Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Posted by Daniel Greenfield 5 Comments
(While rockets are falling on Sderot and the corrupt and criminal government is undemocratically clinging to power while the media is lionizing Peres as Israel's savior, the press found the time to report on Dr. Radday Raikhlin, a 78 year old retired electronics engineer and Russian immigrant who continues his fight against tyranny that he began in Russia by issuing absurd threats which promptly get him arrested. This time he's been charged with threatening to shoot Olmert and Peres.
Now I'm sure Olmert and Peres are afraid of an unarmed 78 year old man who has trouble leaving the house with assistance. But as Reichlin pointed out, "When Arabs mark the Nakba Day on Independence Day, the police do not come. But today, I hadn't even pushed 'send,' and the police were at my door." Here presented a rough, via Babelfish translation of a humorous description Reikhlin had written of a previous arrest and court date.
An Arrest From Channel Two
On July 25th 2004 I returned home late. For the entire second half of the day I stood on the road near Jerusalem together with other participants in the demonstration creating a "living chain" in defense of gush katif. I came home and went right away into the shower.
Then to my surprise, a persistent knock on the door forced me to approach the door naked and to ask as in the opera Aida "who there?" Behind the door there were men and women policemen. Their only desire was to penetrate my apartment and to have a talk with me. On what theme this conversation was to be - was a secret. Everything was very mysterious. My proposal to them to arrive tomorrow they categorically rejected. To my question, do they have any documents, which confirm their right to penetrate my apartment, they offered me their identification as policemen. This did not satisfy me, and I again proposed to them to continue the conversation tomorrow.
Conversation between us went on through the chink in the slightly open door. As soon as the chink appeared, a policeman thrust his foot into it and it was already obvious that he would not take out it.
We called for reinforcements. I rang my daughter and the policeman, he rang his chief. The policemen crowded on the stairway behind my door. The house was filled by rumbling as they knocked against my door. This was midnight. The impacts were so strong that the hanging chain and the key flew away. They broke the cast knob of the lock. A mirror fell from the wall.
Finally, the commander considered the question and sent policeman to bring tools. Working at it scrap by scrap, they tore away the stopper, and the door was thrown open. Evil and glad policemen raced through my apartment and were scattered around the rooms. The Chief grabbed my arms and twisted them behind my back and put on handcuffs. I set up a howl for my left hand had an inflammation of the tendon, and any motion of it caused sharp pain to me.
The Chief roughly ordered my daughter, "gather his clothes." Under the escort of the force of policemen I was derived from the house and they seated me in the patrol car. The frightened neighbors watched the controlled pogrom and my disgrace. One of them then turned to the policeman with a question, "What's happening?" The policeman roughly answered: "not your matter". In their search for tool to break into my apartment, the policeman had asked my neighbor for a hammer. The neighbor answered: "not my matter".
In the accommodations of the police station they kept me there still in handcuffs. I attempted to doze; however, one of the detainees, a blonde Russian was screaming. He was detained on the suspicion of throwing a relative out of a third floor window. To my surprise he was not in handcuffs. It meant I was more dangerous. I can throw out of a window not only relatives, but also my enemies. It is a pity only that I am old and feeble and can't raise the window bolt.
One of the policemen wrote the protocol for my detention and I had time for contemplation.
When I attempted to call the police many times in order to deal with Arab vandalism, this proved utterly useless. I complained about the throwing of stones, spitting and threats but once I informed them that the criminals were Arabs, the Israeli police lost any interest in the crime. In order to get rid of me, they promised to send a patrol, but I already knew, they would not arrive. Written complaints about the systematic hooliganisms of Arabs did not help. Once after my complaint a policeman visited me. He was also an Arab. I turned over cassettes, photographs, copies of the previous complaints to him. This was much as the same as throwing all these materials into a slop bucket.
I threatened him: "if these hooliganisms do not cease, I will organize a pogrom of Arabs!" My threat, as I assume, acted as "material evidence". Immediately the police acted rapidly and with powerful force and I ended up here.
I asked for a physical examination. After some grumbling, policemen transported me to the RAMBAM hospital. My right hand was bloody, and doctor ordered that it be washed out. After this, appeared scratches from which the blood oozed. I described to the orthopedist the inflamed vein and pain in my left hand after handcuffing. They made an X-Ray. One of the policemen showed this vein to me in the photograph and said that "everything in the order". What this means, he did not understand, but the orthopedist arrived and he confirmed his words. My request to make an analysis of the blood received no attention.
Tomorrow I would appear in court and here then at that time the reporters will ask me about this. The problem lies in the fact that Israeli journalists are too left wing and too dull and limited. They will attempt to translate the situation from the feet to the head and to pass me off as a villain and killer, confusing the problems of the country with my person. This resembled Soviet Russia.
Thus far everything went according to my program. I dozed during the examination and "did not actively participate". They would send me to court in the morning and ask to prolong my arrest. It is necessary to await until the morning.
At eight in the morning they conveyed me into the basement of the new building of the Haifa court. I asked the policeman for copies of the papers regarding my case which will be presented to the judge. It was explained that me that I would not be given any but only to my attorney. They can give something to my attorney, but not to me...? But, if I I do not want an attorney, the paper remained with the policemen.
The preceding case involved a minor thief. His punishment was a stay in some kibbutz. Everything was free of charge there; television, trainers, library, instruction. Even a pond was constructed. I began to moan during his stories: "I a, pensioner, here must pay for all this, my taxes fund your comfort in prison".
Police conducted me to the meeting with the attorney. My face became ashen. An attorney did not enter into my plans, apparently, my daughter overdid it. To forgo him now seemed impossible. "The main thing," told me my attorney, "it is necessary to take you out of here. I will ask for a psychiatric examination." Before me loomed Soviet crazy houses, from which there is no escape to freedom. "No, I would rather sit here," I answered.
Then, in the court room, he sent me some mysterious signs, which I did not know and did not understand. Policemen, who were coming into contact themselves with me, were more frank. Two of them, after learning, what the matter was, shook my hand in the handcuffs.
The prosecutor, a woman, appeared in jeans and slovenly dressed, which did not tally to the position of an attorney and a representative of the state. My plans to make a pronouncement before the judge collapsed. The prosecutor demanded the imposition of maximum detention. It did not occur to her that arrest and detention is expensive. The money was not coming out of her pocket, and this did not bother her. The court of law was converted into a market, where the prosecutor demands the maximum, and the defense attorney the minimum. Judge decides.
This time he determined to keep me under house arrest for a week. The reasons was that it was necessary to determine who was a member of my gang and what its size was. It was stated that I was dangerous to the "entire community". By this extrapolation, I felt uneasy about my own safety as I was also a threat to myself and this made me laugh. I told the judge that I was giving up all claims to my own safety and that my gang consisted entirely of old men and women.
The Judge had a sense of humor and limited my confinement to home arrest for three days after I stated that I needed to go to physiotherapy, the drugstore and to the doctor, the Judge agreed that any absence from my house connected with my medical problems is completely permitted. My attorney was at the apex of bliss and told everyone that he had saved me from the gallows.
Journalists attacked me afterward when I returned home. The telephone continuously rang. Here now that they called from channel two and requested an interview. London and Kirshenbaum behaved like bullies: they yelled and did not give a chance to say a word to the one whom they invited for the interview. This is an interview? This is a discussion? The owner of the shop opposite my house said that in the news they reported and presented me as abnormal. They forgot to report on the broken door and the police pogrom. Surprising similarity to the Soviet press. The difference is only in the fact that there was no freedom of speech, but here it us how much you want it so long as you can get to the microphone.
Late in the evening I sat on my balcony with a young journalist from a Haifa newspaper and explained to him the social problems of Israel. As I spoke, his photographer twirled all around and lit up us with flashes. He had an entire trunk filled with solid optics and reminded me of the times, when the photographers of the KGB using enormous telephoto lenses crowded themselves near the synagogue. The journalist swore and swore, that in spite of the editor and the publisher he will publish the article, in which he will state my point of view on the social problems of the country. On the next day, I understood that my degraded personality was to be the principal feature of the article.
A new pair of reporters appeared to me on the next day. It seemed to me that their creative union had passed into the amorous. Bored from unceasing questions like, would you shoot at Avi Dichter (head of the Shabak) , I answered. "Give me this Avi and I would smother him with my own hands. It's a pity only that I am tired and both my hands hurt."