Epstein Secrets

essed as a maintenance crew; or that, in leading an assassination raid in Beirut against the PLO group that had murdered Israeli athletes at the 1972 Munich Olympics, I was disguised as a woman. Not the most attractive young lady, perhaps, though I did, painfully, pluck my eyelashes, and, with the help of

Avivit, born and raised in the largest and brashest city in our young state, a place which was everything the kibbutz was not. She had graduated from Alliance, a high school 83 HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_011554 in north Tel Aviv set up with French backing and an accent on French language and culture. Unlike the girl

arely two months after the ambush operation in south Lebanon, Black September seized and murdered members of the Israeli team at the 1972 Olympics in Munich. As soon as the news broke on the morning of September 5, I phoned Ahrahle Yariv as head of military intelligence. “You need to send us,” I said. I

s apart. Or “stupid pride”. A few months later, I heard she was engaged to be married, to a young man she’d known 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: Nechem

essed as a maintenance crew; or that, in leading an assassination raid in Beirut against the PLO group that had murdered Israeli athletes at the 1972 Munich Olympics, I was disguised as a woman. Not the most attractive young lady, perhaps, though I did, painfully, pluck my eyelashes, and, with the help of

Avivit, born and raised in the largest and brashest city in our young state, a place which was everything the kibbutz was not. She had graduated from Alliance, a high school 83 HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_027931 in north Tel Aviv set up with French backing and an accent on French language and culture. Unlike the girls

arely two months after the ambush operation in south Lebanon, Black September seized and murdered members of the Israeli team at the 1972 Olympics in Munich. As soon as the news broke on the morning of September 5, I phoned Ahrahle Yariv as head of military intelligence. "You need to send us," I said. I t

s apart. Or "stupid pride". A few months later, I heard she was engaged to be married, to a young man she'd known 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: Nechemi