Epstein Secrets

rd was sober. Huddling with the inner core of my negotiating team — my policy co-ordinator Gilad Sher, security aide Danny Yatom and Foreign Minister Shlomo Ben-Ami — I could see that the way the summit ended had hit them hard. It was probably true, as all three often reminded me, that the greatest pressure fell

attacks after one of its planes had been hijacked to Algiers in the summer of 1968. It was also the same kind of plane — a Sabena flight, hijacked to Tel Aviv’s Ben-Gurion Airport — which I stormed, before sunrise, four years later with a force of nearly two dozen Matkal commandos. The shooting was over withi

Yitzhak was always punctilious in not broaching before I’d left the army. Shimon had also taken to including me — usually along with Yossi Beilin and Shlomo Ben-Ami, a bright young historian who would become our ambassador to Spain before entering politics himself — in a coterie of “youngsters” he would bring alo

. He, like all of us who had campaigned for him, knew what was at stake for the country. It had been barely six months since Rabin was gunned down in Tel Aviv’s main square, by a fellow Israeli riding a tide of hatred so blinkered that it could paint Yitzhak — who had worked all his life to create, defend and

oted, we attended an event for Labor supporters north of Tel Aviv, before flying to Beersheva to spend the final hours in the Negev. I’d arranged for Shlomo Ben-Ami to go to Kiryat Shmona in the north — emphasizing, as throughout the campaign, our determination to broaden our support beyond Labor’s heartland. The

he most terror, and death: at bus stations, on buses, in shopping centers, restaurants and cafés. Over a 12-month period, beginning with a bombing of Tel Aviv’s main bus station at the beginning of January 2003, they murdered 145 men, women and children. It would not be until two years’ later, with the West B

rd was sober. Huddling with the inner core of my negotiating team — my policy co-ordinator Gilad Sher, security aide Danny Yatom and Foreign Minister Shlomo Ben-Ami — I could see that the way the summit ended had hit them hard. It was probably true, as all three often reminded me, that the greatest pressure fell

attacks after one of its planes had been hijacked to Algiers in the summer of 1968. It was also the same kind of plane — a Sabena flight, hijacked to Tel Aviv’s Ben-Gurion Airport — which I stormed, before sunrise, four years later with a force of nearly two dozen Matkal commandos. The shooting was over withi