Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem inception

E lie was summoned to a strategy conference at the King David Hotel. From the top-floor suite, the border with Jordan passed practically under the windows, which offered sweeping views of East Jerusalem and the Old City. A light breeze diluted the smoke of cigarettes.

Minister of Foreign Affairs, Abba Eban, who had arrived straight from the airport, spoke first. “My consultations in Paris left me with an unequivocal conviction that King Hussein has in fact received our non-aggression communique through the French consular intermediary.”

“You mean,” Eshkol said, “they told Jordan we don’t want war?”

“Precisely. The French ambassador to Amman personally conveyed our fervent preference for a non-confrontational detente in lieu of Jordanian participation in the belligerent military campaigns currently contemplated by Egypt and Syria.”

“And?”

“The Elysee Palace remains utterly concerned.” Eban’s British accent, usually a cause for chuckles among the sabra generals, somehow seemed appropriate in this opulent hotel suite. “Our diplomatic overtures, notwithstanding their sincerity, have been spurned decisively by the royal Jordanian court. The king’s counselors misinterpreted the message as insidious machinations, contrived merely to lure His Majesty toward injurious inaction while we surreptitiously prepare to launch the IDF at his prized territorial and theological possessions.”

“You mean,” Eshkol concluded, “the Jordanians think we’re bluffing.”

“A poignant understatement,” Abba Eban said. “The Jordanian consorts infused their analysis with undertones that historically have been accorded to our Jewish race, such as underhandedness in commerce and money lending. They advised King Hussein to array his armed forces in a forthcoming posture, cohesive with the other Arab armies, and to issue a proclamation soliciting the incursion of Iraqi and Saudi battalions into the West Bank as fortification of Jordan’s combat units.”

“Hussein is inviting the Iraqis into Jordan?” General Rabin threw his cigarette out the window. “If they reinforce the existing Jordanian units in the West Bank, we’re doomed. There’s no way we can defend the coastal strip. They’ll cut us in half between Natanya and Herzlia, then march south and north to take Tel Aviv and Haifa.”

“During our meeting,” Abba Eban continued, “President De Gaulle was lucidly unambiguous about the pertinence of Israeli non-aggression. He assured me that he’s a loyal friend of l’Etat Hebreu, but insisted that we unequivocally forgo war. When I left, De Gaulle pressed my hand and admonished me: Ne faites pas la guerre! ”

“The French want to teach us national defense?” Prime Minister Levi Eshkol looked around the table. “It took Hitler three days to conquer France and gobble up all their baguettes!”

In the midst of laughter, Chief of Staff Yitzhak Rabin remained serious. “De Gaulle might be right. If Jordan fights us, the war will be a blood bath.”

“But look at this!” General Ezer Weitzman, CO of operations, went to the window and pointed. “How can we pass up the opportunity to recover the Old City? Return to our historic capital? It’s crazy!”

Now Elie understood why the prime minister had chosen to hold this strategy meeting on the top floor of the King David Hotel rather than at the Pit. The unobstructed views created an irresistible temptation for the sabra generals, whose lives had been dedicated to recreating the ancient Jewish kingdom in the Land of Israel. The glorious sights provoked them to say what they really had in mind.

“We must,” Weitzman said, “recapture our ancestral land, all the way to the Jordan River.”

“That’s enough,” Rabin said.

But Weitzman couldn’t hold back, “What kind of a Jewish state is it without Jerusalem? What kind of Jewish warriors are we without the courage to restore King David’s glory?”

“That’s a political question.” The prime minister shook his finger like a scolding teacher. “You boys harbor impossible dreams!”

Chief of Staff Rabin lit another cigarette.

“Strategic decisions,” Abba Eban said, “must be contemplated in conjunction with the appropriate analysis of all diplomatic, strategic, and fiscal ramifications. Acquisition of our ancient biblical sites, tempting as it might be, could jeopardize our very chance of national survival. The pending wholesale attack by the Arab nations could pit us against Soviet-supplied firepower of great magnitude. We must utilize diplomatic maneuvers to preempt a war through UN and American guarantees. The Egyptians won’t fight the United States!”

“In other words,” Eshkol said, “the Arabs are idiots, but not meshuggahs.”

“We have to assume,” Eban said, “rational behavior by our adversary.”

“Exactly!” The prime minister looked at Chief of Staff Rabin. “We shouldn’t let the holy places tempt us into a ruinous war.” He waved at the window. “The Arabs will throw us in the Mediterranean-a second Holocaust!”

Elie saw Yitzhak Rabin cringe, as if the word Holocaust was a slur. “Israel isn’t a shtetl in Poland,” the chief of staff said. “The IDF is stronger than the sum of our units. It’s a matter of sequence and allocation. And sacrifices. But we can win.”

“Ah!” Eshkol groaned. “Gambling with our lives!”

There was silence in the room, which Elie guessed was not because of General Rabin’s interjection, but due to the attendees’ shock at the prime minister’s explicit panic.

“It could be a pyrrhic victory,” Abba Eban said. “The territories biblically known as Judea and Samaria, where our forefathers once dwelled, will come into our proverbial hands with multitudes of hostile indigenous inhabitants whom we must feed, clothe, and treat medically. The costs would drastically surpass our financial means, deplete our scarce material resources, and overburden our bureaucratic infrastructure. Furthermore, ruling over an Arab population dominated by paternalism, tribalism, and primeval customs would conflict with our democratic, pluralistic, and modern social fabric. In time, this conflict could undermine Israel’s international standing.”

“That makes no sense,” Weitzman said. “Wouldn’t the world support our modernity?”

Abba Eban shook his head. “We must remember that democratic nations are, and will remain, a minority among the global community, while dictatorships and banana republics will continue to dominate the most powerful international organizations.”

Elie heard one of the generals whisper to his neighbor, “What the hell is he talking about?”

“Pardon me,” Abba Eban stood. “I am obliged to use the lavatory.”

As soon as the foreign minister was out of the room, Prime Minister Eshkol shook his head. “ Der gelernte Narr! ”

Everyone laughed. By calling Eban The learned fool, Eshkol punctured the foreign minister’s inflated aura. Unlike the erudite, highly educated Eban, who had taught at Oxford before devoting himself to the Zionist movement, the sabra generals were at best high-school graduates. They distrusted his wordiness, tailored suits, and oversized spectacles, yet recognized the value of his ability to meet world leaders as an equal and deliver awe-inspiring speeches in world capitals. Eban’s startling ability to communicate Zionist concerns with Churchillian oratory had won many of Israel’s existential diplomatic battles, as well as the breathless pride of Diaspora Jews everywhere. But the sabra warriors never accepted him as a true Israeli, and Prime Minister Eshkol’s contemporaries, the older generation of pioneers and party apparatchiks, mocked Abba Eban behind his back.

“Our strategy must be logical,” General Rabin said. “If diplomacy succeeds and the Arabs stand down, then all is well. But if diplomacy fails, we’ll have to disable the Egyptian fighter jets and bombers before they mobilize. If we achieve air superiority, then we can destroy their armored forces in Sinai and turn to Syria.”