A vacuum that cannot be filled

Adi Yaakobi would be 37 last month, an age when you've already accomplished a number of things in your life – maybe you have a career and a few children – but you still have the rest of your life ahead of you. Adi could have rented a small apartment in Tel Aviv near her father, Yossi, and her sister, Sarit, or maybe bought a house somewhere in the suburbs. And yet none of this took place because 20 years ago, on December 13, 1996, Adi disappeared off the face of the earth. Since that day, no one has ever had any contact with her. Her disappearance has become one of the most famous open cases in Israeli history. Adi, a thin shy girl just before her 17th birthday, was last seen at lunch on a cold, wintry day with her sister and father, who lived at the time on Shimshon Street in the center of Tel Aviv. Her parents had recently divorced; Adi lived with her mother, Betty, on Herman Cohen Street, a short walk from there, and her twin sister Sarit lived with their dad. Around 2 p.m., the sisters left their father's house and started walking towards Sheinkin Park, a popular meeting place among teens. Adi was wearing blue corduroy pants, a black shirt, a black zipper sweatshirt with a hood, and green shoes. Her short brown hair was straight and thick, and she was wearing round glasses, which have become her trademark in the picture that's been distributed thousands of times in searches for her over the years. At some point, the sisters each went their own way. Adi told her sister that she was going to meet up with a good friend, Y., who lived in Netanya. From testimonials, it seems that the last time Adi was seen was around 6 p.m. at the intersection of King George and Hanevi'im streets trying to hitch a ride. After that time, her location is unaccounted for. For years, Adi's mother, Betty Yaakobi, led the searches for her. She was the contact person who coordinated contact with the media and the police. She hung up flyers with Adi's picture on it all over Tel Aviv. A number of times she went to the L. Greenberg Institute of Forensic Medicine at Abu Kabir to look at unidentified bodies, thinking that maybe – just maybe – one of them was Adi. She even contacted a psychic. At one point, someone called Betty and told her that he had seen Adi inside the Palestinian Authority. And so Betty traveled to that location, full of hope, but when she got there she found a different Israeli Jewish girl her daughter's age who had married a local Arab man. In short, Betty left no stone unturned. In December 2012, on the 16th anniversary of Adi's mysterious disappearance, Betty died in a Tel Aviv hospice following a long battle with cancer. She had been Adi's mother for 16 years, and for another 16 years she'd been searching for her daughter. Since then, Yossi has taken over the search, which the family continues to engage in with determination. Sarit does not like to give interviews and rarely speaks about her sister who one day just disappeared into thin air. Perhaps this is her way of coping with the loss – by choosing life and not letting her loss weigh her down. Sarit is married now and has a new last name. She's a successful children's clothing designer, and the mother of two beautiful girls. When Yossi shows me a picture of himself with his granddaughters, it's hard not to see how much they resemble their Aunt Adi. Adi and Sarit were born on January 31, 1980, to Betty, an immigrant from Argentina who had run a second-hand shop for years in Tel Aviv, and Yossi, who until today manages an eyeglasses shop on Ibn Gvirol Street. The family lived for many years on Herman Cohen Street until the parents divorced and Yossi moved one street over. For most of her life, Adi lived in a small area of Tel Aviv between Sheinkin Street on the south and Gan Ha'ir on the north side. She attended Gavrieli Hacarmel Elementary School on Tzvi Shapira Street, and then continued on to Ironi Alef High School. Apparently, she was quite good at sports – especially basketball – and the Maccabi Ramat Chen team tried to recruit her. “I still remember how I used to go with her to practice sessions,” Yossi recalls. Adi picked sport as her major in high school, but following her parents' divorce, she switched schools. “Adi wasn't very studious – she spent most of her energy on sports, roller blading and hanging out with friends,” her father says. Like many teenagers whose parents divorce, Adi took her parents' separation pretty hard. When her sister moved in with their dad, Adi thought maybe she'd move there, too. Father Yossi Yaakobi, twin sister Sarit and mother Betty not long after the disappearance (photo credit: YEHONATAN SHAUL) “I spoke with Adi about it a few times. She told me that she wasn't happy. I assumed that she was worried about some event that was coming up, so I tried to cheer her up. I told her that as soon as her mom got back from her trip overseas, we'd all talk about it together. In retrospect, I guess we didn't realize something was really wrong. After Adi disappeared, it occurred to us that maybe she ran away from home in order to get our attention. But even the police said that in their experience, most kids who run away usually make their way back home after four or five days – a week at most. Certainly not 20 years. The most likely scenario is that Adi was unhappy, ran away, and then something went wrong along the way.” I met with Yossi on a recent cold winter evening at his shop on Ibn Gvirol Street. He's 65, but looks younger. Yossi believes that keeping busy is what's kept him sane all these years, so he can pretty much be found around the clock in his shop. On the walls of his shop, he has hung multiple family pictures – Adi, Sarit, his granddaughters wearing matching white dresses, and Yossi hugging the two little girls. Every few minutes, he goes off in search of another envelope or article he'd clipped from the newspaper about Adi's disappearance. The articles detail the endless searches for her, theories about what happened to her, and strange leads, such as Adi's name being spray-painted on the wall of an old building in the Holon industrial zone in 2008. Yossi is a pleasant man. His speech is understated and his body language is relaxed, and yet I couldn't help but notice the longing and frustration in his eyes from so many years of suffering. Our conversation is interrupted occasionally by work calls or customers who come into the shop. “The day Adi disappeared, the girls had left my place together and gone to Sheinkin, which was a pretty popular hangout at the time. But Sarit came home afterwards, and Adi was supposed to continue down the street another 200 meters,” Yossi recalls. “There weren't any cellphones in those days, so parents weren't aware of what their kids were doing every minute of the day like they are now. It wasn't until the next day that Sarit called me and told me that she didn't know where Adi was, and that we should bring a picture of her with us and go report her missing at the police station.” And how did you react to this news? “I was in shock. It was a lot for me to hear all at once. I went to the police station on Dizengoff Street. I had a heavy feeling in my heart. I felt that if I walked inside and told them what had happened, it wouldn't end well. On top of that, we couldn't reach my ex-wife, Betty, and so I asked Sarit to continue calling the house to try and locate her mom. “From the Dizengoff station, I was sent to another station by the train terminal. They wrote down all the details and then drove me around in their patrol car to show me how they go about looking for missing persons. We went from hospital to hospital looking for her. I asked the police if I could be of any more help and they said they actually really needed to talk with Adi's friends since they probably knew more about her, seeing as I hadn't been living in the same house with her for a year already.” For a while, the police remained in close contact with the family. Yossi recalls that for the first few months they felt genuine hope that they'd find his missing daughter. He and Betty worked well in tandem, despite the fact that they had recently divorced. They would sit together at the kitchen table in the apartment on Hermann Cohen Street trying to figure out ways to locate their missing daughter. Policemen often joined them there, where they would talk about all her social connections, hoping that this might help them solve the mystery. Betty even created a hotline that potential witnesses could call with information. “At first, Betty and I would follow every single tip,” Yossi recalls. “But the hotline quickly turned into a magnet for all sorts of weirdos and psychopaths who would call and leave frightening messages. We also received calls from people who really did believe they'd seen her, but in the end it never turned out to be Adi. For example, one day a religious high school-aged girl called me in tears and told me, 'Listen, I'm sure that Adi is sitting next to me on the bus and goes to my high school.' And so I drove down south to see for myself, but in the end it was someone else.” Searching for Adi Yaakobi (photo credit: MEIR TURJEMAN) Yossi also has quite a few complaints about the way the police handled the investigation. He believes that the police should have been more involved, and displayed a greater willingness to follow leads, no matter how far-fetched they seemed. One story, that was published at the time in the national press, is about a young lawyer, an acquaintance of Betty, who two years after Adi disappeared began threatening his wife, who'd made aliya from Canada. He told her, “If you don't behave properly, I'll do to you what I did to Betty's daughter.” Following this incident, the man was arrested. The police placed an undercover agent in the cell next to him in effort to get the man to open up and talk about his connection to Adi, but he never did. When Yossi heard from friends that the suspect had been released, he was horrified, since this was the most concrete lead they'd encountered so far. “I ran to the police station and banged my fist down on the desk. I demanded that they interrogate the suspect. They told me, 'We can't – he left the country and flew to Canada.' I demanded that they contact the Canadian authorities and have him arrested, but they said that they hadn't succeeded in locating him.” At this point, Yossi decided to carry out his own private investigation. He succeeded in finding out the man's address through the Bar Association. Apparently, he'd returned to Israel a few years later and had changed his name, but Yossi succeeded in discovering what his new name was and his current address. “I thought maybe now that a few years have passed, the police would be willing to interrogate the man. I figured that he'd be more relaxed now and willing to talk about it, but the police wouldn't even pick up the phone to call the man.” Did you ever try contacting the suspect yourself? “No, I was afraid of what I might discover.” Over time, Yossi and his ex-wife began meeting up less. Time took its toll and the two of them got on with their lives, each one retreating to their separate homes. Yossi put all his time and effort into his work and his new relationship. The years passed, and Sarit grew up. She served in the army, got married and had children. At each stage in her life, she's wondered what her sister's life would have been like. “One day,” Yossi says, “Betty calls me up and tells me that our daughter's disappearance was all her fault and that she has no desire to go on living. I told her that this was ridiculous, that she had nothing to do with it, and that there was nothing she could have done to prevent it.” Yossi is careful not to make any kind of direct connection between Adi's disappearance and Betty's sickness, to which she later succumbed, but he also doesn't rule it out. “People say that sickness often arises following trauma,” Yossi says. “After the disappearance, Betty devoted all of her time and energy to searching for Adi. I also invest a lot of effort, but I've tried not to let it take over my life. I do everything that is necessary. I give interviews every time someone contacts me, and for a few days afterwards my stomach always hurts. But I take care of myself emotionally and physically. I go see a therapist once a week. I work out at the gym and make sure I'm breathing as I should.” How has Sarit dealt with the trauma? “She's become very introverted. We don't talk about Adi much together. I don't want to upset her and she doesn't want to upset me, and so neither of us asks the other questions, even though we have a very good relationship. For a while, we weren't even celebrating Sarit's birthday because it was Adi's birthday, too. These days, we do celebrate her birthday, but never with a grandiose party. “Sarit also doesn't talk about it with her husband, and so he sometimes comes to me with questions. Sometimes he'll ask me what Adi was like, and what happened after she disappeared. In 2013, after Betty died, I considered having a picture of Adi tattooed on my shoulder so that she would be with me everywhere I went. So that even if they never found her she wouldn't be alone. When my son-in-law heard about this, he undertook the project and drew an incredible tattoo himself. We have the telephone of a great tattoo salon, but in the meantime I haven't decided for sure if I want to have it done or not. So now I'm thinking of having a temporary tattoo from henna done to see how it makes me feel. Getting a tattoo is a big deal – it stays with you for the rest of your life. And I'm still hanging on to the belief that one day I'll get to see my daughter again with my own eyes.” You really believe this? “As long as there's no grave, and no one has ever been able to prove for sure that she's gone, there's still a glimmer of hope. I always say to people that if she ran away due to the divorce, or for some other reason, and she is living happily somewhere, then she should stay there.” At this point in our conversation, Yossi's face turns serious and he readies himself to say something. “Look,” he finally says. “I normally don't remember my dreams, but there's one recurring dream that I've had over and over again. In this dream, someone is ringing the doorbell, and when I look through the peephole, I see that it's a policeman. A little behind him – I'm still looking through the peephole – I see a girl that looks a lot like Adi. I of course open the door, and they come in and it really is Adi. Then, in the dream, I fall down and die. But for a split second before that I get this wonderfully happy feeling, and a sense of closure, too.” Since Adi's mother's death, her father, Yossi, has taken over the search that still continues (photo credit: ARIK SULMAN) The following is the official statement published by the Israel Police. “The Israel Police takes the task of searching for and locating missing persons in Israel very seriously and with great sensitivity. The handling of missing persons cases is based on very detailed procedures and is strictly supervised using the most advanced technological advances. Our computer system has been updated recently, and our labs are equipped to use DNA samples from family members to assist in the search of missing persons, which has resulted in the identification of dozens of missing persons who were originally unidentified. The police are willing to use any and all pieces of information in the search for missing persons.” AS OF 2015, there are officially 529 missing persons in Israel. Every year, another 20 to 30 are added to the list. “Ninety percent of the people who are not found within the first 12 months are never found – ever,” says Shaul, the Shin Bet official who is the director of field operations for Biladeihem, a non-profit that helps families of missing persons. “Only in 2001 did the police begin adding details about missing persons to their databases, and the Institute of Forensic Medicine upgrade its computer system,” Shaul explains. “If you're wondering how these two events are connected, I'll tell you. Since that year, 923 unknown bodies that were brought in by police have been registered at the institute. We believe that a certain number of these unidentified bodies probably match with the list of missing persons.” How did this situation come about? “The state comptroller has already written a severe report about this issue. The problem stems from the nonexistence of an organization that deals with civilian missing persons. There's one full-time position and one half-time position, but they don't have any real authority. Their job is to verify that the police are carrying out their work properly, but nothing more than that. One of Biladeihem's goals is to put pressure on the government to support and remain in contact with the families of missing persons. Another goal is to hire as many professionals as possible so that we'll be able to solve more cases.” And do you have any leads in Adi's case? “The spot on King George Street where she disappeared is like the Bermuda Triangle of missing persons. Over the years, a number of people have gone missing from that area, the most publicized one being Daniel Minivitzky [a former combat soldier who disappeared at age 35]. We began working on Adi's case 18 months ago and we've managed to speak with many investigators, some of whom are still working and some who've since retired, who dealt with Adi's case at some point. Her case hasn't been neglected – it just simply reached an impasse. Since so many years have passed since Adi disappeared, we're just trying to tie up loose ends. “The impetus for reopening the case came from Yossi, Adi's father, and representatives from nine other families of missing persons. We are currently working with 45 families of missing persons, and thankfully we sometimes are rewarded with happy endings, such as the case of the Tel Aviv man was discovered living homeless in Beit She'an. With regard to Adi's case, we recently met with Public Security Minister Gilad Erdan, and we have another meeting scheduled with the National Forensic Institute. I hope that soon we'll be able to announce a breakthrough in our investigation.” Translated by Hannah Hochner. Originally printed in Ma'ariv.

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