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In April 1979, I traveled with Ariel Sharon, then Israel’s Minister of Agriculture, on a visit to the Golan Heights. Throughout the trip, I had cautioned myself not to be caught up by his irresistible charm, and I made a point of calling him “Mr. Sharon,” which irritated him: he preferred to be called Arik, his nickname. Finally, Sharon turned to one of his aides. “As I told you before‚ we did not break him,” he said, referring to me. “Even after all these hours, he still believes that I am a chauvinist.”
Sharon often felt misunderstood and misrepresented as a knee-jerk belligerent.