“Palestinian delegation,” not the PLO, they balked. Israel agreed to the preferred designation. Then there was the question of whether Rabin and Arafat would shake hands. I knew Arafat wanted to do it. Before arriving in Washington, Rabin had said he would do the handshake “if it will be needed,”
but I could tell he didn’t want to. When he arrived at the White House, I raised the subject. He avoided making a commitment, telling me how many young Israelis he had buried because of Arafat. I told Yitzhak that if he was really committed to peace, he’d have to shake Arafat’s hand to prove it. “The whole world will be watching, and the handshake is what they will be looking for.” Rabin sighed, and in his deep, world-weary voice, said, “I suppose one does not make peace with one’s friends.” “Then you’ll do it?” I asked. He almost snapped at me, “All right. All right. But no kissing.” The traditional Arab greeting was a kiss on the cheek, and he wanted no part of that.
I knew Arafat was a great showman and might try to kiss Rabin after the handshake. We had decided that I would shake hands with each of them first, then sort of motion them together. I was sure that if Arafat didn’t kiss me, he wouldn’t try kissing Rabin. As I stood in the Oval Office discussing it with Hillary, George Stephanopoulos, Tony Lake, and Martin Indyk, Tony said he knew a way I could shake hands with Arafat while avoiding a kiss. He described the procedure and we practiced it. I played Arafat and he played me, showing me what to do. When I shook his hand and moved in for the kiss, he put his left hand on my right arm where it was bent at the elbow, and squeezed; it stopped me cold. Then we reversed roles and I did it to him. We practiced it a couple of more times until I felt sure Rabin’s cheek would remain untouched. We all laughed about it, but I knew avoiding the kiss was deadly serious for Rabin.
Just before the ceremony, all three delegations gathered in the large oval Blue Room on the main floor of the White House. The Israelis and the Palestinians still weren’t talking to each other in public, so the Americans went back and forth between the two groups as they moved around the rim of the room. We looked like a bunch of awkward kids riding a slow-moving carousel.
Mercifully, it was over before long, and we walked downstairs to start the ceremony. Everyone else walked out on cue, leaving Arafat, Rabin, and me alone for a moment. Arafat said hello to Rabin and held out his hand. Yitzhak’s hands were firmly grasped behind his back. He said tersely, “Outside.”
Arafat just smiled and nodded his understanding. Then Rabin said, “You know, we are going to have to work very hard to make this work.” Arafat replied, “I know, and I am prepared to do my part.”
We walked out into the bright sunshine of a late-summer day. I opened the ceremony with a brief welcome and words of thanks, support, and encouragement for the leaders and their determination to achieve a “peace of the brave.” Peres and Abbas followed me with brief speeches, then sat down to sign the agreement. Warren Christopher and Andrei Kozyrev witnessed it while Rabin, Arafat, and I stood behind and to the right. When the signing was completed, all eyes shifted to the leaders; Arafat stood on my left and Rabin to my right. I shook hands with Arafat, with the blocking maneuver I had practiced. I then turned and shook hands with Rabin, after which I stepped back out of the space between them and spread my arms to bring them together. Arafat lifted his hand toward a still reluctant Rabin. When Rabin extended his hand, the crowd let out an audible gasp, followed by thunderous applause, as they completed the kissless handshake. All the world was cheering, except for diehard protesters in the Middle East who were inciting violence, and demonstrators in front of the White House claiming we were endangering Israel’s security.
After the handshake, Christopher and Kozyrev made brief remarks, then Rabin moved to the microphone. Sounding like an Old Testament prophet, he spoke in English, and directly to the Palestinians: “We are destined to live together, on the same soil in the same land. We, the soldiers who have returned from battles stained with blood . . . , say to you today, in a loud and clear voice: Enough of blood and tears. Enough! . . . We, like you, are people—people who want to build a home, to plant a tree, to love, to live side by side with you in dignity, in affinity as human beings, as free men.” Then, quoting the book of Koheleth, which Christians call Ecclesiastes, Rabin said, “To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die, a time to kill and a time to heal, . . . a time of war and a time of peace. The time for peace has come.” It was a magnificent speech. He had used it to reach out to his adversaries.
