Chapter Four
“And the Egyptians made the children
of Israel to serve with rigor.”
It was Attorney Yiftach Posner’s first day at his new job at the State Attorney’s Office on Salah al-Din Street in Jerusalem.
He gazed out of his office window with the old, rust-covered, white iron grating and watched the pedestrians rushing to and fro on the street below.
He thought to himself that surely none of them ever gave a thought to the awesome history of this site, this street that was paved at the start of the twentieth century and named after the Muslim warlord, known in the West as Saladin.
He wondered about the person who had occupied this office before him, if he too had gazed out this window, thinking the same thoughts.
He sat down and with dulled eyes looked at the grey-and-white binders piled high throughout the room.
For a split second he entertained the idea of burning the lot.
His thoughts wandered and he began imagining horses galloping through the room, circling wildly and rising upward.
Too much had happened in too short a time after parting from Ricardo and two full years of new experiences and self-fulfillment in the Big Apple; returning to Israel, searching for a new apartment and needing to decide whether to remain in Tel Aviv or move to his former home in Jerusalem; and, above all—unveiling the truth about his fiancée, his soon-to-be wife who had been carrying on a prolonged affair with a woman from her office.
Alongside these upheavals, Yiftach had to adjust, and fast, to his new and demanding job at the State Attorney’s Office, a place that never offers a second chance and doesn’t spare its employees.
“Yiftach!” Attorney Rafael Weissman entered the room.
He held a very high position—Deputy for Criminal Affairs for the State Attorney General, Asher Kanne, with whom he was very close and was considered to be heir to his title.
Weissman, Yiftach’s new direct boss was a little over fifty, tall and thin.
His thick, black hair was combed back and packed down with a thick layer of shiny, sticky gel.
His elongated face was angular and sharp, and he had a long nose that blended in with long, slanted eyes that made him resemble a dolphin.
At a meeting held three years earlier, Weissman had supported choosing Yiftach as one of the ten scholarship recipients who would be sponsored by the State Attorney’s Office to complete their law degrees in the United States.
The objective was that upon completing his studies abroad, Yiftach would transfer from the Tel Aviv District Criminal Attorney’s Office to the ranks of the State Attorney’s Office.
As was always the case with Weissman, his intent materialized exactly as planned.
“Attorney Weissman!” Yiftach jumped up from his chair and they shook hands.
“Call me Rafi… please… How are you doing, Yiftach? Welcome to the State Attorney’s Office. Have you completed filling in all the forms regarding your trip?”
“I’m almost finished with the initial process. There are just a few tail ends left, I haven’t gotten a smart card yet, there are a few more forms to complete… I’ll get it all done by tomorrow.”
“Glad to hear that,” Weissman said without sounding glad, “the workload is tremendous and, unfortunately, you won’t be granted any grace period or time to gradually get accustomed to the work here.
” Weissman sat down on one of the two visitors’ chairs after having placed a pile of binders on the floor.
“That’s okay,” Yiftach said, “I’m used to working under pressure.” He recalled his work at the Tel Aviv Attorney General’s Office and the dozens of cases that he had handled simultaneously.
“But first, you need to put this room into order.” Weissman looked around with concern at the numerous binders and brown cartons strewn everywhere.
“I’ll speak to Ronen, our maintenance guy, today and have him come and install some shelves and cabinets for you.
” He stood up and walked over to the large window at the front of the room, putting his hands in his carefully pressed black pants’ pockets.
“What a view you have from this office!” With his right hand he stroked his thin, black tie as if it were a furry Himalayan cat, and went on: “You know, Yiftach, a world war broke out over this office, but I insisted that it should be allocated to you.” Yiftach’s new office was spacious; the reddish-brown lacquered wooden desk was expansive and the view of Salah al-Din Street from the window was reflected in all its grandeur and in clear detail.
At the entrance to the office, to the right, stood a small, round glass table on which stood a bowl of fresh fruit, with two chairs on either side.
It was the kind of office meant for senior attorneys far more experienced than Yiftach, and the fact that he was given this room raised some eyebrows among several veteran attorneys at the office.
“I’ve seen the view and the office and, in fact, the welcome I’ve received is far beyond my expectations.
Thank you for everything. I sincerely mean it, Attorney Weissman, I mean…
Rafael… Rafi… Thank you.” Deep in his heart, he knew that there was ‘no free lunch,’ certainly not from Weissman, and that now he must learn what is expected of him and justify his position in such an office.
Weissman headed a staff that handled cases of severe criminality, complex issues marked by problematic issues concerning evidence, and precedent-setting cases as well, some of which would surely reach the Supreme Court.
Therefore, Weissman routinely stood in close contact with Dr. Asher Kanne, the State Attorney General.
Weissman was renowned for his demanding standards—which led more than one attorney to pack his things and leave for the private sector, to join one of the large Tel Aviv firms. Yiftach understood that he was expected to devote himself intensively and totally to his work, staying through the wee hours of the night in return for the typical measly wages given to young lawyers employed in the civil service.
Weissman turned away from the window and their eyes met.
He had a light, athletic gait, like that of a sly fox.
He paced back and forth along the wall of the office—to help him think, as it were—and while waving his hands dramatically, as if he were in the midst of an aggressive cross-examination, he continued speaking: “Any attempt to get a handle on all the cases that have been assigned to you during your first week here would be over-ambitious and, in any case, would prove impossible. Therefore, to help with a softer landing, I’m asking that during this coming week you focus on only three issues.
” Yiftach searched quickly through the piles of binders, files and office equipment that covered his desk like a heavy winter blanket, and finally laid his hands on a yellow legal pad and a blue pen that had hardly any ink.
“The first case,” Weissman continued with the tone of an authoritative teacher as Yiftach carefully wrote down every word, “Criminal Case No. 4766764/09, The State of Israel vs. Cohen, is about settling accounts in organized crime. As far as we know, and this is the version we will present in court, a mercenary arrived at the Jaffa apartment of the intended target, who was in the living room at the time, and fired a bullet from his loaded gun, aiming at his head.”
The damn pen hardly worked and, while Yiftach was trying desperately to write down Weissman’s words, the latter kept talking at a fast pace.
“But the target of the assassination managed to fall to the floor and, as a result, the bullet hit his daughter, a minor not yet seventeen years old, near her heart and she was killed instantly. The mercenary escaped without completing his mission. You see those four boxes over there?” Weissman pointed to one of the corners of the room.
Yiftach nodded his head. “There you’ll find all the investigative material that, at the time, we passed on to the defense attorney.
As you know, as soon as an indictment is submitted, the defendant and his attorney are entitled to review the investigative material held by the prosecution.
In general, the investigative material relates directly or indirectly to the indictment and pertains to the evidence and narrative of the criminal indictment.
Read the material!” Weissman ordered, “and make sure you know it inside out. Come talk to me afterwards. I would like you to appear in court for this case.”
A quiet sigh escaped from Yiftach’s lips, but it didn’t suffice to stop Weissman’s flow of speech, nor the young attorney’s hand from taking notes.
Weissman continued dictating in his well-known style—military and precise.
“The second case, Criminal Case No. 4453678/08, The State of Israel vs. Raviv, is really a fascinating and exciting case. The key persona in this case is a man nearing sixty who was capable of exposing the existence of a horrendous cartel, perhaps the largest cartel ever in Israel. Just to give you a glimpse, it concerns the meticulous price coordination and geographical distribution of customers among the various competitors.”
“But how is that a case for our office? It’s a matter for the FTC, it falls under their jurisdiction,” Yiftach wondered and continued: “After all, antitrust is a branch of the law that promotes fair competition and the major supervision is carried out by the Federal Trade Commission.”
“Correct, the indictment regarding the cartel was previously handled by the FTC, but the entire issue is stuck now, really stuck, and I doubt if an indictment will ever be submitted against the companies and the directors involved in it.”
“What’s holding it up?” Yiftach asked, unsure where Weissman’s words were taking him.