17/11/00

Olive v'Shalom

The Palestinian conflict has been going on for decades;
shmitta, for millennia. The solution for both was perfect: a 'land for peas' deal.

    Now it can be told.
    At the start of the new year, Clinton called Barak, Barak spoke to Arafat, Arafat and Clinton talked, the upshot of which is that Barak had Arafat over to his house for a chat. What precisely they discussed, no one knew -- until now.
    At that exact same time, the start of the new year, shmitta observance began.
    It is not a coincidence.
    We were told at the time that this diplomatic activity was vital to the peace process. It wasn't. It was vital to shmitta. (Look, that makes a lot more sense than Palestinians and Israelis working out a peace process.)
    With a line open to the Americans, our diligent peacemakers discussed what it would take to love each other.
    Following the obligatory pleasanteries, the gentlemen got down to business.
    "I'd like a bit of tea, please."
    This startled Clinton listening in. "Who's that?" he asked.
    Barak cleared his throat. "Didn't anyone tell you? I've invited Rabbi Gewirtz. He has a peace plan."
    "So does my hairdresser," Clinton shot back. "Who is he? Does he have security clearance?"
    The unfamiliar voice spoke up. "Reb Feivel Gewirtz, I am. The shmitta rabbi."
    "What's a shmatta rabbi?"
    The rabbi muttered something that sounded like "goyishe kop," but no one could be sure.
    The answer came, surprisingly enough, from Arafat. "I know of this rabbi. Seven years ago, I read about him in But Seriously." Clinton had never heard of the rabbi, shmitta or But Seriously, which is probably why he won't be president for much longer.
    Shmitta, the rabbi quickly explained, is the sabbatical of the land of the Land of Israel. Every seventh year, the earth lays fallow. Jews  may not plant, plough or harvest.
    "Well, then, Happy Shmitta," Clinton said drily. "Now if you'll excuse us, rabbi, we have a peace process to tie up here. Mr. Prime Minister, are you there? I'd like to get on with this, the football game's gonna be on TV in a few minutes."
    Barak hastily filled in the president. "This is the breakthrough I was telling you about. We have a new plan -- and this one's brilliant. Y'see, starting this week, my country -- the only one in the world, I might add -- is putting down its pitchforks, plows and harvesters, and taking a year off from agriculture. You follow me so far?"
    "Not at all. But it wouldn't be the first time."
    Arafat snickered.
    Barak glared at the Palestinian, but carried on. "This happens every seven years, and every seven years, we get around the problem by finagling loopholes. It's an old tradition: we 'sell' the land to non-Jews, so we can continue farming on it. But this year, our leading rabbis said nothing doing. Shmitta will be upheld exactly like it says in the Bible."
    Clinton turned on the TV. The football game was under way. "Uh-huh," he responded dully. The Redskins kicked off. He was fast losing interest in this Balkan crisis. Or Middle Eastern. Whatever.
    Barak labored on. "So what, you ask. Remember the oil shortage in America? That's what we're facing, only here it's cucumbers and tomatoes and peas and carrots; watermelons and figs and olives. Mr. President, it's a national calamity, an entire year without our beloved fruits and veggies! If anything could bring down my government, that's it."
    "So? Let 'em eat steak." Second and eight from the 40 yard line. Go defense!
    "Then along comes this Rabbi Gewirtz, famous for his shmitta wisdom, and in two minutes he figures everything out. Rabbi, would you take it from here?"
    "It's simple," the rabbi said. "I call it 'land for peas.'"
    "We tried that," the president said impatiently. "It didn't fly."
    "Ah, that was 'land for peace.' Of course it didn't work. Because no one knows what peace is. In my plan it's something for something."
    The Redskins were -- wait a minute. "Did you say 'land for peas'?!"
    "Naturally. It works like this: The Jews give the Palestinians all the land. We don't need it, because we can't use it. For the next year it's just dirt. These Palestinians get everything they want, and we get what we need, because they will farm for us and make lots of money, which they also need. Nu? What do you think?"
    Clinton snapped off the TV. He broke into a cold sweat. "I think," he said hoarsely --
    Bugeyed, Arafat cut in. "I think it's perfect!"
    Barak was beaming.
    Peace at last!

WHILE BARAK went searching for his special treaty-signing pen, and Arafat got on the phone to ask permission from the leaders of the 20 most important Arab countries, and Rabbi Gewirtz excused himself to daven mincha, Clinton was calling a press conference, and to hell with the game.
    "We have important -- no, let me rephrase that: historic news to share with you today," Clinton told the assembled. And then he opened the phone line to the Barak residence. "Mr. Prime Minister? The world awaits your incredible announcement."
    "... Four-fifty? No way. Six-fifty..."
    "Uh, Mr. Barak? Mr. Arafat?"
    "... Where can you find cabbage for 6.50 a kilo? I won't be insulted by your chutzpah..."
    Obviously a crossed line, Clinton told the waiting journalists. Nope, said a technician; it's the peace summit alright.
    Rabbi Gewirtz grabbed the phone. "Nothing to worry about, Mr. President. They're just going over the details."
    "... You Jews are at it again, robbing us Palestinians!"
    "Oh yeah? What d'you call peaches at 18 shekels a kilo? I'm signing over my whole country to you, and within a minute you're tripling the prices!"
    "Sign? Whaddaya mean, sign? Your stupid pen ran out of ink when I tried to sign. The deal's off!"
    "But this is crazy! OK, I surrender, you win, name your price. Just take the damn land and be done with it!"
    " 'The land?!' You are tricking an old Arab. I want the land AND the buildings. Write that down on your treaty."
    The rabbi intervened. "What buildings? Shmitta means giving up only the farmland. For one year, until next Rosh Hashana. It's symbolic only. What, you thought --"
    And then the phone line went dead. Clinton, embarrassed yet again by these quibbling Middle Easterners, didn't know what to tell the restless media people. "What's this all about?" one of them cried out. "Don't you know there's a game on?"
    "Yes, uh, that's why I've called you here. Ladies and gentlemen, the end of an era approaches. When the Clinton Administration expires, I will formally surrender my complimentary Redskins season tickets. I want to be absolutely clear on this. Have a nice day."
    "Wait a minute!" a reporter shouted. "What was all that coming over the loudspeakers?"
    "That? Oh, nothing. Just the peace process."
    The president's announcement was front-page news everywhere the next day, including quotes by several Redskins fans (none of whom had even heard of the peace process).
    Meanwhile, somewhere in the Middle East, with shmitta doom looming, another effort to end the Palestinian-Israeli conflict failed. But this one came close. Real close.
    But now it can be told: the peace summit very nearly bore fruit. And vegetables.