Living History by Unknown (best non fiction books of all time .txt) 📕

who she was. Probing for clues, I asked her how long it had taken her to reach Paraguay (which would give me an idea of her country’s geographical location) and how things were going in her homeland. “Fine,”

she said stone-faced. “Except for the embargo.”

I had managed to seat myself next to Pilma Espin, Fidel Castro’s sister-in-law, who was representing him at the conference. Thankfully no one misinterpreted my seating arrangement as a rapprochement to Cuba.

Although this trip lasted only five days, it became a blueprint for my future travels to Central and South America and the Caribbean, and the personal interactions reinforced the value of building relationships that can smooth the path toward cooperation on important projects.

I had already seen the importance of such relationships in the context of the Middle East. A few weeks before my trip to Latin America, Queen Noor of Jordan, Leah Rabin of Israel and Suzanne Mubarak of Egypt had come to Washington with their husbands for the signing of a historic peace accord ending Israel’s military occupation of certain West Bank cities. Before the formal signing ceremony in the East Room on September 28, 1995, I hosted a tea for the spouses of attending Middle Eastern leaders.

In the Yellow Oval Room on the second floor, Leah, Suzanne, Noor and I greeted one another like old friends. We did our best to welcome a new member of the group, Suha Arafat, wife of the Palestinian leader. I was curious about her. I knew that she came from a prominent Palestinian family and that her mother, Raymonda Tawil, was a famous poet and essayist, an unconventional woman in her culture. Suha, who had worked for the PLO before her surprise marriage, was much younger than Arafat. She had recently given birth to a daughter, and that gave us common ground for conversation. Each of us tried to make her feel comfortable, but Suha seemed ill at ease.

Leah, Suzanne, Noor and I often discussed the ongoing negotiations. No state secrets were exchanged, but we could provide an informal conduit of information and feedback, and Noor or Leah sometimes called me with a message that the King or Prime Minister wanted to convey to the President through informal channels.

I now look back on that tranquil afternoon in the fall of 1995 as a period of calm before a terrible storm.

In his remarks at the treaty signing in the East Room later that day, King Hussein kidded me about the no-smoking rule I had introduced to the White House. “At least Prime Minister Rabin and I did not smoke while we are here…. Thank you so much for your good influence in that regard.” I had offered to waive the rule for him and Prime Minister Rabin, but he declined any “special privilege.” “Besides,” he added, “it will guarantee short meetings!”

The reception that evening at the nearby Corcoran Gallery turned into an oratory marathon. As Yitzhak Rabin, who followed Yasir Arafat’s epic-length speech, finally took the podium, he looked directly at Arafat and said, “You know, … in Israel there is a saying: What is a Jewish sport? … Speechmaking.” He paused for a beat. “I start to believe, Chairman Arafat, that you are close to being Jewish.” Arafat joined in as the audience roared with good-natured laughter.

After he returned home, Rabin escalated his efforts to ensure a future in which Israel would be secure from violence and terrorism. Tragically, he did not live to realize his dream.

On Saturday, November 4, 1995, I was upstairs working on my book when Bill called to tell me that Rabin had been shot as he left a peace rally in Tel Aviv. His assassin was not a Palestinian or an Arab, but a fanatic rightwing Israeli who condemned Rabin for negotiating with the Palestinians and agreeing to trade land for peace. I ran downstairs and found Bill surrounded by advisers. I threw my arms around him and just held on.

This was a deeply personal loss. We admired Rabin as a leader, and Bill regarded him as a friend―even as something of a father figure. Bill and I retreated to our bedroom, to be alone with our grief. Two hours later in the Rose Garden, Bill made one of the most eloquent and heartfelt statements of his Presidency, bidding farewell to a great leader and friend: “Tonight, the land for which he gave his life is in mourning. But I want the world to remember what Prime Minister Rabin said here at the White House barely one month ago: ‘We should not let the land flowing with milk and honey become a land flowing with blood and tears. Don’t let it happen.”‘

“Now it falls to us, all those in Israel, throughout the Middle East and around the world who yearn for and love peace to make sure it doesn’t happen. Yitzhak Rabin was my partner and my friend. I admired him, and I loved him very much. Because words cannot express my true feelings, let me just say shalom, chaver―goodbye, friend.”

Those last words in Hebrew became a validating and rallying cry. When we arrived in Israel for Rabin’s funeral, we saw billboards and bumper stickers quoting Bill.

Bill invited a distinguished delegation, including former Presidents Jimmy Carter and George H. W Bush, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and forty members of Congress, to travel with us to at tend the funeral in Jerusalem on November 6. Upon our arrival, Bill and I went immediately to see Leah at her residence. My heart was breaking for her. Like Jackie Kennedy, she had been with her husband when he was shot down. She looked drawn and older than she had just weeks earlier in Washington. We found few words adequate to convey our desolation. At the funeral service at Hat Herzl Cemetery, Arab Kings, Prime Ministers and Presidents paid their respects to a warrior who died for peace. After Bill delivered his eulogy, Leah gave him a long, loving hug. The most poignant