Forced Silence

by Vered Cohen Wisotzki

  Galia’s personal planner was taken and placed in a box, along with various files and folders, thought Yael couldn’t figure out why those in particular were being seized. Every inch of the office was inspected, and when they reached Galia’s private drawer, which was locked, they had a problem.

  Yael tried her luck and told them she had no keys, which was true. Hopefully, Daniel wouldn’t show up in the next few minutes, as he did have the keys to the drawer and every other one in the office, including Galia’s, which she saw him open from time to time. She waited desperately for Doron, watching horrified as the investigators tried to break into the desk.

  Doron and Daniel suddenly burst in.

  “Hey, hey, guys, I don’t think anything in that drawer is of interest to you,” Daniel announced.

  “Sorry, we have our orders. We are to search Mrs. Yellin’s office in its entirety, and that’s what we’re doing. Do you have the key to this drawer?”

  Daniel shook his head.

  Yael was glad and not at all surprised that he had dared to lie to the cops. Daniel, it was clear, was trying to protect Galia, leaving them no choice. The cops had to break in with force, and they removed a number of items, including the folder of deposits Doron knew nothing about. They perused it, quietly discussing its contents among themselves.

  Doron exchanged glances with Yael, who looked a bit bothered. This was because she knew that the folder had records of deposits Galia had made from time to time, but Yael didn’t know whom the deposits were for. Yael had always wondered about these mysterious gifts. Galia would simply hand her a sealed envelope and send her to the bank across the street, opposite their offices. Yael had never opened the envelope, but she knew that there was an account number for the deposit of each check. Then she would come back with the deposit slips and put them away in the drawer. Today, all she could hope was that this practice would not turn out to be harmful or to further entangle her friend in legal troubles.

  Some minutes later, the investigators left with two large cardboard boxes. They told Yael and Daniel that they would be summoned for questioning at the nearest police station, where the evidence would be stored before transfer to the GSS and HQ in Jerusalem. They were asked to remain available, at any hour of the day, to be questioned.

  Daniel wasted no more time and quickly went to his own office, where he sat down and made a telephone call, leaving Yael and Doron in the mess of Galia’s office.

  Yael shrugged, then asked worriedly, “How’s Galia holding up?”

  “The truth is…” Doron replied. “That she’s falling apart. She doesn’t know what to do with herself. She wanted to call you this morning, but the guard stationed at the apartment wouldn’t let her. I’m sure her incoming calls are also monitored and recorded. That’s standard operating procedure. And you know her, she tries to keep up appearances. She tries to hide her red eyes because she’s been crying.”

  “But at least you’re there. That must be a big help.”

  “On the contrary, she doesn’t want me involved at all! She doesn’t share anything with me. It pisses me off. She knows I can help her, if she’d just let me, but she wants me to stay out of it. She’s set on pleading guilty! I just don’t get it.”

  “It’s very odd, very out of character. I can’t even imagine Galia picking up a handgun, let alone aiming it at and shooting someone. She would never put Shir or her future in danger like that. I don’t get it either.”

  “You’re right. Say, you could see what they seized, right? Do you think there’s anything damaging in there?”

  Yael shrugged. “Most of the stuff is connected to the paper; I have no idea why they bothered to take it. Except for one folder, which I hope has nothing in it that could hurt her case.” She hesitated; should she share her concerns with Doron?

  “You mean that folder that was in her private drawer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you have any idea what’s in it?”

  Yael was in a quandary. Should she betray her friend’s trust? Clearly, Galia hadn’t wanted anyone to know about the contents of the folder.

  “Yael?” Doron could see her internal struggle.

  “Doron, listen, if you want the details, you have to ask Galia. I can’t help you much.”

  “All right, then, I’ve got to leave. I do really have a lot of things to clear up with her. In any case, thanks for everything,” he said despondently and left.

  As he was on his way out of the office, he passed Daniel’s office. The glass door was closed, and Doron fought the urge to enter and show Daniel what he thought of him.

  Inside were reporters and photographers he knew. One of them turned around for a moment and noticed him. Doron nodded hello. The glances drew Daniel’s attention to the door behind him. He excused himself and went out to talk to Doron.

  “Do you need me?” Daniel asked Doron, raising an eyebrow.

  Doron balled his hands into fists to maintain control. “I’m trying,” he hissed, “to understand why you think you can do anything more to help Galia than me. Let it go, you have no reason to go near her.”

  “Yeah, what I’m trying to understand,” Daniel made no attempt to hide the cynicism in his voice, “is why you think that just because you spent the night together you can feel free to come here and make threats.”

  Doron’s eyes opened wide in disbelief. Daniel’s response made everything clear to him. He bent down to him and said through gritted teeth, “Now I get it… you still are obsessed with your fantasies. You still think you can replace me in her life.”

  The two of them faced off, their eyes flashing with anger. They surveyed each other, trying to judge if it was worth it to trade accusations before all these witnesses watching them raptly. A few seconds, which seemed like an eternity, passed before they realized that the account would have to be settled at another time, in another place.

  “I’ll give her your warm regards,” Doron said cynically as he quickly left.

  Travelling from Jaffa Road to Mendel Singer Street in the Carmel seemed to Doron to take forever. His head was pounding with thoughts about the folder the SIU team had seized.

  What could be in it? he asked himself. I know everything about Galia’s life. We have no secrets, even after the separation.

  From when she had slid into his arms on that rainy night of the misbegotten interview until now, he had known everything about her. Or so he thought. The truth was that he didn’t know anything about her past or her family. She had never wanted to talk about it, and he had let the matter drop, knowing fully that he had the ability to access any information he needed, should he so desire. Now he regretted not nosing around and investigating a bit of Galia’s past. At least he would have information which could help him in the present.

  The anger bubbled up in him about himself and Galia: how could a part of her life be concealed from him? Even if she was pressured or threatened to hide some fact, the Galia he knew would not bow to such tactics. The Galia he knew would never be acquainted with such people! Had that demonstration she attended back then affected her so much, or was it something that had occurred after their separation? Doron could not conceive of anything that might cause such a thing.

  His frustration overwhelmed him. What don’t I know? What hasn’t she told me? he thought. The very recognition of the fact caused his fury to burn hotter.

  The traffic jam only further frustrated him, and he began honking at the cars in front of him, hoping to motivate them to speed up a bit so he could catch the green light. The intersection had turned orange at this time — not from the traffic light, but from the ribbons tied everywhere. This was the color of protesting the Disengagement, with strips of cloth festooning every pole and pillar.

  “Are they showing their support for Galia, their fellow neighbor?” he wondered out loud.

  He grabbed his cell phone; he had to t
alk to Orna, so she could let him know if there was anything new. He momentarily forgot that she had told him not to call. There was no answer for a few moments, and when Orna finally picked up, she didn’t even give him a chance to speak: “Not now! I’ll call later,” he heard Orna quickly say as she hung up.

  “Motherfucker!” He shut off the phone and turned on the radio, trying to quiet his nerves. A quiet David Broza song came on the radio, and Doron hummed the tune, trying to clear his head of all the thoughts driving him crazy. The cell phone rang. It was Orna.

  “Listen, Doron, I’m sorry I hung up, but Udi had just walked into the office. He heard from a member of the search team. They want to bring Galia in for questioning. They now think they have a thread to follow about her accomplices.”

  “Thanks, Orna.”

  “Bye.”

  Doron accelerated, feeling like he was losing it. The traffic on Abba Hushi Boulevard in the Carmel was also moving slowly. He saw a police car on a traffic island where the road turned on to Galia’s street. As he passed, he realized the cops at the intersection were trying to calm down the situation, as an impromptu protest was taking place there, preventing cars from driving through.

  He saw the signs held by young people, apparently University of Haifa students, further down the road. These signs called for strengthening democracy and fighting right-wing extremists. Doron could not help considering a very different scene. Which way, he mused, would the wind of protest be blowing if we lived near another university, say in the center of the county? He remembered the Rabin assassination, the shooter’s association with Bar-Ilan University and its predominantly national-religious student body.

  Then he saw a number of young men in front of Galia’s building. They were wearing large kippot. They had brought signs, but they weren’t waving them. He left his car with the intention of chasing them away, but then he saw Galia leaving, escorted by law enforcement, handcuffed.

  Luckily, he knew some of the cops. Enraged, Doron approached the commanding officer. The officer tried to calm him down, asking him to accompany them to HQ. Roni, the lawyer, also tried to calm Doron down, and afterwards he got in the police car, which sped away. Doron got in his own car and followed. He saw the protestors packing up, and he hoped that by the time he returned with Galia later, they would no longer be near the building.

  In the DII command center at HQ, the atmosphere was tense. They were all waiting for the material from the search of Galia’s office. They were told that the boxes and Galia were already on their way.

  Udi sat in his office chain smoking. The press corps was waiting for some response, some crumb of information. He was still waiting, annoyed, for authorization that was supposed to arrive at any minute. For more than twenty-four hours, he had been waiting for a gag order from the judge, which would require him to keep the details of the investigation secret. His inerrant instincts told him that he had to avoid providing any information to the press. From extensive experience, he knew that early publication of details of an investigation could jeopardize everything. Still, he was worried about leaks, as part of the investigation was in the hands of the Northern District, some of whose officers and detectives he didn’t know. He feared that one or another might say something which would endanger progress on the case as a whole.

  He missed Doron. He knew that in any other instance, Doron would be sifting clues and solutions to the puzzle from any material he received, but now he knew that Doron would not be there to help the investigative team as it scrutinized the contents of the boxes of evidence.

  An hour later, the police cars arrived at headquarters, along with the GSS escort. Galia, her face pale, tried to hide her face from public view with the coat she wore. She was hurried to the interrogation room as cameras captured her image from every angle, even as the photographers and cameramen struggled with the security personnel trying to hold them back.

  As she made her way to the interrogation room, she encountered many familiar faces, and they nodded noncommittally as she passed. As she entered and sat down, her face betrayed nothing about the storm raging within her. She stuck out her hands for the handcuffs to be removed. A cup of coffee was placed in front of her, and she asked one of the detectives, a female officer, if she could smoke.

  “Take your time,” was the detective’s reply. “It’ll be a while before they come to question you. First they have to look through everything they brought here.” The policewoman stood at the entrance, next to the door.

  Galia lit her cigarette and sipped the hot coffee. She had no concept of where to turn next. She knew she had to tell the investigators about her grandfather, and that Doron would hear about it. She assumed he would be upset about concealing this part of her life, but this was the least of her worries. Mainly she was worried about the money she’d transferred to her sister. She hoped that she could stall a bit, giving her sister the time she needed to abscond.

  It was now the third day since the assassination attempt, and she wondered how much longer Naama would need to get ready and to return Shir. Galia wanted to be at home, to wait for a telephone call from her sister. Her cell phone, unfortunately, had already been seized.

  A feeling of terror made her entire body tremble as she thought of her daughter. She wondered: what would happen if Naama didn’t have time to make her getaway — and the police suddenly came knocking at her door?

  Chapter Nine

  Naama finally received the telephone call she’d been waiting for. She sipped her hot coffee as she was told that her sister’s office had been searched and Galia had been taken in for questioning. Naama’s friends had no other information to share. She was feeling exhausted and on edge, and a powerful feeling of fear shook her entire body. For two days, she hadn’t been able to sleep, preoccupied by thoughts of what might happen after their departure. Immanuel, on the other hand, seemed very calm, and he spent most of his time with his father, the dean of the yeshiva.

  Naama wasn’t sure that Galia would stay quiet. She was worried that Doron would convince her to tell the truth and confess. She had made inquiries about him; she respected his abilities and knew that he would do everything to help his wife. Naama knew that she and Immanuel had to get away as soon as possible, even before their forged passports arrived. She was ready for this, but Immanuel insisted on waiting a bit. He was still angry about her changing his plans. He had never intended to flee, but now he felt he was obligated to do so, for her sake. In addition, they had to say goodbye to all their friends, the group of young people living in the hilltop outpost next to the settlement they lived in, who admired their extremist views.

  Many of them seemed dissatisfied at Naama and Immanuel’s impending departure. There were those who felt that she could make waves if she were to confess and be sentenced to prison for her crime. After all, these were fateful days, and the settlers of Judea, Samaria, and Gaza had to stand up for themselves. They had to oppose the Disengagement, even at the cost of a prison sentence. Their rabbis were calling for insubordination if Israeli soldiers were ordered to evacuate their fellow Jews, and some had followed these directives and been court-martialed, sent to military detention for refusing to participate in the preparations for the Disengagement.

  Around Naama, there was also a feeling of great anticipation. The outpost had been flooded by new arrivals, youths who were bringing weapons with them and helping to fortify the structures. Naama and Immanuel felt a connection to these young people. They met with them, they encouraged them to continue resisting, but now they would have to wish them farewell.

  Despite the physical challenge involved, Immanuel insisted on taking part. They would load his wheelchair in the car, and while Naama went and tried her luck with her mother to allow Shir to join them, Immanuel waited in the car.

  He was frustrated and irritated. Two years had passed since the terror attack at the entrance to the settlement, two years in which he had not b
een able to sleep at night, with the pain from his legs burning through his body. He had been injured shielding Naama, the love of his life, from the blast; despite the constant pain, he knew he would do it again in a heartbeat. She had been close to the bomb, and he had recognized the danger. Without hesitating, he had thrown himself on top of her to save her, and miraculously they had both survived. Naama had been lightly injured, but Immanuel had suffered much more serious trauma to his lower body.

  For months, he had been hospitalized, undergoing operation after operation, with Naama by his side the whole time. In the end, they were told the awful news: Immanuel would never walk again, and he would never father children.

  Since that prognosis, Immanuel had never been the same. His frustration, in fact, had only grown worse, as he was unable to participate in the demonstrations that his neighbors organized against the Disengagement. He couldn’t help them.

  In his great desperation, he had hatched the plan to assassinate the minister. He devised the plan, and he volunteered to carry it out. He had a personal motive.

  It was Infrastructure Minister Avshalom Ettinger who had insisted on including Ein Regev in the list of settlements to be evacuated. This was very difficult for his father, who was both dean of the yeshiva and one of the founders of the settlement. In explaining his determination to evacuate the settlement, the minister would incite against the Karnei Re’em yeshiva and against extremist settlers, saying their views brought terror attacks upon them.

  Immanuel found a number of young people in the outpost who would work with him, keeping it all secret from his father and his wife. As the operation was planned, Immanuel felt his confidence returning, as the youths admired and looked up to him once again. They were the ones who gathered information on the minister’s movements and where he would be on the chosen day. All he wanted was to carry out the operation himself: to go to the restaurant and wait for the minister who would always stop there on the way back from surveying the situation up north. He planned to ask one of the young men to give him a lift and drop him off there. He had neither the desire nor the ability to make a quick getaway, and he was fine with it. He was disgusted by his disability, and he wanted to make his father proud, as well as Naama — and free her from their barren marriage.