Thirteen Days in September

by Lawrence Wright

  One of the delegates observed that the Palestinians would be disappointed by the vague definition of their right to self-government.

  “It was not possible to do otherwise,” Sadat said. “President Carter confided to me that this phrase would, in his words, ‘cost me my job.’ ”

  “And this is the president of the most powerful state in the world?” Kamel loudly exclaimed. “Is this the saint who claims that the defense of human rights, principles, and values are the cornerstone of his policy? Is he willing to sacrifice the fate of a whole people in order just to remain president of the United States for eight years rather than four? If so, he is indeed an insignificant and despicable creature.”

  There was a shocked pause in the room, and then suddenly Sadat laughed. He put his hand on Kamel’s shoulder. “You are no politician, Mohamed!” he said in his booming voice.

  “If this is politics, then it is an honor for me not to be a politician!” Kamel bitterly replied.

  At this, Sadat angrily rose to his feet and the delegates took their leave.

  WORD WAS SPREADING in the camp that there was an agreement, but few knew the final terms. When Weizman learned that Israel was going to be required to demilitarize a small portion along its own borders, he hurried directly to Sadat to see if he could be more flexible.

  “How many battalions do you want?” Sadat asked him.

  Weizman suggested three.

  “All right, Ezer,” Sadat replied. “For you—four battalions. Ever since the October war, I have no more complexes.”

  All three delegations were packing their suitcases; they couldn’t wait to get out of there. Carter paid a call on Dayan, who was brooding in his cabin and seemed certain that the talks were still going to fail. Dayan had enclosed himself in a dark fatalism that was well known to his colleagues but new to Carter, who had depended on the foreign minister’s imaginative mind. Now Dayan said that the Knesset would never agree to withdraw the settlers from Sinai before a treaty with Egypt was concluded. Carter didn’t believe that. Perhaps Dayan, who had worked so hard at Camp David for peace, couldn’t accept that it was here in front of him. Or perhaps this man of war knew that the price of peace had not been fully paid.

  Once again, Ezer Weizman was embarrassed to find the American president standing in the door of his room. His bed was unmade, his clothes were lying on the floor, and liquor bottles and newspapers were scattered about. Carter enlisted Weizman’s promise to campaign for the Knesset vote to remove the Sinai settlers, even if the prime minister didn’t support it. Weizman relished the idea of fighting Begin on this issue. It could finally open the door for him to occupy the prime minister’s office.

  Carter directed his staff to prepare the signing ceremony for three p.m. at the State Department, where the three foreign secretaries—Dayan, Kamel, and Vance—would sign the formal documents. He didn’t know that Egypt no longer had a foreign minister. In any case, his media adviser, Gerald Rafshoon, was beside himself at the idea that the president would stand aside at the moment of his greatest triumph. The signing would be in the White House during prime time, he insisted, and the leaders themselves would sign. Carter seemed surprised by the idea, but he agreed.

  At noon, Vance delivered a draft of the American side letter on Jerusalem, so that the Israelis could see it before it was delivered to Sadat. It drew upon previous statements of former U.S. ambassadors to the UN concerning the established American policy that East Jerusalem was occupied territory. Following the Six-Day War, Israel had unilaterally declared that Jerusalem was its capital—an action that the U.S. government “does not accept or recognize,” as Ambassador Arthur Goldberg said in the General Assembly at the time. Two years later, Ambassador Charles Yost said that the United States “regrets and deplores” the expropriation and confiscation of land in the occupied territories, including Jerusalem. “We have consistently refused to recognize those measures as having anything but a provisional character and do not accept them as affecting the ultimate status of Jerusalem.” In 1976, Ambassador William Scranton echoed his predecessors’ complaints, saying “substantial resettlement of the Israeli civilian population in occupied territories, including East Jerusalem, is illegal.”

  American policy on this matter was well known to the Israelis. To Carter, the side letter was innocuous; he wouldn’t have thought it necessary if Sadat hadn’t requested it. But with this letter, the fumes of doubt that had been gathering in the Israeli delegation exploded into a ball of rage. “We can pack our bags and go home without another word,” an indignant Begin declared. It wasn’t just Begin; the furor infected everyone in the Israeli delegation. Jerusalem touched a nerve that until now had not been fully exposed.

  Carter was upended by the outburst of rage. He pointed out that he was not asking the Israelis to sign the letter. Each of the parties was expected to submit their own position statement on Jerusalem. That didn’t mollify the Israelis. If the Americans had planned to make such a declaration, Dayan said, the Israelis would never have come to Camp David in the first place. Jerusalem is the seat of the Israeli government, but the Americans still refuse to recognize it as the capital of Israel. To deny that fact one would have to rewrite the Bible and reject three thousand years of Jewish prayers!

  Begin sent word to the Americans that he would not sign a document that contained any letter at all about Jerusalem. He ordered his delegation to immediately withdraw from the summit.

  Here it was, hours before Carter expected to be signing the agreement. Rafshoon had already alerted the networks to be prepared to interrupt their programming for a presidential address. Was it possible that the two sides could come so close, only to have the summit detonate in a last-minute, intensely public walkout by an infuriated Israeli delegation? If Carter retracted the letter, he would lose Sadat. If he did not, he would lose Begin. There was no way out.

  Carter’s secretary, Susan Clough, brought him a batch of photographs of the three leaders for Carter to sign. Begin had previously asked for these souvenirs for his grandchildren, whom he was constantly talking about. Clough had thoughtfully called Israel to get their names. Carter could hardly stand the idea of seeing Begin again, but for some reason, instead of signing his usual, “Best wishes,” he added “with love,” and inscribed the name of each child. He walked over to Begin’s cabin, intending to drop off the photos, no more. The feelings of anger, frustration, and heartbreak were almost overwhelming.

  For Carter, the engineer, the frustration was magnified by the absence of logic. He had made the point again and again that each side had so much to gain from peace. Every night as he sketched out the latest draft of the proposed agreement on his yellow legal pads, the simple math screamed at him. It was so obvious, he kept telling both sides. And yet emotions weighed heavily into the discussion, and here Carter was at a disadvantage. His own emotional range was narrow. Although he respected the powerful feelings that the Israelis and the Egyptians brought to the table, his personal style was direct and sincere and not really suited to cajoling. He was no therapist. He was too impatient to respond to the endless litany of slights and insults, whether real or imagined, that each side had. He had thought that Camp David was going to be a meeting of three serious men dedicated to fixing a problem that everyone had an interest in resolving. In the back of his mind there was always the sense that God was also present. But if God wanted peace in the Middle East, so far that wasn’t evident.

  Each of these three men had met at this crossing point in life. For good or ill, each would be remembered by the decisions he made on this day. No one else could choose for him what to do. History would train its unsparing eye on his actions and sum up his accomplishment or his failure. The true loneliness of leadership is found in such moments, when great gains and great losses await a decision and there is no way of tallying in advance the final cost.

  The prime minister was sitting on the porch, surrounded by several aides, obviously distraught because of the failure of the ta
lks. When Carter appeared, Begin was cool and dismissive. His characteristic bluster was gone. He could scarcely permit himself to speak except in brief formalities.

  “Mr. Prime Minister, I brought you the photographs you asked for,” Carter said.

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  Carter handed Begin the photographs and the prime minister coolly thanked him again. Then he noticed that Carter had signed the top photograph “To Ayelet.”

  Begin froze. He looked at the next one. “To Osnat.” His lip trembled and tears suddenly sprang into his eyes. One by one, he said their names aloud, weeping openly. “Orit.” “Meirav.” “Michal.” There were eight of them altogether.

  Carter also broke down. “I wanted to be able to say, ‘This is when your grandfather and I brought peace to the Middle East,’ ” he said. The scale of their failure had never been more evident.

  Begin asked the other Israelis to leave them alone, and then he drew Carter into the cabin, closing the door behind them. Once they were alone, Begin was quiet and sober and even friendly, a different man than Carter had seen so far, emptied of the histrionics that had become so familiar. And yet the message had not changed. Begin said that the Jerusalem letter was fatal. He recounted the story of a Jewish sage in tenth-century Germany named Rabbi Ammon of Mainz. The rabbi was such a prize that the local bishop repeatedly demanded he convert to Christianity. Again and again the rabbi rejected the bishop, but finally he said, “Give me three days to consider the matter.” When the rabbi returned to his home, he was wracked with guilt. “What have I done? What have I done? That I allowed the bishop to think for a split second that I am prepared to convert?” After three days, when Rabbi Ammon failed to appear, the bishop sent his guards to drag him to the palace. The bishop demanded that Rabbi Ammon tell him what punishment would be appropriate for failing to keep his promise. The rabbi said that his tongue should be cut out because he did not refuse the bishop at once. “Not your tongue, but your legs, which did not bring you at the agreed time,” the bishop replied. The rabbi’s legs and arms were amputated, and salt rubbed into the wounds. Then he was carried to the synagogue. It was Rosh Hashanah. The rabbi was laid before the congregation, where he recited the hymn “Unetanneh Tokef Kedushat Hayom” (“Let us tell the mighty holiness of this day”). Then he died.

  “I am not like the Rabbi of Mainz,” Begin told Carter. “I don’t need three days to consider the matter. I tell you here and now that Jerusalem is the eternal capital of the Jewish people, and even cutting off my hands and feet will not make me change my position!” The only way the summit could succeed was for Carter to withdraw his letter. Carter replied that the peace negotiations depended on the trust each side had in him to maintain his integrity. He said he was willing to let the talks fail rather than violate his promise to Sadat.

  Perhaps Begin had been looking for a way out of the agreement; certainly, that’s what Carter believed. But in spurning the possibility of peace because of a side letter that had no legal standing in the accords, Begin was endangering Israel’s relationship with the U.S. and no doubt his own political future. Whether it was a bluff or a cry from the heart, Begin had placed everything on the line. Either he would sign the accords or he would walk away empty-handed. And how would history judge his decision?

  As he was leaving, Carter added that he had rewritten the draft of the side letter with Barak. Now it simply said, “The position of the United States on Jerusalem remains as stated by Ambassador Goldberg in the United Nations General Assembly on July 14, 1967, and subsequently by Ambassador Yost in the United Nations Security Council on July 1, 1969”—without actually quoting the language those ambassadors had used. Nothing of substance had changed, but perhaps the prime minister could read it with an open mind and let Carter know what he decided to do. Then the president walked back to Aspen, feeling desolate and hopeless. Within hours the whole world would know of the terrible failure—his failure—at Camp David. The consequences would gallop to the front, armed and ready for the unending battles that were bound to follow.

  Sadat and Baz were waiting for him, both of them dressed to go to Washington for the signing. Carter had to break the news to Sadat that Begin was not going to sign.

  Just then, the phone rang. “I will accept the letter you have drafted on Jerusalem,” Begin said.

  CARTER WAS ON GUARD against letting his emotions surge, but surely this was the last obstacle to the agreement.

  In the East Room of the White House, Rosalynn had been sitting with Aliza Begin, listening to Rostropovich perform the Shostakovich Cello Sonata, accompanied by his daughter Elena on the piano. During the ovation that followed the recital, Rosalynn slipped away long enough to call Jimmy. “Should I come back?” she asked. “I want to be there when anything happens.” Carter told her that a few “obstacles” remained, but if there was to be a signing it would be at the White House.

  “If they agree, you ought to get their names on the line immediately and not take a chance on having them change their minds between Camp David and the White House!”

  “Don’t worry,” Carter told her, “we’ll have the agreements initialed before we leave.” He promised there were going to be no celebrations until “the names were on the line.”

  Rosalynn said that Aliza Begin was eager to get back to Camp David.

  “Don’t come back yet,” Carter said. “Just stall, but don’t let anybody know why.”

  As Carter was drawing up a schedule for the signing ceremony, Barak presented him with the letter from Begin about the moratorium on settlements in the West Bank. It stated that there would be a freeze on settlements during the three months allotted for the Israeli-Egyptian peace treaty negotiations. Carter told Barak that this was not what they had agreed to. He read to Barak from the draft they had worked on so laboriously the night before. There were two sections, one having to do with Egypt and Israel, the other concerning the framework for an agreement between the Israelis and the Palestinians, to be concluded within five years. The crucial paragraph about restraining settlements came in that second section. It had nothing to do with the negotiations with Egypt. Barak agreed that Carter’s minutes were accurate. “Go back and get the right letter,” Carter said. “I want you to write that as long as negotiations go on with the Palestinians there will not be settlements.” He agreed to receive the letter the next day, after the framework agreements had already been signed.

  Perhaps Carter should have waited until Barak produced the letter he was expecting. Perhaps he should have personally gone to Begin with the letter he wanted and gotten his signature then and there. If Begin had pledged—as Carter thought he had—no more settlement construction during the negotiations with the Palestinians, it is possible that the picture would look quite different than it does today, with about 350,000 Jewish settlers in the West Bank and 200,000 in East Jerusalem. On the other hand, those close to Begin say he would never have signed such a pledge. If Carter had insisted on getting the letter in hand before the signing, there might have been no peace between Egypt and Israel. In any case, Carter believed that he had cleared up the matter with Barak and proceeded to arrange for the signing ceremony without the crucial letter in hand.

  Carter went to Sadat’s cabin to go over the final document with him and Baz. A terrible storm was arising with thunder and occasional flashes of lightning in the mountains. Sadat was grim and subdued, and Baz was obviously miserable. Vance and Brzezinski then met with Carter in Aspen Lodge to make sure that all the other issues were nailed down. After twenty-three drafts of the American proposal, there was nothing more to add. At five thirty p.m., Vance turned to the president and said, “That’s it.” Carter sat back in his chair. They had it. He had forged a peace between Israel and Egypt. He had created a framework for an agreement between Israel and the Palestinians. It was done.

  Camp David was over. The page turned almost immediately. Bags had to be packed. Television appearances had to be planned. There weren’t enough
helicopters, and the storm was now rolling across the top of the forest. There was no sense of jubilation. For Carter, the thirteen days had contained some of the most unpleasant moments he had ever experienced. He needed to call the leaders of Congress, but first he phoned Rosalynn, who was still at the White House. “We’re coming home!” he told her. “The agreements are initialed and we’ll sign in the East Room tonight!” Rosalynn burst into tears.

  A few minutes later, Begin gathered his delegates and said, “Children, we’ve reached an agreement.”

  The world outside Camp David was still completely in the dark about what was happening inside the gates. Three of the most prominent leaders in the world had disappeared for thirteen days, unheard, unseen, and somewhat forgotten. Even the reporters who were still hanging around the American Legion Hall in Thurmont had no idea what was happening. They had been filing stories on the local goldfish farms.

  Mohamed Kamel was packing when Vance invited him to drop by for a drink. By now it was hailing and the lightning was practically on top of the camp. Kamel waited for the fiercest part of the storm to pass, then waded through the rain with an umbrella. The weather replicated his fury and confusion.

  “President Sadat told me you had resigned this afternoon, and I am very sorry to hear it,” Vance said as he served the drinks. Kamel was not appeased. He spilled out his anger. “You have drafted your project in accordance with whatever was accepted or rejected by Begin,” he said bitterly. “You will live to regret this agreement, which will weaken Sadat and may even topple him. It will affect your position in the moderate Arab states, who are your friends, while all the Arab peoples will resent you. As for Egypt, it will be isolated in the area.… All that will happen is that it will allow Begin a free hand in the West Bank and Gaza with a view to their annexation. Far from providing a solution to the Arab-Israeli dispute, the agreement will only add fuel to the fire.”