by Ami Pedahzur
A short time after his repatriation, the Lebanese intelligence services found out Michel Hir Amin’s true identity. They did not waste time. They contacted Mofid Nohra, a Hezbollah man whose brother Ramzi was known as a key figure in the drug trade in southern Lebanon and as an Israeli collaborator. Concerned that the Israelis were losing their hold of southern Lebanon and that dark clouds were gathering above, Ramzi searched for a way to atone for the sins of his betrayal and come by a clean bill of health from the Lebanese authorities and Hezbollah. In order to reach this goal, however, he was required to sacrifice Hallaq.
Ramzi Nohra mustered his network of informers in the Qlaya area, and they provided him with details on the identity of the SLA man who was in charge of Hallaq’s security. Nohra did not require any special efforts in order to buy the trust of Hallaq’s handler and persuade him to impart accurate information on Hallaq’s daily routine. The next step was to make direct contact with him. The Lebanese drug dealer learned of Hallaq’s weakness for fine whiskey and beautiful women and took advantage of these habits to the full. The two men became friends and began to spend time at Nohra’s house in the company of young and attractive girls.17
On February 20, 1996, after recruiting his brother Mofid, his friend Maher Touma, and a cab driver named Fadi to the operation, Ramzi Nohra invited Hallaq to another party at his house. However, this time the surprise awaiting Hallaq was far less pleasant. After attempts to put him to sleep by lacing his drink with a drug were unsuccessful, Mofid pulled out a gun. Stunned by this change of events, Hallaq was handcuffed and heaved into the trunk of the taxi. The vehicle picked up speed and set out north in the direction of Beirut. At the IDF roadblock at Jezzine, Nohra flashed documents confirming that he was working in the service of the Israeli intelligence. These papers, together with his fluent Hebrew, persuaded the soldiers that the “agent” was in the midst of a clandestine security assignment in the service of Israel. The taxi passed through the checkpoint with no trouble and a short while later reached the outskirts of Beirut. Hallaq was handed over to the Lebanese security services and Hezbollah. They extracted from him a detailed confession on his contacts with Mossad and Mughniyah’s assassination. A military court in Beirut sentenced him to death, and early on the morning of Saturday, September 21, 1996, he was executed by firing squad at the Roumieh prison in Beirut.18
GRAPES OF WRATH
The ongoing struggle between Israel and Hezbollah was not restricted to the clandestine sphere of intelligence organizations. It erupted again in April 1996 in what became a full-scale military clash. At the end of 1995, Hezbollah intensified its rocket attacks on northern Israel, violating the Din Veheshbon understandings reached between the two sides three years earlier. These attacks continued despite efforts of the international community, and especially French and American mediators, to lower the flames. On April 9, 1996, a massive shower of Katyusha missiles landed on settlements in northern Israel. Prime Minister Shimon Peres, a great believer in diplomatic solutions to such situations, faced a great dilemma. At the time, Israel was also suffering a string of suicide attacks in its urban centers. Binyamin Netanyahu, Peres’s main rival in the elections that were due to be held in May of that year, attacked Peres on his dovish attitude with respect to security issues. Netanyahu claimed that this stance led to the exacerbation of Israel security problems, both inside the country with regard to Palestinian terrorism and at the northern border in the struggle against Hezbollah. Peres realized that if Israel remained aloof to Hezbollah attacks, it would bolster his dovish image and the Israeli public would think he was unsuited to deal with Israel security problems. Therefore, he decided that Israel would respond forcefully this time and ordered the IDF to launch Operation Grapes of Wrath.19
On April 11, the Israel Air Force and IDF Artillery Corps began to engage in a heavy shelling of Hezbollah compounds in southern Lebanon, while Israeli ships imposed a blockade on the ports of Tyre and Sidon. As had occurred three years earlier, tens of thousands of Lebanese refugees rushed from southern Lebanon toward the Beirut area while Hezbollah continued to strike northern Israel with Katyusha missiles. It was once more obvious that the Israeli military operation had little effect on Hezbollah operational capabilities. Thus, the second campaign in which Israel used heavy artillery as its main weapon in its struggle against a terrorist group was unsuccessful. The international community also excoriated Israel after an Israeli shell landed in the middle of a UN temporary refugee compound near the village of Qana on April 18, killing 102 citizens and injuring more than 100 others. As a result, both sides and especially Israel were strongly pressured by the international community to bring the clash to its end. On April 27, Israel, Syria, and Lebanon signed what have been called the Grapes of Wrath understandings. Peres, who believed that the operation would increase his chances to win the national election a month later, ironically found that the opposite had occurred. More than 90 percent of Israeli Palestinians decided to boycott the elections because of the tragic Qana events, ultimately resulting in Peres’s defeat.20
Israeli policy against Hezbollah during this period seems especially puzzling. Despite the futility of previous offensive measures, Israel expanded its war model. Elite IDF forces were repeatedly activated in high-risk operations in Lebanon. Although the abductions yielded no results, policymakers did not hesitate to endanger highly valuable elite forces for the purpose of obtaining information on Ron Arad. Furthermore, as we will see in the following chapters, the Israeli abductions tactic not only failed to coerce Hezbollah into making concessions, but Hezbollah also actually adopted this method and used it against Israel effectively.
The extensive use of air force and artillery corps should also raise questions. Although it had some success in causing harm to Hezbollah leaders and strongholds, in a cost-benefit analysis, Israel seems to be on the losing end. Backed by Iran and other allies around the world, Hezbollah had maximized its advantages as a flexible organization and retaliated in surprising ways and places, thus leading to increased frustration. Moreover, the collateral damage that was caused by Israeli attacks in Lebanon led to worldwide condemnation. Finally, the Lebanese arena serves as ultimate proof of Israel’s inability to live up to its own policy of not negotiating with terrorists. The Jibril Exchange served as a milestone for Hezbollah and other enemies in their future strategies against Israel.
CHAPTER SEVEN
NEW RIVALS, OLD RESPONSES
THE FIRST INTIFADA WAS engraved in the Israeli collective memory as a popular uprising that was manifested in large demonstrations and riots in the streets of the occupied territories. Yet, toward its final stages in early 1992, terrorism had gained more prominence. In retrospect, this short wave of terrorist attacks, in most cases stabbings of Israeli citizens, seems pale compared to the events that followed, but at the time, the Israeli public was outraged.1 Despite his hawkish rhetoric, Prime Minister Yitzhak Shamir was perceived as weak and incapable of responding effectively to this wave of attacks. The public was hoping that Yitzhak Rabin, who had reemerged as the leader of the Labor Party and who enjoyed the reputation of a hardliner in security matters, would bring security back to the streets of Israel. On June 23, 1992, Rabin and the Labor Party won the national elections. A year later, it became clear that the leader who had been elected to crack down on terrorism had decided, for the first time in the history of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, to take the reconciliatory model and was striving to bring peace to the region. However, shortly afterward, the peace road led back to the war model.
INTELLIGENCE ORGANIZATIONS AND THE PEACE PROCESS
In the late 1980s, Adnan Yassin was an aide to the internal security chief of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), Hakam Balawi. Yassin’s job included protecting organization members traveling abroad. Those were stormy days for the ruling echelons of the PLO, in exile in Tunis, who were subject to major political turmoil. For the first time, they began to recognize the right of Israel to exist. This decisio
n, along with pressures from the international community, led by the United States, opened a window of opportunity for direct negotiations between the two rival parties, which materialized in the Madrid summit of 1991. Simultaneously, Yassin’s private life also underwent several changes. His wife was stricken with cancer and rushed to Paris for treatment, and her devoted husband spent many hours at her hospital bedside. It was not easy for him to be so far from the reassuring confines of the PLO headquarters in Tunis, and he gladly responded to a tall, dark-haired man who approached him in Paris. The man, who spoke fluent Arabic, introduced himself as Hilmi. The two fell into a pleasant conversation in the lobby of the Meridien Montparnasse Hotel, where Yassin spent his time away from the hospital. In a very short time, their conversation shifted to business affairs. The seemingly random encounter wound up in an atmosphere of camaraderie, and the two arranged to meet again as soon as possible. At their next meetings, Hilmi shared his business ideas with Yassin, who responded enthusiastically. They considered several forms of cooperation that might pay off for the both of them. When they were ready to move on to practical matters, Hilmi introduced Yassin to his good friend George, who spoke Arabic with a Lebanese accent. The three of them began to devise business plans, among them importing furniture to Tunis. Yassin swallowed the bait and unwittingly became a central actor in a network masterminded by Mossad in Tunis.
More than four years later, at the height of the Oslo talks between the government of Israel and the PLO leadership, the Palestinian side felt that something was not quite right. It seemed that during the stages of negotiations, Israel was always one step ahead. It was as if the Israelis had a representative of their own among the top ranks of the Palestinian delegation who beforehand would pass on information regarding the PLO positions later presented in the negotiations. The reality was not that far from this impression, and the furniture-importing business of Hilmi and Yassin played a central role. One of the clients in these dealings was the PLO. Mahmoud Abbas, also known as Abu Mazen, one of the heads of the PLO and eventually to become the Palestinian president, was glad to see that an orthopedic chair and a designer table lamp had been placed in his office. What he could not see was that this same stylish office furniture contained equipment that was transmitting sound waves and even fax messages to Mossad headquarters each time Abbas sat on the comfortable chair or turned on the lamp. These were the most sophisticated wiretapping and monitoring devices at Mossad’s disposal.2
Yassin unknowingly helped Mossad’s monitoring network, as well as the operations division. In his capacity as the person responsible for the security of PLO high-ranking officials on their frequent trips abroad, he was among the very few who received precise information on the travel plans of Ataf Basiso, who had been one of the prominent figures in the Black September arm of the PLO during the 1970s. Only a few people were aware of Basiso’s planned trip to France in June 1992, and Yassin was one of them. On the Mossad voicemails in Paris and Rome, messages in the voice of the PLO security man had been left describing Basiso’s planned flight itinerary. On June 8, 1992, assassins shot Basiso in Paris, where he died of his wounds. The decision to do away with Basiso was made despite the fact that twenty years had passed since the Munich attack. Moreover, the dispatchers of the assassins knew he had been in close contact with a foreign intelligence service—the French Directorate of Territorial Security (DST). The assassination raised the French giant from its sleep, and it began a close watch of all people who were aware of Basiso’s flight plan. Within a short time, a red light flashed above Yassin’s name. The information was passed on to Tunisian intelligence, which began to conduct a close surveillance of Yassin and his son Hani. In October 1993, after it was discovered that a Mercedes car they had imported from France to Tunis was packed with explosives and advanced wiretapping devices, the two were arrested. In the interrogation, Yassin broke down and confessed to the accusations made against him. He was later put in an Algerian prison and was released only in 2003 by the Algerian government. The revelation that he worked for Mossad and that he provided the information that led to Basiso’s elimination raised the anxiety threshold among the PLO higher ranks. Nor did Israel get away cost-free from the affair. Consequent verification that Mossad was responsible for Basiso’s killing on French soil led to a rift between the intelligence communities of both countries.3
THE FIRST MAGNA CARTA
The Oslo Accords were devised and discussed initially by representatives of the two sides without the involvement of the Israeli intelligence community. The creation of a Palestinian autonomous entity containing Fatah forces, at the beginning in Jericho and Gaza, and afterward all over the West Bank caught the various organizations unprepared. Thus, as had occurred after the Lebanese invasion eleven years earlier, the signing of the Oslo Accords in September 1993 caused confusion about the division of regions of responsibility among the various intelligence agencies.4
Until Arafat and his colleagues settled in Gaza, Mossad and Aman had focused on following the activities of PLO leaders outside the occupied territories, while the GSS had focused on local Palestinian operatives.5 The arrival of the exiled Palestinian leaders in the territory that had been under the sole and undisputed authority of the GSS produced a new wave of conflicts. Mossad and Aman suddenly lost some of their key targets and were afraid of being demoted and losing resources. This time the conflict had permeated to the research departments of the organizations. The central issue of disagreement was whether Arafat was indeed interested in peace, or if this was just another phase of his original stage plan. After the outbreak of the first intifada, the GSS assessment was that the key to solving the Palestinian problem was political. Arafat and his colleagues were perceived as being the genuine representatives of the Palestinian people and therefore possessing the authority to negotiate in their name. Aman, however, rejected this view out of hand. The agency’s assessment was that Arafat had not renounced the option of an armed struggle. Furthermore, the fact that the Oslo Accords had made the PLO preeminent, in Aman’s opinion, would strengthen the Palestinian opposition. Ultimately, political pressure would return Arafat to the path of violence. The tension between the intelligence agencies reached such a level that they were unwilling to share information with one another, and that conflict did not remain hidden from the politicians. The prime minister came to doubt the intelligence community that served him, and the government found it difficult to formulate a coherent policy when presented with conflicting assessments. Prime Minister Rabin demanded an end to the crisis. He exerted pressure on the agencies to sign a document—dubbed the Magna Carta—outlining the division of authority between them. According to the agreement, gathering intelligence within the territory of the Palestinian Authority remained the responsibility of the GSS, while Aman was in charge of political intelligence only. Yet the turf wars were not limited to the intelligence organizations. As if twenty years had not passed since the tragedy in Ma’alot and the recommendations of the Horev Committee, Sayeret Matkal and the Yamam were still battling over who should be responsible for hostage-rescue missions.
NACHSHON WACHSMAN
At 11:00 p.m. on Friday, October 14, 1994, the weekend broadcasts of the two Israeli television channels were interrupted for breaking news. The news line appearing at the bottom of the screen said that an announcement from the office of prime minister and the minister of defense, Yitzhak Rabin, was imminent. The subject of the announcement was no surprise to many of the viewers, but they had no idea of the tragic details. Five days earlier, on Sunday, October 9, at around 6:00 p.m., Corporal Nachshon Wachsman had been waiting at the hitchhiking station near a busy intersection not far from the Ben-Gurion Airport. He wanted to surprise his friend Miriam Aziza, a teacher-soldier stationed near the neighboring city of Ramla, and was trying to stop a passing car. The passengers of the white Volkswagen Transporter that stopped to pick him up did not raise his suspicions; they were all wearing skullcaps and looked like Orthodox Jews. When Wac
hsman asked if they could give him a ride to Ramla, they responded in fluent Hebrew.6
A short while later, three of the passengers attacked the soldier. They hit him, handcuffed him, and moved him to the rear of the large van, which immediately changed direction. Minutes later, they easily passed through the IDF checkpoint near Macabbim-Re’ut and entered the West Bank. From there the trip to the village of Bir Nabala, located between Jerusalem and Ramallah, was brief. Under the cover of darkness the vehicle stopped next to a pleasant two-story house on the outskirts of the village. The terrified soldier was quickly moved into the house and to the living area on the upper floor where he was placed in a small windowless bedroom.
The next morning, after not hearing from their son for a full day, Wachsman’s parents became concerned. His father, Yehuda, asked the police for help. At the same time, other family members began an independent search, recruiting a large number of high-school and yeshiva students. They first focused on the Atarot intersection and from there widened the search. Only a small number of police officers joined the search, and the army chose not to take any meaningful steps, reflecting the prevailing view in the security community that this was not a terrorist or criminal incident and that Wachsman would soon be found.
Twenty-four hours later, their assessment changed from one extreme to the other. The Reuters news agency in Gaza City received a videocassette featuring a masked man who identified himself as a Hamas operative. He displayed Wachsman’s identity card and an M16 rifle of the type Wachsman had been carrying at the time he entered the van. The man directed his words to the Israeli government and, in exchange for Wachsman, demanded the release of two hundred Hamas prisoners held by Israel, including their leader, Sheikh Ahmed Yassin, who was serving a life sentence in prison for his involvement in the murder of Israeli soldiers and Palestinian citizens accused of collaboration with Israel. The Hamas operative also issued an ultimatum: If the prisoners were not released by October 14, Wachsman would be executed. At 5:00 that afternoon, the heads of all Israeli security organizations met in the prime minister’s office in Jerusalem. Since the cassette had surfaced in Gaza and the security forces assumed that it was easier to hide a kidnapped Israeli in Palestinian Authority-administered territory, attention was focused on that southern Palestinian city.
