incorporated what he thought was Begin’s own proposal for “full autonomy” for the Palestinian people, but even here Begin had different language to propose. Yes, the Palestinians would have autonomy, but the Israeli government would approve their laws, install a military governor, and maintain a veto over decisions made by the Palestinian governing council.

  “What you want to do is make the West Bank part of Israel
,” Carter concluded. “No self-respecting Arab would accept this. It looks like a subterfuge.” It certainly wasn’t “full autonomy.”

  “Autonomy doesn’t mean sovereignty,” Begin said.

  Carter concluded that Begin was offering the appearance of self-rule, but Israel would remain totally in charge. “If I were an Arab, I would prefer the present Israeli occupation to this proposal of yours,” he said.

  Voices were raised, including Carter’s. When Dayan was allowed to speak, he said that the Israelis would reconsider some of their objections to the proposal. “We are not after political control,” he said. “If it seems that way to you, we will look at it again.” He openly ridiculed Begin’s idea of inserting the phrase “Jerusalem, the capital of Israel” in the text, because Sadat would never sign such a document. Carter began to realize that he had allies on the Israeli team. Both Dayan and Weizman would occasionally speak in Hebrew to Begin, apparently urging him to be more receptive to Carter’s proposal.

  It was nearly three in the morning when Begin circled back to the language of 242 concerning the occupation of territory by force. “We will not accept that!” he declared.

  “Mr. Prime Minster,” Carter responded impatiently, “that is not only the view of Sadat, it is also the American view—and you will have to accept it.” Weizman noticed that Carter’s lips were tightly compressed and his blue eyes blazed with fury. He crumpled up the papers on the table and threw down his pencil. “You will have to accept it!” he said again.

  “Mr. President,” Begin said. “No threats, please.”

  AFTER THE MEETING concluded in acrimony, Carter asked Dayan to walk with him back to his cabin. He vented his anger over what he saw as Begin’s obstructionism and asked for Dayan’s help.

  They sat on the terrace of Carter’s cabin, speaking in low tones to avoid waking Rosalynn. Dayan said that Carter was misreading Begin. He really did want peace, but the issue of the Sinai settlements was standing in the way. It was a matter of principle with Begin that Jews should be allowed to live anywhere. On the eve of Camp David, Begin had pledged to his own delegation that he would never withdraw the settlements from Sinai, and if he was pressured to do so he would walk out. In the face of that, Dayan suggested, Carter might propose that Sadat allow Israelis to continue living there, at least temporarily, as they might in Cairo or Alexandria. If Sadat agreed, that might satisfy Begin.

  Before Dayan left, Carter went into the cabin and emerged with a bag of peanuts. They were from Georgia, he said proudly. They had been allowed to soak in salt water, unshelled, which was what gave them their special flavor. Dayan was touched by the simple gesture.

  It was nearly dawn, but still dark, and Dayan was a bit disoriented as he made his way back to his cabin. After losing his left eye in battle, his lifelong fear was that he would lose sight in his remaining eye; and now, although he tried to hide the fact, he truly was going blind. When he turned around to head back to his cabin, he walked directly into a tree. Carter ran to help him. Blood was streaming out of Dayan’s nose. Carter guided him to the main path.

  When Carter finally climbed into bed, Rosalynn asked, “What happened?” It was nearly four in the morning. “We had to do a song and dance with Begin over every word,” he said wearily. “I’ll tell you about it in the morning.” If Dayan or Weizman were prime minister, there would be a peace treaty by now, Carter believed, but he was beginning to have doubts about Begin’s sanity. Just before he fell asleep, he added that Begin was a “psycho.”

  1 One notable study, by Antonio Arnaiz-Villena et al., “The Origin of Palestinians and Their Genetic Relatedness with Other Mediterranean Populations,” Human Immunology 62 (2001), pp. 889–900, which appeared shortly after 9/11. It compared genetic samples from Palestinian Arabs in Gaza with other Mediterranean peoples, and found that the Gaza population was closely related to Ashkenazi Jews. Both are descended from the Canaanites. The article concludes that the “rivalry” between Jews and Palestinians is “based on cultural and religious, but not genetic, differences.” The European authors referred to the Israeli settlers as “colonists” and asserted that Israel began the war with its neighbors when it was created in 1948. Although the science wasn’t in question, the publisher of the journal fired the guest editor and withdrew the article from publication—deleting it from databases—and librarians and subscribers were directed to physically rip the pages out of the journal. See also Israel Finkelstein and Neil Asher Silberman, The Bible Unearthed, p. 118.

  Day Seven

  Anwar Sadat with his advisers, left to right: Osama el-Baz, Sadat, Mohamed Ibrahim Kamel (with his back to the camera), and Hassan el-Tohamy

  DAYAN’S CABINMATES WERE WORRIED about him. Even before he ran into the tree he was obviously in pain. The famous warrior was sixty-three years old and in poor health. He hated going to doctors, so he may already have been suffering from the cancer that wouldn’t be diagnosed until several months later. He kept up a stoic front, but he moaned in his sleep. Moreover, he had never fully recovered from an accident he had experienced ten years before, during a landslide at a prehistoric burial cave near Tel Aviv, in which he had suffered cracked ribs and several broken vertebrae.

  In Israel, archeology is a national passion, but Dayan was a fanatic. Perhaps because he was secular, and the theological argument for Israel’s existence was not persuasive, the evidence buried in the ground of Israel’s past existence became a religious substitute. He pursued it with the zeal of the most fervent believer. He turned his home in the military suburb of Zahala into an archeological garden, filling it with priceless artifacts he had discovered—or looted—from sites all over the country. He frequently broke into protected sites and even used the army to cart off his treasures. His hobby had become a national disgrace. He came to be seen more as a grave robber than an avid hobbyist. In addition to purchases from antiquarian dealers, Dayan dealt with thieves and smugglers. People would be shocked to find him in their backyards with a shovel, prospecting for likely sites. He spent any spare time alone in his studio, gluing potsherds together for his collection. These were his happiest moments.

  When the Six-Day War ended, Dayan put himself in charge of the holy places of Jerusalem. For a man who was responsible for more Arab deaths than perhaps any other Israeli, Dayan proved an amazingly progressive and openhanded administrator. On the Saturday after the war, he met with Muslim leaders, including the mufti of Jerusalem, at the Al-Aqsa Mosque. He respectfully removed his shoes and sat on the carpet. The Muslims received Dayan with trepidation. They knew that many Jews had longed for the moment when the mosques on the Temple Mount could be torn down and the temple erected once more on this site; and if that time was ever to come, surely it was in the aftermath of their lightning victory. Instead, Dayan informed them that although Jews would now have access to the Temple Mount, there would be no other changes. He asked the Muslim leaders to resume their Friday sermons.

  He tore down all the barricades and anti-sniping walls that had divided Jerusalem, and instead of sealing off the Arab communities on the West Bank, he ordered free passage in either direction, without checkpoints or special permits. Despite the protests of Jewish leaders and the handwringing of police officials, it was a remarkably peaceful transition. “There is a festive air in the city,” Teddy Kollek, the mayor of Jerusalem, wrote Dayan the day after the barriers were removed. “Kudos! You were right; all the Arabs are at Zion Square and all the Jews at the bazaars.” A pleased Dayan observed, “The only thing the police had to do was to try to unsnarl the traffic jams.”

  Even more dramatically, Dayan instituted an “open bridges” policy, so that people in the West Bank could move freely across the Jordan River. In this manner the Arab citizens could commute to universities or meet with friends and family members. He hoped that the open bridges would bring Israelis and Arabs in touch with each other. Arabs were allowed to work in Israel, which created an economic boom in the West Bank and Gaza. But Dayan’s expectation th
at the free movement of people would lead to peaceful coexistence between the Israelis and Palestinians in the occupied territories proved to be illusory. The Arab countries did not reciprocate by allowing Israeli citizens to visit them, and the occupation only increased Palestinian radicalism, which led to acts of terror and harsh Israeli reprisals.

  It had been Dayan’s decision to seize the West Bank, but in the process he created an enduring political problem, for which his idealism was no match. His policy of spreading Jewish settlements in the territories stood in the way of peace. Perhaps that was always his goal. In September 1967, right after the end of the war, he announced that one of his principal aims was to block the possibility of a future Arab majority in the occupied territories. This was at a time when not a single Jew lived there.

  SADAT SHOWED no patience for Dayan’s compromise. He told Carter it was out of the question for Israelis to remain in the Sinai settlements, even if the land was returned to Egypt. Carter asked if he would permit Jews from any nation, including Israel, to live in other Egyptian cities, such as Cairo or Aswan.

  “Of course.”

  Then it wasn’t logical, Carter explained, that he would forbid them living in Sinai.

  “Some things in the Middle East are not logical,” Sadat informed him.

  While they were talking, the revised American proposal, incorporating the Israeli changes, finally arrived. Sadat looked it over and offered surprisingly few changes, except for one: he wanted Egyptian and Jordanian forces to be allowed in the West Bank and Gaza, so that it didn’t appear that he was consenting to exclusive Israeli military occupation. Carter suggested that he amend the document to include diplomatic recognition and an exchange of ambassadors as a gesture of goodwill, but Sadat choked, saying he couldn’t do that until Begin left office.