The Attorney General’s Phone and the Land of “Neverland”
How Israel’s legal elite turned into a cross between Alice in Wonderland and a Netflix thriller — minus the wonder, plus more encrypted messages.
There are moments in Israeli life when you pause and ask yourself — is this real, or are we living inside a dark comedy written by Kafka and directed by the Supreme Court?
Because if there’s one thing Israelis love, it’s scandals. We’ve had blood libels, political libels, and now — the Attorney General’s Phone Affair.
A uniquely Israeli fairy tale, set in a magical land where generals never grow up, accountability never arrives, and every suspicious device “falls into water” just when the public wants to know what was inside.
Chapter One: The Phone That Fell Into Bureaucracy
It began, like most Israeli stories, with a national crisis, a military fiasco, and a headline written in permanent marker.
Suddenly, there’s a phone. Not just any phone — her phone.
The phone of Israel’s Chief Military Prosecutor — the legal oracle who decides when a soldier can shoot, and when he must settle for sternly reading the Geneva Convention.
And just as the questions start — poof! — the device disappears.
Was it broken, encrypted, sold, or swallowed by the holy spirit of “national security”? No one knows.
But one thing’s certain:
Nothing happened, nothing was deleted, and if it was — it’s irrelevant.
Because in 2025 Israel, the only crime left is “losing faith in the system.”
How dare the public question a system that deletes itself every time things get interesting?
Chapter Two: The Jurists and the Truth — A Love Story Gone Wrong
Let’s be clear — I have nothing against lawyers. Someone needs to explain why a terrorist with an AK-47 is actually “a youth at risk,” and why a soldier must consult three attorneys before pulling the trigger.
But after October 7, something broke.
The country was burning — and the legal establishment showed up with a spray bottle of lukewarm moral superiority.
They said:
“We support the war effort — as long as you don’t, you know, win it too hard.”
Apparently, you can’t win a war if every missile is a philosophical question.
But that’s exactly where the prosecutor’s office thrives: in a moral fog thick enough to hide a few deleted chats.
Chapter Three: When a Phone Becomes Pandora’s Box
And then came the “oops.”
Turns out, that same phone — supposedly used for “routine correspondence” — might’ve contained something less routine.
Messages, calls, decisions — who pressured whom, who warned, who said “not now, it’s politically inconvenient.”
Just as the investigators leaned in — kaboom.
The phone was destroyed. Accidentally, of course.
Because in Israel, phones don’t die — they commit career suicide.
Ask any senior cop, general, or prosecutor. They all suffer from the same mysterious syndrome: Acute Smartphone Deletion Disorder.
Chapter Four: “The Public Has the Right to Know!” — “Yes, But Not This Week”
In other democracies, destroying potential evidence is a scandal.
In Israel? It’s Tuesday.
Here, there’s always a noble excuse: national security, system integrity, or the classic — “it’s not the right time.”
And somehow, it’s never the right time.
Not to investigate, not to explain, not to apologize.
There’s always a war, an inquiry, a festival, or a new legal reform to distract from the old one.
But this time, people aren’t buying it.
After October 7, Israel lost its appetite for elegant excuses.
We want names, decisions, and yes — text messages.
Because the question isn’t what was in the phone — it’s what kind of country needs to hide it.
Chapter Five: The Legal State Without Justice
At this point, it’s clear: Israel has three branches of government — the legislative, the executive, and the encrypted.
We thought that after the horrors of October 7, the system would change — that someone, somewhere, would finally take responsibility.
But the truth is darker: the system is immortal.
It survives elections, wars, and investigations — even if it has to erase a few gigabytes along the way.
Epilogue: Welcome to “Neverland” — Where Transparency Never Arrives
In this legal wonderland, Alice wears IDF fatigues, the Queen is a judge, and the White Rabbit wipes his messages before the subpoena arrives.
And when the public dares to ask “why?” — a polite sign appears:
“Shh. It’s under review.”
And just like that — the phone vanishes, the case closes, and the people are left with one last notification that never loads:
How come the people who demand transparency from us… always forget to back up their own WhatsApp?
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