Epstein Secrets

the fruit groves of Kibbutz Ha’on, near the Sea of Galilee. I then headed for Givataim in north Tel Aviv, to a place I knew well. It was the home of Menachem Digli. He had been Avraham Arnan’s deputy in the sayeret when I left for my stint in officers’ school. Before I returned to the unit, he had a motorcycle a

in my case, my old yeled chutz schoolmate from the kibbutz. We trained in the whole range of commando skills. We used not only Uzis, but Soviet-made Kalashnikovs and Gurionov machine guns. We worked with detonators and explosives. We staged raids on Israeli airfields. We conducted exercises using rubber dinghi

d to find an answer for all these threats. Uzi Yairi’s term as Sayeret Matkal commander had by now ended, but his successor was someone I knew well. Menachem Digli was the officer on whom I’d bestowed my stolen Syrian Mercedes at the end of the war. His leg was now recovered from the motorcycle accident, and I r

seafront a little before midnight on March 4, 1975. They were spotted by a police patrol, which opened fire. The Fatah men ran from the beach, firing Kalashnikovs and tossing grenades. A block in from the sea, they burst into a modest, three-story building: the old Savoy Hotel. They shot and killed three people

the fruit groves of Kibbutz Ha' on, near the Sea of Galilee. I then headed for Givataim in north Tel Aviv, to a place I knew well. It was the home of Menachem Digli. He had been Avraham Arnan's deputy in the sayeret when I left for my stint in officers' school. Before I returned to the unit, he had a motorcycle a

in my case, my old yeled chutz schoolmate from the kibbutz. We trained in the whole range of commando skills. We used not only Uzis, but Soviet-made Kalashnikovs and Gurionov machine guns. We worked with detonators and explosives. We staged raids on Israeli airfields. We conducted exercises using rubber dinghi

ed to find an answer for all these threats. Uzi Yairi's term as Sayeret Matkal commander had by now ended, but his successor was someone I knew well. Menachem Digli was the officer on whom I'd bestowed my stolen Syrian Mercedes at the end of the war. His leg was now recovered from the motorcycle accident, and I r

seafront a little before midnight on March 4, 1975. They were spotted by a police patrol, which opened fire. The Fatah men ran from the beach, firing Kalashnikovs and tossing grenades. A block in from the sea, they burst into a modest, three-story building: the old Savoy Hotel. They shot and killed three people