“I know, I owe you an explanation about the past few days… the truth is… I owe you an explanation about the past few weeks.”
Just then Melody arrived at work and, after greeting Julie at the reception desk, she was about to turn to her small room when she noticed the two men deep in conversation in Weissman’s large office. She knew it was wrong, but curiosity got the better of her. Thus, she found herself standing just outside the entrance to Weissman’s office, listening to their conversation.
“Nicole and I, we were together for six years; we broke up,” Yiftach launched a ground-to-air missile.
“Yiftach…” Weissman squinted and his voice took on a warm, empathic tone. “I’m so sorry to hear that. When did this happen?”
“On the very day that I returned home.”
“I didn’t know; you never mentioned it. You told me about your brother, your parents, but this—not a word…” Weissman’s expression took on a relaxed look, like a detective who had just solved a troublesome mystery. “Now it’s all clear… the unsuccessful session in Officer Raviv’s case, your disappearing in the middle of the day…” He looked directly at Yiftach, “I know that right now it seems to you like the end of the world, but you’ll soon discover that the well-worn cliché still holds—time heals even the deepest wounds.”
“Time does only one thing, Rafi—it passes, it goes by and does nothing else. The question is, what do we do and how do we utilize the passing time? You needn’t console me, really. I know what I’ll do with the time and how to keep on going. I am glad I discovered who she really was before planning and paying for a wedding, taking out a large mortgage and, above all—before a little kid showed up running under our feet. At that point, separating would have turned into a complicated, ugly issue.Thank God it didn’t come to that. Now it hurts, that’s all. I’ll get over it, period. I don’t really wish to discuss it further.”
“Absolutely,” Weissman replied. “I’m glad that you shared this with me, with your characteristic directness.”
“But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” Weissman shot a curious glance at Yiftach, who got up from his chair and began pacing the room. In one corner of the office, near the window looking out on Salah-al-Din Street, hung a framed picture of a typical family of four. Against the background of an orange grove, Rafael and Nili stood in the center and on either side of them stood their two daughters. Yiftach looked out the window at the horizon with an angry look. Wintry Jerusalem clouds began to gather slowly. “If there is anyone present who never experienced the pain of love—please raise your hand!” he said with a mock-festive tone. Weissman remained frozen like a heavy stone statue. “I see that no one has raised his hand?” he wanted to confirm that the findings of his experiment were correct.
Melody’s breathing, as she stood outside the door, turned heavy. She leaned against the wall and stared at the dark ceiling. “Let me clarify, perhaps there was a mistake, or someone didn’t fully understand me. If there is anyone present,” Yiftach continued his one-man show, “who never shed big tears, who never felt the aching pain that stifles the heart and tortures the soul, who never regretted having entered a painful romantic relationship—please raise your hand!” Weissman, who retreated into his chair and gazed at Yiftach as if the devil had entered him, did not move a muscle. “No one’s hand is raised?” Yiftach confirmed for the second time. “Melody! This question is addressed to you too. Please, step into the office!” he ordered her, and she—hunched over and embarrassed—wished she were buried under the deep purple carpet that welcomed the visitors. Weissman looked at her with amazement.
“Shut the door,” Yiftach instructed her, “and thank you, Attorney Weissman for keeping the glass over this picture so clean.” Yiftach waved in the direction of the family photo and then brought his face up close to it, like an archaeologist examining an interesting find. “You can actually see through it the reflection of the hallway outside the door.”
“Yiftach,” Weissman sought to bring order back, “are you okay? Could you please explain to me what this is all about, what’s this melodramatic monologue of yours first thing in the morning?”
“I asked a question,” Yiftach insisted, “did you ever experience unrequited love?”
“Who hasn’t?”
“And why did it happen to you?”
“I don’t know… because I was young… because I was blind… because… because love blurs the shortcomings of the other party.”
“But hatred blurs its advantages…” Melody chimed in.
“And you,” Yiftach turned to her sharply, “How old are you anyway?” he added in a condescending tone.
“Twenty-six.”
“And have you experienced love that ground your heart to dust?” Today of all days, she thought to herself, on October 8th, he is asking her this question. She fell silent and her silence testified to a confirming response.
Julie’s voice came through Rafael’s intercom on his desk and quickly pierced the silence. “Sorry to bother you, Attorney Weissman, I saw that your door is shut. Dalia from Dr. Kena’s office called. He wants to move up your appointment today to four o’clock.”
“Fine,” he answered, knowing that there was no arguing with the wishes of the State Attorney General.
“Julie,” Yiftach called out, “have you ever experienced unrequited love? Has your heart ever been broken?”
“You mean, this week? Umm...” she thought. “Not yet!” she answered and hung up.
“Yiftach!” Weissman’s tone was authoritative. “You’re worrying me, I understand that your breaking up with Nicole wasn’t an easy matter, but you are here in the State Attorney’s Office, not a psychology course, nor in some kind of support group. We’re running out of time; there are many cases to see to. I am asking both of you to return to work immediately!” Weissman waved his hands at them, as if breaking up a demonstration.
Yiftach remained standing in place. “Now, if you go outside,” he said to Weissman, “and ask every person you meet, you will discover that there is not a single adult who hasn’t been hurt by failed love. Love has taken from people everything they had in life. At times it has even taken their very lives.”
“What of it? C’mon! What is it you want from us?”
“Rafael,” Yiftach approached him with a threatening look, “love causes humans to experience suffering, it causes them to isolate themselves and turn into sorrowful souls. Love puts into the minds of mortals all sorts of tricks and leads them into a lot of trouble. It turns all of us into creatures that are motivated by passion and feed upon intoxicating hope. Love takes away our freedom and turns all of us into its servants.”
Weissman’s and Melody’s glances crossed. “And what do you want to do about it?” Weissman asked suspiciously.
“The obvious, of course, what the State would do regarding every serial criminal.” Silence filled the room and Yiftach quickly broke it. “It must be held accountable, it must be brought to justice. We need to submit an indictment—The State of Israel vs. Love. I will lead the case. If you prefer to just sit there and not join this battle, then I will fight it by myself.”
