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
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 that 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.
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.
Carter then brought up Jerusalem. He knew how important it was to the Egyptians, but this was one issue Carter wanted to take off the table—for Sadat’s sake. Any compromise would be subject to attack by the radicals on both sides; it was just too dangerous for Sadat to try to resolve by himself. Carter advised him to wait and involve King Hussein and others so that he didn’t bear the responsibility alone. Sadat listened but didn’t respond.
“Sadat is smarter than I am,” Carter told Rosalynn at lunch. He related that in the first fifteen minutes of their meeting that morning, Sadat had told him four things about Begin:
1. He does not want or intend to sign anything while he is here.
2. Camp David will expose him.
3. He wants land.
4. Camp David is a trap for him.
“I think he is right on all four,” Carter said.
WHILE JIMMY AND ROSALYNN were having lunch, the anxious Egyptian delegation finally met privately with Sadat. All morning the Egyptians had been watching their Israeli counterparts running or cycling over to Holly Lodge, where the Americans were furiously incorporating the Israeli objections into the new draft. The Israelis would hand over a few pages, then race back to their cabin. Soon, an American would hop on a bicycle and take new pages over to the Israelis. The level of suspicion in the Egyptian delegation was naturally quite high, and they deeply resented the unbalanced relationship of the three parties—two against one, in their opinion.
But the Egyptians were not just negotiating with the Americans and the Israelis; the real problem was their own president. Until now, Sadat was the only member of his team to have seen the American proposal. He finally presented it and asked Boutros-Ghali to read the document aloud, before opening the floor for comments. It immediately became obvious to the frustrated delegates that he was paying no attention to their remarks. Whenever Sadat became distracted he would stare into space and fiddle with his pipe. He readily consented when Mohamed Kamel suggested that the delegation be allowed to withdraw and discuss the proposal privately.
Kamel believed that the American document was thoroughly contaminated by Israeli ideas. The right to Palestinian self-determination and the return of the refugees had been made impossibly vague. There was no demand for Israeli withdrawal from Sinai and the West Bank. The document seemed to be created to respond to Israel’s security needs at the expense of all other issues.
When the rest of his team returned to give their reactions, Sadat’s mood had radically changed. It was as if a storm had blown in. He raged against Begin’s intransigence, complaining that the American proposal called for the return of Sinai to Egypt in stages rather than all at once. The delegates cheered him; they all felt the same way. Then Sadat announced that he was withdrawing from the talks and leaving Camp David the next morning.
What? Leaving? Boutros-Ghali delicately suggested that walking away from Camp David with nothing in hand would place Sadat’s government in jeopardy. Sadat snapped at him, “You don’t understand anything about politics!” Then he ordered everyone out so he could take a nap.
The dazed Kamel wandered over to the dining hall with Tohamy. What were they to do now? Were they really leaving, or was this another bit of Sadat’s theatrics? On the way the two men ran into President Carter on his bicycle. He greeted them and expressed hope that they would be able to reach agreement in the next few days. “I am sorry to say I don’t share your optimism, Mr. President,” Kamel responded. “The Israeli attitude is as obdurate and unyielding as ever. And the U.S. project submitted to us falls far short of the minimum we can accept.”
Carter explained that the text was subject to negotiation; the point was to reach an agreement acceptable to both parties.
“Our problem is that we are not entitled to make any concessions on the occupied Arab territories,” Kamel said. “We can be very flexible on security arrangements and peace relations. However, it is obvious that this is not what Israel is after.” He begged Carter not to pressure Sadat any further. The other Arab states would not approve of a pact that included territorial concessions. “If you want this conference to succeed, an agreement which provides for Israeli withdrawal from the West Bank, Gaza and Arab Jerusalem must be reached. This will induce the other parties to join in the peace process.”
“It seems to me you fail to realize my aim,” Carter said icily. “I don’t think it would be fair to ask President Sadat to bear the whole responsibility for the Arab-Israeli conflict.” He confided that he intended to ask for the support of the kings of Jordan and Saudi Arabia as well.
“There we go again!” Kamel exclaimed. “Neither King Hussein nor King Khalid will agree to join the talks unless these were to be based upon Israel’s withdrawal from the West Bank and Jerusalem.”
Carter turned his bicycle around and rode away, leaving Kamel feeling even more frustrated and isolated from the negotiations.
Kamel went immediately to Sadat and reported the conversation with Carter. He found the Egyptian president sitting alone, bored and lonely. With the Americans now taking the lead in the negotiations, neither Sadat nor Begin had much to do except to wait anxiously for the next draft. Each of the leaders relapsed into a kind of nervous passivity, while Carter drove himself endlessly.
As Kamel was giving his account, the phone rang in Sadat’s cabin. It was King Hussein. Sadat told the Jordanian monarch that he was not optimistic about reaching an agreement because of Begin’s determined resistance to new ideas. He begged Hussein to join the summit, but the king refused, saying that he could not do so until Israel guaranteed a total withdrawal from the West Bank. It was just as Kamel had warned Carter. Sadat was in this alone. He would pay the price.
When Kamel returned to his cabin, Boutros-Ghali tried once again to calm him down. Kamel said he felt betrayed by the Americans, who had obviously folded in the face of Israeli pressure. It was a trap, he believed; at every step the Egyptians would be negotiating not with the Israelis but with their American partners. The grand Egyptian design for Camp David was to create a deeper alliance with the Americans, no matter what the outcome of the talks with Israel. Now Sadat was risking Egypt’s relationship with the U.S., and there was nothing Kamel could do about it. Sadat was negotiating behind their back.
Boutros-Ghali pointed out that they were only present to support Sadat. “We must offer al-Rayyis our advice,” he said, using the Egyptian term for chief, “but the final decision is his.”
“But al-Rayyis is possessed!” Kamel cried.
AFTER LUNCH, the weather turned chilly and a light rain fell, reflecting the dampened spirits of the delegates. Like everyone else, Weizman was exhausted, and he seized the opportunity to return to his cabin for a nap. He stripped off his clothes and plopped into bed. Suddenly, he was awakened by Carter’s voice: “Mr. Weizman!”
Weizman was startled to see the president standing in his doorway. Horrified, Weizman jumped up and put on his pants. “I would like to talk to you,” Carter explained, with an awkward smile, staring into the middle distance as Weizman got dressed. Then the two of them went for a stroll.
Weizman had previously been struck by the precision of Carter’s thinking. He never uttered a single superfluous syllable, sounding as though his thoughts had been programmed by a computer. “That’s the way an engineer thinks,” Weizman reminded himself, “in squares and rectangles.”
Carter made it clear that the talks had reached a critical juncture. The Americans had offered their proposal. Neither side had accepted it. Somebody was going to have to bend. Weizman had no doubt who that somebody was supposed to be.
By now the Americans had figured out the roles that the two top Israeli advisers played in their delegation. Weizman was there to maintain contact with the Arabs, especially Sadat, who brightened whenever the Israeli defense minister came into the room. His charm and ebullience was a welcome contrast to the dour Begin. By comparison, Dayan was a blunt instrument. Dark and pessimistic by nature, he was also a creative thinker and the one most likely to coax Begin into making a concession. Carter sent for him. Dayan agreed to meet after dinner, but he wanted to bring someone with him.
The man who accompanied Dayan was Aharon Barak, one of the Israeli lawyers, who had just been appointed to Israel’s supreme court. He spoke to Carter with surprising candor. He explained that the Sinai issue was important to Begin mainly because he feared that removing the settlements in Sinai would set a precedent for the West Bank and the Golan Heights. For Carter, this was an epiphany. He also learned that Begin had pledged when he came into office that he would retire in one of the Sinai settlements, so the issue was a matter of honor to him as well. And honor was the very core of Begin’s personality.
Carter aired his frustration about some of the latest Israeli responses to the American proposal, and a surprised Dayan pointed out that the changes weren’t nearly as drastic as he imagined. Barak and Dayan also confided that Begin was not going to totally reject the American proposal. There were three possible routes of action on each issue. One was for Begin to simply approve the matter; another was for him to approve but to refer it to the Knesset or the cabinet for confirmation; and finally, for him to disapprove the item and recommend against acceptance, but still send the matter to the government for a final decision. This was the most likely destiny for the Sinai issue.
Carter was chagrined to realize that, in his fatigue, he had inflated the importance of some of these issues. There were so many genuine obstacles in the path to peace; he certainly didn’t need to be inventing new ones. What he gleaned from his conversation with Dayan and Barak was that Begin was not going to be the one to say no to peace. Obviously, the Israeli delegation had been working on him relentlessly. Carter went to bed a little after midnight, exhausted but hopeful for the first time in seven days.