by Shimon Peres
In the years to follow, there were still attempts to make peace, but the new context made it harder. In time the lifeblood of Oslo was drained, the framework largely discarded. And yet, its legacy remains. We fell short of our grandest ambitions—a permanent solution, a permanent peace—but the work was the beginning of a revolution, a defining moment that produced the foundation for a greater peace to come. It was this effort that gave us the two-state solution—the only framework that has a real chance to succeed. Because of our negotiations with the Palestinians, we still today have a camp of Palestinians, led by Mahmoud Abbas, who seek genuine peace. Without him, we would have only Hamas. Because of our negotiations, we were able to lay the groundwork and the framework for future agreement. An acknowledgment among Palestinians that it is 1967 borders, and not 1947 borders, that are the basis for discussion is in itself a kind of revolution in thinking. Without Oslo, we wouldn’t have been able to open embassies and build relationships with former enemies, nor would we have been able to make peace with Jordan. Oslo allowed us to direct government investments into infrastructure and social programs. It opened up Israel’s economy to the broader Middle East, and the broader Middle East’s to Israel, allowing us to sign agreements and form partnerships that boosted our growth. And it is worth remembering that every subsequent Israeli government, even those that have not chosen peace as a priority, eventually adopted our framework, acknowledging that the only way to put an end to the vicious cycle of violence and terrorism is through peace—through two states, not one.
And yet there continues to be great skepticism about peace—not only whether it’s possible, but whether it’s even desirable. To the first question, I believe that peace is not only possible, but inevitable. The optimism I feel is a function not just of my identity, but of history. History, after all, is a powerful antidote to a cynical view of the world. How many times has it surprised us? How many times has it led us to realities that far exceeded our dreams? Who would have dreamed, after World War II, that just three years later, France, Germany, and Italy would join together in peaceful alliance? How many times did I hear experts tell us that lasting peace with Egypt and Jordan was simply impossible? How many times did the pessimists shake their head at the idea that among the Palestinians there would ever rise a broad constituency against terror?
We have seen the impossible made real again and again. There was a time when the Arab League subscribed to the Khartoum Formula, known as the three “no’s”: never make peace with Israel; never recognize Israel; never negotiate with Israel. Most of the people I worked with most of my life would never have imagined a time when the Arab League would publish an initiative that refutes them all. Never would they have believed that Arab leaders would speak out in favor of peace and against terror, not just abroad, but at home, or that Palestinians would recognize Israel within its 1967 borders. And yet peace, stubbornly, doggedly, finds a way, without consideration of the doubts of the experts.
I believe in the inevitability of peace because I understand the necessity of peace. Necessity is, perhaps, the most powerful concept of all. It is what drove the pioneers to settle the land. It is what pushed them to think creatively—to turn salted dirt into fertile ground, and transform a fallow desert into a community that could bear fruit. It was necessity that sent Ben-Gurion on a mission to build the IDF, to protect us at a time of our greatest vulnerability from the certainty of impending war. It was necessity that called upon Israeli leadership to build the impossible in Dimona, and to risk everything in Entebbe. And likewise, it will be the necessity of peace that brings it, finally—and fully—to fruition. The cost of hostility is simply too high.
I believe with all my being in the virtue of Zionism, and in the historic decision made by Ben-Gurion to accept the UN resolution for a partitioned Palestine. Even then, Ben-Gurion understood that in order to retain the Jewish character of our state, we had to uphold our values, and that our values are fundamentally democratic. Jews are taught that we are all born in the image of God. To believe this fundamental tenet, a Jewish state must embrace democracy, which demands full equality between the Jews and non-Jews. Democracy, after all, is not only the right of every citizen to be equal, but also the equal right of every citizen to be different. The future of the Zionist project depends on our embrace of the two-state solution. The danger, if Israel abandons this goal, is that the Palestinians will eventually accept a one-state solution. Because of demographics, this will leave us with a choice: stay Jewish or stay democratic. But it really isn’t a choice at all. To lose our Jewish majority is to lose our Jewish character. To give up on democracy is to abandon our Jewish values. We must hold on to our values. We didn’t give up our values even when we were facing furnaces and gas chambers. We lived as Jews and died as Jews and rose again as free Jewish people. We didn’t survive merely to be a passing shadow in history, but as a new genesis, a nation intent on tikkun olam, on making the world aright.
In 1996, I established the Peres Center for Peace and Innovation because of my belief in people and their ability to bring positive change, and in recognition that peace cannot solely be made by governments; it must be made between people—between Jews and Arabs. And I have worked over the past twenty years to build those bonds through peace education, business partnerships, agriculture, and health care. But a permanent solution will require the reasoned wisdom of governments—ours and our neighbors. It will require leaders who understand that Israel is strong enough to make peace, and that making peace from a position of strength is imperative. To wait is to guarantee that the agreement will be worse than any we have ever considered; Israel will be negotiating, for the very first time, from a position of weakness. In a reality where immediate peace is the only way to save Zionism, the Palestinian negotiators will hold all the cards.
The question, then, is not whether we will achieve peace, but when, and at what cost, knowing that the longer we wait, the higher it grows. This is why I see grave danger in giving in to skepticism at a time when we should be redoubling our efforts. In history, there is no reverse gear.
As I know far too well, achieving peace is not easy. But there is no alternative but to return to the table. The yesterday between us and the Palestinians is full of sadness. I believe that the Israel and Palestine of tomorrow can offer our children a new ray of hope. The advancement of peace will complete the march of Israel toward the fulfillment of its founding vision: an exemplary and thriving country, living in peace and security in its homeland and among its neighbors.
It has been more than twenty years since I stood on a stage in Oslo and alongside Rabin and Arafat accepted the Nobel Peace Prize. Much has changed since then, but my core message remains unaltered: countries can no longer afford to divide the world into friend and foe. Our foes are now universal—poverty and famine, radicalization and terror. These know no borders and threaten all nations. And so we must act swiftly to build the bonds of peace, to tear down walls built with bitterness and animosity, so that we can together confront the challenges and seize the opportunities of a new era.
Optimism and naïveté are not one and the same. That I am optimistic does not mean I expect a peace of love; I expect, simply, a peace of necessity. I do not envision a perfect peace, but I believe we can find a peace that allows us to live side by side without the threat of violence.
In the years to come, we must remember that peace negotiations will never begin with a happy end. They will begin, instead, from an obscure, complicated situation, colored with memories of pain and of violence. And they will take time. So let us rededicate ourselves to that effort, and save the happy end for the ending. I believe with all my heart in the vision of the prophets, the vision of peace, for the country I love so much. And what I know to be true is that a majority of people on both sides of the divide are eager for peace—especially the young generation. They are the ones who transform the impossible into the unlikely, the ones whose creativity and passion will turn the unlikely into reality.
Whether the leaders catch up to the young, or the young become the leaders, we are inevitably walking in the same direction. The road will be littered with obstacles. But it remains the only one worth traveling.
EPILOGUE
In the span of my lifetime, I have seen the extraordinary: During my childhood, I rode in horse-drawn carriages in Vishneva. During my presidency, I witnessed the birth of the self-driving car. I have seen technology that sent men to the moon and vaccines that have eradicated deadly diseases from the face of the earth. I have seen billions lifted out of poverty, a world still in conflict but more peaceful than at any point of human existence. And I have seen the Jewish people fight for a thin slice of desert, then transform it into a country that surpassed our grandest dreams.
I recognize that progress has not always been steady. It is often uneven, with tragic steps backward. The Allied powers defeated the Nazis and made the world safe for democracy—but not before the deaths of millions. The splitting of the atom created the potential for new energy and new sciences—but with it came the heavy fear that a push of a button would bring global catastrophe. The Internet has allowed billions of people to break free from old dogmas—but it has also allowed the forces of evil to spread hate in an instant. We have seen the danger when technology and morality do not coexist.
At the time of this writing, we face new dangers. A decline in tolerance. A rise in nationalism. A world at the height of prosperity that is not widely shared, where we see rising inequality, both within countries and between them. And yet in spite of these forces, I remain optimistic. Not only because it is my nature, but because I can see the countervailing winds blowing in the direction of progress. We are in transition—from one era to another. It is not humanity’s first, but it is its most rapid and comprehensive. It is the leap from the age of territory to the age of science.
The age of territory was driven by acquisition. Leaders of nations sought to increase their nation’s power by gaining territory—mostly through force. Accumulated military prowess by one drove would-be victims to arm. War was thus inevitable. Lost lives and wasted resources were its currency. And always, one side’s gain was the other’s loss. Today, the importance of land as the primary source of human livelihood has diminished, giving way to science instead. Unlike territory, science has no borders or flags. Science can’t be conquered by tanks or defended by fighter jets. It has no limitations. A nation can increase its scientific achievement without taking anything from somebody else. In fact, great scientific achievement by one nation lifts the fortunes of all nations. It is the first time in history that we can win, without making anyone lose.
In the age of science, the traditional power of states and leaders is declining. Rather than politicians, it is innovators that drive the global economy and wield the most influence. The young leaders who created Facebook and Google have sparked a revolution without killing one person. The globalized economy affects every state, yet no single state is powerful enough to determine outcomes. We are participating in the birth of a new world.
Past discoveries have proven the power of science. When my grandfather was in the prime of his life, for example, someone with a tooth infection would have no recourse, only terrible pain and probable death. Today antibiotics allow us to live better lives than the royalty of the recent past. The high-tech revolution may be just as profound.
We have already seen the power of mobile technology to break down even the harshest of dictatorships. While governments can try to restrict free expression, they increasingly and inevitably fail. In the Middle East, there are nearly 130 million boys and girls with smartphones. They may not be able to break free from their government, but with new access to new knowledge, they can break free from the old ideology. We may soon find that peace is made possible not through negotiation but through innovation.
Technological progress has created bridges across borders and languages and cultures. We have yet to fully comprehend the opportunities that will continue to grow from this transformational interconnectivity. Yet transformations, however worthy, do not follow a clear path. One cannot forge connections without the prior existence of gaps, but one also cannot forge connections if those gaps are too wide. In today’s world, the separation between generations is wider than the separation between nations, and it is the young who now hold the power to create greater global impact than statesmen and generals ever could. Those firmly planted in the past will surely resist the future. Today, the Middle East is ailing. The malady stems from pervasive violence; from shortages of food, water, and educational opportunities; from discrimination against women; and more virulently, from the absence of freedom. Too many in our region are lingering on the old idea of territory as might. We are still witness to horrific wars perpetrated by governments of the old order, those who prefer to remember than to dream. Nonetheless the trend is unmistakable: wars are gradually being rendered futile. They have already lost their rational motivation and their moral justification. And though despots have the power to kill thousands, they do not have the power to kill an idea.
The imperative of the young generation is to help complete this transformation. We need a generation that sees leadership as a noble cause, defined not by personal ambition, but by morality—and a call to service. We need leaders who believe that the world can be changed not by killing and shooting but by creating and competing, leaders who prefer to be controversial for the right reasons, rather than popular for the wrong ones, leaders who use their imagination more than their memory. I am filled with hope because I believe we have that generation at hand, walking the earth at this very moment. To the young people of the world, I hope that you will take to heart what David Ben-Gurion taught me. It was from him I learned that the vision of the future should shape the agenda for the present; that one can overcome obstacles by dint of faith; that there is nothing more responsible than to take risks today for the sake of tomorrow’s chance; that just as birth requires the pain of labor, success requires the pain of failure.
I don’t expect you to take the word of an old man; if I have earned the title of expert, it is only on what was. There is no expert on what will be. And yet, without knowing the future, I remain a man full of hope. Hope for peace. Hope that we will continue to make the Promised Land a land of promise. Hope that Israel will uphold social justice as a moral country. Hope that we will raise our eyes to the realized dreams of our prophets, who showed us that liberty is also the soul of the Jewish heritage. My greatest hope is that our children, like our forefathers, will continue to plow the historical Jewish furrow in the field of the human spirit; that Israel will become the center of our heritage, not merely our homeland; and that the Jewish people will both be inspired by others and a continued source of inspiration.
I am grateful that the chapters of my life are entwined with the birth and construction of Israel. I will be forever indebted to Ben-Gurion, who called me to work for him, and who gave me the wonderful privilege of serving my country. For nearly seventy years, inspired by his leadership, I tried to gather strength for Israel, to build its defense and pursue peace for my people—our heart’s truest desire. I love this country—the scent of the orange blossoms in the spring; the hum of the Jordan River; the silent peace of the Negev nights; and always, its people, who at every encounter of my life have proved valiant and faithful and generous and resilient.
I do not pretend that I am a complex individual. I was given my life, some two and a half billion seconds: I did some reckoning, and I decided to do something with those seconds so that I might make a difference. I think I decided correctly. I don’t regret any of my dreams. My only regret is not having dreamed more. I got my life as a gift. I’ll give it up without an overdraft.
Every once in a while, someone will ask me to look back on my career and identify the achievement in my life of which I am proudest. I respond by telling them the story of a great painter, who was once approached by an admirer of his art.
“Which of your
paintings do you consider your most beautiful?” the man asked.
The painter looked up at the man, then turned his gaze toward a large blank canvas, resting on an easel in the corner of the room.
“The one I will paint tomorrow,” he replied.
My answer is the same.
—SEPTEMBER 2016
AFTERWORD
On September 13, 2016, Shimon Peres met with hundreds of entrepreneurs from all over the world and encouraged them to invest in Israeli technologies. He was joined by his son, Chemi, who interviewed him onstage. Peres also launched a social media campaign that day to bolster Israeli industries. Before the day was over, he was being rushed to the hospital.
Shimon Peres died on September 28, 2016. Thousands of people, including leaders from dozens of countries, came together to pay their respects.
At a special cabinet meeting in memoriam that morning, Prime Minister Netanyahu observed that it was “the first day of the State of Israel without Shimon Peres.”
The Israeli Innovation Center will open in 2018. The Peres Center for Peace and Innovation will continue his important work, on his behalf, and on behalf of all those who seek a more peaceful and prosperous world.
PHOTOS SECTION
My grandfather Meltzer and his descendants in Vishneva, Poland, 1923. I’m standing third from the right in the back row. GPO
Me (on the right); my brother, Gershon (Gigi); and our parents, Sarah and Yitzhak Persky, in Vishneva, 1928. Shimon Peres Archives
The Tarbut School in Vishneva, 1931. I’m sitting on the left in the front row. Shimon Peres Archives