Meeting Yasser Arafat
During the past week or so, I have been spending a lot of time thinking about a trip I took in December 1998. During that trip, I met Yasser Arafat.

I remember sitting on a bus and looking out the window as we approached the green line, separating Israel from Palestine Authority. The Israeli soldiers that were traveling with us stepped off the bus to speak with the Palestinian soldiers based near the line. I soon learned that they were negotiating to allow our bus to cross the line, and for us to remain safe during out time there. This took more than an hour.

Finally, the soldiers got back on the bus and we soon started to move - slowly. I looked out the window to learn that our bus was surrounded with Palestinian-filled vehicles, one in front of the bus, one in back, and one on each side. They were moving along with our bus, surrounding it like a fort. I was told this was done to protect us, because it would be a sign to the people that we had permission to be there.

We were in Hebron, on our way to meet Yasser Arafat. I was nervous about taking this trip. My family and friends were nervous about me taking this trip. But as a journalist, I knew it was an opportunity that I just couldn't pass up.

The invitation came in October of the same year. There was going to be a conference in Israel to commemorate the 20-year anniversary of the signing of the Camp David Peace Agreements. And most of the major players had planned to be there.

The conference took place in Beer Sheva, and I spent the first few days of my trip visiting Ben-Gurion University of the Negev. But the trip also allowed for one unique day - a day in which to meet Yasser Arafat, in Hebron, and Benjamin Netanyahu, then prime minister, in Jerusalem.

Driving through the main street of Hebron, buildings were covered with posters of Arafat. He was truly a king to his people.

When we got off the bus, soldiers quickly came to check our purses, cameras and tape recorders. I remember one soldier talking into my recorder, and then playing his voice back. He wanted to make sure it really was just a tape recorder.

Once inside the room, we were escorted to our seats. Arafat spoke about Camp David. A man resembling a Secret Service agent whispered into his ear, and Arafat spoke. Then the man whispered into his ear again, and Arafat spoke again. I believed Arafat was simply repeating what was being whispered to him.

Today, I don't remember much of what Arafat said that day. But I do remember what it felt to be in his presence. The power this small-statured man possessed was amazing. Soldiers surrounded the room, with guns in hand. And although I was not Arafat's biggest fan, even I could feel the respect people had for him.

When it was time for us to leave, Arafat reached out his hand to each of us. When he extended his hand to me, I paused. I wasn't prepared to touch him. But he was surrounded by soldiers whose eyes were piercing through me. So I reached my hand out, and shook hands with Yasser Arafat. His hand felt ice cold. To this day, I not only remember this - I can still feel it.

Recently, when he became ill and his days became numbered, that day became part of my daily thoughts.

Now that Arafat has passed away, I am thinking about Israel's future, and what a new Palestinian leader will mean. And I pray that Arafat's passing will be a time for the people in the Middle East to have a new chance for peace.