The Prime Ministers: An Intimate Narrative of Israeli Leadership (40 page)

“In that case, what is the future of the occupied territories?” asked a journalist.

Like a patient schoolteacher gently correcting an uninformed pupil, Begin replied, “These, my friend, are not occupied territories. You’ve used this expression for ten years, since sixty-seven. But now it is seventy-seven, and I hope that from now on you’ll start using the term liberated territories. A Jew has every right to settle in these liberated territories of the Jewish homeland.”

“And what about the Arabs living here?” somebody asked.

Begin answered, “We don’t want to evict anyone from his land. In this beautiful country there is room for the Arabs who are working their lands, and for Jews who will come to make the homeland blossom.”

“Do you actually plan to annex these territories?” queried another.

“We don’t use the word annexation,” chided Begin. “You annex foreign territory, not your own country.”

“But what about international law
–
the Fourth Geneva Convention, which expressly forbids settling occupied land?” pressed the questioner.

Begin would not be provoked. Gently, patiently, he explained, “I advise you to look carefully into the legal status of the territories of which you speak, and you will then understand that the Fourth Geneva Convention does not apply. The
UN
1947 partition resolution, which the Arabs refused to recognize, is null and void. The area which you call ‘occupied’ remains a part of what the League of Nations Supreme Council defined on the twenty-fourth of July nineteen twenty-two as the area to be reconstituted as the National Home of the Jewish people; and Jews have lived in, owned land, and tilled their soil here in these areas for hundreds of years prior to being evicted because of Arab wars of aggression.”

“So will Israeli law be introduced into the West Bank?”

Begin benignly replied,” My friend, what you call the West Bank is Judea and Samaria. Please use these terms in the future. They are, after all, their original biblical names. As for Israeli law, this is a matter for
consideration
. Once I have formed a government, we shall go to the Knesset and ask for a vote of confidence, and then we shall consider what steps to take. Thank you,” and off he went to join a group of would-be settlers, who were singing and dancing as they celebrated installing a new Torah scroll in their makeshift synagogue, which event is what had brought Begin to Kaddum in the first place.

A few days later, Begin was rushed to hospital. It was rumored that he had suffered yet another heart attack. His doctors denied this. What he’d suffered was a cardiac complication brought on by overwork, they said, and what he needed was a rest. So he rested, and from his hospital bed he drew up his new cabinet which he duly presented to the Knesset on 29 June 1977.

It was an exquisite day, and he began it by going to the
Kotel
–
the Western Wall
–
to pray. A crowd of onlookers included black-clad worshippers, Hawaiian-topped tourists, and a host of others, all gawking at a gray Plymouth saloon with three radio masts following an off-white Peugeot 504, out of which Begin emerged, ringed by a squad of bodyguards. Sephardic women ululated with excitement, yeshiva boys sang and danced, and the gleeful throng quickly surrounded the prime minister’s group, already swelled by a clutch of newsmen and photographers, recording every stride the prime minister took.

Menachem Begin made his way toward the Wall, his bespectacled, patrician features alive with a glittering smile as he waved and nodded heartily to the assembly. There, at the Wall, he laid his head on a weathered stone, a spontaneous gesture so symbolic that it sparked a blaze of photo flashes. A flock of starlings startled, and went wheeling and screeching out of the crevices above, where bouquets of caper bushes sprouted.

From his pocket, Begin solemnly drew a book of psalms, and recited both lamentations and thanksgivings with reverence. He was deeply aware that within a matter of hours the Knesset would give him its vote of confidence, and the burden of leadership would rest upon his shoulders for the first time.

People watched in silence as he prayed. When he kissed the Wall, and turned to go back to his vehicle, many formed a chanting chain around him, singing
Begin, King of Israel
at the tops of their voices.

Above the din, a voice called out, “So, under your prime ministership, Mr. Begin, how do you visualize a solution to the Palestinian refugee problem?”

The question came from a big-boned man in a safari jacket on whose lapel hung a
New York Times
tab.

“I see a ready solution,” answered Begin, unhesitatingly. “In nineteen forty-eight, on the day of our independence, five Arab armies invaded us. We defeated them at great human cost. As a result of that aggression, not one, but two refugee problems arose
–
Jewish as well as Arab. An almost equal number of Jews fled to Israel from Arab and Moslem lands, as did Arabs from here to Arab lands. Hence, a de facto exchange of populations has already taken place.”

“And would you be willing to negotiate this and other matters directly with Mr. Yasser Arafat and his
PLO
?” asked a tall, gray-haired
Christian Science Monitor
journalist, in the precise tones of a Boston Brahmin.

Something flickered far back in Begin’s eyes. The sun caught his glasses, sending a fierce flash across his face, and in a tone reserved for stubborn doctrines, replied, “No, sir
–
never! That man is the godfather of international terrorism. His organization, the so-called
PLO
, is a gang of murderers bent on destroying the State of Israel. His so-called Palestine Charter is an Arab
Mein Kamp
f
. We will never conduct talks with that archcriminal about our own destruction.”

“And what if Mr. Arafat recognizes Israel’s existence
–
would you negotiate with him then?”

“No, sir!”

“Why not?”

“Because I wouldn’t believe him. It would be a trick, a subterfuge, a phase in his plan to destroy the Jewish State in stages.”

“May I butt in at this point,” insinuated a tall, debonair chap in a bow tie, with a deep, perfectly pitched
BBC
voice. “Mr. Arafat asserts that the Jewish State is an illegitimate entity with no right of existence in international law. Arab governments hold to that same view. What say you to that?” His rich English accent was provocative.

Begin, sniffing the foul odor of prejudice, but honed by years of legal training, restrained himself and, with the demeanor of a practiced lawyer, said, “Traditionally, there are four major criteria of statehood under international law. One: an effective and independent government. Two: an effective and independent control of the population. Three: a defined territory. And four: the capacity to freely engage in foreign relations. Israel is in possession of all four and, hence, is a fully fledged sovereign state and a fully accredited member of the United Nations.”

The
BBC
man’s acerbic comment on Israel’s right to exist had so infuriated Begin that he wrote a last-minute addition to the address which he was shortly to deliver in the Knesset, presenting his government for a vote of parliamentary confidence. And when the time came, in a House already buzzing with excitement, every seat taken, the president in his chair of honor, senior officials cramming into their reserved sections, and all the galleries packed with ambassadors, senior officers and other dignitaries, Menachem Begin, a picture of robust self-assurance, mounted the podium to present his cabinet for approval.

Old-timers, noting that he held in his hand a sheaf of papers, called out to each other in surprise, “Look, he’s going to read his speech!”

Menachem Begin had not read a speech since he addressed his compatriots over the Irgun underground radio on the day of Israel’s birth twenty-nine years before. In deference to the magnitude of the moment, he, the undisputed master of the impromptu word, began reading his address.

Begin started dryly, by outlining the democratic processes that had led to the present changing of the guard from Labor to Likud, but when he came to the body of his remarks, a deepening passion crept into his voice. Recalling Israel’s rebirth and its inherent right to exist in the family of nations, he wagged a finger, and asked in a trembling tone, “Would it enter the mind of any Briton or Frenchman, Belgian or Dutchman, Hungarian or Bulgarian, Russian or American, to request for its people the recognition of its right to exist? Their existence per se is their right to exist!”

As he said these words he rose up on his toes, and every chattering voice in the chamber stilled. He made an arch out of the tips of his fingers, glared at his text, and thundered, “We were granted our right to exist by the God of our fathers at the glimmer of the dawn of human civilization four thousand years ago! And so it is that the Jewish people have an historic, eternal and inalienable right to Eretz Yisrael, the land of our forefathers. And for that right, which has been sanctified in Jewish blood from generation to generation, we have paid a price unequalled in the annals of the nations.”

Applause rose from the coalition benches. Many got to their feet. It was a stirring moment, but the man sitting on my left in the section reserved for senior aides did not seem to be particularly moved. Busying himself with a notepad, he was scribbling down names and numbers in a handwriting so bold I could not help but notice them. I threw him a glance and he grinned back with a wide and disarming smile.

“Yechiel Kadishai,” he said above the ovation, introducing himself, and he gave my hand a friendly shake.

He was in his mid-fifties, of medium height, with silvering hair bordering a high forehead. Knesset old-timers gossiped fondly about Yechiel Kadishai, for he was a gregarious sort, quick-witted and irreverent. Yet for all his bonhomie and easygoing manner, he was reputed to be the most influential member of the Begin coterie, his most intimate confidant, his alter ego, his factotum, the man who saw him unshaven in pajamas in the morning.

As Begin resumed his extravagant oratory, Kadishai returned to his notepad, but soon enough he got up and left, presumably on some urgent errand. At this point his master’s speech gradually cooled to a dry and factual outline of the policy aims of his new government, and the naming of the ministers who would carry them out, after which speakers from all parties spoke.

When Moshe Dayan rose to speak, a sudden restlessness seized the Labor benches. Eyes glared and hatred flashed at this one-time war hero and stalwart of the Labor movement who, forever the maverick, had jumped ship to join Menachem Begin’s cabinet as his foreign minister. The moment he opened his mouth, the wrath of his former comrades was flung at him.

“Traitor!” one of them screamed

“Turncoat!” yelled another.

“Give back your seat!” bawled a third.

“Resign!” shouted a fourth.

“Shame on you!” bellowed somebody else.

Amid the jeers, hissing and name-calling, Moshe Dayan kept his temper, his face masklike. He delivered his address, mentioning Israel’s intention to attend a Geneva peace conference on the basis of
UN
Security Council Resolution 242, and affirming that no step would be taken to annex Judea and Samaria while Israel conducted peace negotiations with its neighbors.

One Labor member, totally beside himself, jumped up and cried out, “You are unfit to represent Israel as our foreign minister. Get out of our sight!” This evoked such a squall that the Speaker of the House shouted that he was of a mind to close the meeting. Yet without missing a beat, Moshe Dayan pressed on, insisting that Israel was heading toward crucial decisions and that national unity was more urgent than ever. Few could hear him, because the barrage of abuse shattered virtually every second sentence he uttered.

As the heckling rose and fell, Freuka Poran, who was sitting behind me, leaned across to say, “That’s exactly how Dayan behaves under fire, with that same expression on his face
–
blank! Shells can be bursting all around him but he carries on as if he’s not hearing a thing. That’s what he’s doing now
–
he’s cut himself off from reality. People can shout till kingdom come, he won’t bat an eyelid.”

Hours later, well past midnight, and after what had died down to a largely humdrum debate, the vote of confidence in the new government was carried, and Menachem Begin and his newly appointed ministers stepped up to the podium one by one, to take the oath of office. When the Speaker finally banged his gavel to declare the session closed, I caught sight of Yitzhak Rabin edging his way around the crowd to join the cluster of well-wishers surrounding the new prime minister.

“
Mazal tov!
” said Rabin with his shy, lopsided smile, extending his hand in congratulation.

Begin returned the handshake, bowed, and said, “If it is convenient may I call on you at the prime minister’s office tomorrow morning at nine?”

Rabin’s smile spread into a grin. “Convenient? I shall make it convenient. You’re the prime minister now!”

At 8:45 on the following morning, Yitzhak Rabin, casually dressed in a long-sleeve white shirt and flannel slacks, walked into the outer office of the prime minister’s bureau looking stress-free and even cheery, as if his cup of bitterness had miraculously emptied overnight.

“Time to call it a day,” he said with mock relief to us, his handful of personal aides, gathered together to make our farewells. Rabin had ended his self-imposed leave of absence the day Begin won the election, and as the law prescribed, resumed the prime ministership until the prime minister-elect had wrapped up the haggling and horse-trading that always accompanies the formation of a new coalition. That day had finally dawned, and while Rabin waited for Begin’s nine o’clock arrival we engaged in chitchat about the furor Dayan had caused in the Knesset the evening before. Not only were Labor people furious over his desertion and his appointment as foreign minister, but bereaved families from the Yom Kippur War were outraged, too. They had never forgiven him for the war’s initial failures. Wherever he appeared in public they jeered and booed him, and sometimes threw rotten vegetables at him as well, so the fact that he had now been made foreign minister filled them with renewed anger.

Though never a Dayanist, Rabin thought the appointment a shrewd move on Begin’s part. Begin needed Dayan, he said. The new prime minister was virtually unknown outside the Jewish world, whereas Dayan was an international figure. His appointment was proof to foreign governments that Begin’s cabinet was serious, not a bunch of former terrorists.

“Believe me,” said Rabin with a smirk, “when an ambassador calls on Foreign Minister Moshe Dayan he’ll make sure his tie is straight when he walks into his room, and he’ll watch his every word. Nobody else in Begin’s cabinet comes close to Dayan’s eminence.”