A decade before the term “Me Too” became popular due to sexual assault allegations against powerful Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein, a former aide to then-Israeli President Moshe Katsav broke another decades-long wall of silence by telling police how he raped her on the sofa at the presidential office in Jerusalem. It was 2006, society was more lenient towards sexual violence and Katsav, a Sephardic who – as he recalled in a press conference defending his innocence – nearly died of pneumonia as a child due to the cold in the tent in the year that his poor family eventually emigrated from Iran. In other words, a symbol that the head of state was not reserved exclusively for the most privileged Jews of European origin.
Despite the sensitivity of the situation, her story caused a stir, and other women came to light with similar grievances, culminating in a seven-year prison sentence, which Katsav served in 2018. The case is hardly known abroad, but it affected Israel so much that it took a long time to digest: only now has television dared to fictionalize it, in the Alef mini-series. It is the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet and the first letter used by the media to hide the victims’ identities.
When many questioned the story or inquired about her dress and hidden agendas, a second woman joined the argument. It was Odelia Carmon, one of the series’ creators, whose experiences are reflected in the character of Avigail, Katsav’s former media adviser – the position Carmon held at the time of the events. “I don’t know how each of the victims felt, but I shared what I’ve seen and researched as a psychotherapist working with victims of gender-based violence, particularly exploring the dynamics of power and control. I think that’s why so many women feel identified,” she assured the newspaper over the phone. Carmon believes that Me Too “changed little in practice,” but it made the series possible in the first place. “You get what I’m talking about. Suddenly they were willing to listen,” he says.
Odelia Carmon (left) with the actress representing her, Dana Meinrath. Author: Courtesy of Odelia Carmon
The series — produced by Yes, the same Israeli cable TV network that produced Fauda or Shtisel — consists of a single season of six episodes of under an hour. Each from a different perspective: two victims, the President, his wife and his Machiavellian adviser, plus a common ending entitled “We Are All Aleph”. This is not the well-known stylistic device of reflecting the same situation from different perspectives, but a change of perspective in the course of the action.
It is neither a documentation nor a reliable representation of the events. In addition, the order and rhythm of events do not correspond to reality. Also the name Katsav, played by Yaakov Zada-Daniel (Eli, in Fauda), is not mentioned. It’s always “the President”. “There was no need to break the news,” Carmon defends. “And the script requires dramatic resources and it’s not all there.” It is, as the credits make clear, fiction based on her personal story and her book, The Confidant.
exploration
The series works as a thriller, but above all as an examination of the difficulties women face in proving a rape. A current problem, for example, is the interrogation of Katsav’s wife Shula by the young police officer who is investigating the case against a thousand and one obstacles. Shula asks him what he thinks Aleph is looking for. “Just believe it,” he replies. Or when the President’s attorney at trial accuses Avigail of being a social climber because she’s conveniently silent in the face of rumors about other women, and she replies, “Maybe I’m a self-serving opportunist, if not a flirty one you want.” But what does that change about the fact that your client is a serial offender who pulled out his penis and asked me to touch it, who dumped me on a bed in a hotel room, and attempted to rape me?
The mechanisms of male violence are also very present. The mixture of compliments and threats, promises of promotion with penalties and apologies with the intention of making amends. This is all the more true when the attacker can destroy a life, as the President is doing with the first applicant, Oshrat, who is being forced to resume her job as a replenisher in a supermarket.
The (fictional) turning point comes when police search the presidential residence and discover a box. It’s full of parting gifts and resignation letters. He realizes that they are all written by women and that although each of them wrote and signed, the text is almost identical. And that the farewell gifts come from the same shop. It is the “insurance policy,” as Avinoam calls it, Katsav’s right-hand man, who dictated the text to the victims so that, in the event of problems, they could refute that they had been raped because they left work “with gratitude.” .
It’s a key plot element: why are they reporting now? Why did they continue to work with the President until two years after the rape? When Katsav’s lawyer surprises the trial by denying a plaintiff’s request for reinstatement, prosecutors actually assume the witness was mortally wounded.
Three protagonists of the Israeli series “Alef”, in a promotional poster. Ohad Roman
One of the backgrounds to the plot is the peculiarity of the allegations of sexual assault: doubts about the truthfulness, the years of silence, its possible political exploitation … More with a president. “I wanted to introduce this theme because it’s always there. who do you believe The teacher or the student? The president or the porn actress?” Carmon explains, referring to the case of Donald Trump and Stormy Daniels.
When the Attorney General insists on the lack of evidence in a session, the investigator replies to the police: “They always make the same mistake.” They do not understand that rape victims are not puppets who remember what they are supposed to remember, and that they don’t say what you expect them to either. They are women who have been through hell. They distance themselves, they remember, they forget… If we don’t listen and believe them, I don’t know what we’re doing here.”
“The case was transformative,” Haaretz newspaper recalled after the series premiere, “but in a country that finds a way every day to break the hearts of its citizens, an information cycle that never ends, and a generally macho one.” Agenda, the Katsav affair.’ It took a long time to get the cultural expression it deserved.’
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