The personal interactions we had with Palestinians in the weeks after the war were without obvious tension, much less hostility. They were often friendly. Looking back, I’m sure that was one reason — along with simple human nature, a desire to enjoy Israel’s new sense of both security and size — that none of us was inclined to look too deeply, or too far ahead, and contemplate the implications for our country’s future. I was aware, of course, that the politeness we exchanged with the Palestinians of Jerusalem or the West Bank were superficial: a few words across a market stall or a restaurant counter. I did not pretend to myself that our Arab neighbors were now suddenly inclined to be our friends.
But I did feel that, having come face-to-face with our overwhelming military supremacy, the Arab states would, over time, grant Israel simple acceptance. From there, I believed that we could begin the process of building genuine, lasting, human relationships and, eventually, peace.
There was a brief period after the war when Eshkol cautioned his ministers about the implications of holding on to the vast new area we had conquered. The government formally agreed to treat most of it, with the exception of Jerusalem, as a “deposit” to be traded for the opening of peace talks. Yet within weeks, the emphasis in the Israeli political debate shifted to which parts we would keep: the Sinai and the Golan almost certainly, as well as the Jordan Valley and a number of areas of past Jewish settlement on the West Bank. The drift away from any serious talk of trading land for peace was accelerated by the Arab states’ response to the war. Perhaps that, too, was simply a matter of human nature, a reluctance on their part to accept defeat. But they appeared no more ready than before to contemplate peace. Throughout the summer, there were clashes along our new “border” with Egypt: the Suez Canal. In September, all the Arab states adopted a platform which became known as the “three no’s”. They rejected not just the idea of peace, but peace talks, or recognition of the State of Israel. And in October, Egyptian missile boats attacked and sunk Israel’s largest warship, the destroyer Eilat, killing nearly 50 people on board.
Without this renewed violence, perhaps, we in Israel might have been able to consider more deeply the future implications of our victory in the Six-Day War. The gains on the battlefield, of course, were clear to everyone. We were no longer a small, constricted country beset by a sense of vulnerability. We were not only much bigger, but also stronger than the combined armies of the Arab states. Still, very few people asked themselves at the time what kind of Israel this implied. We failed to grasp the potential complications in holding on to all
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