In Celebration of Peace

By Hugh Sidey

For Carter, Begin and Sadat, a joyous signing in Washington

People have swarmed over the White House lawns and stood along Pennsylvania Avenue in celebration, fear and anger. They have come to the mansion for Inaugurations and parades. They have wedded, buried, hunted Easter eggs and eaten barbecue, but not in 179 years had they gathered to witness a creative act of peace so full of promise for the future, although the risks were plain to see. Before 1,600 guests and another 5,000 spectators and a global TV audience of maybe a hundred million, two of the world's most implacable antagonists signed a formal treaty of peace and eloquently pledged their determination as men of God to heed the plea of Isaiah to "beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks."

In another setting, at a different time, last week's event might have seemed not only mawkish but mocking. But the urgency and simplicity of the message and the deep spiritual bond of the men generated a rare aura along old Pennsylvania Avenue. Egypt's Anwar Sadat, the secret hero of this city of monuments, stroked his name with his own pen. Israel's Menachem Begin, fierce fighter turned tough negotiator, created the ceremony's touch of humor by kidding himself as a legal nitpicker.

He had his yarmulke, too, which he slipped on his head while he read the 126th Psalm in Hebrew ("They that sow in tears shall reap in joy"). Between these two old foes, warmed by a reluctant spring sun, sat President Jimmy Carter, etched and tired but aglow with the moment. He signed as a witness to this singular marriage of hope.

It was a time of filtered joy. The scars of four wars, the strain of 16 tortuous months of negotiations that went on to the last hour and continued even after the signing, the difficulties that everyone knows lie ahead, all were visible on the faces of the three participants. Sadat, who will be confronted now with increased threats to his safety and political subversion from radical Arabs, clearly sensed the hard battle coming and the fragile nature of the treaty they had signed. Begin relished the idea of pushing off on this "adventure of becoming fully human, neighbors, even brothers and sisters," to use the words of Carter. The U.S. President was prayerful and cautious, too many times burned by his amateur exuberance, smart enough now not to believe dreams arrive on printed pages. "Peace has come," he said quietly, but he added again and again before the day was out: "We have no illusions."

The night before the signing, Carter had turned to his Spanish language Bible before retiring. He read the 5th chapter of Isaiah, a Prophet who seemed to walk with the peacemakers the entire week. Isaiah's stern admonition to practice humility and diligence seemed to stay with Carter through the celebration of "the miracle," as Sadat kept calling the work of the President.

There have been many moments before along the national avenue when all hearts have joined and politics was left behind. When Ike rode down the street at the end of World War II, there were no Republicans or Democrats to be found--only Americans. And when John Kennedy announced that the Cuban missile crisis was resolved, the sigh of relief was audible throughout the federal city. The same sense of oneness crept over the North Lawn last week and engulfed the gathering. Zionist literally rubbed elbow with Arab. Men who had shot at one another in the wars shook hands. Mrs. Rivka Gruber, mother of two sons killed in the fighting and symbol of Israel's suffering, was in the audience. She had come from Jerusalem and was singled out by Begin in his acknowledgments. (Later at dinner, Mrs. Gruber would laugh and say, "So wouldn't you believe, here I am sitting across from a big, handsome Arab!") The AFL-CIO's George Meany, the critical curmudgeon, took his place quietly. So did Senate Minority Leader Howard Baker. Leonard Garment, Nixon's former aide, was there, and so was W. Averell Harriman, 87, who loved every minute of it. Phyllis George, a former Miss America, was a guest; so were Oilman Armand Hammer and Opera Singer Leontyne Price. Novelist Saul Bellow was covering for Newsday.

Lieut. Colonel Jack Kline, the director of the Marine Band, brought his scarlet-jacketed men up from the Marine Barracks with a folder full of marches like Golden Friendships and Hands Across the Sea. Only at the last minute was he told by the White House that, for this special day, Carter's ban on Ruffles and Flourishes and Hail to the Chief had been dropped; he should play the stirring entry strains. John Philip Sousa's old band was up to the challenge. The notes echoed once again, and welcome they were, beneath the North Portico.

When he heard them, Clark Clifford, 12, standing beneath one of the huge old elms planted in the time of Rutherford B. Hayes, thought of his own history in the President's office a few paces away. As Harry Truman's Counsellor, just 31 years ago this May, he had on the President's orders battled to win State Department backing for the recognition of the new nation to be formed in the Middle East. Secretary of State George Marshall opposed the formation of the new state because he wanted more time for the Arabs and the Jews to seek an accommodation. "Go to work on it," Truman told Clifford. All week the President and Clifford pleaded and pressed, finally bringing Marshall around Friday morning, only hours before the new nation was to be created. When the news of Israel's independence came at 6 p.m., the U.S. recognized the tiny state eleven minutes after birth, its first official friend. The Soviets came along some 70 hours later. Clifford understandably was a little misty eyed on treaty morning. How long a journey it had been.

Across Lafayette Square, the Rev. John Harper, rector of St. John's Church, which has welcomed every President since James Madison to its sanctuary, flipped a switch on the church wall with great relish. The bells above him, cast from an old cannon, pealed out their message from the church's gold dome, a ritual since the beginnings of the Republic.

The tolling of the bells mingled with the shouted protests of Arab demonstrators cordoned in a corner of Lafayette Square by dozens of helmeted foot and mounted police. "Down with the treaty!" screamed the determined but orderly band. "Sadat is a traitor!" The chants were more audible to the sensitive TV microphones than to the live audience, and Walter Cronkite complained mildly to the world. Carter wrinkled his brow for a few minutes. The shouted dissents soon were muffled in the city sounds and largely forgotten. Protest is a way of life in Lafayette Square.

Even on the weekend before the signing, Carter feared that a last-minute hitch might bring the whole thing crashing down once more. On Sunday night there was a flurry of concern when the President was told that Begin had gone to the Egyptian embassy to see Sadat about some agreements still not made. But soon word came that the two men had worked out the problem of how and when Israel was to turn back the Sinai oilfields to Egypt.

On Monday morning, treaty day, Carter was up and at work by 5:40 a.m. A few minutes after 6, Sadat was stirring, and before long Begin was contemplating a sunrise over Washington from the ninth floor of the Washington Hilton. Both Sadat and Begin had scheduled final meetings with Carter that morning. First, Begin wanted the Gulf of Aqaba to be referred to as Eilat after the city that lies at its head. That solution was easy. Eilat was inserted in parentheses after the mention of Aqaba in the notes accompanying the treaty. But Begin's insistence that the West Bank, so crucial in the coming negotiations, be called by the biblical name of Judea and Samaria was something else. Without this change he could not sign, insisted the Premier. He clamped his jaw. The Knesset had approved the treaty with the biblical terms, explained Begin. Inured to such tactics, Carter suggested a footnote to cover Begin's objections. But it could not be a Begin footnote or a Sadat footnote. "I'll write in a footnote," said Carter. "I accept," beamed Begin. In the new paragraph, Carter wrote: "I have been informed that the expression 'West Bank' is understood by the Government of Israel to mean 'Judea and Samaria.' "

Lunch was more social than businesslike. The three leaders and their wives dined modestly in the family quarters. Outside, the crowd was gathering and the sounds filtered up through the tall windows. As so often happens in such relaxed circumstances, the three men began to talk history. The last time a treaty between the people of Israel and of Egypt had been signed, Begin related, was 3,000 years ago. King Solomon had made an agreement with a Pharaoh. "I'll bet no one remembers the mediator," said Jimmy Carter.

The huge treaty books were ready at last. Bound in gilt-edged blue morocco leather, there were nine copies of the document, one each for each participant in Hebrew, Arabic and English. White House crews had already tended the greening patch of grass at the site of the ceremony, placed a low riser on the spot and then tenderly carried from the second-floor Treaty Room the sturdy Victorian table that had been pur chased in the time of Ulysses S. Grant. Used by the Cabinet up to the day of Teddy Roosevelt, the table had witnessed some important business. Calvin Coolidge used it for the signing of the Kellogg-Briand Pact, which condemned war as a means of settling international disputes. The table is a favorite piece of the President's. "Solid -- it gives the impression of strength," he once explained to a guest, rapping the dark wood. Dining-room chairs were placed behind the table, and the scene was set.

Kit Dobelle, the young, pretty mistress of U.S. protocol at the State Department, announced the signing in a firm full voice. Pens glided smoothly across the pages, and in a few minutes Carter looked up from the last signature and said, "Let's have a handshake." Applause rose again as the men came together and clasped in a three-way grip like a debating team that had just won the match.

There were doubts and hints of problems ahead in the words they spoke; yet there was also a true eloquence in their short pleas. Carter had not finished writing his text until a few minutes before the ceremony. His son Jack, who had come up from Georgia the night before, had brought part of an essay on peace by the Rev. Walker L. Knight of Atlanta. The President was so taken with the thoughts that he melded them into his speech ("Peace, like war, is waged"), and then touched off a desperate effort to track down the Rev. Mr. Knight to get his approval. The pastor was delighted. Carter will never be a stirring orator, but the spiritual nature of the hour and his obvious sincerity made up the difference.

Within the treaty binders was a complex series of agreements and understandings, so delicately balanced that they seemed to be an instant challenge to even the muted optimism on the North Lawn. Yet there was a framework to guide diligent men toward a genuine comprehensive peace. The treaty calls for Israel to withdraw its forces from the Sinai Peninsula in stages over the next three years. Egypt has agreed to establish peace and give Israel full national recognition. But the treaty skirts the most difficult issue: how much autonomy the Israelis should give the Palestinians on the West Bank and in the Gaza Strip. Negotiations will be attempted between the Israelis and the Palestinians, and the world will wait and see.

Despite the hostility between the Palestine Liberation Organization and the Israelis, TIME has learned that the P.L.O.'s representatives have been meeting regularly with Nahum Goldmann, 83, who gave up the presidency of the World Jewish Congress in 1977. Goldmann says that his Palestinian contacts are now trying to arrange a meeting with P.L.O. Leader Yasser Arafat.

Both Israel and Egypt have won from the U.S. not only billions of dollars in aid and loans for economic and military programs but, more important, the increased involvement of Americans in the area. A memorandum of understanding between Israel and the U.S. (a similar memorandum was offered to Egypt but declined), spells out some steps the U.S. might consider taking if the treaty were violated, such as strengthening the U.S. presence in the area, providing emergency supplies to Israel and preventing blockading of international waters.

Within the White House they are counting heavily on what National Security Adviser Zbigniew Brzezinski calls "the contagion of peace." If in these first shaky months, the new treaty takes hold and appears to be working for both nations, they may relax and be even more giving to ward each other. Better yet, the other Arab nations may, how ever reluctantly, decide to join the process. There is no question that Jimmy Carter's hand will be required from time to time; though not, he hopes, in the manner of Camp David or for shuttle diplomacy. But in extremis, even those possibilities would not be ruled out.

When the treaty-signing ceremony was over Monday after noon, the people lingered to talk and to remember, clinging to the special feeling of the day as long as possible. Former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, who had helped to start the peace process with his arduous diplomacy after the 1973 war, found himself thinking that the nations had to move ahead. "It is a new world now," he said after the signing. "Whatever the problems, they are in a different context. It is an occasion for great hope."

When Sadat spied Kissinger, he pulled him forward from the crowd, kissed him on both cheeks and gave him the gold Parker pen with which he had signed the treaty. "I have saved this for you," said Sadat. "I was going to give it to you tonight, but I want you to have it now." Kissinger carefully carried the pen back to his K Street office and sent it out to be framed.

In Athens, Ga., former Secretary of State Dean Rusk had slumped in his living-room chair and watched the event on TV, wondering fleetingly why his friend Jimmy Carter had not invited him. In the middle of the program, the invitation arrived by mail, giving Rusk one more chuckle about Government efficiency. Although he is a veteran of many dramatic ceremonies, Rusk was caught up in the simple program on the North Lawn. Some of his old juices began to flow. He hoped that the Administration was moving strongly behind the scenes to help along the peace process. "This is the most significant event for that part of the world in 30 years," he said later. "It's a heck of a job ahead. Peace can only be made out there. Jimmy Carter moved on this with guts."

Gerald Ford did not get an invitation. In his home near Palm Springs, Calif., he fiddled with his TV set and found that his cable line was on the blink; the former President had to wait for the evening news for the pictures. But there was no lack of good Republican enthusiasm for the man who had beaten him at the polls, or for the treaty. "I applaud it," he later roared over the phone. "All three met the challenge. I hope the doubters recognize that this is the only way we can get a comprehensive settlement. I hope the radical Arabs calm down. And I hope the moderate Arabs help out."

Once the ceremony was history, Jimmy Carter went back to work--there is always something that needs doing in that office. He briefed congressional leaders, left instructions for his staff, then he jogged four miles around the big tent that was waiting for the party.

The restrained joy of treaty morning had ripened into the Baptist version of fun by that night. Old angers were left outside the big top. Warmth flowed along with the California wine. Clark Clifford, waiting for the President to greet the crowd, was a man who had always been suspicious of the show of religion in statecraft. Still, touched by the spiritual nature of the day's events, he found himself wishing that Carter would say grace, something that has never been done in memory at a state dinner. Almost as if there had been thought transference. Carter then announced that he wanted to say a prayer. The astonished Clifford bowed his head.

"We have come through difficult times. Let your loving hand be on us," Carter said. At another table, Brzezinski leaned over to the President's mother. "You and I know that he means it," he said. For Brzezinski, one of the marvels of the day was the fact that he, only a few months ago accused of antiSemitism, was constantly being asked to pose for pictures with rabbis. Peace, concluded Brzezinski, was amazing.

In another part of the tent, Mrs. Ezer Weizman, wife of the Israeli Minister of Defense, turned to Kissinger with tears in her eyes. "I never thought that I would live to see it," she said. Then she looked over to where her husband was introducing her son, severely wounded in the 1973 war, to the son of Anwar Sadat.

Before the day ended, there was one more graceful gesture. Begin rose to give his toast, and, after suggesting that Carter be nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize, he said, "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to pay tribute to a man who is the main adviser of the President of this great country--a gentleman who did so much day and night with his inventive mind, with his great learning and knowledge--Cyrus Vance." The guests rose in a prolonged ovation. When the self-effacing Secretary of State finally had the courage to look up, his eyes were moist.

By Friday, Sadat and Begin had made their triumphant visits to Congress and gone home to face the harsh realities of the treaty. Carter was left to struggle with inflation, energy and the Pennsylvania nuclear accident. He was tired but deeply satisfied, and for a few minutes he paused in the Oval Office to think back over what had happened and to look ahead.

"I think from the very beginning there was a moralistic undertone to the discussions among the three of us," he said quietly. "I think this was a kind of answer to those who are cynical about basic human attitudes and attributes. I think the inclination toward peace and love transcended those toward war and hatred."

Yes, he thought that the very personal turn the negotiations had taken at the time of Camp David was necessary for success. Sadat now understood not only Israel's need to be secure but also its need to feel secure, and Begin had a better comprehension of the yearnings, desires, frustrations and animosities among the Palestinians.

"I believe that this has given us a chance to show the importance of American power in a peaceful way," said Carter. "Had we not had the reserve of political, economic and military authority or influence, it would not have been possible to have assuaged the natural concerns of Egypt and Israel."

Somehow, Carter continued, the good will and harmony that everybody felt on treaty-signing day had to be preserved and extended. "I am depending upon the firm recommitment of the two leaders and their subordinates to carry out both the letter and spirit of the Camp David agreement. When we were embroiled in the last few months of difficult negotiations, the Camp David language and text almost became like a bible. We would say, 'Well, let's see what the Camp David agreement says.' "

The American involvement in the Middle East had gradually increased in these weeks, Carter acknowledged. "I think it is a healthy development," he said. "Our involvement is one based on a deep commitment to peace. We have not pledged ourselves to take any military action in the Middle East at all. I think that the recent development of the peace treaty and our reassurance to the countries that are in that region constitute a very important stabilizing factor, and will prevent deterioration in the future that might lead to war." He knew, Carter said, that attitudes would not change overnight, but he felt that the future was promising. The normalization of relations between Israel and Egypt, he said, "will make a pro found impression on the Jordanians, Palestinians, Syrians and others."

When Sadat, Begin and he were parting, the President said, he had counseled his two friends about the future. "Don't be discouraged," he recalled telling them. "Don't withdraw when we have the inevitable confrontations. We're going to have hard times ahead. But we've overcome even more difficult times in the past."

--Hugh Sidey

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