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In my affinity for Israel, I shared the sentiment of most other Southern Baptists that the holy places we revered should be preserved and made available for visits by Christians, and that members of other religious faiths should have the same guaranteed privileges concerning their sacred sites. Prior to the 1967 war there were no such assurances; under Jordanian rule, the areas were often closed, and some holy places were vandalized.
The Judaeo-Christian ethic and study of the Bible were bonds between Jews and Christians that had always been part of my life. I also believed very deeply that the Jews who had survived the Holocaust deserved their own nation and that they had a right to live in peace among their neighbors. I considered this homeland for the Jews to be compatible with the teachings of the Bible, hence ordained by God. These beliefs made my commitment to the security of Israel unshakable.
These were thoughts I shared with many other Americans, but as President I needed a broader perspective. For the well-being of my own country, I wanted the Middle East region stable and at peace; I did not want to see Soviet influence expanded in the area. In its ability to help accomplish these purposes, Israel was a strategic asset to the U.S.
Since I had made our nation's commitment to human rights a central tenet of our foreign policy, it was impossible for me to ignore the very serious problems in the West Bank. The continued deprivation of Palestinian rights was contrary to the basic moral and ethical principles of both our countries. In my opinion it was imperative that the U.S. work to obtain for these people the right to vote, to assemble and to debate issues that affected their lives, to own property without fear of its being confiscated and to be free of military rule. To deny these rights was indefensible for a free and democratic society.
I had no strong feelings about the Arab countries. I had never visited one and knew no Arab leaders. Then on April 4, 1977, a shining light burst on the Middle East scene for me. I met President Anwar Sadat of Egypt, a man who would change history and whom I would come to admire more than any other political leader in the world.
At the beginning of Sadat's visit to Washington, I thought he was a bit shy or ill at ease because he was sweating profusely. But he told me he had been unwell, with chills in Paris and a high fever since he had arrived in our country. Sadat's complexion was much darker than I had expected, and I noticed immediately a callused spot at the center of his forehead, apparently caused by a lifetime of touching his head to the ground in prayer. He didn't smoke very much, but he always wanted his pipe near by, and was irritated when his aide was slow in delivering it.
He was charming and frank, and also a very strong and courageous leader who would not shrink from making difficult political decisions. He was extraordinarily inclined toward boldness and seemed impatient with those more timid or cautious. I formed an immediate impression that our friendship could be very significant for both of us and that the prospects for peace in his troubled region might not be dead.
After a few weeks, Menachem Begin, then known to many Americans as a right-wing radical leader, was elected to head Israel's government. Israeli citizens, the American Jewish community