When my finger was on the button for Israel
I was a young law student applying for a part-time internship. To my amazement, I was soon casting votes at the U.N. and working for Ariel Sharon.
Editor's note: This excerpt is adapted from Gregory Levey's new memoir, "Shut Up, I'm Talking: And Other Diplomacy Lessons I Learned in the Israeli Government," published today by Free Press/Simon & Schuster and reprinted with permission.
By Gregory Levey
Read more: Books, United Nations, Israel, Jerusalem, Ariel Sharon, Middle East
Author photo by Ryu Voelkel
April 22, 2008 | In January 2004, when I was a 25-year-old Canadian law student in New York, I decided to apply for an internship at the Israeli Consulate. Little did I know, the speechwriter for the Israeli delegation to the United Nations was quitting, and I was soon asked to fill the vacancy. It was just the beginning of a bizarre, revealing and often comical two and a half year journey into the nerve center of Israeli and Middle Eastern politics -- a journey that grew even stranger with my transfer, the following year, to an even more unlikely job in Jerusalem, at the heart of the Israeli government.
On an excruciatingly slow August day in New York City, a resolution was coming up for consideration, apparently, at the U.N. General Assembly. There was almost nobody at the Israeli Mission, and those there already had their afternoons planned. "You should go," one of my superiors said to me. "It won't be a big deal. Just take notes."
Nobody thought to explain to me what the resolution was about, and I didn't think to ask, but I was happy to agree, having very little else to do at the time. And although I had not yet done it at a meeting of the General Assembly, I had gone on a few of these little note-taking missions at the U.N.'s other organs. I went to the meeting hall and took my seat at Israel's place, the little placard reading "ISRAEL" in front of me. Thankfully, Italy and Ireland were there, so I didn't have to deal with Iran sitting -- or refusing to sit -- beside me, as I'd experienced at a previous meeting. There seemed to be more tension in the room than usual, and a few more people than would normally be present at a regular discussion. Something was clearly up.
Although I didn't recognize him, the Italian representative greeted me and shook my hand. Then he leaned in and said, "So you know, the vote is definitely going to happen today after all."
I smiled and nodded, as if I knew what he was talking about. But I was suddenly numb, thinking, "The vote? The vote? What vote? Nobody said anything about a vote!"
"So have you decided how you're voting?" I asked, more than a little awkwardly. I had absolutely no idea how this sort of discussion normally progressed.
Clearly that was not how, because he gave me a strange look and nodded. "Yes, we've worked it out."
I knew at very least that the "we" was not just the Italian delegation but the whole European Union, which always voted together on issues of foreign policy. Still, that cleared up nothing for me.
"Would you excuse me?" I said to the Italian as suavely as possible -- which is to say not suavely at all -- before darting out of the room to the hallway, clutching my cellphone. There were still lots of people streaming in, and many had not yet taken their seats, so I knew there was still some time and was not yet totally overcome by the situation.
I called the Israeli Mission, trying the extensions of various senior diplomats, but none of them picked up. Finally I reached the deputy ambassador's secretary, and started to tell her about the situation, but the phone connection dropped. I had previously noticed that cellphone reception at the U.N. was terrible, but it had never really affected me until now. I tried again and was not able to get any signal whatsoever.
I swore quietly to myself, unsure what to do. This bad cellphone reception problem, I thought, probably didn't affect most diplomats here quite as much because they probably actually knew what they were doing. I was not so lucky.
Racing back into the assembly hall, I scanned the room, noting that most people were now seated, and those in front who ran the meeting were clearly getting ready to proceed. Starting to get a bit desperate -- "Should I vote at all? Will there be repercussions if I don't vote? What are we even voting about?" -- I looked around the room again, hoping that some solution to this problem would present itself. Then one did: the United States of America.
I knew that Israel usually voted along with the Americans, its closest ally and supporter. And since there were no Israelis around to tell me what to do, I figured that I might as well just ask the Americans.
I walked up to them, and after quickly confirming that their U.N. tags listed their country as the United States, I greeted the one who appeared to be the senior diplomat. He was in his mid- to late 50s and was quite clearly an important official from the State Department. Just as clearly to him, I was sure, I was a fool.
"Um, yeah," I said, drawing out my words awkwardly and almost stuttering. "I'm, uh, representing Israel at this meeting."
His brow furrowed a bit, and while still trying to remain diplomatic, he gave me a look that seemed to say, "What are you, 15?"
"Anyway," I went on, leaning in so that nobody else would hear me, "I don't really, exactly, know how I'm supposed to vote, and -- "
"You don't know?" he asked incredulously.
"Not as such," I said slowly, and paused for a second on this note. "There has been some miscommunication in the Israeli Mission today."
He just nodded.
"Anyway," I continued painfully, "I just wanted to know if you would mind telling me how you guys were going to vote."
He looked around warily to make sure that nobody was around. Then he leaned in even closer to me. His two assistants did the same, until the four of us were essentially in a huddle on the floor of the assembly hall.
"This is just between you and us," he warned me, and when I nodded, he whispered, "We're voting no."
Our huddle broke then, and I fought the urge to give the American diplomats a high-five.
"Thank you very much," I told them instead.
"Good luck," the senior diplomat said, and I walked away, aware that they were probably puzzling over the fact that Israel was now sending very young-looking North Americans to handle its diplomacy.
Heading to my seat, I thought, "No! They're going to vote no! But what does that mean? No to what?" I was not about to ask the Americans to explain to me exactly what the resolution they were voting against was about, since that would make Israel look even more ridiculous, so I just made my way across the hall, trying to decide whether to vote the same way as they were.