Demonstrating torture applied to Duma affair suspect minors
Demonstrating torture applied to Duma affair suspect minorsFlash 90

After undertaking an MRI examination to help diagnose a personal medical problem, one of the heads of the Jewish Department of the Shabak figured that a machine like that could help with difficult investigations. After making a few phone calls he discovered that the Department could acquire an out-of-date MRI machine for very little money. Needless to say, the purchase was made in a round-about manner which couldn’t be traced to the highly secret division of the Shabak aimed at Jews instead of Israel's terrorist Arab enemies..

After a few alterations were made, the space-age looking machine was housed in a basement room in one of the Department’s investigation units, located in a special prison used to incarcerate settlers of Judea and Samaria who were suspected of having committed crimes against Arabs.

Noam was 23 years old. He was married and the father of twin baby boys. The young family lived on a small hilltop farm with five other religious families not far from the community of Shilo where the Mishkan has rested for 369 hundred years in the days of the Prophets Shmuel and Eli. On a few occasions, he had been approached by activists who wanted to organize a group of “shomrim” to guard the hilltop outposts in the area, just as “shomrim” had guarded the newly-established Jewish settlements from Arab attack in the days of the early Zionist pioneers and do in the Galilee and Negev..

Already busy with his work on the farm from dawn till dusk and with his chores at home helping his wife with the children in their tiny caravan, Noam had deferred, saying that his twice-weekly guard-duty on the farm were all he could presently handle. In addition, the Shabak had approached him to work for them at a generous stipend. All he had to do was to keep his ears open for any illegal activity or plans on the part of his friends. The Shabak agent who approached him explained that he would be doing a big mitzvah, both for his buddies and for the nation as a whole, in helping to prevent revenge attacks against the Arab population in the area. Better that “hevre” be stopped before they committed crimes which could lead to years in prison.

Noam also turned down that offer. He wasn’t about to turn informer on his friends. He knew that the Shabak itself wasn’t evil, and that its agents worked around the clock with great misoret nefesh to protect Jews from ruthless enemies who were always planning murderous attacks. Kol hakavod for them. But he wasn’t about to become a ‘shtinker’ however noble the Shin Bet agent made it sound.

How strange to find himself handcuffed with chains on his legs in some dark basement investigating room of the Shabak. Because he had been brought there blindfolded, he didn’t know where the building was located. Since the blindfold hadn’t been removed, he couldn’t see his interrogators. To all of their questions he had given the same answer: “I want to speak with a lawyer.” In response, they told him that he was under military detention. The right to see a lawyer, they said, was suspended for three weeks, and no visitors were allowed, not his wife, nor his parents, no one.

“The best thing for you is to cooperate with us,” he was told. “We know that you are a good kid, so just answer our questions and you’ll get home in a hurry. Otherwise, you are going to suffer.”

Noam was indeed a good kid. He was kindhearted. He liked to help people. While he believed in the right of the Jewish People to all the Land of Israel, as a gift from Hashem as set forth in the Torah, he was not a militant type of person. It wasn’t a part of his character.

“On the night of the killing of the boy from the Tahalha Family in the firebombing attack, were you in the village of Ein Tur?” he was asked once again.

“No.”

“Were you there alone?”

“I wasn’t there.”

“Who was with you?”

“I wasn’t there.”

“Who threw the firebomb?”

“I wasn’t there.”

Did you write the word ‘revenge’ on the wall of the adjacent home?”

“I wasn’t there, I told you.”

“Bring the lie detector,” one of his invisible interrogators ordered.

Noam sighed. Being blindfolded wasn’t the most pleasant experience in the world. Plus the handcuffs rubbed irritatingly against his flesh and wrist.

“I want to speak with a lawyer,” he repeated.

“Answer our questions and you can speak with five lawyers.”

He was hooked up to the lie detector. An interrogator repeated the same questions. He repeated the same answers. He felt that telling the truth could not incriminate him. Wasn’t that the purpose of a lie detector? If the machine was accurate, what did he have to fear? He had never stepped foot in the Arab village of Ein Tur in his life. All of their suspicions were groundless. No doubt they were trying to see if he knew something about the still unsolved case. Maybe they hoped he would give over a piece of information that he had heard from some friend. But he hadn’t heard anything about what had occurred in Ein Tur the night the child was killed in the firebombing.

No doubt, it was some internecine quarrel between the Arabs themselves. Violence between families occurred all the time. He only hoped that his nervousness wouldn’t cause the lie detector to give a false reading. Machines weren’t foolproof. Maybe it was best not to answer at all. But he had already started. That was enough, he decided.

“I want to speak with a lawyer,” he said.

Next, they moved him to a different room. Still blindfolded, he was strapped down on a narrow mattress. The platform under the mattress moved carrying him backward. Just as his blindfold was removed, he watched as he entered what looked like a narrow plastic cavern. Unable to move his arms or legs, he could only look up at the contraption’s white ceiling a few centimeters above his nose. The compact enclosure made him feel claustrophobic and nervous. The voice of an interrogator sounded in a speaker over his head.

“On the night of the killing of the boy from the Tahalha Family in the firebombing attack, were you in the village of Ein Tur?” he was asked once again.

This time, Noam didn’t bother to answer. In response, he heard a low sound which grew in volume until it was a piercing shrill like the high-pitched shrill of a dog whistle. He felt his eardrum pop with a sharp pain. His upper body began to vibrate as the noise grew louder and louder.

“On the night of the killing of the boy from the Tahalha Family in the firebombing attack, were you in the village of Ein Tur?”

Noam tried to free his arms but to no avail. He couldn’t budge inside the tiny compartment. Sweat broke out over his forehead. Suddenly the sound ceased. Noam trembled. He gasped for air.

“Don’t be a hero, Noam,” a voice over the loudspeaker said. “Tell us the truth, sign a simple document, and we will let you go home.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he answered.

“Then tell us who did.”

“I don’t know anything.”

This time the sound was so shrill he could hardly hear it. As the frequency increased, he felt his skull start to shake like an airplane flying through an electric thunderstorm. To block out the sound he began to recite Tehillim. “The L-rd is my shepherd, I shall not be in want….” He repeated the verse over and over again until he felt too weak to pronounce the words with his trembling lips.

“Were you there alone?” an interrogator asked.

“Who was with you?”

“Who threw the firebomb?”

Noam decided that he wouldn’t speak with them further. “Go to hell you bastards,” he said. Then, losing control of himself, he screamed out, “GO TO HELL!”

The machine went dead. His whole body was trembling.

“We are taking a lunch break,” a voice informed him. “You can relax. We will be back in an hour.”

Outside of the torture machine, he heard casual joking and steps moving away until he couldn’t hear anything but his own rapid breathing. He felt he would suffocate to death if he had to remain in the cramped confinement. Or else he would simply go crazy. He realized that there was air to breathe but he felt like the air could run out any moment. ,“Help me, Hashem,” he begged, longing to be back home with his wife and children on the windswept hillsides of Samaria.

He understood that they were trying to break him, but what could he do? He was innocent of all wrongdoing. There was no one he could incriminate even if he wanted to be finished with the ordeal. He knew nothing about the killing. Nothing at all.

Noam began to recite the Psalms that he knew. Over and over. Then he sang songs. Desperately he tried not to dwell on his ghastly situation. On his anger. On the injustice he felt. On the moral corruption which poisoned Medinat Yisrael. And on the spiritual bankruptcy of the Jews who were putting him through the torments of hell. Desperately he tried to trust in Hashem. To believe that everything was for the good. To repent for any personal wrongdoing which had left him tortured and abandoned like this. He tried to let his mind rise out of his body and to connect with the loving kindness of Hashem.

Somehow time passed. When his interrogators returned, he was removed from what looked like some space-age contraption. When his hands were unstrapped from the table, he picked up his kippah which had fallen to the side of the mattress. Once again he was blindfolded. Again his hands were handcuffed. “Please, Hashem,” he thought silently. “May I never have to do this again.”

He didn’t have to. The next day, they had a different torture prepared for him. After spending a long sleepless night in a small cell with a strong light bulb constantly lit high on the ceiling out of his reach, he was given some food and water. Without asking if it was kosher, he hungrily ate everything on the tray and gulped down the water, thankful that he was still alive.

When he asked for tefillin and time to pray, the prison guard laughed.

“Sure thing, brother,” the guard said. “Give me some time to organize a minyan for you.”

Without a blindfold, he was led to a large room that looked like a gym with exercise equipment screwed onto the walls and ceiling. He still had enough sense of reason to realize that they hadn’t brought him there to exercise. No doubt the nautilus machines were torture devices. And no doubt behind the small opaque windows were cameras to record his every move and utterance.

“Good morning,” a new interrogator greeted him. “I hope your memory has improved since yesterday.”

Noam felt like spitting at the fellow’s grinning expression, but what good would it do? Would it get him home sooner? Besides there were two other agents in the room and he was bound in handcuffs and a leg chain. How could he fight them? Once again, a feeling of helplessness swept over his being. No doubt they had mastered the art of delivering blows which left no physical marks or visible bruises, like the re-engineered MRI machine of the day before.

“I want to speak with a lawyer,” Noam declared.

“We know that,” the chief inquisitor answered. “In fact, there’s a lawyer who wants to speak with you. But he knows the rules of the State. Terrorists, whether they are Arab or Jewish, have different rules applied to them, on behalf of the public’s safety. In the movies you may have a right to speak with a lawyer but not here.”

The interrogator nodded to his comrades who stepped forward and grabbed Noam. One fastened the prisoner’s cuffed hands to a rope hanging down from the ceiling. When he yanked on the rope, a pulley action caused Noam’s body to stretch. His tiptoes barely touched the floor. Once again the youth was blindfolded. A gag was tied around his jaws and a small rubber ball stuffed into his mouth to muffle his screams. Then he heard a small click, like the trigger of a toy gun. Suddenly, he felt an incredible pain at the very end of his groin. His pelvis trembled. Shockwaves raced up his spine to his brain. The pain was so intense, he automatically let out a scream but nothing was heard. When the shock wave ended, his muscles collapsed. He dangled from the rope barely touching the floor.

“On the night of the killing of the boy from the Tahalha Family in the firebombing attack, were you in the village of Ein Tur?” the head interrogator inquired.

Noam didn’t answer. Once again the shock of the high-powered Taser device caused Noam’s body to shake violently. Once again his scream was silenced by the rubber ball in his mouth. His body jerked in spasms for several seconds after the electric shock ceased traveling up and down his spine. Noam tried his best to withstand the ordeal and defy his ruthless oppressors. He lost all sense of time. At some point he lost consciousness. Then for a seeming eternity he was left alone in the jail cell with the blinding light bulb.

After another day of torture, his willpower collapsed. He agreed that he had been in the Arab village on the night of the firebombing. He confessed to the murder. He signed a document stating that he had committed the crime. If they had told him to sign a statement that he had assassinated Yitzhak Rabin, he would have signed that as well. Anything to end the torture and pain. To end the torture and pain. To end the torture and pain.

Books by Tzvi Fishman
Books by Tzvi FishmanT.Fishman