Arnon Milchan's testimony, in which he timorously tried to minimize the damage to Netanyahu, contributes to the uncertainty shrouding the future of Netanyahu’s corruption trial
Arnon Milchan drove from his home in Sussex to Brighton in a black Range Rover with tinted windows and a bodyguard. At the Brighton hotel where he gave his testimony by video link, another bodyguard was waiting. A watching stranger might have thought he was a prosecution witness in an organized crime case rather than a medium-sized governmental corruption case.
Shortly before his testimony began, Judge Rivka Friedman-Feldman and her colleagues on the bench threw a bomb. With the trial at its height, they told the prosecution it would have trouble proving the bribery charge against Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu in the Bezeq case, known as Case 4000, the most serious of the three cases against him, and advised it to reconsider. Granted, Friedman-Feldman hedged her remarks by saying “everything remains open,” but that appears to be mere lip service.
The judges didn’t bother to explain to the parties’ lawyers how they had reached this conclusion and whether it stemmed solely from evidentiary problems or from a sweeping rejection of the theory behind the indictment, which describes a corrupt relationship between the prime minister and media moguls.
The goal was transparent. In recent weeks, the judges have been working energetically to concoct a plea bargain between the sides “for the good of the country” and thereby put an end to a proceeding of which they are evidently sick and tired. This activism is the polar opposite of their weakness in managing the trial, which is now dragging into its fourth year.
This move, along with its surprising timing, raises question marks about their judgment. Moreover, its effect seems to be the opposite of what they expected.
For this saga to end now, one of two things has to happen: Either the prosecution has to withdraw the indictment, or Netanyahu has to admit to some of the charges and leave office immediately. But the prime minister is now breathing easy and praising the judges whom he previously suspected of being leftists. And Attorney General Gali Baharav-Miara, who views the court’s position as a colossal mistake, is currently determined to go all the way, including to the Supreme Court.
This bitter, hasty moment joins previous nadirs in the trial – the revelation of embarrassing failures by the police and prosecution in their flagship cases; the repulsive cross-examinations that were met with anemic responses from the judges; the serial threats against prosecutors, witnesses and journalists by Netanyahu’s disciples; and of course, the principal defendant’s chilling appearance at the start of the trial, flanked by obedient ministers in their coronavirus masks.
It also intensifies a question that troubles anyone observing the proceedings from the sidelines: Is Israel capable of putting a prime minister on trial, or are we living in a faltering country with a faltering law enforcement system in which the strong get celebrity discounts and, by virtue of their position, intimidate those who are supposed to stand up to them?
Milchan hasn’t visited Israel since Case 1000, which revolves around his lavish gifts to Netanyahu, first erupted, in part because he believed the defendant and his cronies would cause him lots of trouble. “He’ll be informed the minute I land here,” he was quoted as saying by someone who suggested he pop over for a visit. Even if these worries are baseless, they reflect the age-old fear felt by people who come out against the most powerful person in the country.
Another symptom of this problem is embodied by the key witnesses who reversed themselves and were generously rewarded out of the ruling party’s funds. This is the prism through which we must examine the trial, and the judges should have been the first to understand this.
Milchan’s first day of testimony took place in the shadow of the drama that preceded it. In the morning, the witness looked tired. He spoke slowly, asked for questions to be repeated and had trouble remembering things he had just said.
His efforts to act chummy with defense attorney Amit Hadad (“Amit is a friend”) and Netanyahu’s wife Sara (“Saraleh”) were evident. “Hi Bibi,” he said softly via video when the prime minister entered the Jerusalem District Court.
When asked what gifts he had given the couple, he stunned everyone by saying “I don’t remember,” even though he presumably remembers very well. The entire occasion looked like a show of fear.
Later on, Milchan suddenly woke up and remembered the demands the Netanyahus systematically made of him. His mention of the code words used (“dwarves,” “pinks,” “leaves”) and Netanyahu’s recommendation that he fire his assistant, Hadas Klein, because “she knows too much” gave his testimony a criminal stench.
Yet even when he strengthened the foundations on which the lavish gifts case is built, Milchan sweated in his effort to minimize the damage to Netanyahu, and also to himself. He didn’t want to look like a partner in this corrupt dance, and he also never forgot who is the prime minister today.
His effort to deny what he said about his disgust at the Netanyahus’ demands was especially embarrassing. Only after prosecutor Liat Ben Ari pushed him to the wall was he forced to confirm the story that makes life difficult for the defendant.
Later this week, the cross-examination will begin. All signs indicate that Milchan doesn’t want to deepen his rift with the man who makes the decisions. His “friend” Hadad will presumably wrap him in a bear hug until he describes an exemplary friendship, devoid of any personal interests.
The lavish gifts affair tells a simple story about a quid pro quo relationship between a billionaire who wanted to be close to power and a brilliant, powerful politician. What many people saw as bribery was reduced in the indictment to fraud and breach of trust. But given the way the judges are running this show, only God and they know what will remain of this case by the time it ends.