Epstein Secrets

be at stake for Damascus, I certainly couldn’t see the Phalangists being able to drive them out by force. The more immediate, open question involved Arafat and the Palestinians. Our other two invasion forces had driven almost all the PLO fighters out of south Lebanon, though not without costs and casualt

s, and at the dinner held at one of King Juan Carlos’s palatial estates, and, for me, a first opportunity to meet not only Arab foreign ministers but Yasir Arafat. My first, brief encounter with Arafat began a bit embarrassingly. I’d arrived a few minutes early for the conference dinner and was led into an imp

ived a few minutes early for the conference dinner and was led into an impressive hall that was almost empty except for a wonderfully cared-for royal Steinway. I sat down to play. Lost in the beauty of a Chopin sonata, I was completely unaware of PLO leader’s approach behind me. A bit awkwardly, I rose to g

or did I doubt that President Clinton, whom I had come to view not just as a diplomatic partner but a friend, would rise to the occasion. But as for Arafat? There was simply no way of knowing. That was why I had pressed President Clinton so hard to convene the summit. That was why, despite the misgiving

deeply, and was more determined to help us end it, than any other president before him. It was a moment of truth for the leader of the Palestinians, Yasir Arafat. The Oslo Accords of 1993, groundbreaking though they were, had created a peace process, not peace. Over the past few years, that process had been l

w minutes beforehand. | arrived first. I found myself in a breathtakingly opulent, but otherwise empty, room. Empty, that is, except for a dark-brown Steinway piano. From childhood, I have loved music. And while I am never likely to threaten the career of anyone in the New York Philharmonic, I have, over th

or did I doubt that President Clinton, whom I had come to view not just as a diplomatic partner but a friend, would rise to the occasion. But as for Arafat? There was simply no way of knowing. That was why I had pressed President Clinton so hard to convene the summit. That was why, despite the misgiving

deeply, and was more determined to help us end it, than any other president before him. It was a moment of truth for the leader of the Palestinians, Yasir Arafat. The Oslo Accords of 1993, groundbreaking though they were, had created a peace process, not peace. Over the past few years, that process had been l

w minutes beforehand. | arrived first. I found myself in a breathtakingly opulent, but otherwise empty, room. Empty, that is, except for a dark-brown Steinway piano. From childhood, I have loved music. And while I am never likely to threaten the career of anyone in the New York Philharmonic, I have, over th

be at stake for Damascus, I certainly couldn't see the Phalangists being able to drive them out by force. The more immediate, open question involved Arafat and the Palestinians. Our other two invasion forces had driven almost all the PLO fighters out of south Lebanon, though not without costs and casualt

s, and at the dinner held at one of King Juan Carlos's palatial estates, and, for me, a first opportunity to meet not only Arab foreign ministers but Yasir Arafat. My first, brief encounter with Arafat began a bit embarrassingly. I'd arrived a few minutes early for the conference dinner and was led into an impr

ived a few minutes early for the conference dinner and was led into an impressive hall that was almost empty except for a wonderfully cared-for royal Steinway. I sat down to play. Lost in the beauty of a Chopin sonata, I was completely unaware of PLO leader's approach behind me. A bit awkwardly, I rose to g

Iraqi desert." The Wexner Analysis points out that "... many sympathize with the plight of the Palestinian people, [but] there is no love lost for Yassir Arafat." The report complains that, "the emergence of Mahmoud Abbas as the new Palestinian Prime Minister comes exactly at the wrong time." Why? "His asc

gilded desk (which Epstein tells people belonged to banker J. P Morgan). 18th-century black lacquered Portuguese cabinets, and a nine- foot ebony Steinway "D" grand. On the desk, a paperback copy of the Marquis de Sade's The Alioin-runes of Virtue was re- cently spotted. Covering the floor. Epstein h