The General's Son: Journey of an Israeli in Palestine by Miko Peled Page A

I was with him at 4 a.m. when he took his final breath. He died in his bed in the home he loved so dearly.
    We decided against burying Father at the military cemetery on Mount Herzl in Jerusalem. His legacy was so much more than his military service, and if he’d been buried in the military cemetery, his tomb would have said simply that he was a general and when he was born and when he died. However, more than half his life was about other things—Arabic literature, activism, and peace. So my mother purchased a plot on a hillside cemetery in Kibbutz Nachshon, just outside Jerusalem. We felt it more appropriate to lay him to rest in a beautiful forest near his home in Jerusalem, where we could put what we wanted on his tombstone.
    The funeral was a full military ceremony. When the Jeep showed up at our house with the coffin—on its way to the cemetery—we stepped out to see it and say goodbye. Six generals would carry my father’s coffin, and they sat around the coffin chatting. As we walked up to the Jeep, they hurriedly hushed one another to look dignified. My mother rested her head on the coffin and cried.
    My father’s generation, the bright, young officers who won the war of 1948 for us and then went on to become the generals of the 1967 war, wereiconic, and my father’s role in the buildup to the Six-Day War reached almost mythical proportions. That alone would have made the funeral a major event. It also brought together an unprecedented combination of Israeli generals, heads of state, and radical peace activists as well as Palestinian leaders. Messages of condolence were read from both the government of Israel and Yasser Arafat. Dr. Ahmed Tibi came to represent Arafat (as Arafat himself was not permitted to enter Jerusalem) and lay a wreath on the grave on his behalf. It was placed next to the wreath from the President of Israel. As I recall this, I still find it hard to believe: The first Palestinian president presenting a wreath and a message of condolence on the grave of an Israeli general. The press noticed this, and the photo of the two wreaths side by side made its way into many newspapers.

Eyzer Weizman, former commander of the Israeli Air Force and Deputy Chief of Staff. He was one of my father’s few life long friends. Here he is in his last formal post, President of the state of Israel.
     
    From Uri Avnery on the left to Ariel Sharon on the right, everyone came to pay respects. The army chief rabbi who ran the ceremony asked me to say the kaddish , or “prayer of the bereaved,” and he added, “It’s for father.” I did say the mourners’ kaddish , but I couldn’t help thinking that if he knew anything about my father, he would know not to say such nonsense. Father had no tolerance for religion or religious ceremonies.
    My father’s death prompted countless news stories in Israel and around the world, many of which attempted to analyze his career and his personality. I foundtwo pieces, one by a Palestinian and indeed world-renowned professor Walid Khalidi 12 and the other by Israeli veteran journalist and lifelong peace activist Uri Avnery 13 , particularly effective. My father’s close ties with these two men and the kind words they wrote upon his passing demonstrate the quantum leap he had taken over the years since his military service ended. Dr. Khalidi wrote among other things, “Matti was no diplomat. Well ahead of his time and against daunting opposition, he had cut through the century-old Arab-Zionist conflict and had developed deep convictions with regard to its resolution.”
    Avnery summed up his written eulogy with the words, from Shakespeare’s Hamlet, “He was a man, take him for all in all—I shall not look upon his like again.”
    It’s true that Matti Peled could be difficult, but he was greatly respected and admired. He distinguished himself with his commitment first as a military expert and then as a peace activist and advocate. True, he did not allow for much