“It’s an ancient story that tells about the journey of two Buddhist monks, a teacher and his pupil, who were walking from one village to the next. After having walked a great distance, they reached a raging river whose waters spilled over the riverbank. There they met a frightened and helpless woman who was unable to cross to the other side of the river because of the strong current. She told them that her infant son was on the other side and, if she didn’t reach him quickly, he might be swept away in the gushing waters and drown. She asked the monks to help her cross to the other bank. The pupil—who throughout his life was taught to avoid any contact with the opposite sex and have nothing to do with them—recoiled and refused. The teacher, onthe other hand, answered her affirmatively. And so the three crossed the raging river—the teacher went first, carrying the woman on his shoulders, and his pupil followed behind. When they reached the other side, the teacher carefully put the woman down on the ground, took leave of her and, after she had thanked him, he continued on his way.”
“And what about the pupil?”
“He followed after him. After two hours had passed in an uncomfortable silence, the pupil could no longer contain himself and said to his teacher: ‘You are the one who taught me over many years to avoid any contact with the opposite sex; you are the one who emphasized that I should have nothing to do with them, so how could you do what you just did?’ The teacher looked at his pupil and replied: ‘The difference between the two of us is that I left the woman on the riverbank two hours ago. But you are still thinking about her.’”
Melody smiled. Max was the first person who had managed to cause her to genuinely smile after such a long time. “So what do you recommend that I… I mean… that Yiftach… what do you suggest that he do?” she asked.
“To leave Nicole on the other side of the river and go on with his life,” the old man concluded.
“Anyway,” Yiftach said to Weissman, “it’s too late to correct your first mistake. You already promised me you would talk to Kena. As to the second mistake, you can still do something about it.”
“I already have,” Weissman surprised him. “I spoke with Dr. Kena…” Yiftach’s heart skipped a beat, “…and he agrees.”
Yiftach’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets from excitement. He leaped up from his armchair in a flash and slammed a fist into his other hand. “Yes!!” he let out a victor’s roar. Max and Melody—whose arms formed a gondola-like cradle filled withmany citrus fruits that were about to drop to the floor—returned to the living room.
“Yiftach,” Weissman continued to speak, “we are now making a pact, and this pact has conditions: You will write and submit the indictment. This stage shouldn’t take long.”
Weissman’s voice was like that of a teacher reprimanding his wayward student. “However, if it turns out that the defendant, for whatever reason, doesn’t exist or simply refuses to show up at court, we’re backing off. We won’t insist on doing something that can’t be done, nor make fools of ourselves before the entire world. If things don’t work out, all of us—and that includes you—will abandon the idea and you will absolutely not repeat your scene of packing boxes. Am I clear?”
“As clear as a bright sun in a blue sky,” Yiftach said as his eyes met Melody’s, and Max observed them each from the side.
***
“How does this work, actually?” Tammi interrupted Ro’el’s reading. “I mean, when is an indictment submitted and what is the significance of such a move?”
“Let’s take a step back for a moment,” Ro’el sought to provide an academic response, “and then we’ll progress one step at a time. The first stage in a criminal process is that of filing a complaint. Everyone is entitled to file a complaint in any one of the many police stations throughout the country. Then the second stage follows. After a complaint has been filed, it is the job of the police to open an investigation. The stage of investigation is actually the stage in which the police need to find suspects and interrogate them in connection with the offense, mostly after they’ve already questioned and taken a statement from the victim, who is usually also the complainant. In somecases, suspects may be detained or arrested in regard to the investigation.”
“And then those criminals can be thrown into jail?”
“One step at a time. Now we come to the third stage. Once the investigation is completed, the case is transferred to the relevant prosecutor, depending on the type of offense and its severity. For example, the case can reach the State Attorney’s Office or the police prosecution unit. If the prosecutor thinks that the investigative material in the case given to him contains sufficient evidence to uphold the charge, and public interest justifies it, then the fourth stage follows, which is the stage of prosecution.”
“I’ve noticed that in the news sometimes the criminal is referred to as the ‘suspect’ and sometimes as the ‘defendant.’ What’s the difference?”
“The answer to that lies precisely in the fourth stage. When a person is brought to court on a criminal charge, he is served with an indictment. Up to this point, he is considered a ‘suspect’ and beyond this point, he is a ‘defendant.’ The indictment is served by the State, which determines the charge, based on the severity of the offense. Usually, but not in our story, indictments are filed in the Magistrate’s Court or in the District Court.”
“So what happens in our story?”
“I thought that such a unique case—that carries such extensive and deep repercussions for all of mankind—needs to be brought before the Supreme Court, that is, the Supreme Court will be the first instance to hear the case.”
“Interesting. Okay, so we’ve reached the fourth stage, which is bringing the case to court after an indictment has been served. So what now?”
“Now? Now we go to trial.”
Chapter Eleven
“Judges and officers shalt thou make thee in all thy gates, which the Lord thy God gives thee, throughout thy tribes; and they shall judge the people with righteous judgment.”
Deuteronomy, 16:18
Jerusalem was awash with the white light of a new day that tinted in gold the eastern clouds, floating on high to endless space. On that day, all eyes throughout the world were turned to the holiest of all cities on Earth. People from every corner of the globe filled the city’s streets. Countless couples in love came to support Love on her difficult day in court. Yet, tens of thousands of broken-hearted people, whose souls were seared and whose lives were destroyed by Love, also gathered to ascertain that Love gets her due. The masses were aroused. They sewed flags and waved placards. They sang anthems and wrote poems. Crowds were everywhere, they filled all of the city’s streets, lanes and alleys. All the way to the very edge of the commotion, all the way to the top floor of the Supreme Court building, resounding voices of despair and anger, appeasement and hope were heard. Yiftach looked out the window from the Supreme Court building at the mass of people that seemed to him to be lost souls, passengers on a sinking ship. However, there are those who will say that on that day this holy city, surrounded by mountains, was colorful, vibrant and alive like never before. Media and news outlets, local and foreign, set themselves up in every corner throughout the city, the lucky ones even managing to catch a good spot close to the Supreme Court building itself. Everyonewas glued to the radio and television and to the broadcasts over the Internet to observe the greatest trial in history.
The courtroom was expansive, impressive and glittering. The blue sky could be seen through the long slits in the ceiling that let the sun’s rays spread its clear, soft light throughout the room. Inside the courtroom, everyone was smiling contently and shaking hands. Many hands. The ambiance aroused a sense of awe, of festivity, and also tension, to some degree. The spotless hall was bustling and more crowded than ever. Despite its size, it was too narrow to accommodate the crowd that wanted to enter, and the security guards could barely stand in the breach. The Minister of Justice, the Attorney General, the State Attorney and other senior legal officials were present. With them there were also poets, writers, philosophers, clerics, psychologists and physicians, all of whom dealt with love, studied it and wrote extensively about it. The excited crowd pushed its way into the hall, there were no empty seats, many people sprawled out on the floor. The doors squeaked as they were closed and silence fell as three judges walked into the courtroom.
The great crowd stood up. The leading judge reviewed the audience and then shot a hard look at Yiftach and Melody. He was the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court—Professor Judge Yaacov Sabat. Sabat was Israeli-born and sixty-nine years old. He was a tall man with a gaunt face, stern and dignified, with silver-streaked brown hair and intelligent eyes that further enhanced his distinguished demeanor. He enjoyed the good life, more so than most of his constituents, and he was well aware of it. He was highly respected worldwide by his colleagues, he was meticulous and smart and served as a role model. He was the father of two sons—both renowned lawyers in the field of commercial law. He liked to describe himself as a self-made man who had risen from the gutter and achieved his success and wealth with his own two hands when, in fact, his wealthwas attained in a simpler, quicker way. He had inherited it. He was married to Dr. Nava Sabat, a senior proctologist at Ichilov Medical Center in Tel Aviv, who granted him the freedom to lead his life as he pleased. Countless times she had heard the same joke from him about her complex patients—“For them, it all starts from the rear”—but she was fascinated by diseases of the rectum, the colon and the pelvic floor, and she devoted herself totally to all those who needed her help.
Rumor had it that Sabat was a narcissist who, from an early age, had developed a superiority complex. As the son of a very wealthy family, his parents had given him everything he had desired, and at school he had been an outstanding student in every subject. He had even completed his doctorate from Berkeley University sum cum laude. An expression of self-satisfaction spread across his face as he stood erect, viewing the audience in the courtroom, imagining that they were a crowd of admirers looking up to the god that had come down to the masses.
Judge Einat Kedem stood to his right. She was sixty-three, shorter than Sabat by a head. Her hairdo was excessively inflated and traces of gray shot through her brown hair. She had a receding chin, blue eyes and a freckled face, and she always wore purple lipstick on her thin lips. She appeared festive and excited. Kedem was born in Poland and, ever since coming to Israel, she resided with her family in Jerusalem. She completed both her bachelor’s degree and master’s degree in law at the Hebrew University. She was still married after thirty-seven years to the renowned architect, Claude Kedem, had two sons and a daughter and seven grandchildren. Her main hobbies had always been going to the theatre, reading books and creative writing, and they continue to this day. Although she had already completed writing two lengthy novels, she never published them despite consistent courting by major publishing houses. She feltthat there was something about publishing her writings that was too exposed, embarrassing and inappropriate for a sitting Supreme Court justice, especially as they often included graphic descriptions of wild, passionate sexual encounters. She thought to herself that when she retired, she would publish her books.
