Benjamin Netanyahu's handling of the Gaza blockade flotilla
crisis has further isolated Israel in the world and strained
relations with Washington. Can a tough nationalist emerge as a
It was one of those moments in Israeli politics - any nation's
politics - in which the numbers just don't add up. Lawmakers had
been toiling all night trying to fashion a budget. Now night had
turned into dawn and debate into occasional tempestuousness when, at
7 a.m., Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu strode into the Knesset in
his trademark crisp white shirt, designer tie, and dark suit.
Fourteen years ago, when he was prime minister the first time
around, Mr. Netanyahu likely would have marched straight to his
desk, crunched his numbers, applied his macroeconomic theories, and
come up with his answers to the budget gap. Not this time, according
to Yuli Edelstein, his minister of information and diaspora.
Instead, Netanyahu headed for the back of the room where rank-
and-file members sat. He shook their hands, asked about their
spouses, inquired about their kids.
IN PICTURES: The Gaza flotilla and the aftermath of the Israeli
"I saw him shaking hands with all kinds of backbenchers. I looked
at this scene and said with wonder, 'Is this the same person from 17
years ago?' " recalls Mr. Edelstein. "Back then, he was too much of
a policy wonk to do anything like that."
The scene illustrates one way in which Netanyahu has changed
since his first tenure as prime minister from 1996 to 1999. Although
perhaps still someone who prefers the lecturer's podium to backroom
politicking, he has learned to excel at the glad-handing art of
governance, which was remarkably absent the first time around. "In
the beginning it was hard for him to understand that outside the
world of big ideas you have to do a lot of political homework, to
give recognition to people - to members of Knesset, to coalition
partners," Edelstein says.
Now it's about being a little less cerebral, a little more
congenial. And, perhaps, taking things in stride. "I see him today
being more patient and less jumpy, less overreacting to all kinds of
things," says Edelstein. "There are people who are a natural at
this. He's not."
Other things, however, seem to come easily: Netanyahu's ability
to state his case. Even, that is, when much of the world disagrees,
as it has with his stance on the flotilla crisis that erupted May
31. From the time he was a student at Cheltenham High School near
Philadelphia, where he excelled on the debating team, to his world
debut in the mid-1980s when he began defending Israel as its envoy
to the United Nations, Netanyahu showed acumen in the persuasive
arts. But it's still not clear where he will put these skills to the
greatest use - in swaying fellow Israelis to take risks for peace or
in convincing the rest of the world why an embattled Israel can't.
From the floor of the Knesset plenum to the door of the White
House, from the halls of power in Europe and the Middle East to -
perhaps most important - the Muqata in Ramallah where the
Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas sits, there seems to
be a shared sense of mystery about who Benjamin Netanyahu really is
and who he is ready to become. Perhaps he is his father's son, the
heir apparent of an ultranationalist wing of Zionism whose founders
saw no space - physically, strategically, ideologically - for an
independent Palestinian state on the land now controlled by the
Jewish-Israeli one. Or perhaps he dreams of following in the bold
footsteps of other Israeli leaders - of Likud founder Menachem Begin
when he signed a land-for-peace deal with Egypt in 1979 - and hopes
to go down in history as a singular leader who ushered in some
viable plan to solve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
It may be that he wants both. He wants to be Bibi, as he is
widely known here, the man who defends Israel from outside pressure
to make concessions that might endanger its survival - which is
precisely how he has played his opposition to ending Israel's
controversial naval blockade of the Gaza Strip. …