Journalism

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February 3, 1979, I was with my father and mother in our family VW Beetle in Tel Aviv. My father went to a meeting in what was then the Middle East’s tallest building, here in Tel Aviv — the Kolbo Shalom building. My mother and I waited in the car and I opened that day’s newspaper. It had pictures of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini returning to Iran from France on an Air France 747 jet. He landed at the Mehrabad Airport in Tehran.

I looked at the photos and said to my mother, “Wow, I wish I could be there, covering this event as a journalist.”

I was 15 then, but that was the start of my dream. Who would have believed that one day, I’d be the only Israeli to interview Mahmoud Ahmedinejad and Mohammad Khatami, that I would cover the Iranian president’s nuclear agreement talks, and that I’d be present in Iran to cover the demonstrations there? To this day, I’m quoted in Iran all the time. You could say that Iran and I are “old friends.”

I was interested in the media and international relations from a very early age. It fascinated me. I worked for Air France, and my mother worked at the French consulate. So we were very involved with the whole subject of international relations from when I was very young.

My journalism career began early on, and very coincidentally. I was studying at university with a student who was the head of the night desk at the Maariv newspaper. One night he asked me which newspapers I read, and I said Yedioth Aharonoth. He asked me how he could get me to switch to Maariv. With the arrogance of a 17-year-old, I told him, “Maybe if I write there, I’ll read the paper.”

A few days later, I found myself meeting the editor of the Maariv sports section. And that’s where my journalism career began. By the way, sports news is the most accurate of any field in media. Why? Because you’re reporting an outcome — it’s an exact science, as opposed to all the kinds of blather they sell us in the other sections.

I always insisted on writing my own truth, bringing stories from the refugee camps and the real voices, not the stories that the media is trying to sell to the Israeli public.

Iran

In 1993, my mother a”h sat shivah for her mother, and I came to be menachem avel. When we parted, I didn’t tell her that I was heading for Paris, from where I would be flying to Iran. It was my first trip to Tehran, and it was a very tense night. There were very few passengers on the flight.

When I landed, I remember the shock. I’m an Israeli, standing at the entrance to the airport in Tehran. Of course I was anxious. Above me were signs with all the familiar slogans that every guest in the country must adhere to the ideology of the Supreme Leader. At that moment, I asked myself what I was doing there. But then I remembered my journalistic mission and forgot everything else.

On that trip, I made a critical mistake, which I was extremely careful not to repeat. When I got to the hotel, I asked the reception clerk to put through a wake-up call. I had to catch an early-morning flight from Tehran to Isfahan. The clerk called my room at seven the next morning and said, in English, “Sir, good morning, you asked for a wake-up call.”

And I answered him automatically, in Hebrew, “Meah achuz, todah rabbah.”

Fortunately, he didn’t identify the language.

I was traveling on a French passport. On that first visit, I came with a group, not as a journalist. They didn’t give visas to journalists. I sometimes had other passports, and I went under the guise of various professions — an archaeologist from Uruguay, among others. We always used different ploys to get into a country and gain access to the most interesting places — and of course, to meet the highest-ranking officials and bring their interviews back to the Israeli newspaper.

The first time I met an Iranian leader was in France. The president, Mohammed Khatami, came to Paris to meet French president Jacques Chirac. It was a very interesting visit. Khatami was considered a reformist. A moderate, a person who could be spoken to. Of course, it was all a joke. There is no such thing in Iran. But he managed to pass himself off that way.

While in Paris, I heard about the joint press conference with the French and Iranian presidents. Of course, I managed to finagle my way into this presser. At the end, I approached Khatami and began asking questions. He answered politely, and only at the end of the interview did I tell him that I was an Israeli journalist.

That was the first time I interviewed an Iranian president, but certainly not the last.

The Two Assads

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saw Hafez al-Assad, the father, in Paris, when he came for a visit to the Elysees Palace. He was already old and pale. He was quite the scoundrel. I visited Damascus a few times, including in the days following his death.

A few years later, in 2001, I was in Paris, and I got a call from the editor of Yedioth Aharonoth in Israel telling me that Bashar al-Assad, his son, was coming to Spain.

It was touch-and-go. But of course, I didn’t refuse. I got up the next morning and went to Spain. On my flight, I tried to improvise a cover story to be able to get into his press conference. I managed to wangle an entry permit under guise as a Spanish journalist.

When it was over, I went over to Assad and began asking him questions. He answered. When he finished, I told him who I was and who I was interviewing for. Right then, his security people leaped up and literally threw me out of there.

In journalism terms, I made history. But I insisted also on saying the truth: Assad the son was presented by Israeli commentators as the big hope. An eye doctor, a cultural European who was expected to lead Syria toward freedom.

Nonsense. I saw him close up and I also reported in real time about his deceptive appearance, and that in fact he was continuing his father’s legacy in every way when it came to hatred of Jews and oppression of his own people.

Arafat in Tunis

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eyond getting the scoop, it was important for me to tell the real story. Take, for example, the meetings between [Israeli peace activist] Abie Nathan and Yasser Arafat in Tunis. I went there to cover those meetings, and I was met at the airport by Fatah leader Jibril Rajoub, who questioned me. They knew me to be a Jewish journalist from France, and I also made a declaration to that effect.

During the meetings, I forged contacts with Arafat’s group. As someone who has met these people and had personal conversations with them, I can attest unequivocally: They did not come to do business with us. They were coming to take our land.

I’m saying this after decades visiting ten Arab nations, serving as an ambassador in a Muslim nation, and interviewing most of the leaders of the Arab Muslim world in recent decades. For years, they sold us such lies here. The media in Israel advanced the peace agenda, even though it knew the truth.

By the way, regarding that meeting in Tunis — there was one person I refused to meet, and that was Yasser Arafat. Israeli law forbade meeting with him anyway, but on a personal level, I did not want to shake the hand of that lowlife. It amazes me that such a person got a Nobel Peace Prize. It shows what that prize is worth. And the saddest part of the story is that Israel “kashered” him because of some delusional fantasy of peace.

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad

This name is very familiar to us because of his deep-seated hatred of Israel and his direct, explicit statements expressing it. When he was president, Ahmadinejad was the most hated person in Israel. He was callous, and declared time after time that his intention, and that of the Iranian regime, was to destroy Israel. And he used the harshest language to say so.

In the winter of 2010, I was in Istanbul working on an article on the deteriorating ties between Israel and Turkey after the Mavi Marmara incident. When I finished my article, I received an update that the president of Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, was coming to Turkey.

I knew right then that I was going to interview him. I ran in the morning to the hotel where he was staying with his entourage and quickly made contact with them. The Iranian president was planning to attend a conference there. I speak French, and I made my way over to the desk where they were issuing tickets for the conference.

There were Turks and Iranians sitting there. I was asked for my name and I said “Boaz Bismuth.” It sounded French to them. No one suspected me. But when I was asked which newspaper I was working for, I found myself in a pickle. I was working for Israel Hayom then. I obviously couldn’t say that.

On the spur of the moment, I told them that I represented a French newspaper. I made up a name on the spot — “Chemain Mora,”  the name of the street my mother-in-law lives on. It worked, and I got in.

When Ahmadinejad came in, everyone swarmed to him. The other heads of state didn’t interest anyone. All eyes were on Ahmadinejad. He was a small man, surrounded by lots of bodyguards. At the end of the meeting, I approached him and asked him a few questions in English. He smiled and answered willingly. His spokesman cut us off and said there would be an organized press conference in the evening and I was invited to come.

Before the press conference, I had to send my name and the name of the newspaper I work for. I used the same trick, and it worked again. During the press conference, they called my name and the name of my paper.

I stood up and addressed a question to Ahmadinejad: “Mr. President, will we merit to see peace in the Middle East, under which the Arab states, Palestinians, Iran, and Israel will have good neighborly relations?”

Ahmadinejad answered right away: “The Zionists are the source of the problem… All the peace plans have failed and will fail in the future.”

When the press conference ended, I went over to him again and asked him if he was going from there directly to Tehran. He said that he was.

I smiled and said to him, “And I’m going from here straight to Tel Aviv. You know, I can be both French and Israeli, and work for an Israeli media outlet, Israel Hayom.”

He was surprised and didn’t react. I asked him if he had a message for my readers. “Iran is in favor of peace and justice,” he replied.

Gaddafi’s Libya

I first came to Libya in 2000. Libya was and still is one of the scariest places in the Arab world. For many years, it was boycotted by the West. I visited Tripoli and Benghazi and brought this country’s story — while it was ruled by a maniacal dictator — to the public.

I returned to Libya to cover Arab Spring in 2011. The country was falling apart. I was astonished how easy it was for me to get in by then, considering all the trouble I’d had before.

But even my previous visits to the country did not prepare me for an encounter with the man who ruled it with an iron hand — Muammar Gaddafi, a crazy but fascinating figure. It happened in 2003, when Gaddafi came to Tunis, to a conference attended by European countries and North African nations. The purpose of the conference was to increase cooperation among Mediterranean countries.

Gaddafi came to the conference accompanied by an entourage of 500. Dozens of bodyguards escorted him, and there were at least a hundred paratroopers from the Libyan army. He appeared in his colorful clothes, with the brown cloak and the familiar head covering.

During the conference, Gaddafi did not speak. He also refused to speak to journalists. But when it ended, and he was about to leave the hall, I decided that I had to get to him. I approached and asked for a picture. He agreed and offered me his huge hand. As we took pictures, I began to ask questions.

“All the leaders who participated here spoke except you — why?” I asked.

He replied, in his trademark indifferent way, “Words are worth money but silence is worth gold. I prefer gold.”

I saw that he was treating me courteously so I kept asking questions. “Do you support peace in the Middle East?”

“Libya wants the citizens of the world living in peace,” he said. He delivered his answers slowly, as if he was carefully choosing his words. “Libya wants to see friendship between nations, even in the region you are speaking about.”

To be honest, he seemed like a totally delusional person, crazy. But Gaddafi was one of the most significant figures in the Arab world for 40 years. The world has mostly managed to forget him, but he was a towering figure. Getting to him and having a sort of an interview with him for an Israeli newspaper was a historic achievement.

Grapes of Wrath Under Fire

Being involved in this type of journalism provides a lot of historic opportunities, but also a lot of very dangerous moments. That’s how it was when I covered Operation Grapes of Wrath in 1996. The IDF had launched an attack on Hezbollah in southern Lebanon, and I went into the Hezbollah strongholds to cover the war.

I had visited Lebanon many times, but this was an unforgettable visit, given that the area was being bombed by the IDF at the time. I sat in the car with Hezbollah people, and there were Israeli warplanes flying over our heads. It was surreal. I entered the country as a representative of Doctors Without Borders, and it is obvious to me that if they had learned my real identity, they would have killed me.

During this visit, I met Na’im Qassem at the Hezbollah office — the one who today is the de facto leader of Hezbollah. I heard from him and other senior figures about their uncompromising battle against Israel. When I left, I breathed a sigh of relief and stopped for a moment. I published the article about my visit, and thought to myself that once again, I’d emerged alive from the lion’s den, literally.

Mauritania and Serbia

At the beginning of 2004, I joined the visit of Silvan Shalom, then Israeli foreign minister, to India. During our visit, the director-general of the Foreign Ministry, Ron Prosor, told me that the minister wanted to speak to me. Shalom offered me the position of Israel’s ambassador to Mauritania — a Muslim nation in northwest Africa.

The Islamic Republic of Mauritania is a small Arab state of five million people. It recognized Israel in 1999, and the ties between the two countries lasted until 2010, when they were severed following Operation Cast Lead. The foreign minister was looking for someone who understood the Muslim world, who lived and breathed North Africa and French culture, to be able to serve as ambassador there.

I agreed right away. It was not a political appointment, it was purely professional. I spent four years there, and my term is remembered positively in the Foreign Ministry. There were some complex situations during those years. It’s a Muslim nation with its own problems, but we did lots of good things there. For example, we built an oncology hospital, and did a lot to strengthen ties between the two countries.

I really enjoyed the work there. Unfortunately, there are no Jews there at all. There was no minyan or any connection to tradition. At the end of Yom Kippur, I would look at the sky and find three stars to know the fast was over. I was there alone, but I was very proud of my work for the State of Israel.

I went through difficult experience there — the attack on the Israeli embassy. On that day, we’d finished dinner at the American ambassador’s residence. Afterward, my wife and I returned home. Late at night, we were awakened by a loud explosion from an exploding grenade. That’s how the craziest night of my life started.

Al-Qaeda quickly took responsibility for the attack against Israel’s embassy in Mauritania. Two years earlier, Bin Laden’s deputy had demanded that the embassy be banished from the “holy ground.”

This attack included intense gunfire at the compound where the embassy was housed. The Mauritania National Guard soldiers pushed them back. Three civilians were injured, and it was definitely one of the most frightening episodes of my career.

A moment almost as frightening took place during the war in Kosovo. I traveled quickly to Serbia when reports came through that the region was heating up. It was clear to me that this was heading for war. I managed to get into the country, and during my trips in Kosovo, there was one moment where my life was in actual danger.

One night, I was traveling with a few journalists to the city of Vranje, in southern Serbia. We were driving in absolute darkness, and suddenly I heard shouting — “Stoy!” — stop, in Serbian, and we came face to face with soldiers, their weapons drawn. We were just a step away from them shooting at us.

That moment, I thought to myself: I’ve been in all the Arab states, Iran and Iraq, Libya and Tunis, Lebanon and elsewhere. And I’m going to lose my life here, of all places, in Serbia, because of a misunderstanding? But baruch Hashem those soldiers only arrested us, and I spent a few very long hours in Serbian custody.

When they discovered I was Israeli, they showed me respect, because the Israeli ambassador to Serbia had not fled during the war. Eventually, I was released and I continued my reporting. The adrenaline, and the sense of accomplishment, are the strongest motivators. Ultimately, as a journalist, you are experiencing history, and you are the barometer of reality.

Israel Hayom

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hen I finished my service in Mauritania, I got a job offer from a newspaper I wasn’t familiar with, Israel Hayom. When I learned more about it, I realized that it was a paper after my own heart, speaking to the right of the country. As a right-wing person, I have always been irritated by the media in Israel. Now I discovered for the first time a newspaper that could be a friend, that wasn’t hostile to me.

In America and Europe, there are very respectable right-wing papers, so why weren’t there any in Israel? Israel Hayom started a revolution. It was a privilege to join, to work there for years and to be appointed as editor in 2017.

When I was appointed editor, the paper was already the biggest in Israel. They tried to tag it with terms like Bibi-ism and all that. Now let’s set the record straight: I am the editor of a right-wing paper, and the prime mister is from the right. Binyamin Netanyahu is a person who, on a personal level, I greatly admire.

We met at the end of the 1980s, and since then he’s been with us. And when I was the editor of the biggest paper in the country — which is also a right-wing paper — I represented the right-wing positions.

The treatment of Netanyahu and right-wing voters brought me back to a childhood experience. When Menachem Begin rose to power, my mother was ashamed to say that she had voted for him. In the 1981 elections, she also didn’t talk about it. If you were a Likud voter, you were considered second rate. They caused my mother to be ashamed for voting Likud, and for that, I will not forgive them. This is what they are doing to this day. Very slyly, they denigrate Netanyahu, but really they’re targeting his voters.

I’ll never forget how, during the 1981 elections, I volunteered to bring older people to the voting booths. I went with a Likud shirt, and when I came home, one of my neighbors said to me, “I thought the Bismuth family were intelligent people.”

I was the proudest person in the world when I brought my mother for my first speech in the Knesset. We went from a mother who couldn’t tell people that we vote Likud, to me representing the Likud in Knesset and doing so proudly. Today, when I go home to Tel Aviv as a Likud MK, it’s the best feeling in the world.

My Friend Trump

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the winter of 2015, as a writer for Israel Hayom, I had the privilege of conducting interviews with four candidates running for the Republican nomination for president.

There was Marco Rubio, then a young senator from Florida and today the Secretary of State. He’s an amazing man who loves Israel. There was Senator Ted Cruz, who also likes us a lot, and Jeb Bush, the brother of former president George W. Bush. And last but not least, Donald Trump, who immediately stood out from the pack.

That is where a friendship began between us. The first interview with him was very successful. He’s a very friendly person. A chevrehman. After that, I conducted a few more interviews, and the connection grew stronger.

When he won the primaries in Nevada, I said to him, “Sir, you’re going to be the president of the United States.”

And he replied, “It’s too early to tell.”

Whenever we met after that, he would declare to everyone, “Here’s the first guy who said I’d be president.”

Our relationship remained very warm, and I like him very much. He’s a genuine ohev Yisrael, a person who is truly capable of changing the world, in the most positive sense.

After he won the election in 2016, he gave the first media statement to me — for Israel Hayom. For me, that was a historic moment. Not to the American or European media, or to anyone else, but to a Jewish reporter from Israel. It showed the respect and the tremendous connection he has to Am Yisrael.

Trump was behind the Abraham Accords, which was a truly historic event, and now he is suggesting the voluntary migration program [from Gaza]. I heard all the “horror” at this plan, as if the “two-state solution” had been passed down to us like Torah from Shamayim. As if it’s the 11th commandment. That was never more than a lot of drivel.

The voluntary migration plan is a very positive one. I suggest that all the opponents should come and visit the Champs-Elysees in Paris and see the tens of thousands of voluntary migrants who came from Algiers and Morocco and are very happy there. People migrate all over the world. What’s the problem here? There’s even more reason to, in light of the claims that the Gaza residents are suffering terribly and it’s impossible to live there. So move out with the Trump plan and you’ll live a good life.

Another point. They try to make the world forget that the exit point for Gazans is not only to the State of Israel, but also to Egypt. The Gazans are choking? All right. You have a border with Egypt. They are invited to open their gates and take you in.

Judaism

I grew up in a home that was very Jewish, connected to tradition and our roots. From an early age, I learned that there are many other religions in the world, but they all drew their faith from Judaism. We are the foundation, the source of it all.

Every time I represented Israel in the world, whether as a journalist or as a diplomat, I was proud of my Judaism. I’m a member of the Chosen Nation, the source of all of mankind. I live and breathe the Mishkan Kohanim shul in Tel Aviv, where I daven, and in the last few months, I moved the tefillos and Kaddish for my mother a”h to the Knesset.

On the wall in my office, there are lots of pictures of important and historic events, from my visits to the Arab nations to pictures with world leaders. But the most important picture is that of my young son, David, when he was five months old, kissing the Kotel Hamaaravi.

After David was born, he needed to undergo a difficult operation. We faced significant challenges. Because of the complexity, he had his brit only at the age of five months. The first thing I did after the brit was to travel to the Kotel to thank Hashem. And this picture is the most important one of all the pictures that surround me. My son, the Kotel, that’s all that’s important to me as a Jew.

We see the era we’re living in. It’s complex, and there’s no way to know where we are heading. Things are roiling around us, war, hostages and whatnot. There’s so much pain. I often say to those around me that a Jew who lived in Europe at the beginning of the 20th century could not have imagined the future that was in store. People lived well, enjoyed culture, ate well and slept well. But then came two world wars. Who would have believed the horrors the Jews endured?

I’m not saying, chalilah, that a horrific reality is lying in wait for us, but I do think that we are facing dramatic developments in the Middle East. And this is where my deep connection with Judaism comes in. If there’s one thing in our lives that is stable, that ensures that even my great-grandchildren will act the way I do, pray the way I do, and read the weekly parshah and live according to tradition, it’s Judaism. It’s something that, no matter what happens, will always exist. It’s our insurance certificate in this world.

Knesset

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’ve often been asked: What do you need it for, with such a long and impressive résumé like yours? But the truth is that from a very early age, I was drawn to the world of diplomacy, public work, and of course, journalism. After I finished with the journalism, I considered going into academics.

The idea of going to Knesset came after I emceed an event there. A lot of people came over to me and started asking, “When are you going into politics?” It began as an idea. The same day, I went into the prime minister, and Netanyahu asked me, “When are you going to run?” And he asked it again, and then a third time. I’m a Likud guy through and through. So the idea began to take root.

It wasn’t really in my plans. Proof is that I registered for the Likud two weeks before the primaries.

The prime minister turned to me in Metzudat David and said, “Run. You’re going to win. They’ll support you.”

That was very nice. This is a person I truly admire, and I’m sure history will remember him well. He will yet change the face of the Middle East, with American support. Great things are ahead.

I did the primaries in two and a half weeks. I ran on the national ticket. I’m the only one who was chosen in a national primary in two and a half weeks. Did I take a big risk? It would not have been pleasant had I failed. But Netanyahu told me people like me, and that I’d do well. And I did.

I got in. What I didn’t know is how hard it is. I had been engaged in diplomacy on the highest levels. In the media as well, I was the editor of a newspaper in a tough time, when Israeli media did not accept it. I was a commentator on the most prestigious panel on Channel 12, and I was one against all the rest. And yet the hardest thing I’ve done in my life is be a public servant.

It’s very hard to be a public servant. But here, you change the order of the world. You pass laws, you serve the public. As a journalist, you can write against UNRWA. As a newspaper editor, you can put the article on the front page. But as a legislator, you can throw them out of here. That’s the feeling that accompanies me on my public service here in the Knesset.

The Iron Swords War

Regretfully, for so many years, they sold us nonsense. Fantasies. The false dream was that we will live in peace with our neighbors. Instead of talking about “let’s try to build reasonable neighborly relations, stability and security,” they said peace, and that they are our “brothers.”

And then they sold us this reality and marketed it. The media was a full partner to this false product. The lie caused part of the public to believe that the hostile declarations, and the beliefs that the terrorists live by, and even anti-Semitism, were all a deviation, but the majority wants peace with us. In fact, the opposite was the case.

As someone who visited Arab nations many times over three decades, I know them well. Having served as an ambassador in an Arab nation, I saw the truth in front of my eyes. When I heard in Yemen a family telling me in French, thinking that I was a French journalist, that “although you’re French, let’s raise a cup in honor of Hitler, because at least he killed Jews” — you understand it all.

In Tehran I saw how Persian boys and girls who live normal lives, helping old people cross the street, walking to school, and reading the Koran — and burning Israeli flags. Naturally, just like that. That is when it became clear to me that what they are selling here is a nonexistent illusion.

There is no doubt that something has changed in recent years. The Arab coalition with Israel against Iran is one that began with the Abraham Accords and is expected to continue. There is normalization. If, when I was an ambassador in Mauritania, they called me in the middle of the night to meet the president, because he could not meet me in public; if when I was the ambassador in Mauritania, I erased their debts in the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund, but they didn’t invite me to any important events on their part — today that is not the case.

But we’re not there yet. Arab public opinion is still hostile. There is a way to go. That is why I say, first, come and talk about relations, come and talk about stability, about security. That was not the case when the kashered the Oslo Accords — they kashered the insect. Then came the Disengagement. You cleared out land and you know that Hamas is going to rule there. And this is a group whose charter clearly says that they will murder you. And Israel cooperated with this. It’s awful.

And then came the rounds of fighting with Hamas. And they were never decisive. There has to be a victory picture. It’s important. And therefore, we have to win this war, because when we win it, we will also win peace. Peace is stability. Peace is security. Real peace might come after that, when they forget what we fought about. Right now, I don’t see it happening. Why? Because there is one nation too many on this small land, and it’s not us.

And the one nation too many here is not us, because this “nation” that claims that this is its land is a made-up people. And as long as an Arab that calls himself a Palestinian is not ready to recognize me as the nation that lives here — we will not move forward. But it’s more important to him that I should not have a land than that he should have it. Why? Because he knows from the start that it is not his. Because it never was.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1078)