justifying, in retrospect, the slogan of the opposing camp, Dayan proclaimed a credo which can lead to the conclusion: If everything was achieved until now by war-why should we be interested in peace now? Why shouldn't we expect further gains in future wars?
Dayan did not say so, but, in the same speech, he rejected any hope for peace with the Arabs in the foreseeable future. In a manner reminiscent of the Roy Rotenberg funeral speech, he declared that the Six-Day War made peace even more remote, that the Arabs could not be expected to recognize an Israel which had become even stronger and bigger, and which now holds territory forty miles from Damascus. Dayan, of course, excluded any possibility of retreat from these territories.
From time to time Dayan plays these days with the idea of becoming a Man of Peace, of competing for leadership as a hawk-turned-dove. He likes to show himself as the man to whom the Arabs in the occupied territories can talk. As the minister in charge of the military administration in these territories, which, on the whole, conducts itself in an admirably liberal way, he can pose as a liberal himself.
But, I believe, that after every such intermezzo, Dayan will always return to his original image-the Arab-fighter. And he himself certainly senses that he can achieve supreme power in the next few years only if a new war-like situation creates a renewed popular demand for a strong man at the helm.
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The man Moshe Dayan is a typical Israeli, a product of Hebrew nationalism. He personifies certain facets of the Israeli character, traits which are latent, in one combination or another, in the mental makeup of every Israeli who has grown up in the country. But like a character in a well-written play, he is a man in whom the traits