Michal Poleg. Ever since sheâd demonstrated outside Regevâs office, the mere mention of her name made him see red. But that might not be enough to save him.
WHEN he got the legal opinion written by Dr. Yigal Shemesh from the Foreign Ministry, Yariv thought long and hard about what to do with it. If he took it to Aloni, he would tell him it was their duty as officers of the court to reveal its existence. But that would mean heâd lose all his cases. They could no longer employ the tactic of deporting Eritreans on the grounds that they were actually from Ethiopia. Yariv himself had come up with that idea, and heâd gotten a lot of pats on the back for it. So he took it to Regev, who told him to make it disappear. They couldnât listen to the bleeding hearts in the Foreign Ministry, he said. The future of the State of Israel was at stake. Yariv still hesitated. He wasnât driven by Regevâs ideological convictions. Sometimes he got caught up in the politicianâs missionary zeal, but it never lasted long. He wasnât particularly fond of the migrants, but he didnât hate them, either. Mostly, he was just sick of them. He was grossed out by their wretched conditions, their despair aroused his contempt, and he didnât like the way they smelled. He wanted to move on and get away from these garbage cases as soon as possible so he could deal with things that really mattered.
In the end, he decided to keep Dr. Shemeshâs legal opinion to himself. Michal was right. He not only hid it from the court, but he even continued to argue that the deportees were not in any danger.
The first time he saw Michalâs complaint, he panicked. Was he wrong to put all his eggs in Regevâs basket? Did he back the wrong horse when he hid the opinion? He knew Regev was a seasoned politician, the kind who made empty promises and told people what they wanted to hear. But when he thought about it calmly, he realized he didnât have anything to worry about. First of all, Michal didnât actually have the legal opinion. Somebody must have told her about it, but she hadnât gotten her hands on it. If she had, she would have attached it to her complaint. Without that piece of paper, what evidence did she have?
Secondly, Regev was right. Yariv wasnât obligated to make use of every opinion he was handed. The Foreign Ministry said one thing and the Ministry of the Interior said another. As a prosecutor, he was entitled to use his judgment. And donât forget that the illegalsâ petitions were filed against the Ministry of the Interior, not the Foreign Ministry. Michal treated the document like the Holy Grail. She was convinced it would force the government to stop deporting her Africans. She was so naive. Even if she got her hands on the missing legal opinion, Regevâs people would produce a dozen others that said exactly the opposite, and Dr. Yigal Shemesh would find himself out of a job. The government wanted them deported. No piece of paper was going to prevent that from happening.
HIS cell phone rang. Inbar. He decided not to take the call. He wasnât ready to tell her what happened. Not yet. Even if she didnât get hysterical when he explained that heâd gotten smashed and wound up outside his ex-girlfriendâs house, sheâd be horrified by the thought that his bruises wouldnât clear up in time for the wedding and his nose would be swollen in all the pictures. It wouldnât matter how hard he tried to assure her it would be fine by then. It was better to wait until she got back and deal with her face-to-face. Ever since they set a date, every second of her time had been spent planning the event. Everything had to be perfect, and expensive, of course. She went on and on about appetizers, Swarovski crystal, table settings, flower arrangements, play lists, and all sorts of other items. Half the time he had no idea what she was talking about, and he
WHEN he got the legal opinion written by Dr. Yigal Shemesh from the Foreign Ministry, Yariv thought long and hard about what to do with it. If he took it to Aloni, he would tell him it was their duty as officers of the court to reveal its existence. But that would mean heâd lose all his cases. They could no longer employ the tactic of deporting Eritreans on the grounds that they were actually from Ethiopia. Yariv himself had come up with that idea, and heâd gotten a lot of pats on the back for it. So he took it to Regev, who told him to make it disappear. They couldnât listen to the bleeding hearts in the Foreign Ministry, he said. The future of the State of Israel was at stake. Yariv still hesitated. He wasnât driven by Regevâs ideological convictions. Sometimes he got caught up in the politicianâs missionary zeal, but it never lasted long. He wasnât particularly fond of the migrants, but he didnât hate them, either. Mostly, he was just sick of them. He was grossed out by their wretched conditions, their despair aroused his contempt, and he didnât like the way they smelled. He wanted to move on and get away from these garbage cases as soon as possible so he could deal with things that really mattered.
In the end, he decided to keep Dr. Shemeshâs legal opinion to himself. Michal was right. He not only hid it from the court, but he even continued to argue that the deportees were not in any danger.
The first time he saw Michalâs complaint, he panicked. Was he wrong to put all his eggs in Regevâs basket? Did he back the wrong horse when he hid the opinion? He knew Regev was a seasoned politician, the kind who made empty promises and told people what they wanted to hear. But when he thought about it calmly, he realized he didnât have anything to worry about. First of all, Michal didnât actually have the legal opinion. Somebody must have told her about it, but she hadnât gotten her hands on it. If she had, she would have attached it to her complaint. Without that piece of paper, what evidence did she have?
Secondly, Regev was right. Yariv wasnât obligated to make use of every opinion he was handed. The Foreign Ministry said one thing and the Ministry of the Interior said another. As a prosecutor, he was entitled to use his judgment. And donât forget that the illegalsâ petitions were filed against the Ministry of the Interior, not the Foreign Ministry. Michal treated the document like the Holy Grail. She was convinced it would force the government to stop deporting her Africans. She was so naive. Even if she got her hands on the missing legal opinion, Regevâs people would produce a dozen others that said exactly the opposite, and Dr. Yigal Shemesh would find himself out of a job. The government wanted them deported. No piece of paper was going to prevent that from happening.
HIS cell phone rang. Inbar. He decided not to take the call. He wasnât ready to tell her what happened. Not yet. Even if she didnât get hysterical when he explained that heâd gotten smashed and wound up outside his ex-girlfriendâs house, sheâd be horrified by the thought that his bruises wouldnât clear up in time for the wedding and his nose would be swollen in all the pictures. It wouldnât matter how hard he tried to assure her it would be fine by then. It was better to wait until she got back and deal with her face-to-face. Ever since they set a date, every second of her time had been spent planning the event. Everything had to be perfect, and expensive, of course. She went on and on about appetizers, Swarovski crystal, table settings, flower arrangements, play lists, and all sorts of other items. Half the time he had no idea what she was talking about, and he
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