“Don’t Preach!”

With these words in mind I sat down to write this article. “Make it readable,” were the next ones. In the place of my exile, people my age are considered old. My looking thirty doesn’t matter. Regardless the way one defines “old” and “young,” I have a lot to tell, much more than the thousand words allotted. Thus, I’ll begin in the middle of the story, hoping you’ll catch the rest.

Zurich 1997

“Come visit us,” a commercial manager of Dow Chemical Europe told me over the phone.

I couldn’t refuse; the invitation included a conference in Florence and a visit to the headquarters at Horgen, a few minutes by train from Zurich. Good Hotels, excellent food. I had no better ideas for that week.

At the time I was about to finish my PhD in Chemical Physics, and was beginning my MBA at a Scottish University with a campus in Tel Aviv. I had graduated the Weizmann Institute of Science and had published an article in the PNAS, the most exclusive scientific journal in the world. I was an officer in the Israeli army – having served in highly classified units for a while – and had extensive contacts with all the industry in Israel. Barely thirty, I was the Scientific Chief Officer of a Bio-Tech fund. The future looked bright.

The meetings were boring, but the experience was magnificent. I mean, only until the last day. That Friday, I was politely asked to enter an unscheduled meeting.

Unlike the other meetings, this was a one-on-one meeting with a German worker acting as company representative. He left for his pension shortly thereafter.

“We have something special for you,” he said as we sat on opposite sides of a humble desk in a small office. It was on a side wing of a secondary building in the large complex occupied by the corporation.

“Yes…”

“We are searching new markets for a very unique product we have and we know your country has a missiles’ industry.” He was being so cautious in his approach that it unsettled me.

“It is very hard to reach that industry,” I agreed, feeling equally cautious. “RAFAEL – the missile development authority in Israel – is under direct control of the Ministry of Defense.”

“That’s why we want you. Look, your country lacks the technology to make the missiles aim straight for the target in the last split second of flight.”

I stiffened. “How do you know that?”

“Because the Israelis aren’t buying our product and if you don’t coat the fuel rod with it, the rod doesn’t burn evenly.”

My mind was reeling at the implication of what he was saying. “How do you know that?”

“We’re the suppliers for the US army. That’s why we need to approach this project quietly. I’ll give you a general description of the process and the formula. You give it to RAFAEL and then they will, from their initiative, place a commercial order in such a way that it would be safe for us. That way we won’t break an American law.”

“But if the technology belongs to the American army, then it’s a secret… We´ll need a permit from the American DoD.”

“Are you an American?” he asked, implying that since I obviously wasn’t, I shouldn’t care about such trivialities.

Back in Israel

Next Monday, I didn’t waste time. I reached directly the Head of Mashmam (“Control Center for Special Operations” in the Israeli DoD; working directly under the Minister of Defense, they control Dimona and RAFAEL among other toys). I told the story in general lines – without the exact details – and asked not to get involved. Later that day, I forgot about the issue.

RAFAEL – Two Weeks Later

“Come visit us!” the engineer told me over the phone.

This time, I wasn’t allowed to enter the site. Sitting in a small room by the gate, the engineer – now I wasn’t sure anymore that he was an engineer – kept hammering on one single point:

“How did you know we didn’t have the technology?”

“Dow told me,” I kept saying, but wasn’t believed. They thought I had got access to RAFAEL missiles plans, found about the missing technology and attempted to use my contacts with Dow to solve the issue. That would have been a serious information leak and practically impossible in the local reality. If that was the case, it meant there was a mole in a top position within the Israeli DoD or RAFAEL. However, there is more than one way of reaching Rome; Dow’s deduction was correct.

The Interrogation: A Dark Secret Is Revealed

A quiet interrogation of me began. My friends were approached. Among them was a woman I almost married. She told them how at certain stage in our relations – when getting married was the hot topic – I invited her to visit Jerusalem on a sunny Saturday.

On the way, I made an excuse of eating some excellent hoummus to make a detour into the Abu Gosh Village, nine kilometers west of Jerusalem. Many of its citizens are Christians and beyond the food, they offer to the many visitors an awesome church.

“Why don’t we visit the church before the meal,” I said casually.

We entered the huge church; it was empty except for one priest. He approached us, recognized me and smiled at my companion. The he closed the church gates – he knew protecting me was essential – and gave us a private mass.

Shocked, my companion left me forever shortly after.

Shocked, the Shin Beth discovered a Christian had been given free access to everywhere without them having a clue.

I had contacts with Palestinians they didn’t know about. Others popped out later; it was found I visited Palestinian cities as a civilian in the company of prominent Christians. At the same time, I had access to very sensitive locations and information in Israel – including plans of the IDF classified as “Red Top-Secret.” “Did his Palestinian friends know about them?” was the bothering thought in the Shin Beth people’s head. All of the sudden I became “persona non-grata.”

Moreover, I told a person I knew that I was planning to write a book, though I didn’t elaborate. He was the son of the “Irgun” agent that put the bomb in Jerusalem’s King David Hotel in 1946. I didn’t know he was under protection of the Shin Beth and that everything of value I told him was passed onward to them. After my true affiliations became known, this was another worrying detail.

Slowly Strangled

My strangulation was slow. I lost access, jobs, and opportunities.

In 2002 I was sent – as a provocation or to test my loyalty – to the Siege of the Nativity Church. Instead of refusing, I sabotaged the function of my unit and after being released (by then I was a reserve army officer), left the country.

I began writing the book about the Christian reality in Holy Land. The Shin Beth was not pleased about that, to say the least.

On December 1, 2003 I was shot at by an Israeli sniper at Jinghong, China. God saved me.

Following a desperate – but excruciatingly slow – escape, I reached the country that gave me refuge.

Israel reached me here as well. Bribing people in a country were the average salary is less than a hundred dollars is easy. Since then, every significant work opportunity had been blocked, every friend was approached and bought, and more important, any attempt to publish the book was sabotaged.

“Come back to us, you’re our son,” informants working for Israel say to me from time to time, while their hands are busy in attempts to destroy me.

“I’ve only one Father, and He is in the Heavens,” is – and will be – my only answer.

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