![[Skip to Page Content]](graphics/skip_sliver.jpg){kind=small}
|
       |
 
 |
Epiphany at Beit Jala
At the time of my arrival in Jerusalem, however, the nature of the story seemed to me simple enough. The Israelis were America's friends, the Soviets were the Arabs' friends, and the Arabs and Israelis were enemies. It did not take invocation of the old Arab proverb—the enemy of my enemy is my friend—to know who were friends and enemies. I had no anticipation of how intellectually tantalizing and emotionally wrenching my exposure to the Middle East would be. Instead of the simple black-and-white conflict I expected, I was entering the most fascinating and challenging period of my life. I was about to be so completely enthralled and fascinated—not to say frustrated, infuriated and utterly astounded—that I would spend the rest of my life trying to understand the Arabs, Israelis and America's policies in the Middle East. Israel in early 1975 was still a country depressed by the ravages of the 1973 war. Its generals had been exposed as unprepared, its political leadership dishonored and its economy in shambles. So many Israelis left the country after that war that the local joke was about how the last person out should turn off the lights. Tourism was practically nonexistent, hotels and restaurants stood empty and a gray atmosphere lay over the country. The Time bureau was in Jerusalem and the storied city seemed particularly bleak. The weather was dreary, heavy with dark clouds and what seemed to me like an unremitting drizzle of cold rain. I had thought of Jerusalem as a kind of desert Saigon, so I had packed tropical cottons and light jackets. The result was that I had never been so cold as in my first days in those unheated, tile and limestone buildings that grace the ancient city. Like any seasoned foreign correspondent, I took my first task to be to look out for my health and comfort. That is how I found myself shortly after my arrival driving the hilly streets of Beit Jala, next to Bethlehem and just a few miles from Jerusalem. It was my first visit to an Arab town, not because of curiosity about the Palestinians but because it was reputed to have one of the best tailors around. He made me two marvelously warm tweed jackets, leaving me with sunny thoughts of Beit Jala, an image that was to change dramatically three years later. Henry Kissinger remained the star of the hour in 1975, still basking in the extravagant praise the American media had heaped on him for his step-by-step diplomacy. Now he was about to try to gain Sinai II, a second Egyptian-Israeli agreement. Anticipation was high about how much captured desert terrain Israel would have to give up. The assumption was that since it was only Israel that was holding occupied territory, it followed that it was Israel that would have to make tangible concessions. Israelis were apprehensive and unhappy. There were bitter comments from Israeli officials and in the Hebrew press that little Israel would not be pushed around, would not be forced to cooperate in its own suicide. I thought such strutting more posturing than real. While I was familiar with Israel's notoriously Byzantine negotiating tactics, I did not anticipate that a nation of barely 3 million could long stand obstinate against the mighty U.S. This was especially so since only Washington's abundant military supply effort and $2 billion in emergency economic aid had bailed Israel out of its losses in the 1973 war. Israel literally owed its current strength to America. Moreover, Israel was now seeking from the United States a staggering increase in its aid to more than $2.6 billion as well as unprecedented amounts of sophisticated military technology. Its dependency was growing and therefore, I thought, its vulnerability to U.S. pressure. Such levels of aid were entirely new in the U.S.-Israeli relationship, or any other relationship for that matter. In fact, up to the 1967 war, France had been Israel's major foreign benefactor. So close was the relationship that there still remained small, painted tri-color flags, fading and neglected, on some government buildings when I arrived. France's sudden severing of relations in protest of Israel's launching the 1967 war left the Jewish state without a major-power protector. It was a role the United States had only begun to assume in full in 1970. The new relationship was instantly profitable for Israel. It saw U.S. aid increase from $93.6 million in fiscal 1970 to $803 million in 1975—and was now heading to more than $2.6 billion in fiscal 1976. There was thus a fundamental and historic change occurring in the U.S.-Israeli relationship. No one had yet defined its dimensions or its priorities. At a minimum I assumed such dependence would make Kissinger's task fairly easy, or at least not insurmountable.
Next Page
|
 |
Special Reports:
|
Printer Friendly Version of this Article