This was not an Iranian hacker group nor someone demanding a bribe, but my story corresponds with what accountants in Atref feel today.
Fifteen years ago, I was one of the first complainants in the Israel Police to break into my Facebook account.
It happened after I returned from abroad after a few days without touching the net, into a reality where I felt my not only Facebook account but also my soul was hacked. And I believed that my hidden secrets would be kept in private inboxes. At age 20, as at age 20, there is a lot of action in life to correspond on - loves, disappointments, fantasies, professional aspirations and juicy gossip.
This wondrous tent of secrets has been broken into.
Someone who impersonated me had conversations with my close friends and managed to extract from them every drop of information, the purpose of which was to harm me.
I realized this only after I was exposed to the same correspondences, made in my name and image.
Luckily, my big brother Eyal, a computer genius, managed to take over the account and return it to me.
I consulted a private investigator, who refused to charge because she summed up the direction of the investigation with the words: "90 percent of the answer to identify the person you are looking for is with you. Recreate who you annoyed, who is jealous of you, who broke your heart."
I continued on in a belligerent atmosphere and reported to the police station, armed with all the correspondence I had printed through friends and possible addresses of computers through which the break-in had taken place.
The two researchers who were then working on the standard of the cyber unit that did not yet exist, asked me how old my brother was, who was able to locate potential computer addresses from which the hack was performed, and asked if he was looking for work.
After a few days I was called to report to the police.
I was told that thanks to my brother's work they came to the burglar, who was taken for questioning and confessed to the deeds.
The private investigator was right: the burglar was a former lover, whose heart I broke.
When the case reached the State Attorney's Office, he was particularly concerned that the story would leak and that his career would be ruined.
I agreed to close the case, but in my heart it never closed.
I haven't had any inbox conversations since.
For years I did not allow myself to fall in love, bond, or have anyone bond with me.
Any relationship that began to deepen, I would cut: that only they would not fall in love with me and then hurt me.
I became a serial fugitive.
Around me they claimed I was changing guys like socks, but for me it was a protection system, like changing a password.
Over the years great spouses have tried to take my armor off me.
Some were more successful, some less so.
I married someone who managed to restart me, and mostly allowed me to re-trust in love, without any password.
danieller@israelhayom.co.il
