They did ditch me, finally, a few months later, because of some other aggravating piece I wrote, calling the principal of an orthodox yeshiva in Long Island a lunatic.
Trust me, he was a loon job. But he hated seeing it in print. And my bosses, who had already gotten out of me what they needed – annihilating their competition – decided to make their move.
Since then, when I talk about that affair with close friends, we refer to it as the time when I murdered Rabin. But, please, don’t send any secret service agents after me because it’s only used as a metaphor, and I’m not sure if the Secret Service will understand the difference.
That’s it. Since then, I haven’t been involved in any famous murder. But I live in Netanya, mob capital of Israel, so, who knows, one of these days…