operation. Both times, it was an operation that we, the ones who have to do it, knew could succeed. An operation on which the fate of three Israeli pilots depends. One of whom we know personally, and have worked with. Now, again, with no real reason, you’ve stopped us. I see this as a breach of trust.” When neither Dado nor Motta replied, I went on: “I have to tell you openly. You can’t possibly judge the situation on the ground. Only we can. And you’re behaving as if you know. You can’t know from here. There was no reason for us not to grab those officers. I don’t want to reach a point when I have to start thinking about what to report back, or not report, just to make sure we’re free to complete a mission that you ordered, after agreeing it was necessary for Israel.” No one said anything for a few moments. I could see that Uzi, Mookie and Bibi were shocked at having heard me speak in this way to three of the top commanders of the armed forces. But I meant every word. If Sayeret Matkal was to function as a special-forces unit, it needed to have the trust of those who’d authorized an operation in the first place. It was Dado who finally replied. Sort of. Trying to defuse the tension, he told us a joke from his Palmach days. “There are two bulls who come into a field full of cows. A young one and old one. The young one says to the old guy: let’s run over there to the far end of the field, where the prettiest cow is, and we can fuck her. The old bull replies: “No need to rush. Let’s go slowly, and fuck them all.” I guess we were meant to be the young bulls. I doubt Dado knew whether we’d get a third chance at the Syrian officers, though I’m sure he hoped so. A week later, we got word there would be a final inspection visit, to the central sector of the border area. Ordinarily, I would have led the operation. Now, I made an exception. To Dado’s obvious surprise, I decided to remain behind, in the command post. “A commander has to be in the best place to ensure a mis