Reaching Out, Uncertainly, Toward Peace : Ceremony: The awkward handshake between Rabin and Arafat could serve as a metaphor for the tentative new relationship between the longtime enemies.

Right up to the last minute, no one was sure the historic handshake would happen at all.

Yitzhak Rabin, Israel’s prime minister, stood on the South Lawn of the White House with his hands tightly clasped, visibly uncomfortable to be sharing a platform with Yasser Arafat, the Palestinian guerrilla leader who had been his nation’s most bitter enemy.

But as the final signatures were penned on Israel’s peace agreement with Arafat’s Palestine Liberation Organization, President Clinton leaned over and whispered a final plea into Rabin’s ear.

A moment later, Clinton reached out with both arms to nudge the two men together. Arafat, smiling broadly, marched forward with his hand outstretched. Rabin grasped it, held on for a few seconds and let it fall.

That awkward handclasp, the most memorable moment of Monday’s ceremony, was emblematic of the suddenly transformed relationship between Israel and the PLO, an organization that once vowed to abolish the Jewish state.

Two leaders--and two peoples--have taken an enormous and probably irrevocable step toward each other.

For the first time, Arafat and his Palestinian followers have recognized Israel’s right to live in peace and security and have promised to end armed attacks against the Jewish state.

In return, Rabin and Israel have recognized the Palestinians’ right to live as a nation and choose their own government--principles that may well lead to the establishment of a Palestinian state.

“This is one of those decisions that changes reality,” said former Secretary of State James A. Baker III, who labored for three years to launch the Arab-Israeli peace talks. “It is an act of great courage on both sides.”

But as Rabin’s hesitancy suggested, it is also an act that means different things to the two sides involved.

Arafat and his Palestinians were wreathed in smiles, for although they have been forced to abandon most of their demands for territory, they have finally achieved what they wanted most: a place among the nations.

“For the first time, we have real recognition,” said a buoyant Hanan Ashrawi, spokeswoman for the Palestinian delegation at the Arab-Israeli peace talks.

Rabin and most other Israelis were more sober, wondering whether the bargain they have made will bring the peace they crave.

“I felt a certain uneasiness,” Rabin told reporters after the ceremony. “I cannot forget the 30 years of (Palestinian) terror. . . . But we learned the hard way. Peace you do with enemies--sometimes bitter enemies, enemies that you despise.”

But he pointed out that Arafat had taken the first step by recognizing Israel’s right to security and renouncing violence against the Jewish state.

“We have decided to take a chance--to put him to a test,” he said.

But it was only when Clinton brought Arafat and Rabin together for their short march onto the South Lawn did the enemies finally speak.

According to the President, Rabin was the one who broke the awkward silence.

“We need to work very hard to make this work,” Rabin told Arafat.

“I know, and I’m prepared to do my part,” Arafat replied.

At the ceremony, Rabin spoke eloquently of the death and pain Israelis have suffered at Palestinian hands: “Let me say to you, the Palestinians: We are destined to live together on the same soil in the same land--we, the soldiers who have returned from battles stained with blood; we, who have seen our relatives and friends killed before our eyes. . . . Enough of blood and tears! Enough!”

That was an emotional high point for many of the 3,000 guests, from former Presidents George Bush and Jimmy Carter to prominent Jewish and Arab Americans, who sat under a broiling sun on plastic folding chairs to watch ancient enemies make peace.

The other was Arafat’s plunge across the platform to shake hands with Rabin and Israeli Foreign Minister Shimon Peres, a move that prompted a standing ovation and shouts of “Bravo!” from the crowd.

Arafat later said he intended all along to take Rabin’s hand. But White House aides said Clinton--who stood between the two leaders--had pressed the Israeli prime minister to respond without knowing what the outcome would be.

“We didn’t know what Rabin would do,” one said. “We knew what Bill Clinton wanted.”

Arafat’s words were less stirring--and noteworthy for what he did not say as well as for what he said. The Palestinian leader did not explicitly demand an independent state, the return of the entire West Bank or that Jerusalem become the Palestinian capital.

Instead, he offered what some Middle East experts said was an important new principle: that Palestinian self-government could be a guarantee for Israel’s security.

“Our people do not believe that exercising the right to self-determination could violate the rights of their neighbors or infringe on their security,” Arafat said. “Rather, putting an end to their feelings of being wronged . . . is the strongest guarantee of achieving coexistence and openness between our two peoples.”

“That was important,” Stephen Cohen, director of the private Center for Middle East Peace in Montreal, said as the ceremony ended. “He put self-determination in the context of security. He used to talk about it as an absolute principle.”

Among Israelis and Arabs there were some small signs of ice-breaking.

At the day’s beginning, Israeli and PLO officials were still at arm’s length. Before the ceremony, waiting in the Blue Room of the White House, Israeli and Palestinian officials stood in separate huddles 30 feet apart, like shy teen-agers at a dance.

But by Monday evening, the awkwardness was ebbing--exactly what the vaguely worded Declaration of Principles was supposed to achieve.

At the end of the White House ceremony and at a State Department reception that followed, Arab ambassadors pumped Israeli officials’ hands--even though most of their governments do not yet formally recognize Israel.

And Arafat’s chief diplomat, Mahmoud Abbas, met discreetly with Israeli officials to set up the next stage of their reconciliation talks. Two weeks ago, such talks would have been a closely guarded secret; by Monday evening, they were almost routine business.

Almost. PLO spokesmen, perhaps finding it difficult to shake off old habits, initially refused to confirm that Abbas was talking with the Israelis--even though the agreement required it.

“Nothing will be the same again between Israelis and Palestinians,” said Martin Indyk, the chief Middle East expert at the White House. “But I think it will take a little time before they embrace each other.”