Arik: The Life of Ariel Sharon

by David Landau

  The original exemption had grown out of an agreement between David Ben-Gurion and the ultra-Orthodox parties in 1948. Back then, it affected a couple hundred yeshiva students. Each year it was extended by the minister of defense for another year. Now their number had risen to tens of thousands, to the seething resentment of those who did serve three years in the regular army and decades more in the reserves.

  Sharon would have to eat his words if he wanted the votes of the haredi rabbis. He proceeded to do so with the best grace possible.

  It worked. On January 27, Rabbi Ovadia Yosef, the Shas sage, gave orders to his followers to take to the streets and campaign for Sharon. It would be a sin, he ruled, for anyone not to vote for him. The aged Ashkenazi rabbis who ruled the United Torah Judaism party required more wooing, but eventually they, too, came around. On Election Day, February 6, the Council of Torah Sages published a formal letter in the haredi press instructing their flock to vote for “the candidate who, it is to be hoped, will not lend his hand to destroy the status of religion.” It was a grudging, unenthusiastic endorsement. It pettily avoided mentioning Sharon’s name. But it was good enough. Rabbi Yosef Shalom Eliashiv, the senior non-Hasidic rabbi, let it be known that he himself intended to go and vote. The rebbe of Vishnitz, doyen of the Hasidic sages, said he would, too, if his health permitted. Sharon breathed easy.

  While Sharon’s strategy with the haredim was to persuade them to come out and vote, his purpose with another large and potentially crucial constituency, Israel’s Arabs,r was to encourage them to stay at home. Their various political leaders were urging them to do so as a deliberate act of retribution against Barak in the wake of the October police shootings. Barak hoped that his appointment of a commission of inquiry into the shootings would mollify Arab opinion and lead to a rescission or at least partial relaxation of the boycott. But that had not happened. Now the Barak camp pinned its hopes on Sharon’s long-established image, from Kibbiya through Sabra and Shatila, as a cruel and indiscriminate killer of Arabs. Surely that would persuade Arab voters to swallow their anger and come out to vote?

  The Sharon campaign could only soft-pedal the candidate’s military past in its television broadcasts and hope not to arouse painful memories among the Arabs. Happily, this tactic perfectly dovetailed into the campaign’s broad election strategy. This was essentially two-pronged: to say as little as possible, and to project a reassuring aura of empathy and sagacity. Saying little was simple enough: the campaign media chief, Eyal Arad, simply declined almost all requests for interviews, on air or in print. On the rare occasions when he did speak, the candidate visibly strained to confine himself to unprovocative platitudes. The message was peace, security, and unity, and he kept on message.

  In television campaign broadcasts, the image of the grizzled old warrior was not completely airbrushed out; there were still the heroic scenes from the Yom Kippur War, with Sharon in his bloodstained head bandage. But that was no longer the predominant impression. Rather, viewers took away with them an oft-repeated scene of the white-haired, portly, but spry grandfather-farmer striding through his fields in gum boots, two young children running toward him. He stoops and, strong but gentle, hoists his beloved grandson into the air. He hugs him to his breast. The cows look on, in sympathetic bovine placidity. String instruments play subtly patriotic music in the background. “Ariel Sharon—leader to peace” is the slogan sung softly but with conviction by a choir of girls.

  In unused footage, some of the farm animals are seen turning and trotting away as he approaches. “If they’re going to run off, people will say I frighten even the cows,” Sharon jokes into the camera. The chief goal was to portray him as strong but not frightening. Middle-of-the-road voters were to be subtly weaned of their long-ingrained fear of him.

  It was probably one of the more brilliant makeovers in advertising history. It succeeded, in part at least, because the scene of rural domesticity was not false. Sharon’s home and family had always been integral parts of his life. Especially after the death of Lily, he sought out the company of his grandchildren and loved to live alongside them on the ranch. The task of Reuven Adler, his adman friend and now his campaign manager, was to project that aspect of the candidate’s persona, less familiar to the general public, and eclipse, though not entirely erase, the image of the tough old general. Old generals never die, and this one, the TV clips beamed, was still fighting fit and would know how to handle the terror and violence of the intifada. “I will bring peace that will protect us,” a sober-looking Sharon declares to the camera, now in a solid blue suit and conservative tie. The unseen girls’ choir chants that line, too, in a sentimental jingle. The mature and loving Sharon offered much more to the voter than military know-how. He offered experience, moderation, reliability, statesmanship.

  In a deeper sense, beneath the saccharine texts and slick camera work, the makeover was the climax of two decades of dogged, infinitely patient work—by the admen and other advisers, but above all by the candidate himself. Sharon’s comeback began the day after he was ousted from the Defense Ministry by the Kahan Commission in 1983. Circumstance and fortune helped him to stay on the slippery pole and keep clambering relentlessly up it. But his chief mainstay was his own iron determination to recast his appeal to the broad swath of the Israeli mainstream, no longer as a swashbuckling extremist with a vicious streak and a big chip on his shoulder, but as a seasoned yet mellowed leader whom the country could rely on.

  Sharon, then, was no mere actor reading his lines. He was part of the plot. Indeed, his new image was the plot. But was it all political strategy, or was it substance, too? And where is the line between them? Plainly, this windfall election was a defining moment for Sharon. Was the change in his image all slick campaigning, or did it reflect changes taking place “inside him,” in his understanding of what was required of Israel’s leader? Was his sole concern achieving popularity—first in the election, then in the job of prime minister, and finally in the history books? Or did his newfound moderation express a genuine embrace of pragmatic positions not only because they were popular but also because he was coming to believe in them?

  The two advisers closest to him, who effectively ran his campaign, are divided over how to read this defining moment. For Uri Shani, the veteran aide whom Sharon had brought in to revitalize the half-moribund Likud when he took over as chairman, the election campaign was just that: a campaign. Scripted and directed by cynical professionals, it sought solely to harmonize the candidate, to the greatest extent possible, with the needs and desires of the voters. The candidate, in Shani’s narrative, was as cynical and professional as the rest of the team—at that point. Sharon did definitely undergo a dramatic and genuine change of perspective, says Shani. But it came later, when he was prime minister. Sharon’s oft-repeated line as prime minister, “What you see from here, you don’t see from there,” was literally true. Once ensconced in the Prime Minister’s Office, he began seeing things differently.

  Shani recalls the moment he noticed the change creeping over his boss. “I saw him become prime minister in the real sense; no one else did.” In July 2001, now director of the Prime Minister’s Bureau, Shani was riding alone with Sharon in a motorcade speeding the Israeli leader from an Italian military airport toward Rome, on an official visit.

  It was a lovely sunny day. There were the shiny limousines, the uniformed outriders, the helicopters above. I must have said something about how nice it all was, when suddenly he says, “Don’t get too enthusiastic: they exiled us from Eretz Yisrael.” I honestly didn’t know what he was talking about. “Who exiled us?” “The Romans,” he says. “What’s that got to do with this?” I asked. “It’s the same thing …”

  This was a serious conversation; not some kind of charade or joke. It was the first time that I saw he was looking at things differently. Later I was to see it again, with the Americans and in other diplomatic encounters. He was looking three thousand years backward and thousands of years forward. He wa
s looking at himself as just one link in the chain of Jewish history. His task was to carry it through his term and hand on the burden. He felt it on his shoulders. For me, it was completely unexpected.

  Reuven Adler, the advertising executive and personal friend, was never part of Sharon’s official entourage and did not watch him function as prime minister on the international stage as Shani did. But Adler maintains that he, as campaign manager and copywriter par excellence, was profoundly in tune with the process of change and maturation that had been going on in Sharon for years before he became prime minister. For Adler, the 2001 election campaign was the confirmation of that process and the unambiguous signpost to what lay ahead. The slogans, which he authored, were not manipulative or cynical: they said what the candidate meant.

  “I knew for sure that everything was changing with him when he approved the slogan ‘Only Sharon will bring peace.’ He sat here, in this room,” Adler recalls, looking around the bright corner office from where he directs his large advertising agency.

  I told him the slogan. He looked at me for a long moment; he didn’t say anything. I was alone with him. And then he said, “Go with it.” I asked him if he was sure he knew what it entailed. He said, “I know. Go with it.”

  No, we weren’t duping the voters. Israelis were looking for hope. The situation was beyond despair. Arafat was the demon, which helped Arik enormously. But basically the people don’t want endless war. The Jewish dream in Eretz Yisrael is to bash the Arabs and to give back the territories! That was my point of departure. Only a strong and charismatic leader can deliver that dream. He’s a huge leader, and if he believes in it—and in my heart I believe he wants peace—that’s what the people want: a leader who can bring them peace and quiet. Now, that’s a message you can express in a hundred pages, or you can say it in five words. I knew it would raise eyebrows, and I knew some people would dismiss it as merely cynical. I’m an image person myself, not an agenda person. But I am saying absolutely unequivocally that when we discussed the significance of the image-changing slogan “Only Sharon will bring peace,” it was entirely clear to me, and to him, that this was not just an election slogan.46

  * * *

  a Barak says Sharon was directly responsible for his promotion to general, against the wishes of the then chief of staff, Rafael Eitan.

  He virtually imposed it on him. How do I explain that? It was to do with how he first came across me, back in 1962. I was a second lieutenant in Sayeret Matkal [the elite IDF commando unit]. One of the things the Sayeret used to do by way of training was to infiltrate IDF bases without getting caught. We would try to penetrate the operations center of a heavily guarded military installation, or to raid the commanding officer’s quarters, break into his safe, remove the contents, and leave without trace. One of my first assignments was Training Camp No. 3, near Netanya, commanded by Colonel Arik Sharon, then still “in exile” after the 1956 Mitle Pass saga. With a small squad of men I headed for the commander’s office, slipped in, cleared out the safe—and left a note in handwriting to his bureau chief, a girl I knew. Arik was pretty gobsmacked in the morning. He wanted to meet the guy who did it, and that’s how he first got to know me. (Ehud Barak interview, Tel Aviv, July 2006)

  b Down from thirty-two in the previous election.

  c This prominent journalist and social commentator later became a politician himself: he was elected to the Knesset in 2009 as a member of the Labor Party.

  d Literally, Ze’ev’s Fortress, after the founder of the Revisionist Party, which eventually evolved into the Likud, Ze’ev Jabotinsky.

  e Barak’s government initially comprised One Israel (Labor), 26; Shas, 17; Meretz, 10; Center Party, 6; National Religious Party, 5; United Torah Judaism, 5; Yisrael B’Aliya, 4; One Nation, 2. In addition, it could count on the votes of the 10 Arab MKs in support of its peace moves.

  f In a formal statement that day in the Knesset, required by protocol, Speaker Avrum Burg announced that Sharon was leader of the opposition. New legislation had been passed recognizing the leader of the opposition as an official state officeholder, with attendant rights and privileges. “I have the honor of informing the Knesset that, in accordance with Section 11 of the Knesset Law, the Likud faction, which is the largest opposition faction, has informed me that Ariel Sharon, MK, is leader of the opposition. Wherefore I hereby announce that Ariel Sharon, MK, is leader of the opposition. My congratulations, sir, on your maiden speech.” Sharon replied with grace, laced with his usual irony. “Mr. Speaker, I thank you. Even though it will only be for a short time, I am happy to hold this title” (Speaker’s announcement, Knesset Record, July 31, 2000).

  g Netanyahu’s brush with the criminal law involved a removals contractor cum handyman cum political activist, Yigal Amedi. He had been performing various removals assignments and other odd jobs for the Netanyahus ever since their return from Bibi’s service as ambassador to the UN in 1988. But he had never been paid. When Netanyahu lost the election, Amedi submitted a bill to the Prime Minister’s Office for close to half a million shekels ($125,000).

  The suspicion was that Amedi’s various attempts over the years to wheedle from the Netanyahus various job placements and recommendations for his relations and friends were his reason for not asking to be paid. Amedi turned state’s evidence and poured out a tale full of bitter recriminations to the police. In the course of the investigation it also turned out that he and Sara had hauled off hundreds of valuable gifts given to Netanyahu in his official capacity (and therefore the property of the state) and had stored them in a warehouse.

  There was not much evidence that the Netanyahus had actually helped Amedi. Still, the Israeli law of bribery incorporated the principle enshrined in Ecclesiastes 11:1: “Cast thy bread upon the waters, for after a long time thou shalt find it again.” This meant that no specific act of give-and-take had to be shown, as long as a general criminal intention could be proven. But in the Netanyahus’ case it could not, the attorney general ruled.

  h Or the police steered him clear; this point was never clarified.

  i The proximity of the anniversary of that event exacerbated Palestinian resentment over the visit, both in the Palestinian press and in the street.

  j The killer turned himself in to the Palestinian authorities, who immediately announced that he was of unsound mind.

  k The IDF appeared to accept responsibility at the time. But an Israeli government inquiry concluded in May 2013 that Mohammed was not in fact shot in the incident. In France, a media analyst was convicted of defamation in June 2013 for accusing France-2 TV of staging the death of Mohammed.

  l See p. 205.

  m “And another thing,” Schiff added, “a nation at war cannot be run by mothers’ organizations.” That was the veteran defense analyst’s somewhat sour reference to a women’s group called Four Mothers that had lobbied vigorously in favor of withdrawal from Lebanon. The unilateralism of that withdrawal and the undignified way it was carried out still rankled with many in the defense community, and Schiff was reflecting this. The northern border had been basically quiet following the pullout in April. But on October 7 a Hezbollah raiding party crossed into Israel and kidnapped three soldiers patrolling in their jeep. Barak, embroiled in the intifada, massed forces in the north and laid the blame on Syria. In the event, though, there was no Israeli military response.

  n The commission worked for five months and presented its findings and recommendations in April to the new president of the United States, who passed them on to the new prime minister of Israel.

  For Ariel Sharon, they were worth waiting for. “The Sharon visit did not cause the “Al-Aqsa Intifada,” the panel wrote. It was not a blanket exoneration. There was plenty of criticism of Sharon and of Barak, and indeed of Arafat. The commission did not buy the Israeli line that Arafat had preplanned the intifada, but it accepted that Arafat did nothing to curb the violence once it had erupted.

  o “You’ll have to wait for my book,” Netanyahu repli
ed, when asked in an interview for this book to explain his decision not to run against Sharon.

  Omri Sharon insisted later that throughout these dramatic weeks his father never ceased to hope and even to expect that Netanyahu would withdraw in the end rather than stand and fight. But Yossi Verter of Haaretz, writing at the time, described Sharon as a man on a roller coaster. “Talking to him a few days ago, after the ‘welcome’ he received from the Likud central committee, one encountered a bitter and frustrated leader. Everyone was lining up with Bibi; Sharon was alone and abandoned, staring defeat in the face. Yesterday, he was a different man. ‘I kept telling you all that it would be me who runs against Barak,’ he crowed. ‘But I saw out of the corner of my eye the pitying shrugs or malicious grins that my words elicited.’ ” Sharon, wrote Verter, was “like a mortgage defaulter about to be evicted from his home who suddenly wins the lottery.”

  p Israel built a security fence around the Gaza Strip in 1994, at the insistent instigation of the IDF general then commanding the southern front, Matan Vilnai, who had since left the army and become a Labor Party politician. That fence, erected precisely along the pre-1967 borderline, proved effective throughout the intifada in preventing terrorist incursions from Gaza.

  q The haredim numbered an estimated 10 percent of eligible voters in the 2001 election. It is hard to be precise about the size, especially in electoral terms, of the various groupings that make up Israel’s highly sectorized society. Not every “settler” or “Russian” or haredi or Israeli Arab necessarily votes with his sector, and these classifications themselves are not airtight. Among most self-defined haredim, though, voting “discipline” is strong—the rabbis choose the candidates—and there are relatively few deviants. The 2001 election was to be particularly noteworthy in this respect: whereas the average nationwide turnout was 61.2 percent (the lowest ever in an Israeli election), turnout in haredi areas topped 90 percent, meaning that the effective haredi proportion of the vote was around 15 percent. Haredi political power looks likely to grow: in 2009, 30 percent of Jewish first-grade children attended haredi schools.