Facing Up to the Last Retreat

Israeli settlers already mourn the loss of the Sinai

In little more than a year's time, Israel will transfer to full Egyptian sovereignty the remaining third of the wedge-shaped 23,622 sq.mi. Sinai Peninsula that it has occupied since the Six-Day War of June 1967* That final withdrawal, which must be completed by April 25,1982, is already making waves. Last week Israeli settlers in the area blocked local roads in protest, while sympathizers in Jerusalem threatened to demonstrate in front of Prime Minister Menachem Begin's office. In Washington, meanwhile, Secretary of State Alexander Haig revived a controversial proposal that could station more than 1,000 U.S. peace-keeping troops in the buffer zone that will guarantee the security of the two countries after the withdrawal. TIME Jerusalem Bureau Chief David Aikman last week traveled across the much-disputed area. His report:

To outsiders, the very name Sinai conjures up wilderness and desolation. But to some 5,000 Israeli settlers, the startlingly beautiful desert has offered tempting development possibilities, from innovative agricultural communes among the sand dunes near the Mediterranean to the tourist centers along the superb beaches of the Red Sea coast. For them, giving up the last of the Sinai will be a traumatic experience. Many are already bitter and confused. Says Sara Feifels, 40, a Sinai settler since 1974: "When we heard about Camp David, it was like someone saying our child was dying. I went through a period like mourning." Feifels and her husband Chaim run the general store in Yamit, an ambitious Israeli development town begun seven years ago near the Gaza Strip. Today Yamit is less than one-quarter complete. The stores in its tidy shopping center are gradually closing.

The tenacious 2,500 people still at Yamit have all been offered generous Israeli government compensation for leaving, and most have accepted. But some are still obdurate. Students at the town's yeshiva have hinted that they may barricade themselves inside their dormitory when the deadline comes. Says Tsuriel Biblil, 24: "I won't kill any soldiers, but I won't let anyone take me from here."

Barely a mile from Yamit, at the cooperative farm of Moshav Sadot, the Sinai's sandy hinterland has been transformed into a verdant cornucopia. Tomato, eggplant and pepper plants, mango and lichee nut trees are nourished in long rows by painstaking drip irrigation. Collective farmers like those of Moshav Sadot are demanding at least half of the estimated $2.2 billion--or 13% of the 1981 national budget--that Israel has set aside as compensation for the Sinai settlers. But even that will not console all of them. Says Ella Weizman, 31, who sits tensely with her husband Vito in the comfortable living room of their farm home: "We came to nothing, and we made something out of it. You can't pay for the soul and the dreams we put into this place."

The stubborn mood extends to the Red Sea coast, where two Israeli resort settlements have sprung up between Eilat, at the top of the Gulf of Aqaba, and Sharm el Sheikh, near the Sinai's southern tip. The new spas, havens for Israeli tourists, foreign sightseers and hippies, are tolerant to a degree unheard of in Israel. Sunbathers routinely strip naked on the placid beaches. Hashish, smuggled from Egypt, is freely available. Many of the Israeli hoteliers and other developers would like to stay on after April 1982, but the Egyptian entrepreneurs waiting in the wings have resisted all proposals to set up possible joint ventures because they figure they will simply take over the resort facilities altogether.

Such concerns, however, are minor compared with the issue of military security. To Israeli government officials, the Sinai has above all been a strategic early-warning zone, affording precious time to react to any military moves against Israel's western border. Most of all, they are preparing to mourn the loss next year of two multibillion-dollar air force bases at Eitam and Etzion. The supersecret and formidably protected Etzion field is described by U.S. experts as "the finest tactical fighter base in the world." During the 1973 October War, Israeli Mirage interceptors scrambled from the field to win 42 aerial dogfights without a loss.

On one typical day at Etzion, at 10-sec. intervals, a flight of pale blue Israeli-made Kfir jet fighters hurtled off the runway in follow-the-leader sequence toward the south. Looking up at the streaking planes, a senior officer mused, "We will take with us whatever is economical to take. The rest we will destroy."

To fill the strategic gap, the Israelis are building two new airfields, Ovda and Ramon, in the north and south of the Negev. Meantime, Israeli air force officials are looking at ways to keep Etzion operational until the very last minute before the transfer. Said one officer: "Some Americans say privately to us that they can't believe we can give it back." If the Israelis cannot retain the two Sinai bases, they would like the U.S. to have access to them --but that idea is strongly opposed by Egyptian President Anwar Sadat.

For all the problems of the impending change, there are some Sinai dwellers who view it all with stoic detachment. They are the 32,000 local Bedouin nomads, many of whom have grown relatively rich from the job opportunities provided by the Israelis. Yet at least part of their timeless perspective remains. Says gray-bearded Khnebesh Rabiya, a local coffee vendor: "We don't care about Egypt or Israel. What we care about is whether our camels have enough to eat.'' -

*Since March 1979, Israel has relinquished the western two-thirds of the Sinai, where some 180 U.S. civilian technicians remain as a watchdog force.

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