Police violence was an embarrassing and uncomfortable chapter in Israel’s early history, but in the end, a hidden stash of transcripts shed light on a young bochur who would fight for justice at all costs
ne fall morning in 1956, the phone rang in the Chevron yeshivah office.O“Can you call Chaim Rottenberg?” the caller asked. When he was told that the bochur was not in the yeshivah building right then, the voice on the other end asked to relay a message: “Tell him his cousin wants to meet him at Café Rimon.”
Chaim Rottenberg had been one of the handful of witnesses to a horrific incident at a Shabbos demonstration a month before, when he saw a Yid in his fifties pushed to the ground by police, pleading for his life before he fell unconscious. He couldn’t think of any cousin who would call his yeshivah to set up a meeting at a café.
He shared his suspicions with his friends, and they told him they’d handle it. A few minutes before the appointed meeting time, the bochurim stood outside the restaurant, as they saw a plainclothed man step out of a police car and into the café, take a seat at a table, and wait.
A few minutes later, one of the bochurim entered, sat down across from the detective, and said bluntly, “You’ve come to meet Rottenberg. What do you want from him?”
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