"THE PEACE OF THE BRAVE"

By Kevin Fedarko

The table around which they gathered was the same and the two men shaking hands were the same, yet the mood was somehow different. Perhaps it was the diminished ardor of a repeat performance. Or maybe it was the spectacle of Yitzhak Rabin and Yasser Arafat actually seeming comfortable with each other. Whatever the reason, even the principals seemed to sense that last Thursday's gathering at the White House paled in comparison with the September 1993 ceremony, when the Israelis and the Palestinians stunned the world by signaling their determination to end the hostilities that had divided them for 45 years. "Perhaps this picture has already become routine," observed Rabin. "The handshakes no longer set your pulse racing."

Maybe not, but they still warmed the heart. For if last week's ceremony lacked the breakthrough drama of its predecessor, it offered something the earlier accord did not--a blueprint for peace and reconciliation unprecedented in its scope and detail. Stage managers from the Clinton Administration did their bit to improve the mise-en-scene, having decided as long ago as last July that this ceremony, if it ever happened, would be enhanced by the presence of Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak and King Hussein of Jordan. Further hand-holding from the White House became necessary when Rabin and Arafat balked over an unresolved hitch minutes before the document was due to be signed, forcing Clinton to closet himself with both leaders in his private dining room and urge them to settle their differences. But in the end the script itself, which Arafat hailed as "the peace of the brave," was enough to steal the show.

After the ceremony, Washington's relief was palpable. "This was an immensely difficult negotiation," was the understated verdict of U.S. special Middle East coordinator Dennis Ross, the diplomatic midwife whose intensified ministrations during the past several months included a three-hour session by telephone hours before the draft agreement was initialed. "It will mean," he added, "that the Israelis are no longer going to be ruling Palestinians."

The road to reconciliation had to overcome dark disillusion among Arabs and Israelis alike. After the euphoria following the 1993 agreement, the peace process seemed mired in blood as Palestinian terrorists tested Israel's patience and Israelis cracked down with chokehold security arrangements over the Palestinians' newly autonomous enclaves of Jericho and the Gaza Strip. Yet two nearly uninterrupted months of living and working in the same hotel enabled more than 100 negotiators from each side not only to bridge these differences but also to develop a grudging respect, even affection, for one another. The encyclopedic document that resulted takes a giant step toward turning the spirit of cooperation into reality by laying out exactly how the Israelis will withdraw their troops from most towns and villages of the West Bank by the end of next March, transferring civil authority to an elected Palestinian Council. Its 304 pages of articles, annexes and appendixes ricochet back and forth between the abstract and the arcane, recoiling from pledges of "mutual understanding and tolerance" to notes on how many adzuki beans the Palestinians could import from Jordan.

The deal could lay the groundwork for something close to an independent Palestinian state. Following the troop redeployment, Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza Strip will elect an 82-member council with broad responsibility for conducting its own affairs, such as the power to settle land disputes and operate television networks. A separate election for a chief executive--almost certain to be Arafat--will also be held. During the interim period of self-rule, scheduled to last until a final settlement is reached no later than May 1999, Israel will retain control of borders, and Palestinians will not be permitted to exercise full control of their external affairs. But the ultimate destination is undeniable. "Is this the beginning of separation?" asks Nissim Zvilli, general secretary of the Labor Party. "Of course."

That is the main reason why extremists on both sides are bent on sabotage. On the day of the Washington ceremony, some hard-line Jewish settlers announced the formation of a volunteer militia to "enhance security." Later in the week hundreds of Israeli settlers rampaged through Hebron chanting, "This is Israeli land--our homeland!" At the same time, Hamas issued a statement whose title made its judgment clear: "Yes to the Resistance, and One Thousand Nos to the Agreements of Humiliation and Shame." Even beyond the extremist threat, though, the picture looks murky. While many Jews fear they have compromised their safety, some Palestinians seem convinced they are being forced to accept a deal on terms dictated by Israel and endorsed by the West.

The misgivings are not simply emotional. On the Jewish side, even some supporters worry they may be trading concrete security for ephemeral promises of peace. This is being done, moreover, at a time when terrorist attacks on Israelis since the Oslo accord are up 73% over the preceding two years, and when Arafat has failed to restrain extremists in his own community. When their troops pull out of the West Bank's six main urban areas, many Israelis fear the territory will become a safe haven for terrorists. "Everyone feels uncomfortable," says Danny Shek of the Israeli Foreign Ministry. "There is a sense that we are giving more than we are getting out of this agreement."

To some Palestinians, however, what they are getting seems so grudging and circumscribed as to be almost intolerable. Because the Israelis have reserved the right to cut the roads between the seven "free" towns, Palestinians fear that their thoroughfares may soon be lined with checkpoints and roadblocks, hampering movement and turning their urban centers into isolated cantons. And how, ask Arafat and his people, can the Palestinian Authority run a state in the West Bank when Jewish settlers remain in their midst?

Difficult as the issues settled last week may still be, the thorniest part of the thicket lies ahead. In May both sides start discussing the Jewish settlements in the occupied territories (whose residents pledge never to leave); the fate of Palestinians still living in refugee camps; and the status of the mutually claimed capital, Jerusalem. Finally, there is the question of the one person whose absence in Washington last week was most conspicuous: Hafez Assad, President of Syria, without whose participation no Middle Eastern peace agreement would be comprehensive. Focusing on Syria as the key to expanding peace throughout the Arab world, U.S. Secretary of State Warren Christopher may fly to Damascus next month to restart Syrian-Israeli negotiations over the Golan Heights.

For all the uncertainty, however, the momentum set by Rabin and Arafat seems largely irrevocable. Even if Israel's conservative Likud bloc came to power, or if Arafat were ousted, turning back would be impossible without international condemnation and a return to near war. That realization may force both sides to swallow the medicine. But it doesn't make the taste any less bitter for two partners who, having proved they cannot exist together, must now fashion a way to exist separately. An old Arab saying is, "Keep your tents apart and bring your hearts together." It is not an easy maxim to live up to.

--Reported by Sam Allis/Jerusalem, James Carney and Dean Fischer/Washington and Scott MacLeod/Paris

With reporting by SAM ALLIS/JERUSALEM, JAMES CARNEY AND DEAN FISCHER/WASHINGTON AND SCOTT MACLEOD/PARIS