physically from the weeks of tension, Yitzhak had asked him to take over. He’d said no. But he said he’d always believed he could and should have been chief- of-staff— and that if he hadn’t left to go into politics, he still might have got the job. Then, suddenly, he shouted: “Reuma!” When his wife appeared, he said: “Tell Barak the missing piece in my life, the one I’ve never stopped regretting.” She smiled, and said: “It’s the fact you did not become ramatkal.” I saw Rabin a couple of days later. Though I’d pretty much decided to take the deputy’s job, I was still bothered by the prospect of serving as deputy for the next four years only to find someone else being named chief-of-staff. I knew that no matter what assurances Yitzhak gave me, there was no way of being sure. He did say he viewed me as the natural next-in-line. But I still felt hesitant. “T want you to consider two things,” I said. The first was a formal decision that Dan would have only a single deputy during his time as chief-of-staff. He said yes to that. Yet the second request was going to be even more difficult. Heartening though it was to hear I was Dan’s “natural successor’, I asked him to put it in writing. It was not that I doubted his word. But if the surprise result of the last election was any indication, there was no way of predicting which party would be in power when Dan’s terms ended. I wanted him to keep a record of our understanding in his desk and pass it on if someone else was Defense Minister by that time. Without a moment’s hesitation, he took out a piece of paper and wrote down exactly what he’d told me about the succession. He shook my hand as I left. “You’ve made the right decision,” he said. And I had, even though Dan and I — and Rabin too — would soon face by far the most difficult challenge in Israel’s conflict with the Palestinians since our capture of the West Bank and Gaza in the 1967 war. 225 HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_011696