Epstein Secrets

uld later become the head of Israel’s National Parks Authority. It had a padlocked metal grill on the back which held two jerrycans of gasoline. Yori Cohen, the commander of the back-up team, and I spotted the fuel containers at the same time. We couldn’t help smiling. Yes, we were about to embark on an

eneral, we headed to our setting-off point. Yoffe himself left to join Avraham Arnan and Meir Amit’s intelligence deputy, 67 HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_011538 Ahraleh Yariv, in the command post for our mission, atop a hill on the Israeli side of the northern border. The sun set at around seven, but we waited for darknes

ince their high school days at the Alliance. I had first met Nava Cohen, the woman I would go on to marry, the previous year. It was through another Cohen, though they were not related: Nechemia, my sayeret friend who was killed in the 1967 war. He invited me to Tel Aviv for a party in the spring, on th

ied there, in the spring of 1969. My parents and brothers came with two busloads of friends from the kibbutz. Avraham Arnan was there, of course. But Ahraleh Yariv and Eli Zeira, two of the military intelligence heroes of the Six-Day War, also drove up for the wedding, which touched both Nava and me, not to ment

uld later become the head of Israel's National Parks Authority. It had a padlocked metal grill on the back which held two jerrycans of gasoline. Yori Cohen, the commander of the back-up team, and I spotted the fuel containers at the same time. We couldn't help smiling. Yes, we were about to embark on an

eneral, we headed to our setting-off point. Yoffe himself left to join Avraham Arnan and Meir Amit's intelligence deputy, 67 HOUSE _OVERSIGHT_027915 Ahraleh Yariv, in the command post for our mission, atop a hill on the Israeli side of the northern border. The sun set at around seven, but we waited for darkness

since their high school days at the Alliance. I had first met Nava Cohen, the woman I would go on to marry, the previous year. It was through another Cohen, though they were not related: Nechemia, my sayeret friend who was killed in the 1967 war. He invited me to Tel Aviv for a party in the spring, on th

ied there, in the spring of 1969. My parents and brothers came with two busloads of friends from the kibbutz. Avraham Arnan was there, of course. But Ahraleh Yariv and Eli Zeira, two of the military intelligence heroes of the Six-Day War, also drove up for the wedding, which touched both Nava and me, not to ment