Israel’s Mistake
Nationalism has blinded the Jewish state to the long-term consequences of a Lebanon campaign that is practically guaranteed to fail.
By John Barry
Newsweek
Updated: 6:50 p.m. ET July 27, 2006
July 27, 2006 - As Israel hammers Lebanon and Condoleezza Rice hurries back and forth, I find myself recalling Henry Kissinger after the 1973 Yom Kippur war. What keeps coming back isn’t the secretary of State’s shuttle-diplomacy successes. It’s how much more he hoped to achieve—and why he failed.
I had a ringside seat, courtesy of a close friend, an adviser to Egypt’s Anwar Sadat. The friend smuggled me into a couple of Kissinger’s sessions with the Egyptian leadership. Ambitious doesn’t begin to describe the secretary’s hopes: having negotiated a disengagement of Israeli and Egyptian forces, he wanted to move forward toward a wider peace deal. And the prospects looked good. Sadat and Syrian President Hafez Assad were ready to do pretty much anything Kissinger asked. Both Mideast leaders believed that the war—as unrewarding as it had been for their countries—had reaffirmed Arab honor. Now they only wanted to end the military expenditures that had crippled their countries for a generation. Assad, unlike Sadat, had a sentimental attachment to the Palestinians, but both men distrusted the Palestine Liberation Organization and despised its chairman, Yasir Arafat. They were willing to pressure him to settle, too.
But Kissinger hadn’t reckoned on one figure in the talks: Israel’s leader, Golda Meir. She simply could not believe that Sadat and Assad were serious. Instead, she behaved as if Israel’s only hope of security lay in every inch of captured real estate it could keep. So Kissinger’s 1974 shuttle, seeking disengagement on the Golan Heights, descended into near farcical haggling over strips of barren soil of no conceivable military value. Kissinger got a deal, but only a minimal one. Assad concluded that Israel was not interested in a comprehensive peace. In his memoirs, Kissinger empathizes with Israeli leaders, enmeshed in a tangle of hopes, fears and religious convictions. At the time, though, his verdict was bleak. After his last meeting with Sadat, Kissinger voiced his frustration to a small group of U.S. and Egyptian officials: “We see in Israel a society so traumatized by a generation of war that its leaders are no longer capable of making strategic judgments about their country’s survival.”
A few weeks later I encountered Arafat in Cairo. I knew him some: he had dreadful ulcers on his legs that made walking an agony, and I had put him in touch with a London specialist. Arafat was ecstatic over Kissinger’s disappointment. Sadat and Assad weren’t the only ones who would have given anything for a deal, Arafat told me: the same was true even of his main backers, the Saudis. But, he said, he had never lost his confidence that Kissinger would fail. I asked why. “I knew I could rely on my best ally,” he said. “Israeli nationalism.”
Rice is facing a parallel situation now. Nationalism has blinded Israel to the long-term consequences of a campaign that is practically guaranteed to fail, no matter what level of military effort the country commits. Nothing suggests that Hassan Nasrallah, the Hizbullah leader, is stupid enough to stand and fight a conventional war. Sure, he will sacrifice zealots as cannon fodder in the south. But he and the senior ranks have already retreated into Beirut. Israel can destroy much of Hizbullah’s stockpiles and bunkers near the border. But that will buy, at best, no more than a couple of years’ respite. Staking out a strip of land, whether by Israel or by some international force, will not bring peace. The one certainty is that the assault on Lebanon will bring a surge of recruits to Hizbullah, which will now be as powerful a magnet for young Shiite firebrands as Al Qaeda is for their Sunni cohorts.
The Bush administration clearly thinks it’s doing Israel a favor by enabling the military campaign to continue. But that position makes sense only on the assumption that Israel’s armed forces can wipe out Hizbullah—or at least inflict such damage that Nasrallah will sue for terms. That, at least, would give U.S. policy a realpolitik logic. The flaw is that nothing in Arab-Israeli history—or in the chronicles of irredentist nationalisms more generally—suggests that any such outcome is likely.
Whether Israel is "justified" in its actions is a debating point for TV talk shows. In the real world, the question is whether Israel is likely to achieve such a smashing victory that the short-term gains will be worth the long-term costs. And, to repeat, nothing suggests that is remotely plausible. If that is so, then America’s blessing for the campaign in Lebanon is merely increasing the final costs, not only for Israel but for the United States and more generally Western policy in the region. But then, an inability to weigh short-term gain (e.g., the overthrow of Saddam) against long-term costs (e.g., an insurgency by Iraqi Sunnis determined not to lose power) appears to be characteristic of this administration.
In the summer of 1974, Meir was succeeded as prime minister by Yitzhak Rabin. More soldier than politician, he saw clearly that Israel needed more than military force to win lasting security. But he also knew how reluctant Israel’s voters are to take the long view. I asked him once to explain this puzzle. Rabin liked parables. He said: “There were two hunters who went after a deer that was in thick brush. They shot him, and each took hold of his antlers and began to drag him back toward their car. But the antlers caught in the brush. Finally, one hunter said, ‘Let’s drag him the other way, by his hind legs.’ So they did, and they made good progress. ‘See?’ said the first hunter, ‘I told you it would be easier this way.’ ‘Yes,’ said the second, ‘but aren’t we getting a long way from the car?’ ”
It’s a story that Secretary Rice is likely to appreciate more and more in the coming weeks.
John Barry covered events in the Middle East from 1970 to 1975


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