Unknown Source

Saturday was festive in Gaza-there was genuine joy in the air. December 16, 1995. The eighth anniversary of the founding of Hamas. Looking like the Rose Bowl during a college championship game more than a dumping ground for refugees, Gaza City was alive with Color, music, and pageantry. Colorful balloons of green and white filled the sky, as did the smell of gunpowder and the occasional ear-popping explosions of AK-47s being fired on full auto. Small children ate deep-fried Awami treats as they sat on their father's shoulders and watched masked men dressed in black wave razor sharp swords that sparkled in the cheating stabs of sunlight that managed to break through the rain clouds.
In Gaza stadium, where the applause and cheers made it seem like a pop concert more than a religious revival, Hamas activist Mohammed Taha fired up the crowd by promising the ten thousand-plus in attendance that Hamas would, indeed, continue killing Israelis. In the crowd, men frenzied with rage and devotion shouted "Kill them by the busload!" There were colorful murals on display surrounding the main podium, including depictions of Hamas activities such as stabbing and stoning Israeli soldiers. Palestinian policemen wandering outside the stadium appeared amused by the celebrations.

Souvenir hawkers sold trinkets and flags, T-shirts and banners. Bootleg audiocassettes were a particularly lucrative concession, especially a tape of popular songs entitled The Engineer. Selling for about 80 cents, or three hours wage for the average Palestinian laborer, the tape celebrated the handiwork of Yehiya Ayyash. "Strike, oh engineer. You're the Lion that scares the enemy. Plan, strike, and return the land of our grandparents. With and explosive belt you make your glories."

The line to buy the tape was long, as were lines to buy T-shirts bearing the image of Yehiya Ayyash and posters of his face emblazoned over a fireball and the skyline of the Old City of Jerusalem. Mostly, small kids and teenagers bought the poorly produced, high decibel tapes, but there were also a few older gentlemen on line with cash in hand. Most of the vendors thought them to be agents of one of Arafat's security entities; after all, they openly wore pistols, poorly cut polyester blouses over black cotton pants, and shoes that appeared too tight. Only spies or security agents could dress so shabbily.

On the night of November 8, 1995, less than ninety-six hours after the two rounds exploded inside the chest of Israeli prime minister Yitzhak Rabin, Yasir Arafat did what many Israelis thought even more far-fetched than a Jew killing an Israeli premier-he traveled to Tel Aviv. The Shin Bet had argued against Arafat attending Rabin's funeral on security grounds, and there were many in Force 17 who echoed these sentiments. There was also the problem of imagery. The sight of the Palestinian president visiting Jerusalem only two days after the assassination of the Israeli premier was too much, many Israeli insiders felt, for the public to tolerate. Arafat's presence would provoke far more than it would console. It would certainly have created bizarre theater of the surreal, this new Middle East. Nevertheless, Arafat had been overwhelmed by Rabin's assassination-he had spoken to the Israeli prime minister only two hours before Amir's bullets were fired. Aides told reporters that Arafat had cried when he learned that Rabin had been shot in the back.

Arafat was flown to Tel Aviv courtesy of an Israel Air Force chopper. Under a tight veil of secrecy, and under the watch of Israeli special forces and Shin Bet agents, Arafat paid a condolence call on Rabin's widow, Leah. Sipping a cup of tea in a ceramic cup, Arafat looked sullen and remorseful. His anguished face reflected the dark clouds looming over the horizon of the peace accords. Arafat stayed with Leah Rabin for ninety minutes. He was flown back to Gaza after midnight, and news of the visit was not released until late the following day.

Arafat's call on Rabin's widow was arranged by Yossi Ginosar, a former Shin Bet cut official who was instrumental back in 1986 of forging the then illegal back-door contacts with Arafat and his security apparatus. Ginosar had a brilliant career in the Shin Bet cut short as a result of two scandals that rocked the agency in the mid-1980s. He had survived dark spasms of Shin Bet history before, though the state of affairs at Shin Bet HQ in the wake of Rabin's assassination was the darkest they had ever been. In fact, it was the worst crisis within the ranks of an Israeli intelligence service since October 1973, when A'man failed to predict the impending invasion by both Syria and Egypt.

The mood at the Shin Bet was of utter despair. There was no controversy surrounding the tragedy, and no top-secret security blanket with which to cover the terrible blunders. The organization had failed in one of its basic and most sacrosanct missions. The country was teetering as a result. The agents not involved in the fiasco, those not complicit in the collapse, nevertheless shared the shame of the VIP Protection Unit. The mood of failure was infectious. If there is one thing that penetrates the skin of an Israeli more than anything it is the notion of a friyer, the slang term for sucker. The Shin Bet was now a national joke-a national concern. Preventing the next wave of Hamas bombings through aggressive fieldwork, the tradecraft that the Shin Bet was legendary for, would be next to impossible as public scrutiny of the agency's most humiliating chapter was bound to compromise its ability to intimidate and manipulate.

On November 8 the Shin Bet launched an extensive internal investigation. The investigating committee, chaired by three former Shin Bet division heads, was tasked with examining: (a) preparation for the Peace March operation; (b) intelligence gathering for the event; (c) the coordination of intelligence assets with security inputs; (d) coordination of the security for the event with the National Police, the Ya'ma'm, paramedics, event organizers, and others; and (e) the performance of the VIP Protection Unit during the peace rally. Many inside the Shin Bet knew that careers would be ruined and lives possibly destroyed; there was even talk about bringing charges of criminal negligence against the Shin Bet agents who had allowed the assassin to get so close. Already Shin Bet officials had gone public with charges of neglect against the police for failing to maintain a sterile area around Rabin's limousine; the police closed ranks with charges of their own. Former heads of the Shin Bet joined the fray, pointing fingers and laying blame; some even called for Gillon, still only identifiable as "Kaf" in the press, to resign. Even former agents of the U.S. Secret Service were interviewed in the Israeli press sharing their criticisms and opinions; after all, the Secret Service had withstood the storm of the Kennedy assassination and, some seventeen years later, would once again have their methods reviewed following a failed attempt by a lone and crazed gunman to assassinate President Ronald Reagan.