He doesn’t draw, doesn’t criticise, doesn’t shoot. The terrorist attack caught the new minister of defense, Avigdor Lieberman, running an internal consultation meeting with members of his office on the 14th floor of the Kirya (Ministry of Defense headquarters) in Tel Aviv. He barely managed to reach the memorial ceremony for fallen Nahal soldiers when a note landed on his desk from his military secretary that updated him on the attack a few hundred meters away. This is his first public test.

Lieberman knows that his every movement, every nuance in his voice, is being examined with a magnifying glass. He’s expected to screw the pooch. And at the same time, his weight as the head of the defense establishment is being measured: how he stands up to the prime minister, up to the minister of public security, up to the general staff.

He is still careful to differentiate himself. He appears in a suit and tie as if to say, “I’m not going to pretend to be a military man; I’m a civilian who oversees the military.” Lieberman knows that there are those who are waiting to pounce: “Let’s see you know, big hero. Let’s see what you can do.” But “the battle procedure”—a manner of work in the army and the Shin Bet—dictates that he is the one who sets the pace. Those who want to walk on solid ground, at least for the first months in the position, should adhere to professionals, intelligence, facts, and cold interests, leaving emotion aside. Or as Lieberman put it: “undergo fuse-extending surgery.” And that’s what happened.

Read the full article at Ynet.