I was not just angry, but frustrated at my inability to rebut the story in person. Doron and I immediately made arrangements to return to Israel early, which, since there was no direct air connection, meant finding the first flight out through London. But before we left, Nava phoned again, almost sputtering in fury. She told me that she’d just received a call from Aliza Goren, Rabin’s media spokesperson. “Does Ehud know about the Yediot story?” she’d asked. When Nava said yes, Aliza told her: “It is important that Ehud knows that we are not going to get involved in getting him out of this.” Welcome to politics, 1 thought. Rabin knew that the story was untrue. I’d still been in Tze’elim when I’d phoned him about what had happened. He knew I’d remained there to order in the medical helicopters and arrange for the evacuation of the wounded before returning to brief him. Still, he did not say a single word in public — nor, for that matter, speak to me — as the controversy continued to gather force. During our stopover in London, I sat with Doron and talked through how to get my voice heard. I telephoned Yoni Koren, the officer who’d been my top aide in the kirva and whom I'd asked to work for me in the Interior Ministry, assuming I now actually got there. I told him to phone Amnon Lipkin and say that I had expected him to answer the fabrications. Not only had he and I been at the site of tragedy together. We'd /eft together, on the same helicopter. Amnon did now issue a statement saying that he knew Yediot’s allegations were wrong. But the story had been allowed to stand for too long. His rebuttal caused barely a ripple. As I read the latest Israeli newspapers before landing in Tel Aviv, I found that at least I wasn’t totally on my own. Reporters had been phoning politicians for comment. Most responded like weathervanes, going with the prevailing wind, which was gusting against me. But three Knesset members dissented. One was Ori Or, a friend even before we’d both go