Under a cloudless sky, the Army Old Guard Fife and Drum Corps paraded across the flag-bedecked South Lawn, to the delight of over two hundred guests. Led by a standard-bearer carrying the troupe’s tasseled colors, to the trill of tiny flutes and the staccato beat of the drummers, the white-liveried Corps drilled in flawless formation, drawing up before the presidential platform for review as a nineteen-gun salute thudded imperiously through the air, commanding everyone’s silence.
The president delivered his welcoming remarks with perfectly chosen words, going out of his way to praise Menachem Begin:
“To me, having read the writings and the biography of our distinguished visitor, there is a great parallel between what Israel is and what it stands for, and what Prime Minister Begin is and what he stands for. He is a man who has demonstrated a willingness to suffer for principle, a man who has shown superlative personal courage in the face of trial, challenge, and disappointment, but who has ultimately prevailed because of the depth of his commitment and his own personal characteristics.”
Then he singled out for acclaim Begin’s “deep and unswerving religious commitment. This,” he said with surprising familiarity, “has always been a guiding factor in his consciousness and in his pursuit of unswerving goals. There is a quietness about him, which goes with determination and a fiery spirit in his expressions of his beliefs to the public. And that is how it should be.”60
Yechiel Kadishai, next to whom I was placed in the line-up, gave my arm a monstrous pinch of satisfaction, and Ambassador Sam Lewis, three or four paces away, threw me a huge wink and made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, as if to signal, ‘Right on the ball!’ Perhaps Lewis had had a hand in the composition of the speech. Certainly, the whole reception reflected his attitude; that honey will go a lot further than vinegar.
The prime minister stood on the platform in pleased surprise. Such praise! Such honor! So unexpected! So moved was Begin by the conviviality of the welcome that he declaimed the opening words of his response in an impromptu and lyrical Hebrew, saying, “Mr. President, I have come from the Land of Zion and Jerusalem as the spokesman of an ancient people and a young nation. God’s blessings on America, the hope of the human race. Peace unto your great nation.”
He then continued by extemporizing in English with equal zest about how “we, in Israel, see in you, Mr. President, not only the first citizen of your great and mighty country, but also the leader and defender of the whole free world.” He dwelt much on Israel’s struggle for peace, and how the free world was shrinking in the face of the Soviet threat. “Democracies can be likened in our time to an island battered by bitter winds, by stormy seas, by high waves,” he surged. “Therefore, all free men and women should stand together to persevere in the struggle for human rights, to preserve human liberty, to make sure that government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth.”
Eager applause was subsumed in the sustained beat of the drums, and not a person stirred as the marine band, their instruments, buckles, straps, and insignia glistening brilliantly in the sunshine, struck up “Hatikva” and then the “Star Spangled Banner.” Whereupon, the president took Begin lightly by the elbow and said, “Come, let us start our talks.” The rest of us fell into step, and followed them at a respectful distance into the White House.
An easy smile played at the corners of President Carter’s mouth as he opened the talks by saying, “Mr. Prime Minister, we are all pleased and honored that you are with us. And, as you know, there is a great deal of excitement and anticipation to see how well you and I get along together. There are dire predictions.”
The smile widened into a considerable grin.
“Oh yes, our newspapers back home are predicting big fireworks today,” laughed Mr. Begin, humor glinting in his eyes.
“Fireworks? This is July the nineteenth, not the fourth. No firework displays today,” said the president.
The laughter around the grand oak conference table was genuine. Coffee was served and the president and the prime minister sipped for a moment in silence. We were sitting in the Cabinet Room, an austere, colonial-style oblong chamber with off-white walls, one of which bore a life-size portrait of Harry S. Truman hanging over a mantelpiece. The only real splashes of color in the room were the golden drapes of the windows and the presidential banners standing in a corner, suspended from silver standards. The hush in the old room was magnified by the clinking of the china, the discreet chitchat of the officials and the muffled drone of a plane overhead.
Leaning forward in his chair and bringing his charm to bear, Carter resumed his words of welcome: “I am delighted that tonight we shall be having supper together. We have invited fifty-nine people. That’s the largest dinner we’ve had since I took office. So many Americans want to meet you. And I have asked the prime minister” – this to his aides – “to give me some more of his time after supper, so that we can have a private chat, to get to know each other a little more.”
“It will be my honor,” said Begin, bowing his head to his host.
The president peered at his notes and speaking forcefully now, said, “So now I shall begin.”
The Middle East, he explained, was a very high priority of his administration, and if a settlement could not be accomplished in 1977 it would be more difficult to attain after that. America wanted to be an intermediary who would win the trust of all parties, Israel and the Arabs alike. Therefore, whatever he was sharing with the prime minister today he had already conveyed in exactly the same terms and with exactly the same connotations to the Arab leaders whom he had met earlier – Sadat of Egypt, Hussein of Jordan, and Assad of Syria.
He emphasized that his administration was abandoning the strategy of his predecessor, President Gerald Ford, and his secretary of state, Henry Kissinger, whose policy had been to try and achieve a slow, incremental, step-by-step process toward peace. Now the time was ripe for a comprehensive peace settlement, a complete solution of the Israel-Arab conflict. With this as the goal, a conference of all the parties should be convened as soon as possible at Geneva. And for this to take place there was a need for a general agreement by all the parties on a few basic principles. These, he had already aired with the Arab leaders.
First and foremost, he said, was the principle of the acceptance of the 1967 UN Security Council Resolution 242 as the legal basis of the conference. However, he, President Carter, had decided to expand upon that Resolution and to take it a step further. In its original version it merely called for “an end of the state of belligerency” as the object of an Arab-Israel negotiation. This was insufficient. Now, he was widening its connotation to mean a full-blown peace settlement. In other words, the object of the Geneva talks would be a genuine and comprehensive peace.
“And how did the Arab leaders respond to that?” asked Begin.
“It is a difficult concept for them to accept,” replied Carter candidly, “but they did not disavow it.”
The prime minister could not resist an enigmatic smile, and he leaned back with excessive nonchalance. This was good news! No American president had ever defined 242 this way before; none had envisaged an Israel-Arab peace settlement as categorical as this. But Begin kept his counsel. He wanted to hear more. He wanted to know what the president had to say on the other two issues which preyed heavily on his mind – the land issue, meaning the territorial integrity of Eretz Yisrael, and the issue of the Palestinian representation at Geneva, meaning the exclusion of Arafat’s PLO.
As if reading his mind, the president ran his eyes down his notes and said almost casually that on the territorial issue, Israel, clearly, would have to withdraw from occupied territories to new borders, which would be secure and mutually recognized. On the future of the Palestinians, the Arab leaders had told him they should be treated as a separate nation. His position, however, was that they should have a ‘homeland’ tied to Jordan, not an independent state. But there was no actual concrete plan. And as for the procedural
question of the Palestinian representation at Geneva, the Arab leaders themselves were not of one mind. Egypt and Jordan thought the Palestinians could be part of the Jordanian delegation, while Syria preferred a single Arab delegation negotiating as a single body.
At this point President Carter leaned forward and examined the faces of his colleagues. “Anybody else have anything to add?” he asked.
“It seems not, Mr. President,” said Secretary of State Cyrus Vance, speaking on behalf of them all. He squeezed his long, tired face into something resembling a smile of approval, and confirmed, “You’ve summarized it all very accurately.”
The president turned back to Begin with eyes which seemed to express more challenge than curiosity, and said, “The floor is yours, Mr. Prime Minister. We are eager to hear your concepts. What role do you want us to play? What ideas do you have about Geneva? What’s your thinking on the question of Arab good faith – and your good faith, for that matter? What can your government do to encourage the Arabs to place their trust in you?” And then, in a rarefied southern way, “And, oh yes, I have to add that not everybody really trusts America either, do they?” suggesting vaguely that Begin was one of them. “But I can promise you one thing, Mr. Prime Minister, with all my heart” – his eyebrows had risen with his avowal of sincerity – “we shall try, we shall honestly and truly try, to act as best we can for the sake of peace. Hence, we are keen to hear your feelings and your thinking.”
With deference, Menachem Begin expressed his gratitude for the president’s reception, and then, drawing his lips in thoughtfully, stated, “Before I address myself to the important issues you raise, I have something significant to say about Ethiopia.”
All the Americans looked up sharply. Carter drew a breath. His mouth seemed suddenly thinner, his lips tighter. “Ethiopia?” he said. “What’s your urgent interest in Ethiopia that requires you to bring it up at the very outset of our talks? We’ve had problems galore with that country.”
With the Cold War at its height, the Soviet Union was engaged in a high-stakes battle for control of the Horn of Africa. The reality of African politics was that tribal allegiances were ephemeral and alliances shifted back and forth unpredictably; a situation the Soviet Union used to its own advantage. First they had sided with Somalia in a war against Ethiopia, and then they had switched sides to help Ethiopia push back the Somalis. At the time of this first meeting between Carter and Begin, they were supporting a Sudanese invasion deep into Ethiopia.
Menachem Begin gazed at President Carter with deceptively mild eyes. “Early this morning, Mr. President,” he said, “I received a message from Mengistu, the ruler of Ethiopia. It was an appeal for help. Mengistu communicated it to me directly and personally. He says Soviet-backed invaders are on the point of dismembering his country. It is as serious as that. His appeal made a deep impression on me. He asked me to tell you that he has a proposition to make to improve your relations with his country. I feel duty-bound to bring his plea to your attention.”
“Cy, Zbig, any such message come your way?” asked the president of his secretary of state and national security adviser.
Both men shook their heads, puzzled.
“Tell us again, who exactly sent the message?” asked Zbigniew Brzezinski, a cold-eyed intellectual of unmistakable Polish origin.
“The Ethiopian head of state, Colonel Mengistu Hailé Mariam, in the early hours of this morning,” answered Begin.
The message had reached him at Blair House via a Mossad channel, and he had read it with mixed feelings. His relationship with the Ethiopian president was convoluted. Mengistu was a seedy despot with a moral claim on Israel. Over the years he had provided port and air facilities to Israeli ships and planes when they had been in desperate straits in the waters and skies of the Horn of Africa, which was surrounded by hostile Moslem territories. And now, Begin needed Mengistu’s goodwill more than ever. In Ethiopia there were tens of thousands of Jews – black Jews, who were impoverished and threatened by famine and war. Begin wanted to bring them out. He wanted to bring this entire remote, archaic community, whose history traced back to the Middle Ages or earlier, to Israel. His emissaries were already in contact with them. But Ethiopia’s Jews came at a price; there was a ransom. Mengistu wanted military and economic aid in return for their exodus. A plan was already being developed under conditions of utmost secrecy: Israel would fly military supplies into Ethiopia and fill the returning planes with Ethiopian Jews. That had been the deal – but as of this morning, a new twist had arisen. The Mengistu note to Begin carried with it the implication that the Ethiopian Jews were now hostage to Begin transmitting this message to Carter, and to Carter’s favorable response. Of all this, Begin said nothing. Given Mengistu’s record of corruption and cruelty, and his duplicity in his dealings with the Americans, he could not be sure how Jimmy Carter would react to a deal which was intended to liberate the Jews of Ethiopia. It might even backfire. So he chose to couch his case in the language of American interest, saying, “You will agree, Mr. President, that under the circumstances of the Cold War, given Ethiopia’s location in the Horn of Africa, it is a country of great strategic importance. And given the fact that Mengistu has become disillusioned with the Soviets because they are now aiding his enemies, he wants you to know he has changed sides and he writes to me to intercede with you.”
Carter listened intently, stroking his cheek with the back of his knuckles, while Vance and Brzezinski huddled with him, whispering words of advice. When they were through, Carter asked, a bite in his voice, “Would you mind giving me a copy of the text of that message?”
“Gladly!”
“Thank you. We had a fairly substantial amount of aid going into Ethiopia over a long period of time, but they turned their backs on us. So this is a difficult thing for us to swallow. Mengistu’s human rights record is abysmal. All I can say is that we’ll look into it. I can promise nothing.”
He stared at the prime minister with an indecipherable expression in his eyes, and Begin could do no more than to thank him for taking the matter into consideration. Then he said, “Before I get to your specific questions concerning Geneva, I would like to turn to the matter of southern Lebanon. I have a map of the area which I would like you to see.”
General Poran quickly unfurled a map on an easel. It displayed tiny clusters of Christian villages, colored in green, surrounded by an abundant sprinkling of Moslem villages, in red. As Begin began describing the threats which the isolated Christian villagers were facing, Freuka indicated with a pointer how the scattered green dots were dominated by the excessive profusion of the red. The Christians were not merely isolated, said Begin, but abandoned amidst five thousand well-armed PLO terrorists who had taken over southern Lebanon and who were shelling them regularly every night. It was due to this situation that the Israeli government had reviewed its policy vis-à-vis Lebanon, and had reached conclusions somewhat different from those of its Labor predecessor.
“The points of our policy are these,” declared Begin unequivocally:
Photograph credit: Ya’acov Sa’ar & Israel Government Press Office
After the meetings in Washington with President Carter, Prime Minister Begin visited the UN to discuss, again, the Lebanese border tensions, using the same map. Here, with UN Sec. Gen. Waldheim and author, 22 July 1977
“One – we don’t want any part of Lebanon, not a single inch.
“Two – we don’t want a war to result from the situation in Lebanon.
“Three – we will not let the Christian minority in Lebanon down.
“And four – whatever happens we shall never take you, Mr. President, by surprise. If contingencies arise that might require action, we shall always consult you.”
And then, with a cautionary lift of the hand, “But I think, above all, we have to say to you that we cannot turn our backs on the Christians. We have a human duty as Jews – nay a sacred duty – never to allow the Christian minority to be destroyed.”
Carter’s voice rose in surprise. “Do you not feel the Lebanese central government is the best source of protection for the Christians? We are thinking of extending them assistance.”
“The Lebanese President, Elias Sarkis is, of course, a Christian, but he is virtually helpless, as I’m sure your specialists will confirm,” said Begin.
Brzezinski cupped his hand and hastily whispered something into Carter’s ear. The president nodded and reiterated to the prime minister, “Nevertheless, it is our inclination to give him military assistance.”
“Good!” said Begin, but then he continued, in an ominous tone, “But I have to tell you, Arafat is destroying Lebanon. Presently, he is engaged against the Christians. And the Christians must be given the means to protect themselves. But a day will come when he will surely turn against us, too.”
Carter made no response. The issue was becoming too knotty. He did not want to be drawn in. So, jaw tight, gazing upon the prime minister with narrowed eyes, he said, “Might I suggest we move on to your next point.”
“Certainly,” said Begin, and he breezily turned to the man sitting on his left, whom he introduced as Dr. Shmuel Katz, his chief information adviser. “I’d like my friend and old comrade, Dr. Katz, to describe for you the way we look upon Judea, Samaria and the Gaza District in their broader historical context,” he told the president.
A soft-spoken intellectual originally from South Africa, Shmuel Katz was a former member of the Irgun High Command, and its chief ideologue. Indeed, within the Begin camp, Katz was the keeper of the Jabotinsky conscience, the guardian against corrupters of the Eretz Yisrael creed. Clearly, he was here as an ideological voice. At this first encounter with the American president, Menachem Begin wanted his interlocutors to know exactly what he stood for.
Shmuel Katz’s usual melancholy demeanor deepened as he held up a map of the Middle East on which were displayed twenty-two Arab states surrounding one tiny Jewish State, prominent in its abject isolation.
The Prime Ministers: An Intimate Narrative of Israeli Leadership Page 45
