On the Trees and the Forest (Column 644)

More than once in the past I’ve heard or read things by Amos Oz and come away with the impression that he was an intelligent person—not only a writer of stature but also someone with a sober, sharp grasp of reality. In several cases I found that he lays out a seemingly persuasive chain of arguments, but in the end I do not accept his conclusion. Time and again I feel that his words illustrate the difference between the trees and the forest. Each individual tree looks solid and impressive, but the forest disappears among them. In other words, the overall picture that ostensibly emerges from this collection of trees is not the forest he talks about; a completely different forest takes shape there—if any at all. In this column I wish to present a lecture by Amos Oz that, in my view, is a clear example of this phenomenon. It’s important to address it because many of us tend to fall into this pit. But first, a few more introductory words about the phenomenon.

An Initial Example: “Freedom and Necessity”

A clear example of this phenomenon can be found in a critique I wrote on the Mida website about Eliezer Melkiel’s book, Freedom and Necessity. In his book, Melkiel attempts to present the view known as “compatibilism,” according to which there is no contradiction between a libertarian position (which affirms free will) and determinism. Although (and perhaps because) this view has become very popular in recent years, I strongly oppose it. To my mind, it’s mere verbiage—in fact determinism in disguise. Proponents of this approach argue that if a person decides without external coercion, then he is free, even if his decision deterministically follows from his personality structure, genetics, and biography. To me this is wordplay, since what is described here is nothing but straight determinism accompanied by an alternative definition of the concept of “freedom” (in truth it’s “freedom” in the sense of non-coercion rather than “liberty.” See, for example, column 127), and in this way it tries to solve the problem. In practice, at best, it merely hides it.

You can understand that I approached the book in a critical mood. I read it with the aim of exposing its flaws and pouncing on them as one who has found great spoils. At the beginning of that review I explain that despite my a priori stance, as I read I was actually very impressed by the quality of the arguments, the systematic approach, and the precision of the discussion, and essentially by the fact that there is hardly a miss (every time I thought I had caught him on something, he senses it and addresses it later on). And yet my conclusion was that the overall picture is not only incorrect but downright preposterous. Something in the general framework that connects all the local arguments is rotten at the root. The arguments are good, but the conclusion that emerges from them is certainly not the one Melkiel presents. This is a clear example of the trees-and-forest phenomenon I described above.

When reading such a text, it’s important not to ignore our intuitive starting point—but also not to let it take over our thinking. We must remain open to the arguments and examine honestly and fairly whether they have substance. In this way one can discover pearls and learn a few new things. Sometimes one can even discover that one’s starting point is wrong and replace it. But even if that doesn’t happen, I can still discover pearls that sharpen certain points for me, even if my final conclusion will usually align with my starting point. Incidentally, this is not necessarily a result of dishonesty, at least if one strives as much as possible to read without bias. Conclusions always depend on basic assumptions and starting points, and changing those requires a very high level of persuasion. In any case, reading such a text, if it is intelligently written, usually teaches. On the other hand, precisely if our starting point differs, we may often find that although the arguments are good, the overall picture does not emerge from them. The trees don’t build the forest we’re being persuaded to see.

This is exactly my feeling when reading not a few of Amos Oz’s texts. With Amos Oz there is also his eloquence. Eloquent phrasing has obvious advantages: it’s a pleasure to read when the content is clear and comprehensible, and it’s also presented in a beautiful literary style. But it also has a serious drawback: it can take us captive. We’re impressed by the phrasing and don’t always remember to check the quality of the arguments and the picture they produce. I wrote similar things in column 126 about another article by Amos Oz and some things written by Ari Alon. It’s worth keeping this in mind when reading or listening to an eloquent person.

In this column I wish to illustrate this phenomenon through a critical listen to a lecture by Amos Oz that I heard only now. He spoke at the Eretz Israel Museum at an INSS (Institute for National Security Studies) conference in 2015, that is, about nine years ago. The lecture was sent to me because it contains several observations, and even very impressive prophecies, regarding our own time (the “Swords of Iron” war). Here, too, while listening I felt admiration for his distinctions, eloquence, and analytical and predictive abilities; and here, too, I had to make an effort to listen without bias (because my starting position was the opposite of his). But at some point I reached the conclusion that this text was taking me captive and essentially leading to a patently absurd conclusion. It simply does not follow from the arguments, and at times even their opposite is the warranted conclusion.

In what follows I will go through the lecture’s various points critically. As usual, I recommend first listening to all his remarks (you can do so at increased speed), and only then reading my critique. My main aim is to present an example of the trees-and-forest phenomenon. The lecture’s specific content is merely a medium through which I demonstrate it.

A Methodological Preface: On Theology, Messianism, and the Law of the Excluded Middle in the Practical Realm

At every stage of his remarks we must examine them from at least two angles: 1) Is he right (are the examples and arguments relevant to our situation)? 2) Even if he is right—what follows? The first angle is obvious and must be present in any discussion. But the second angle is seemingly surprising. As you will see, Amos Oz—like his ideological companions—relies heavily on the law of the excluded middle. This is a move known as “proof by contradiction.” If I show you that there are only two options and refute one of them, I have thereby proved that you must accept the other. In logic, the law of the excluded middle says that beyond X and “not-X,” there is no third possibility. Proofs by contradiction rest exactly on this assumption. Thus, Amos Oz shows that maintaining the current situation vis-à-vis the Palestinians is a recipe for disaster, and from this he concludes that the right is leading us down a path that aggregates all disadvantages. Hence, he infers, we must take the left’s path. Ostensibly, this is a simple logical proof. But the second angle I proposed above assumes that a proof by contradiction may be correct, yet we still must examine what conclusion follows from it in our case.

I must first clear the theological option off the table—that even if we have no solution, we needn’t worry, for the Holy One will save us from them. Or as Ben-Gurion said: in Israel, whoever does not believe in miracles is not realistic. This is sometimes the way the religious right tends to think and act, perhaps on the basis of the “promise” that a Third Temple is not destroyed (a promise that, in my understanding, has no source or sense—confusing the desirable with the actual. See column 584, 238, and many more). Note that this is an alternative way to break the logical vicious circle I described: it essentially says that the law of the excluded middle is irrelevant to processes of redemption.

Well, I’m realistic but I actually do not believe in miracles, and I certainly am not willing to build strategy or tactics upon them. Not only because I don’t believe in them, but also because in my opinion one shouldn’t rely on them even if it were true that a miracle could occur. To my mind, “we do not rely on a miracle” is a principle not grounded in disbelief in miracles. Decisions must be made solely on realistic considerations (see the above columns). In this sense I fully share Amos Oz’s starting point and oppose those he attacks—that is, that segment of the religious right he (not by chance) tends to label “messianic.” The term “messianic” has been greatly cheapened in recent years and turned into a pejorative. In many cases it serves as a substitute for “religious” or “right-wing,” but with a derogatory connotation whose aim is to delegitimize religious views. Religious people protest this connotation, for belief in the coming of the Messiah is a cornerstone of their worldview. But there is an error here on both sides.

I think the use of this term is indeed too broad—but not entirely. For my part, anyone who is unwilling to accept the outcome of a rational real-political analysis deserves to be called “messianic.” My premise is that a strategy or political stance must rest on realpolitik arguments without bringing God into the picture. The goals may be religious (conquest and settlement of the land, the honor of the people of Israel, sanctifying God’s name, and so on), but the considerations regarding the path toward them must include only realistic considerations. If that’s not feasible for practical reasons, then it must not be done. And again: not only because I don’t believe in divine intervention, but because we do not rely on miracles. Thus it is possible—and perhaps proper—to believe in the coming of the Messiah without being “messianic” in this sense. Or, in other words, for me logic and the law of the excluded middle govern even this blood-soaked field.

All right, so we’re back to the law of the excluded middle. What, then, do I have against it? Despite everything, I want here to qualify the use of the excluded middle with regard to the practical plane. Shimon Peres used to say about the right: what’s their alternative? His assumption is that the right has no policy that leads to any solution, and once we reject the right’s alternative, only his alternative remains—the pursuit of peace and of a new Middle East. Note that we must examine his claim on the two planes I mentioned: 1) Is he right that the right has no alternative? 2) Even if he is right, does it necessarily follow that we should adopt the left’s position? I tend to think he was right on the practical plane: indeed, the right has no alternative. But at plane (2) it does not necessarily follow that the left’s position should be adopted. It’s possible that it, too, does not exist on the practical plane. In other words, in the practical realm the law of the excluded middle has limited significance, and therefore proofs by contradiction deserve a suspicious reception, since it may be that we have no practical alternative at all. The world of action owes nothing to logical analysis. Even if there are only two options—right or left—and even if we have practically ruled out one, this by no means implies that the other is feasible. On the level of content, the two options may be contradictory, but their implementation does not obey the excluded middle. It may well be that both are impractical. Hence the thesis of “managing the conflict,” which Amos Oz vehemently attacks here.

The Opening and the Framework of the Discussion

He opens by saying that his aim is to speak about dreams. His basic claim is that if there are not two states here, there will be only one state; and if there is one state, it will be an Arab state from the sea to the Jordan. If so, he does not envy our children and grandchildren who will have to live in such a situation. He explains that it cannot be a binational state, because all the bi-national and multi-national states we know screech and grind badly—perhaps with the exception of Switzerland. He cites Belgium, Lebanon, Spain, Cyprus, Yugoslavia, the Soviet Union, Iraq, Syria, Ukraine, various African states, and more. If we wish to prevent the establishment of an Arab state in such a situation, we will have no choice but to have a temporary Jewish-fanatic dictatorship, bearing racist and messianic traits, that will rule with an iron fist over its Arab and Jewish opponents. But such a dictatorship will not last, because no minority dictatorship that suppresses a majority can endure for long. Moreover, it will arouse the entire world against us, and even if it’s only the Muslims worldwide, we won’t be able to win for long. Therefore, at the end of this road, an Arab state awaits us again (together with an international boycott, etc.). Here are the first shoots of his prophecy about our days: both the messianic-fanatic rule and the international boycott. Even the footsteps of a Palestinian state are already being heard these days.

Well, our concern here is to examine his arguments, not his prophecies. For that we’re already equipped with the relevant critical tools that dictate we examine the argument on the two planes defined above. But first, note that he rejects the messianic option. It is not by chance that he labels the expected dictatorship “messianic,” because he understands that it would be built on the hope that God will help us and thus we will not need either of the two options (the Messiah will come, and thus we will have one state—but not an Arab one, rather a Jewish one). I have already written that I agree with this. My premise is that we are operating within the framework of the excluded middle.

If logic is our framework, we must first examine the claim itself. Is it true? It seems so. Indeed, a multi-national state structure is very fragile and does not endure over time (I’m sure you’ll allow me to ignore, for the sake of discussion, the obvious comparison between us and Switzerland). But now we must move to stage B: what does this mean in practice? Does it follow that we must necessarily move to the two-state track? Here the question arises whether this is possible—whether such an option is practically available to us at all. As is well known, it takes two to tango. One can perhaps debate this, and Amos Oz may believe there is a partner with whom we can make a two-state agreement; but he can understand that others think otherwise. In fact, almost all his opponents probably think so. So what does he propose to them? The proof by contradiction does not really work here—only for those who, from the outset, share his premise.

I’ll ask more than that. Our neighbor Jordan is a bi-national state in which a minority (the Bedouin-Hashemite) rules a majority (the Palestinians). Was it, in his view, right to make a peace treaty with them? This structure will not endure over time, and when the Hashemite regime is toppled, we will face the Palestinians. The same applies to Egypt, where a secular minority rules by military force over a religious (and not only religious) majority that is very hostile to us. Unlike Jordan, we also paid with prime assets for this short-term agreement. There’s a marvelous consensus among Israelis in favor of the peace with Egypt, but I can certainly understand the position that it was a mistake. We paid an irreversible price (oil, territory, and strategic depth) and did not receive a long-term return. We are living on borrowed time there (and the brief Morsi rule demonstrated this well). If so, his claim about the fragility of multi-national states greatly undermines his claim about taking the two-state path in exchange for peace. Later, Amos Oz himself will reach the question of the temporariness of conditions in our world, and I’ll return to this point then.

There is another assumption of Amos Oz’s: that Israel’s Arab citizens will remain here in the long term. He of course opposes transfer (his statement about lying down under the buses is well known; I think he is the chief cause of the anti-transfer hysteria that reigns in our circles), but in extreme situations in which our existence is at stake, I cannot rule even that option out. This is another hidden premise underlying his proof by contradiction. This, too, relates to the question of the variable versus the constant, to be discussed below.

Managing the Conflict

He now moves to the obvious option: managing the conflict. In effect, this introduces the third alternative: not one state and not two, but rather continuing the current situation for now without aiming at a defined solution. One must understand that this thesis follows precisely from his analysis. We have no option for one state, but also not for two. So in the meantime we manage the conflict and see what tomorrow brings. Perhaps time will yield something unexpected.

Amos Oz apparently senses that his proof by contradiction has broken down here, and therefore he also rejects this option. He argues that the thesis of managing the conflict led us to a series of futile operations in Gaza and Lebanon, and so it will be in the future. Hence, we have no real option to manage the conflict, and we’re left with the dichotomy of one state or two. Q.E.D. Incidentally, the string of names he attaches to all those operations includes one that ominously resembles the current war (Iron Boots instead of Swords of Iron). I suppose the sages of Bible-code skip counts (see column 640) would already prove from this that Amos Oz is God and there is none besides Him.

But here, too, he begs the question and unjustifiably relies on the excluded middle. If he is right that one state is a catastrophe that will annihilate us, and if one adopts the right-wing position that two states are impossible because the conflict will continue until we are annihilated (i.e., the conflict will continue, only from a less favorable position than the current one), then a series of operations like those we have had is the least bad option. We may indeed eat the sword forever, but that is better than eating the sword and dying. Moreover, if we learn to conduct these operations better than the bungling that has characterized them to date, perhaps we will even improve the situation further.

The methodology of pointing to the drawbacks of one option without comparing them to the drawbacks of the competing options is merely another aspect of the same error I noted above: using the excluded middle on the practical plane. In this way, I can prove to you that a war to the bitter end against the Romans was excellent, because the moment we stopped fighting, we went into exile. That comparison merely forgets to examine what would have happened had we continued. We would probably all have died (unless we adopt the theological option—i.e., unless we become “messianic”). Our annoying practical reality displays a stubborn character that repeatedly refuses to submit to the splendid conclusions of theory. At every moment I ask myself in exasperation: who needs reality at all when we have such perfect logic?!

Resolving the Conflict vs. Managing the Conflict

He now turns to resolving the conflict versus managing it. He prefaces by saying that we have never had a better opportunity to achieve a two-state solution—not because our neighbors and the Palestinians have become Zion-lovers, but because in these years a factor has arisen that is a far more destructive and dangerous enemy to them than we are: Iran.

There is something genuinely prophetic here, and the recent peace agreements (the Abraham Accords) attest to it. But again, I find it hard to see how we can advance toward peace with the Palestinians (especially Hamas) and the Syrians who are funded by Iran. The assumption that there is a rational partner across from us who performs cost-benefit calculations seems far from simple—at least not in cost-benefit terms intelligible to me. True, on our side the government is not composed of paladins of peace, and perhaps if it were of a different composition his prophecies/proposals would come to fruition. I don’t think so, but one could perhaps argue this. Still, I wouldn’t build an argument on it. It’s worth trying, but it’s far from a decisive argument against the thesis of managing the conflict. I fully agree that even if one decides to manage the conflict, one must not desist from attempts to reach an agreement despite the slim chances. Not an agreement like those with Egypt and Jordan, but one implemented in stages only when we see tangible progress in the Palestinian public’s attitude toward us. And certainly not an agreement with a ruler who tomorrow morning will be thrown off the roof by his own people, leaving behind not even a cloud of dust.

Two Side Notes

Immediately afterward he inserts two asides which, in my opinion, have no role in his argument.

In the first, he insists that we have not won any of our wars (for victory is attaining one’s objectives). I won’t address that claim, although I quite agree with it (except for the War of Independence), because it’s not part of his argument—just an aside whose function in the argument is unclear to me. Parenthetically I’ll note that, as he himself says, we did not attain our objectives simply because we had no objectives in any of the wars; therefore it’s no wonder we didn’t achieve them. But we did attain one objective: to be saved from the (immediate) threat. That, too, is not a triviality. Incidentally, this is intimately connected to the thesis of conflict management (whose basic aim is to buy time). But as noted, I won’t address this further here.

In his second aside he explains that the right and the settlers say that we have a right to all of the Land of Israel, including the Temple Mount. But he argues that a “right” is not something I want, but something the world recognizes as mine; otherwise it’s a claim, not a right. There is, of course, an error here. When people speak here of a right, they mean a moral right, not a legal one. In the moral sense, my right does not depend on the world’s recognition. My son is mine even if the world does not recognize that. Thus this is mere empty semantics. He is, of course, correct in his second point: even if I have a right, I am not obligated to exercise it. One can waive it (hence one can condition what’s written in the Torah with money). If I stand at a green light I have the right to cross the street, but I won’t do so if a truck is barreling toward me at great speed. Yet that example shows that his previous argument is flawed. Even if the truck driver does not recognize my right, I still have the right to cross. It’s just not wise to exercise it. If I do manage to cross, no one can sue me for breaking the law. Beyond that, the religious right believes that our relation to the land is not summed up by a right to it; there is a duty to settle it and hold it. If so, this argument of his is simply irrelevant.

As noted, these two asides play no part in the argument, so I will leave it at that.

The Temporary and the Permanent

Immediately thereafter Oz provides another series of impressive predictions. He speaks of the erosion of our relations with the United States, and of dockworkers around the world refusing to handle Israeli cargo; tourists will avoid Israel, and a boycott will be imposed on Israeli products. In these days it turns out that this forecast is fairly accurate—or at least we are definitely on the way there. He continues, claiming that Ben-Gurion taught us that we cannot exist without the support of at least one great power. Its identity can change—once Britain, once even Russia, or England and France, and in recent decades the U.S.—but we must ensure that at least one power is always on our side, which is not quite happening in these years (and now even less so). This brings us to a fundamental distinction in the second half of his lecture: the distinction between the temporary and variable versus the permanent. Whoever cannot make this distinction cannot manage himself or his state in our world. He of course intends to argue that the right fails to distinguish between the temporary/variable and the permanent. This is the main theme of his lecture, so let’s examine it. I’ll begin with his examples.

The first example he brings is the threat that if we evacuate the territories, a Soviet army will appear near Kfar Saba. Now, he claims, it’s clear that this will no longer happen. Behold an example of a change in something perceived as permanent. Those who threatened, in his view, ignored the difference between the temporary and the permanent. I must say this is a very odd claim. First, factually, I don’t recall this being a threat we were given. Second, if it was a possibility in the past, it seems it could certainly happen today too—perhaps even more than before (given Russia’s involvement in Syria and its growing militancy worldwide. He apparently spoke then in the serene post-Cold-War era. There you go—things change). Third, even if today it cannot happen, perhaps tomorrow it can? You surely remember: nothing is permanent. Fourth, I don’t think anyone ever claimed that a Soviet army would certainly appear there—only that it was a possibility. Policy-making must take various possibilities into account, because we don’t know what will happen (everything changes, remember?). Essentially Amos Oz is arguing that today we must plan our steps assuming that a Soviet army will not appear in Kfar Saba. Why? Can’t that change in the future? Someone here is neglecting the distinction between the temporary and the permanent, and as he rightly said at the beginning of this section, it’s dangerous to let such a person navigate us in the world.

His next example is the threat that if we withdraw from Samaria, rockets will be fired at Ben-Gurion Airport and Kfar Saba. In response he says, in his own words as a certified staff sergeant, that even then it was possible to hit Ben-Gurion Airport and Kfar Saba with missiles from Iraq—not only from Qalqilya. He claims that clearly a stage would come when it would be possible to strike any point in the world from any other point in the world, and asks: does anyone propose that the IDF conquer the entire globe? Again, his words show a blatant disregard for expected advances on the defensive side. For some reason he focuses on the expected change in the offensive realm. Does the future, in his view, necessarily hold a guaranteed triumph for aggressors? Moreover, when that frightening time arrives, will our conflict with the Arabs still be ongoing? Is that something that cannot change either? Incidentally, he himself later explicitly says it can. For some reason regarding this matter he is certain that what is temporary is permanent. Someone here is determined not to distinguish between the temporary and the permanent—especially when it’s convenient.

As for the claim itself, we already are wiser today. In these very days (the Swords of Iron war) it turns out that strategic depth has great value. Look at what is happening today with anti-tank missiles in the north. There the relevant range is only a few kilometers, and in such a situation we have no warning. All the residents of the north—tens and hundreds of thousands—evacuated solely because we lacked a security zone in Lebanon. Not to mention defenses against ground infiltrations for terror attacks and the like. Precisely against ballistic missiles we now (and did not then) have quite good protection, and also warning time that allows one to enter a shelter. Things change—I’ve said it already, no?

Errors of the Dovish Left

He now sums up and says that, contrary to his friends on the dovish left (perhaps as opposed to the economic left?), in his view there is no guarantee that if we withdraw from the territories and a Palestinian state is established, things will be good. But if we do not withdraw, things will certainly be worse (an Arab state from the sea to the Jordan). Again—rather categorical predictions about the future from someone reputed for skepticism and doubt, and for the assumption that the temporary remains temporary. Strangely, the thesis of managing the conflict, which he opposes, precisely assumes that everything is temporary and that we must survive for now, because in their assessment we currently have no better option, and they hope that in the future things might change for the better. Things change, don’t they?! Perhaps that won’t happen—but if we make a wrong move now, we will certainly lose. Note that this is the mirror image of his words, but there is a clear difference: his right-wing opponents are at least aware of the difference between the temporary and the permanent and place it at the base of their policy, whereas he declaims about it while the content of his words is the exact opposite.

He mentions two errors of his friends on the dovish left. The first is mocking the right’s fears. He says that fear must be discussed, but not scorned or fought with caricatures. I think he means not only manners and etiquette but that there is substance to that fear. That fear is not baseless at all. Yet in his view, despite the fear, the danger on the other side is greater, and the fear itself should lead us leftward. This is a claim that certainly warrants discussion, but note that it bears not a shred of relation to the question of mixing the temporary with the permanent, to which he devoted the entire previous section of his lecture. On the contrary, it rests on estimates about the future rather than on the present. The foundation on which he builds this thesis does not lead to it in any way.

The second error of the dovish left is the thought that the failure of peace initiatives is due solely to the Israelis’ unwillingness to pay the required price and take the risks. It takes two to tango (or, in his words, you cannot clap with one hand). I have nothing to add except that he himself speaks as if everything depends on us.

Another Example: The Peace Agreements

Later he notes that if someone had told him in the past, when he was conscripted to fight, that in the future he would travel to Jordan or Egypt for a trip, he would have had him committed for severe insanity. And yet, today it happens. This is yet another example of a temporary situation that seemed permanent and then changed. But for some reason he ignores the fact that the present situation, too, is temporary and can change. He sharpens that the conflict with them was temporary and variable, yet ignores that the peace with them is likewise. Incidentally, the peace seems far more temporary than the conflict, for the basic sentiment of the public in Jordan and Egypt to this day is deeply hostile to us, and that has not changed due to those agreements. We signed a treaty with a single leader against his entire people. I seriously doubt whether it was right to pay prices and take risks for that. Precisely because the peace is temporary, it’s not clear that it’s rational to pay irreversible prices for it (land, oil, water). That is a far more adventurous step, one that mixes temporary with permanent, than the thesis of managing the conflict which, as noted, is based precisely on the distinction between the variable and the constant.

I have often written that Israel’s policy and strategy contain only one principle: buying time for quiet. We have often paid dearly for this, since we are unwilling to pay prices now for the future. We bribe Hamas to keep things quiet now; we don’t deal with attackers and terrorists because we fear noise now. We harm the freedom of Jewish worship on the Temple Mount out of a desire for quiet now (he himself mentions this approvingly). But that is precisely the essence of the thesis of managing the conflict: its entire point is to buy time now and wait and see whether the future brings change. In my view, this thesis is very problematic in that sense—but Amos Oz, who opposes it, proposes in its place a very similar thesis. Look at his support for the peace agreements with Egypt and Jordan: that is nothing but an application of conflict management. It’s a policy whose aim is to buy time without war, because in any case we don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Within this framework we pay prices to gain a few more years of quiet until the next war, even though it is quite clear that it has no visible potential to create a state of peace. What is this if not a policy of managing the conflict?!

The Forest: A Bird’s-Eye View

Up to now I’ve presented critiques of the trees. But now we can see that there is a larger general flaw that envelops the framework of his remarks—the forest. He constantly explains how bad it will be if we do not make peace. That is probably true. But we have seen that in the world of action the law of the excluded middle does not always apply, and therefore proofs by contradiction deserve further scrutiny. He himself repeats that the Arabs will not become Zion-lovers and that there are huge dangers in a two-state situation. And in general, a peace treaty without a partner is like clapping with one hand. Add to this his claim that we have no way to predict the future and that our estimates are prone to error and change. If so, in my judgment the conclusion that follows from his words is… that we should manage the conflict, not hunt for a magic solution, and not take risks. True, the present is not great, but perhaps later we will have a less dangerous opportunity to separate in peace—for the temporary is subject to change. All his words are directed against the thesis of managing the conflict, yet he actually grounds it.

Overall, we’ve seen that his specific arguments (the trees) are themselves partly problematic, despite the (truly) impressive prophecies and distinctions. We have also seen that the forest is not built from the trees on which it is set. Ironically, Amos Oz’s lecture is an excellent explanation of the thesis of managing the conflict. This is a fascinating conclusion when one takes into account the man’s eloquence, acumen, and intelligence. And perhaps, as I wrote above, it is precisely these that tend to take us captive. As I listened to the lecture, something very similar happened to me as when I read Arna Caspi’s piece (see column 639): the eloquence took me captive, but on a second reading I suddenly saw that the claims are untenable. The trees did not build the declared forest, and even some of the trees themselves are quite rickety.

I must stress that I am not here to negate the very claim that it is worthwhile to seriously examine the path to peace. It may be that the right is wrong and that the fears of peace do not outweigh the fears of continuing the current situation. One can try to predict the likely future if we do attempt an agreement and if we continue the current state, and reach a conclusion as to what is preferable. That is a different discussion, and it certainly contains arguments for and against that deserve examination. But it has not a shred of connection to the question of the temporary versus the permanent, and certainly it cannot be proven by contradiction. These are the two pillars on which he builds the entire thesis—the proof by contradiction and the distinction between the temporary and the permanent. If so, the foundation on which he tries to build this (possibly correct) thesis is untenable. Through this I tried to illustrate the matter of the trees and the forest. It turns out that some of the trees do not really exist, and in any case it is clear that one cannot build his forest out of them—if anything, only the opposite forest.

One More Note to Conclude

In conclusion I must remark that it is rather astonishing to see a staff sergeant speaking at an INSS conference—a forum whose whole concern is military and strategic expertise—uttering statements that are unfounded and self-contradictory, doing so with eloquence and full confidence, and at the end receiving admiring applause. This may teach us something about the value of strategic expertise, and perhaps also about the objectivity and lack of agenda in the assertions of strategy experts (the question of the “conception”), and hence also shape the proper attitude toward such assertions. It turns out that if you speak in the “right” direction, you will win applause from all the “experts.” Even if you’re a raw private in the base canteen, you’ll get from them a citation and a medal of valor.