Even with this modest support, the news of the peace plan caused a fierce public debate to burst out overnight. Following a long period of seeming national consensus over war and peace issues, the government found itself on the defensive, having to defend its policies and respond to Beilin's initiative. Geneva's critics focused on the "subversion" allegation, accusing Beilin and Co. of negotiating the country's fate without proper authority, behind the government's back, thereby weakening Israel's ability to win the war and aiding the enemy through false hopes. Unsurprisingly, the pro and con arguments soon went overboard. Mitzna wrote that Geneva was even more important than David Ben Gurion's proclamation of Israel in 1948. From the right, Knesset member Shaul Yahalom of the National Religious Party demanded the indictment of Geneva's authors for high treason.

On Monday, Sharon gave his semiannual address at the opening of the Knesset's winter session. He did not mention Geneva, but it clearly influenced his every word. Having realized his initial mistake, Sharon tried to change course and turn Geneva against its authors, calling it "a misrepresentation" and appealing to "responsible Labor members" to support the government. Thus he tried to split the left camp.

Nevertheless, Sharon's arguments were hollow. He promised the wary public "a real chance for real progress" and held out hopes that the deadlock might be broken within "several months." Until then, the public was asked to hold on, which meant to absorb more terror attacks and further economic decline. Sharon praised "the road map, with Israel's reservations," as the only possible plan, and as always, demanded that the Palestinians act first. True to form, he avoided taking any initiative, save for approving the controversial security barrier in the West Bank.

In fact, Sharon knows very well that the road map has been all but dead for several weeks, and that there is no reason for anyone to believe that his policies will produce "real progress," whether in several months or several years. The Bush administration lost its short-lived interest in peacemaking, pulled back its envoy John Wolf, and announced it would return only when a new Palestinian prime minister takes office and assumes responsibility over a unified security force. Israeli officials understand it as a long timeout, at least until after the American presidential election and the forming of a new administration. They well know that Bush sees every political reason not to enter the Israeli-Palestinian conflict: He fears losing his Christian evangelical base and valuable Jewish votes if he criticizes Sharon; and with the Democrats also unswervingly supporting Sharon's policies (the Democratic frontrunner, Howard Dean, was savaged and forced to retreat when he suggested that U.S. policy needed to be more evenhanded), Bush doesn't have to pay any political price for his position.

Following a deadly attack last week, in which three American security guards were killed when a roadside bomb exploded under their car near Gaza, the administration pulled its diplomats out of the occupied territories altogether. Washington is sticking with its Catch-22 policy regarding Arafat: It agrees with Sharon that the Palestinian leader is the main obstacle and refuses to talk to him, but at the same time forbids Israel to expel or kill him. Under these conditions, all Sharon can do is hope for Arafat's demise. Speculations about Arafat's recent illnesses -- a heart attack, stomach infection, liver troubles, gallstones -- were warmly welcomed in Israel's security circles. Israeli intelligence maintains that the Palestinian leader is sicker than his physicians say. American officials doubt it, but who really knows what is happening inside Arafat's bloodstream.

Sharon's government continues to repeat the mantra that when Arafat disappears, his successors will prove more "moderate" and will accept Israel's demands to fight terrorism. So far, however, there are no indications that this analysis is correct. Ahmed Qorei ("Abu Ala"), the interim Palestinian prime minister, has been thwarted by Arafat from even forming a Cabinet, with the sticking point, as always, being control of security. By Nov. 4, Abu Ala must present his permanent Cabinet or resign. Israeli security officials give him zero chance of remaining in office, despite the government's pledge to negotiate with him if he succeeds.

Facing this stalemate, some Likud politicians have started raising alternatives. Sharon's deputy, former Jerusalem Mayor Ehud Olmert, suggested a "unilateral move" in which Israel would define its borders and abandon parts of the West Bank. Defense Minister Shaul Mofaz, Israel's war leader, warned of a diplomatic vacuum. But both, like other politicians, have merely whispered, avoiding serious public debate over their ideas.

Sharon's grip over Israeli politics appears to be unchallenged, despite his failure to bring peace, security or prosperity; his recent decline at the polls; and the ongoing criminal investigation into his campaign finances. Senior Likud members say that he could win approval for a moderate diplomatic initiative, which would include the removal of several isolated settlements. But Sharon is in no rush. He prefers waiting -- while escalating his military response to Palestinian attacks -- to taking any peace initiative. Given America's total support for Sharon, it's hard to see any imperative for policy change in Jerusalem.

As Sharon spoke at the Knesset plenum, the fragile, de facto calm between Israel and Hamas broke down. The Palestinians launched Qassam rockets on Sunday, prompting a fierce Israeli response with helicopter attacks in Gaza that killed 12 people the next day. Since then, Israelis are waiting in despair for the inevitable deadly response.

This cruel reality was not lost on Shimon Peres, Sharon's longtime friend who returned to the post of opposition leader. When the Labor Party leader rose to give his customary response to Sharon's speech, he avoided shaking the prime minister's hand. Once on the podium, he launched a fierce, unprecedented attack on the government's sit-tight policy, seeming to erase the memories of his loyal service as Sharon's foreign minister until their coalition collapsed a year ago. As always, the 80-year-old Peres gave a vigorous performance, speaking without notes and spellbinding the audience, in stark contrast to Sharon's carefully read talking points.

It was a good show, but in the end it was just a show. Neither Peres, nor his opposition colleagues who interrupted Sharon's speech with numerous boos, have any chance to topple the government. The election results made Likud the dominant party, an inevitable axis for any possible coalition. Even if Sharon leaves, his successor will be from the right.

Still, things have changed. Before the nation heard about Geneva, Peres had avoided even the smallest criticisms of Sharon and seemed to want to crawl back into the Likud leader's lap. Only when Beilin, his old protég´, dared to put his alternative on the table, did Peres remember his real place in Israeli politics. Despite some reservations over Geneva's details, Peres has publicly defended the negotiations.

In all probability, the Geneva accord will not be translated into a formal peace deal in the foreseeable future. Nor will its authors assume leadership positions. But it already sowed the seeds of an Israeli debate over the most momentous matters: war and peace, relations with the Palestinians, the future of the Jewish state. And judging by the experience of the past 30 years, this is the first step toward policy and political change.

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