Lawrence Wright, Thirteen Days in September: Carter, Begin, and Sadat at Camp David (New York: Knopf, 2014), 368 pp., $27.95.
I REMEMBER sitting on the carpet on the typist’s living-room floor in a London suburb collating, in stacks, the original and carbon copies of my PhD dissertation. The next day I was to deliver the copies to the Faculty of History in Cambridge. It was evening, November 19, 1977, and in the center of the TV screen, live, appeared Egyptian president Anwar Sadat, his arms raised and a big, perhaps nervous, smile across his face, white teeth glittering in the spotlight, as he emerged from the door of the Boeing that had flown him from Cairo to Tel Aviv. It was a historic moment, of course, but it was also surreal and magical; indeed, it was almost messianic, bearing with it a foretaste of peace and the promise of deliverance after decades of unremitting Arab-Israeli warfare.
Almost thirty years earlier, on May 15, 1948, Arab armies, including Egypt’s, had crossed the frontiers and invaded the territory of the State of Israel, established the day before. During the following decades, the Arab states maintained a comprehensive boycott of Israel, and in effect waged a low-key guerrilla war along its frontiers. Periodically, Egypt and Israel met in full-scale conventional battle, and no Arab leader openly met or spoke with an Israeli. Indeed, Arab leaders refrained from even uttering the taboo name “ yisraeel” (Israel).
The idea that an Arab head of state—and especially the head of the Arab world’s most important state, Egypt, which had traumatized Israel four years earlier when its army had lunged across the Suez Canal into the Israeli-held Sinai—would fly to Israel and shake the hands of Israel’s recently installed right-wing prime minister, Menachem Begin, and Ariel Sharon, the general who had led the Israeli countercharge across the canal in October 1973, was simply inconceivable.
Yet, there I was, along with probably 99 percent of Israelis, at home and abroad, staring at the TV screen, mouth agape. But perhaps I shouldn’t have been quite so surprised. After all, it was Egypt in February 1949 that was the first among the Arab states to reach an armistice agreement with Israel, ending its participation in the 1948 war; Lebanon, Jordan and Syria rapidly followed. And in the early 1970s, Sadat had secretly and repeatedly informed Israel, under Prime Minister Golda Meir, that he was interested in reaching an interim agreement or a nonbelligerency agreement or even full peace—it was never really clear which—with the Jewish state. But Meir and her senior ministers didn’t believe that he was sincere or thought the price he was asking was too high, or both, and nothing came of these overtures, and so we got the 1973 Yom Kippur War.
Still, Sadat’s appearance on the tarmac at Ben Gurion Airport four years later was little short of astonishing; nothing that followed could be anything but anticlimactic. Now we have Lawrence Wright’s description of the first major anticlimax, the Camp David conference of September 1978, when, during thirteen days of often-bitter negotiations between Begin, Sadat and the mediating U.S. president, Jimmy Carter, the three leaders hammered out the framework of an accord that would result in the Egyptian-Israeli peace treaty, signed by the same threesome on the White House lawn on March 26, 1979.
Let it be quickly said that perhaps no less remarkable than the signing of that treaty is the fact that the peace it delivered has held ever since. In 1979, many—Israelis and others—predicted that it would not last, that the Egyptians were insincere, that Sadat’s successors would not honor his signature and that Arab-Israeli warfare elsewhere in the Middle East would inevitably suck in the Egyptians. They were wrong.
The accord remains one of the few stable fixtures in a region that has known nothing but turmoil and wars (and, most recently, revolutions and civil war) during the past three and a half decades. The peace survived Sadat’s assassination by Islamist fanatics, Israel’s invasion of Lebanon, the first Gulf War and Iraq’s missile assault on Israel, the first and second Palestinian intifadas against Israel, and even the year or two of Muslim Brotherhood rule in Egypt. True, the peace between Egypt and Israel never evolved into a warm one. There is almost no trade between the two countries, Egyptians are not allowed by their government to visit Israel (though many Israelis have toured Egypt), and the Egyptian education system, media and professional associations (doctors, lawyers, artists) have remained implacably hostile toward the Jewish state. But even the Islamist president Mohamed Morsi didn’t tear up the treaty, tacitly acknowledging that the peace served Egypt’s national interests, bringing in American largesse and freeing the country from the constant expenditure of blood and treasure that the fight for Palestine, or the Palestinians, has entailed since 1948.