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experience, gravitas, substance. He also had what was probably the best line in the
debate, saying that if Israeli voters were choosing a male model and not a Prime
Minister, Bibi might indeed be their man. Yet Bibi was much the more polished
performer, and the more focused. No matter what question Margalit asked him, he
almost invariably answered with the driving message of his campaign: that because
of Peres, Israeli citizens were living in fear, wondering where the next suicide
bomber would strike or the next Katyusha would land. And unavoidably, there was
another contrast as well: Bibi, who, after all, was 26 years younger, projected
greater youth, energy and confidence. When it was over, and Peres asked us how
he'd done, we all hemmed and hawed. Only Avraham Burg was prepared to offer a
clear verdict. He told Peres that Bibi had been the clear winner.

Still, it remained possible that Ramon's football-game strategy might work.
Though Peres's poll lead had been narrowing by the day, he was – just – ahead.
With a large number of voters undecided, however, Bibi pulled one final trick out
of his campaign bag. Under Israeli law, election spending is tightly regulated and
nearly all campaigning is barred during the last 48 hours before polling day. Yet
with the backing of wealthy overseas supporters, the Netanyahu campaign
suddenly flooded Israel with blue-and-white banners under the slogan: Bibi, Tov la
Yehudim. "Bibi is good for the Jews." Would it swing tens of thousands of votes
among the Orthodox voters who were the main target? It was impossible to say.
But it seemed clear it was going to be a very close election.

I had worried for some time we might lose. That was why Nava and I had
persuaded Michal, our eldest daughter, to bring forward her wedding. She was
marrying her teenage boyfriend, a wonderful young man named Ziv Lotenberg.
They had originally planned it for a week later. But we did want to risk having it
overshadowed by an election defeat. The wedding took place in a beautiful area of
lawns and gardens called Ronit Farm, north of Herzliya. It was how weddings are
meant to be, full of smiles, good food and dancing. Near the end, Shimon showed
up. As he walked over to greet us, one guest after another shook his hand, patted
him on the back, hugged him, wished him luck. It was as if all the pressure and
tension of the campaign had suddenly flowed out of him. He smiled, returned the
embraces, even joined in the dancing. When he left, I told him that he'd done all he
could to secure victory, and that I hoped the voters would make the right choice.

The first exit polls suggested he was going to win. But our internal polling was
less clear. As more and more votes were counted, Shimon's margin inexorably

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