Simha Balani's Hour of Glory

SIMHA BALANI’S HOUR OF GLORY

(Tel Aviv 1958)

 

 I.  A SAD INDUSTRIAL CASE

 

             An interesting fact of life, reinforced by the Balani case, is that, occasionally, some apparently unrelated episodes may nevertheless be intertwined, the outcome of one may have a bearing on the other.

            The first information was a reportage in an Israeli newspaper.  In dispassionate language, it related how a truck, that had been loaded with logs in one of Solbon’s depots near Haifa, arrived shortly before the Shabbath at its destination in Tel Aviv.  It should have been there some two hours earlier but heavy traffic resulted in a protracted delay.

Keen to call it a day, the ground crew started unloading without taking the ‘ordinary precautions’.  Unfortunately, the logs had not been properly secured when loaded.  As soon as the rope, holding them together, was loosened, they came crushing down.  Most members of the ground crew managed to scramble to safety.  Simha Balani, a man of some 52 years of age, was the only one to be caught in the avalanche.  When his mates cleared the wreckage above him, he confirmed he was not in pain; but he was unable to rise or to move his legs.  The emergency staff of a nearby hospital diagnosed a broken back and a severed spinal cord. 

            Six week after the accident, a paraplegic Simha Balani left the hospital in a wheelchair.  His active work at the depôt – the pride and joy of his life – had come to a premature end.  At this point, the reporter raised an obvious  question.  What sort of safety measure were used by Solbon – a corporation owned by Israel’s Labour party – in order to safeguard against such accidents?

My personal reaction was in accord. Still, my legal training – bolstered by four years in the Law Firm of Jacob Keren and Associates – added a rider.  Had there  been a lack of supervisory measures or had this been yet another breach of safeguards prescribed in Solbon’s detailed and safety orientated manual?

Solbon and their insurers, Rotem, were established clients of our firm. I knew they would not deny liability. In all probability, the matter would be handled discreetly between Rotem’s in-house counsel, Ruth Schwartz and Hannah Hod, and the lawyers appointed by Simha.  All the same, I kept wondering whether the fault lay in the procedure prescribed by Solbon or in the employees’ carelessness.  I could condone the latter but would take a serious view of the former.  However, at this stage the matter was not my concern.

During the next days, my time was taken up with two major commercial transactions. Simha Balani’s case soon slipped my mind.  Three weeks later, though, the case assumed a different dimension.  As soon as I arrived in the office, Jacob Keren’s secretary asked me to report to him. Handing me a freshly opened file, he asked in his direct manner, “Have you heard about this accident?”

“I read something in the papers,” I told him when I realised that it was Simha Balani’s claim. “Whom do we represent, Mr. Keren?”

“Rotem.  They are prepared to settle, and Solbon is keen.  But what do you think of the amount demanded?”

“Can I have a look at the file?”

“See me after lunch then!”

       

          The documents threw new light on the matter.  Simha Balani had been offered an indexed pension equal to 85per cent of his last salary plus a posting as a cashier till his retirement at the ripe age of 65.  His lawyers, though, insisted on payment of a lump sum covering his loss of earnings plus damages for loss of enjoyment of life.  The former count was calculated  conservatively.  The latter made me gasp. It exceeded the highest amount ever awarded for such loss by a court in Tel Aviv.

All attempts to negotiate had been politely but unequivocally rejected.  Simha’s lawyer, my close friend, Boaz Tamir, stood his ground despite Rotem’s attempts to settle.  I was aware that Boaz was an able tactician and a realistic lawyer.  Although in our present roles as employees we regularly found ourselves on opposing sides of a case, we were discreetly making plans to establish our own legal firm.  Boaz was to be the managing partner.

Knowing Boaz’s calibre, I took his demands – ‘prayers’ – seriously as I studied the Balani file. There could, of course, be no doubt about Simha’s loss and sufferings.  An industrial accident had  turned a healthy even if aging man into a wreck.  He would never walk again and other comforts, too, were lost to him.  Still, a browse through the file revealed two weaknesses.  One was that on numerous occasions Simha had refused to give up his out-of-doors job and accept an equally well-paid office post. The other was more complex.  When the logs started to roll down, Simha had been out of range.  He had stepped forward to drag a fellow worker to safety.  Why should an old hand like him risk life and limb to warn off a younger and fitter man?  Simha was not the foreman and had not been put in charge!

Jacob Keren listened keenly to my analysis.  It was clear that, in most regards, I affirmed the points he had spotted on his own.   As I closed the file, he fell into a reverie.  When, at long last, he broke the silence, he came straight to the point.

“What do you recommend?”

“We can’t deny liability.  To do so would be counter productive and, in any event, Rotem and Solbon would get a rotten Press.  The best course is to  admit liability and persuade Simha to accept the indexed pension plus the posting.  In the long run, these are better then a lump sum.  If he refuses, we’d have to contest the amount.  And we might have to plead contributory negligence, we would have no choice.”

“On what ground would you base a count of ‘contributory negligence’?”

“Why on earth did he rush in?  And, Mr Keren, didn’t he assume an extra risk by holding on to  a young man’s job at the ripe age of 52?”

 “I get the thrust!  So, how about handling the case for us, young Eli!”

“On my own?”

“High time.  And it’s a ‘win-win’ situation.  We are prepared to pay Simha what is due to him, but not more than that.  Or do you want Ravid or Kadmon to lead you?”

Experience had taught me that these two took the laurels but refused to share the work, “How about Rachel Zeitlin?” I wanted to know.

“Is it her sort of case?” asked Keren severely.

            He was, of course, right.  Rachel Zeitlin was a brilliant courtroom advocate, dogged, quick on the uptake, focused and sensitive to atmosphere. She knew when to drop a weak point and when to come up with her punch line.  True, her ability to analyse complex legal points left much to be desired. Here, however, I excelled.  Between the two of us we had won a string of difficult cases and, in the process, acquired the reputation of a formidable team.  The instant case, though, required  low key handling.  A searching cross-examination and belligerent tactics were out of place.

“She might not pull her punches,” I conceded.

“And we don’t want to rub Simha’s nose in it. An honourable defeat is what we want!” After a brief reflection, he summed up. “Tell you what: you take charge of the file. But why don’t you discuss it with her? The two of you work well together.”

  

 

II.  A CHAT WITH RACHEL

 

 For a few minutes I fidgeted in front of Rachel’s office.  For a few months we had been lovers. Recently, I left my parents’ house and went over to live with her.  I feared that a decision to handle the case on my own rather than as a team member might disrupt our friendship.  Then I saw that the door to her office was ajar. 

             Rachel skimmed rapidly through the file.  She did not take notes but flagged some pages in depositions and highlighted passages she considered important.  When she finished, she closed the file and asked,  “So why do you want my views about this file?”

“We are a good team.   Your handling it as leader will be impressive!”

“Could be too impressive.  I would drag Simha’s nose through the mud.  I despise the Simha Balanis of this world!”

“How can you, Rachel? Don’t you think he’s been through enough as it is?”

“I’m not talking about the accident, he’s a poor bugger, no doubt.  But I know the type and I’d like to cut him to size!”

“I don’t understand, honest!”

            For a while Rachel’s eyes focused on a point above my shoulder.  Her beautiful, usually serene face, lost its detached expression, she looked grim and withdrawn.  It dawned on me that, despite our closeness, I knew little about her. All my probes into her past had been rebuffed. True, her surname suggested a Mid-European, Polish or Galician origin.  Still, her features were not European.

For a while she hesitated.  Then she told me her full story.  Rachel’s mother was a Sephardic – a Middle Eastern Jewess.  Rachel’s father, Jacob Zeitlin, deserted his Rivka shortly after Rachel had been born.  Rivka had no option but to move with her baby daughter to Schechunat Ha’Tikva, the poorest neighbourhoods in Tel Aviv, populated mainly by migrants from countries such as Yemen, Morocco and Iraq.  Regrettably, all Middle Eastern Jews were treated as inferiors by the European Jewish population, the Ashkenasies (or “Shiknasies”).  The only jobs Rivka could find were laundry and house cleaning, mainly in wealthier districts of Tel Aviv.  Jacob Zeitlin never showed his face and sent no money to support them.

            “It’s an ugly story. Still, what has this got to do with poor Simha Balani?”

“There were many Simha Balanis in our neighbourhood, Eli.”

“Don’t tell me one of them molested you!”

“No, of course not, Eli.  The Simha Balanis of this world do not molest little girls or do naughty things.  To the contrary, if you carry a heavy bag, a Simha will step over to help.  And if somebody bothers you, a Simha will shoo him away.  Our Simha is a well behaved and responsible member of the community!”

“But then, what’s wrong with him?  What do you have against his type?”

“Your Simha has a chip.  He believes the world owes him! Sometimes he feels sorry for himself because he is not a ‘Schiknasi’, he says the European Jews have it all made for them.  On other occasions, he feels ‘deprived’ because nobody offers him a home in a better part of town, or because nobody advised him to work hard at school and go to university; or because he had to support younger brothers and sisters.  Whenever he can: he steals a march.  He does as little as he can at work, shirks responsibility and goes through life sulking because nobody thinks much of him.  Worse still, your Simha expects his baksheesh whenever he carries a heavy bag or does any other ‘good deed’ of the day!”

“Street wise – true!  But why do you despise him?”

“The sanctimony and the shameful lack of dignity involved.”

 

            Obviously, Rachel had succumbed to prejudice.  Reasoning would be pointless.  If she took the case, she would proceed on the basis that Simha was a rogue: a wolf in sheep’s clothing.  Her cross-examination would be searching and might turn acrimonious.

“So you see, Eli, putting me in charge of this case is dangerous.  I’m sure to use any chance I get to clobber Simha!”

“But where did he act wrongly in this case, Rachel?”

“What was a man of his age doing such a  job?  You have gone through the file.  Don’t tell me you overlooked facts staring in your face!”

            As always, she made her point bluntly and hit the nail on its head.  Solbon’s records, copied onto our file, told their tale.  Simha had turned down a comfortable office job because he ‘liked the fresh air’. Further, soon after he was constituted foreman of the gang, he insisted on reverting to his previous, less glamorous but equally well-paid, position.  He lacked – so he had said – the leadership required of a foreman.  Simha Balani had decided to remain a member of the floor, provided the annual pay increases remained forthcoming.  Solbon – a model employer – let him have his way.

 “He refused rank but wanted his yearly increments.  What’s wrong with this?”  I wanted to know.

“But why did he refused to remain foreman?”

“Why not accept his answer at face value?”

“Because if that post brought extra money he would have clung to it like a baby to its mother’s breast.  No, Eli!  Your Simha didn’t want to be seen to be the ‘boss’.  He’d rather bully the foreman into doing what Simha advises.   That, Eli, is Simha Balani in a nutshell!”

“If he is such an egotist, why did he risk his own neck to pull someone else out of danger, Rachel?  Whatever the law says about such foolhardiness, it was a noble act!”

“I’m sure he had a motive.  Simha wouldn’t risk life and limb for a mere fellow worker!   He had a reason, it will be interesting to find out.  Still, I’m not the right person for this case.”

“I’ll sure try to get to the bottom of things,” I promised.

“So, you’ll take the case on your own?”

“Well, yes.  Solbon wants a friendly, out of court, settlement.  But you’ll help me?”

“Sure.  And now you better apprise Keren of the arrangement.  He’ll be much relieved! He’ll know we are OK, his star team hasn’t fallen apart!  No need for good old Jacob to return to his old rat race in the courts.  He can continue to leave the dirty work to us!”

“An accurate but  uncharitable summing up!” I muttered.

“But realistic, my pet.  Why don’t you go and reassure him.”

 

III.  SIMHA’S STAND ON A PENSION

            During the following weeks I managed to make some progress with Simha’s matter.  Despite its plain nature, the case had some perplexing angles. Rotem’s offer of a pension was attractive.  Simha had been a salaried employee all his life.  By the time of the accident, he was getting close to retirement. What then induced him to prefer a lump sum.  I was also puzzled by his rush to save the neck of another.  Why should a street wise operator  take a risk of this sort?

            Picador correspondence with Boaz Tamir got me nowhere.  After a consultation with Rachel, I took matters a step further.

“It’s you, Eli,” chuckled Boaz as soon as we were connected.  “I wondered how long it would take you to establish informal contact!”

“You, too, ‘Brutus’ have a ‘phone?  Or was Your Lordship too busy to dial?”

“Now, now, Eli, sarcasm won’t get us anywhere.  I waited to see how long it would take you to appreciate that manoeuvrings were pointless!  Still, let’s discuss the case over lunch.”

 

          Boaz, who arrived before me, had ordered a splendid array of Eastern dishes.  We threw ourselves on them.  When we finished, Boaz wiped his mouth and grinned with satisfaction. “Well, Eli, what’s on your mind?  I take it this conversation is off the record?”

“Of course, Boaz, and – to start – we are not at odds this time.  Rotem and Solbon are prepared to be generous, you know this!”

“I’m not surprised, it’s an ugly case!”

“It is, that’s why we have admitted liability. But why has your client declined the indexed pension plus the job we’ve offered him?  Don’t you agree it’s a decent offer?”

“I do.  But the matter is not in my hands, Eli, perhaps not even in Simha’s!”

“I don’t get it!”

“Simha’s first born, Shimon, who is about to finish business school, fancies himself a great businessman.  He thinks he can put a lump sum to good use!”

“In these days?” I asked, taken aback.

 

            Boaz did not reply. Like myself, he knew our young State was going through a difficult period. We had lost our Middle Eastern export markets as well as our sources of cheap raw materials and food. Supplies were rationed, the black market was booming and honest, well established, businesses were going bust every day.  Law firms, too, struggled to remain afloat. Only the toughest and the fittest – or those with desirable connections – were doing well.  The chances of a young entrepreneur were questionable. My personal chats with Boaz about our proposed partnership took this fact into account. Boaz was keenly aware of the risk to be faced by all new law firms.

Averting his eyes, he conceded, “I talked to Shimon but it ain’t no good. The chap bustles with self confidence!”

“Have you talked to Simha’s wife?”

“Malka Balani is a traditional Oriental  wife. She’s terrified of stepping between Simha and his first born. She hopes I’ll persuade the two of them. She doesn’t think much of Shimon!”

“So, what’s to be done?” I asked.

“Do you really want to settle?”

“I do.  But  hate the thought of a generous lump sum being  frittered away.”

“Then we must have a last go, a meeting of the Balanis with Israel Silver, Jacob Keren and the two of us.  See if you can sweeten the offer further, even if just by a token.  I need ammunition.”

“Very well,” I said, adding, “Strange how all of us feel sympathy for Simha.”

“Mainly because of the injury not pleaded in the Statement of Claim,” pointed out Boaz.

 

            His words struck a bell.  I knew that Simha’s general loss of mobility and control over everyday bodily functions inflicted great sufferings. But the loss of a facility which forms part of a Man’s masculine pride appeared more depressing than the rest.

“Actually, why did you not plead it?” I asked.

“He refused to hear of it, said it was too shameful!”

“What did Mrs Balani say?”

“She is taking it philosophically.  Simha has a son and a daughter by his first wife and Malka  presented him with a cute baby boy some two years ago.  They can’t afford to feed more mouths and their community does not practice birth control.  They’ve kept sort of apart.  She thinks this injury is – to use her own words – not as terrible as the others.”

“I suspect many women would see it this way.  Actually, Rachel felt no sympathy for Simha. She dislikes his ‘kind’.  That’s why I am handling the case.”

“I understand,” answered Boaz, who knew of my liaison with Rachel.

 

IV.  SEEKING TO PERSUADE SIMHA

            Some three weeks later, when Jacob Keren and I were shown into Israel Silver’s spacious office, the Balanis were already there. Shimon had left before the negotiations started.  Duty, so he said, was calling.  So Simha and his wife faced us on their own.

Patiently Jacob Keren outlined the fresh proposal: Simha was promised a monthly pension equal to 90 per cent of his last salary, index pegged, plus part-time employment as receptionist until he reached the normal age of retirement.  His pension would be based on the average wages of his last two years and, again, would be indexed.  In addition, Rotem would settle his running medical bills and related expenses.  When Keren finished, Israel Silver confirmed it was an excellent offer and “as far as one could expect the defendants to go.”  Boaz nodded his approval.

“But no lump sum?” asked Simha.

“No,” countered Israel Silver, “but the pension gives you greater security over the years!  Most importantly, inflation won’t be a hazard!”

“I am sure it’s a generous offer,” said Simha.  “I’ll have to discuss it with Shimon.”

 Before Silver could respond, Boaz stepped in, “but remember, Simha, the damages are for you, to compensate you for the injuries you have suffered.  This is as it should be!  What do you think, Mrs. Balani?”

“Oh, Simha must decide.  If he wants to talk to Shimon: he must do so,”  she spoke with a touch of resignation.

“Well, let Mr. Silver know as soon as possible.”  Keren spoke in a matter of fact voice.

“Of course, Mr. Keren,” agreed Simha.  “Thanks for going out of your way.”

“That alright.  We try to do the right thing,” Keren nodded and, to my surprise, smiled.

 

V.  AIDING SIMHA

 

            As Keren had to discuss some other matters with Silver,  I left on my own.  When I reached the ground floor, Malka Balani was manoeuvring Simha out of the lift.  The wheelchair was heavy.  She would be unable to manage the six stairs leading to street level.  My training as a lawyer dictated that I refrain from any communications with the “other party”.  My Israeli mores, though, militated against this, I was young and strong.  Crippled Simha needed help.

Stepping over, I asked, “Can I help you Mrs. Balani?”

“Thanks. But even Shimon found it difficult, and he is a big fellow.”

“You wait here, I’ll get reinforcement from passers by.”

 

            With the help of two sturdy soldiers, we got Simha and his chair down to Rothschild Boulevard. As Malka was flagging taxis, Simha turned to me, “You didn’t say much up there, Mr. Eli?”

“The boss did the talking, Mr. Balani. I’m small beer!”

“Just call me Simha.  But I want to have your opinion, Mr Eli.  In my place, would you take the pension?”

“I’d grab it, Simha, it wasn’t easy to convince Rotem to OK it.  It is more than just a good offer,  in my eyes, it’s irresistible.”

“You are right.  But Shimon thinks he can put a lump sum to good use.  If he does, it will be excellent for all of us.”

“It’s your decision.  But remember, a bird in the hand is better than seven on a tree.  Today many trees are collapsing!  Once you take a lump sum, Rotem and Solbon have discharged their debt!”

“I see. And all this because I wanted to make sure Yossi was out of danger when the planks came off!”

“Yossi?” I asked without thinking.

“My daughter’s fiancé, he is one of the gang.  I should have known he could look after himself! But I sort of didn’t think, Mr. Eli,” Simha confided.

 

            Just then a taxi stopped in front of us. The two soldiers got Simha out of his wheelchair and placed him securely on one of the back seats.  Malka  folded the wheelchair and the driver put it in the boot.   My eyes followed them until the taxi turned round the corner.

 

VI.  SIMHA AS VOLUNTEER

 

            The ‘phone rang as soon as I entered my office. Boaz was smirking. “I thought you’d help the Balanis, sorry I couldn’t, I had an urgent phone call.”

“As good a reason as any,” I muttered.

“Now, now, Eli – sarcasm is lost on my deaf ears, or – you could say – water down a duck’s back.  But you are right, I wanted the two of you to get acquainted.”

“I wish you hadn’t!  Simha told me something that’s none of my business.  He mentioned Yossi. I’ll have to raise his ‘rashness’ as a defence if the case goes to trial.  You know that!”

“I do! But you were bound to find out in any event.  Our law encourages ‘fair play’!”

            He was, of course, right. Different procedural devices, taken from English law, enabled a party to legal proceedings to get from the other the information required for his strategy.

“What are the chances of Simha accepting our offer, Boaz?”

“I suspect Shimon will dig his heels in, Eli. It’s stupid, but it’s not in our control.”

“What’s the matter with the chap?”

“He reckons it’s his big chance.  If the background isn’t clear,  have a word with Rachel!”

 

Boaz’s reference to Rachel did not take me by surprise. Rachel and Boaz had been classmates in University and knew one another well.  They had also crossed swords in court and, in the process, developed mutual respect for one another’s ability.  In point of fact, she was a party to the discreet talks concerning the plans for a new legal partnership. Further, Boaz knew that Rachel’s insights into sociological and behavioural issues were  sharper than mine.

            Rachel listened keenly to my description of the meeting with the Balanis and my conversation with Boaz.  To my surprise, her reaction was stronger than I had anticipated.  Grinning malevolently, she came over and patted my shoulder as if I were a dumb child.  “So, my pet, you let ‘partner Boaz’ set you-up.”

“You better explain yourself!” I let my chagrin show.

“That scrap your good friend Simha volunteered about Yossi, a bit too artificial, eh?”

            “It was out of context, rather.”

“Don’t you think Boaz coached him?”

“What for?”

“You would find out in any event.  And this way, he invoked your sympathy, didn’t he?”

“He did rather, don’t you think Simha’s act was  noble?”

“But why toot his horn? Boaz knows you well, Eli!”

“So he knows I’ll have to plead the point whether I like it or not!”

“True, but he knows this way you are less likely to make a song and dance about it.”

 

            Rachel’s  pronouncement highlighted the unkind treatment meted out by our law to the good Samaritan.  At one stage, a party in Simha’s position was bound to lose his case.  A fireman, who rushed into a burning house without adequate safeguards, or a brave citizen who jumped into a pond to save a drowning child, were regarded “volunteers”, who took on a risk with its natural consequences. As a result, their position was precarious, as volunteers, they got nothing! Modern law replaced this Draconian doctrine with the notion that a good Samaritan had to bear a share of the ensuing loss commensurate with his ‘contributory negligence’.  Simha’s rush into the danger zone was a classic case in point.  His ‘contribution’, though, would be ‘measured’ by the judge on the basis of the arguments pressed on him.  My attitude, as counsel of the parties sued, would make all the difference.   

“You are right,” I told Rachel.  “But I still don’t get what Boaz meant when he said you’d explain to me Shimon’s resistance of a pension.  In my eyes, he is nothing but a selfish swine!”

“I don’t think that fair, Eli. Do you remember that incident when we went to the Bezalel Museum on Shabbath?”

            Rachel’s words rang a bell.  A few months earlier on, I persuaded Rachel to visit the Bezalel Museum.  Naturally, the main office box was closed out of respect for the day of rest but a discreet notice directed us to a less conspicuous ticket office in a small lane nearby.  When we returned with the entry tickets, a group of excited Jewish oriental youngsters, who thought they were being denied access on ethnic grounds, were having a shouting match with the doorman.  To calm them down, Rachel gave them our tickets and insisted we accompany the remaining members of the group to the camouflaged ticket office.  Once they understood the issue, the group paid for our tickets and treated us to soft drinks.

“But what has this got to do with the Balani case? What does ‘background’ – if that’s what we want to call it – have to do with pension vis-à-vis lump sum?”

“ ‘Background’ is the key to Shimon’s attitude. He is convinced his ‘people’ are disadvantaged. Even if one of them is as good as ‘others’, he doesn’t get an ‘even chance’, all cards are staked against him.  But here is Shimon’s chance.  He wants to make the most of it!”

“And if he makes it, he’ll look well after Simha?”

“He will, Eli!”

“And if he fails? Doesn’t he think about the dire consequences?”

“He closes his eyes to them. Like Simha himself, he believes the world owes him.  And here is his chance to get delivery.”

            For a while both of us were immersed in our thoughts.  Rachel had hit the nail on its head.  All the same, much remained unclear.  “So there’s no chance for a settlement, Rachel?”

“None!”

“Did Boaz know?”

“I am sure he did!”

“So why the pantomime this morning?”

“Boaz’s a good lawyer.  He knows it’s in Simha’s interest to take the pension.  You can’t blame him for trying.  Now his conscience is clear!  You would have used the same tactics.”

 

VII.  HEARING BEFORE MORAG

Some eight months passed before Simha’s case was set for trial.  At 9.00am on the appointed day, Justice Ehud Morag took his seat on the Bench.  His quick glance at Simha’s wheelchair confirmed that Morag had read his papers and, in all probability, had made copious notes summarising the pleadings and the facts.

Both Boaz and I knew him well from our days at the  Law School.  Morag, who held an  Adjunct Lectureship, had taught the course on the Law of Torts and  some elective subjects.  His brilliant mind had gained him universal respect just as his sharp tongue had antagonised students unable to keep up with him.  Boaz and I had had no problems in this regard, each of us had been a star performer.  Boaz, though, had found Morag too mercurial, too unpredictable, as a judge. I, in contrast, admired Morag’s intellectual feats on the Bench.

“Seems a pretty clear case,” said Morag, pushing his file away from him.  “The defendants admit liability but plead contributory negligence and contest the amount claimed by way of damages for pain, sufferings and loss of pleasure of life.”

“I appear for the plaintiff Your Honour.  My Learned Friend, Mr Berger, appears for the defendants.”

“I take it the parties have made every effort to settle?” said Morag.

“We have, Your Honour,” confirmed Boaz.  “It is a matter of regrets to both of us that, even so, the case had to be put down for trial.”

“Could I possibly assist?” asked Morag. Usually, Morag would have proceeded straight to business.  His offer  was, thus, unexpected.  Was he, too, driven to sympathy by the extent of the injuries including the one not pleaded?  Having taken in our positive reaction to his offer, Morag concluded.  “In that case, may I see counsel in chambers?”

 

            Accepting Morag’s invitation to sit down and drop formalities, Boaz gave a balanced description of our attempts to settle on a pension.  He conceded we had made a fair offer and that it would be unrealistic to expect the defendants to improve it any further.

“What’s the problem then?” asked Morag with a touch of impatience.  “Surely, the plaintiff must be aware that in the present economic climate such an indexed pension and guaranteed employment are more than what most of us can expect?”

“He knows this, Judge,” conceded Boaz, whilst I nodded to provide moral support.

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The plaintiff’s son, Shimon Balani, is keen on a lump sum, and he calls the shots!”

“Haven’t you talked to him?”

“Both I and the Boss, Mr Silver! We arranged a last-ditch meeting between them and  defendants’ counsel.”

“Then, what can I do?” asked the Judge.

Boaz let his unease show.  “He may listen if the words come …”

“… from the Bench” grinned Morag.  “What do you think, Berger?”

“Members of his community hold ‘authority’ in high regard, Judge.  It is a matter of upbringing. I believe a last attempt – coming from you – might carry the day.”

“It’s worth a try,” agreed Morag.  “After all, a Judge’s function is to do justice – not just to apply the law blindly according to its letter – often an outdated letter at that!  I’ll tell the orderly to bring in  the Balanis and that fellow from Solbon.”

 

            Shimon wheeled his father into the Chambers. A sturdy, good looking, youth in his mid twenties, he was awed by the solemn surroundings and appeared ill at ease.  Simha, in contrast, remained his urbane self, looking at the Judge with respect but without trepidation.  Malka Balani sought refuge in a remote corner of the room.  Solbon’s employee, a middle aged man with grey hair and piercing eyes, who had but one arm, took a seat near me.  A smile of recognition indicated he knew Boaz.  When all of us had settled down, Morag proceeded straight to the point.

“Counsel tell me there has been a discussion about an indexed pension and guaranteed light employment.  Acceptance or rejection rests with the parties but – in my eyes – it is a fine offer.  Why doesn’t it appeal to you, Mr. Balani?”

“Oh, it is a fair offer, Your Honour. But my son, Shimon, thinks a lump sum is better for us.  His idea is to use the money to start a business.”

“That’s not the object of compensation, Mr. Balani,” explained Morag.  “What the law wants to achieve is, first, to compensate you for your sufferings and, secondly, to ensure that you  have the means for a standard of life comparable to what you had before the accident.”

“Shimon intends to give me more than this if his business goes well!”

“My father will sit at the head of our table and enjoy a lifestyle befitting a king” volunteered Shimon, overcoming his initial unease.

“And if your business does not succeed?” asked the Judge.

“I’ll devote my life to looking after Dad!” Shimon spoke with conviction, leaving an impact on all of us. 

“But would it not be simpler to accept the proposed pension?  It is risk free and gives your father an iron clad security for the future, at least as far as finance is concerned?”

            Shimon fidgeted.  Malka Balani avoided Morag’s searching glance.  It was clear she did not wish to be dragged into the discussion.  To my disappointment, Simha brought the matter to an end. “You are very kind, Your Honour.  We are grateful.  But I do believe in my son!”

            “In the ultimate,” Morag responded without manifesting any feelings, “the decision is yours. The law entitles you to a lump sum.  Once the defendants pay it, their liability to you is discharged, even if your sufferings are exacerbated at a future point of time!”

“Can my husband perhaps think it over?” Malka Balani assumed the courage to ask.

“Very well,” said Morag. “In the meantime, I can hear arguments about the two points in issue, contributory negligence and the measure of damages.  As there is agreement on the medical evidence, I take it the plaintiff is the only witness.”

“Most of the facts  are ‘common ground’, Judge,” said Boaz.

“we can return to Court to hear those still in issue.  If the plaintiff decides to accept the pension, I’ll deliver judgment on the basis of the settlement.”

“That will be a satisfactory way to proceed” I agreed. Boaz nodded.

 

         The formal hearing was anticlimactic.  As all relevant facts had been affirmed in Simha’s responses to the ‘interrogatories’ – the questions put to him before the trial – my cross- examination took less than half an hour.  Boaz did not bother to re-examine.  The arguments, too, were brief and to the point.  Morag observed that  the claim far exceeded the maximum award that could be made by him under the current Practice Direction.  The final award would, accordingly, have to be determined by the Court of Appeal.

            We spent the rest of the morning session on arguing the contributory negligence point.  Morag made no secret of his dissatisfaction with the prevailing state of the law.

“It galls me to have to treat the good Samaritan at par with a careless person, who precipitates in an accident by a foolish act, like crossing a road although he sees a car approaching at high speed.  Can you compare a person who risks his own safety for the sake of another, with somebody who throws caution aside because he is in a hurry?”

“This is why we believe that, in the instant case, the defendants ought to drop the plea of contributory negligence,” agreed Boaz.

“What do you say, Mr. Berger?”

“Your Honour’s analysis exposes the need for reform.  At this stage, though, the law is as already stated.  It is, accordingly, binding on us,” I said unhappily.

“But the law as is discourages people from doing what many of us regard a civic duty, like risking  life to save a drowning child!  Is that acceptable?”

“I’m not suggesting it is a satisfactory doctrine, Your Honour,” I said, noting a quick exchange of glances between Morag, Boaz and Solbon’s Degan. “If the issue arose in a debate of the Philosophical Society I would, perhaps, take a different view …”.

“But here, of course, you have to look after your clients’ interests, unless they decide to waive the defence.  Well, and what are your thoughts as to  the extent of the contribution?”

“My Learned Friend and I have discussed the point at length.  Any figure between 10 and 20 percent appears reasonable.”

            Once again, Morag turned to the file and to his notes.  Satisfied that all points had been covered, he suggested we adjourn till 2.30pm.   He should be able to deliver judgment as soon as the plaintiff had communicated his decision about the proposed pension.

           The Balanis withdrew discreetly. Having exchanged civilities with Boaz and myself, Degan went back to his office at Solbon to discuss the developments with his associates.  Left on our own, Boaz and I proceeded in the direction of David Mizrachi’s eatery.  Both of us felt the need for a good lunch. Initially, Boaz told me the news about his family.  His wife, Miri, had been promoted to the post of Vice-Principal of the School, his daughter got excellent grades in Hebrew Literature, Composition and History and his son – my favourite – was showing signs of getting over his asthma.  For more than three months he had not had an attack.

“That’s excellent news, Boaz.  I only hope he doesn’t overdo things.”

“Miri keeps a watchful eye over him,” said Boaz, who doted on his wife.  “She really knows how to handle him!”

“He’s a lucky boy,” I countered, brooding over my own childhood which had been largely ruined by the same disease.

         Over coffee Boaz turned back to our case.  Grudgingly, he conceded that Ehud Morag had handled the matter well.  He had not expected an old stickler to the rules like Morag to possess a humane alter ego.

“But do you think Shimon will give way?” I asked.  “The decision rests with him!”

“He was impressed by what Morag told them.  But I fear it may be too late for him to double back!”

“What makes you think that?”

“Something he said after we left the Chambers.  I suspect he has already committed the funds to a project planned with some friends!”

 

            Boaz’s surmise appeared well founded.  When we got back to the court house, Simha advised us they had decided to press for a lump sum.  He appreciated our efforts but, all in all, concluded a large amount in cash was what the family needed.

            Ehud Morag did not display any feelings.  He granted Simha the largest amount he was able to award but reduced it by apportioning 15 per cent to Simha’s contributory negligence. He said, specifically, that he felt bound to follow precedent but that the Court of Appeal would have the opportunity to review the law in point.

As we walked back, Boaz concluded.  “Between ourselves, I should not be surprised if Solbon decided to drop the contributory negligence point at the appeal.”

“What makes you think that?  They always insist Rotem plead it in industrial accidents.”

“I know.  But I suspect Amnon Degan will have a say and I know his attitude.”

“I noticed you knew him,” I nodded.  “How come?”

“He was my superior in the Army.  He was in regular service before he lost his arm.”

“Actually, how did this happen?”

“His troupe was ambushed and one of his men was shot in the belly.  Amnon Dagan deigned to send someone else in.  He got the chap out  but, as he scrambled to safety, a bullet shattered his arm just above the elbow.  They had to amputate.”

“Does Morag know this?” I prompted.

“Morag chaired the ensuing inquest.  He commended Dagan’s courage and selflessness.”

“This throws light on Morag’s blunt words this morning.  Still, he meant what he said.  Make no mistake!”

 

VIII.  KEREN AND RACHEL ANALYSE THE JUDGMENT

            Jacob Keren’s reaction to the judgment was short and to the point.  If Simha Balani turned down the princely pension Solbon had offered, a lump sum was the proper compensation.  What he did with the money was out of our control and, accordingly, not our concern.

           Keren was equally nonchalant about the contributory negligence issue.  He agreed that the defence had to be pleaded.  A contribution of 20 per cent  would have been preferable but 15 per cent  was appropriate.  His one admonition was that I refrain from pressing Solbon and Rotem to drop the defence.  Simha had been aware it would be raised and we – the firm of Jacob Keren and Associates – represented the defendants – not Simha Balani.  A decision not to pursue the defence of contributory negligence had to come from the clients and be made at their initiative.

            Rachel’s reaction was more contemplative.  She was surprised that Malka Balani had assumed the courage to voice an opinion.  A good Sephardic wife would take such a step only if she had no confidence at all in Shimon’s judgment and ability.

“But even so, she did not assert herself,” I pointed out.

“Of course not. Very few women – Oriental or Occidental – would.  It may be wrong, but that’s the way it is!”

“Although she will have to bear the brunt of looking after Simha on her own if his compensation is frittered away by that son of his?”

“I am afraid so, unless, of course, she ran away.  But women like her usually don’t.  She’ll suffer silently and without complaint.”

“But then, Rachel, Simha ain’t a fool.  He knows all this.  I suspect he even knows that Shimon is a simpleton.  So why doesn’t he put his foot down, for Malka’s sake if not his own?”

“Doesn’t want to lose his son’s regard!  A parent often forgives his child …

“… the prodigal son motive!” I broke in. 

“Precisely.  But, you know, I have never heard any mention of a prodigal father!  If a parent loses his son’s or his daughter’s love or natural affection, he is not readily forgiven!  You see, Eli, I had never forgiven my father.  In my last year at law school, he came to see me with the hope of a reconciliation.  Well, I threw him out.”

“Why?”

“Because a child has expectations from his parents.  They are the essence of its life.  It does not necessarily work the other way round.  A parent cannot come back to the family he deserted.  You see, a good parent is terrified of forfeiting his child’s affection.  Usually, a parent will walk an extra mile to please his child: even if his mind tells him he is making a mistake.”

“So that is Simha’s weak point in the instant case.”

“I fear it is.  Just as ‘don’t interfere’ is the motto of poor Malka.”

“So – all in all – nothing can be done!” I pointed out.

“Not as the law stands, unless our courts depart from English precedents.  And, Eli, you better remember you are acting for Rotem and Solbon.  Let your good friend Boaz look after Simha’s interests.  It is his function. But even he can’t do much, except coax!”

 

IX.  THE APPEAL

       Usually the preparation of an appeal was cumbersome.  You had to capitalise on whatever supported your client’s case.  If he was the appellant, your task was to drive holes in the judgment given against him.  If he was the respondent, you had to find every argument supporting the trial judge’s conclusions.

Simha’s case was different.  Our clients had no objection to a substantial increase in the damages awarded to Simha.  Ehud Morag, who had entered judgment for the maximum amount he could, made it clear he thought the compensation ought to be higher.  The only other point of contention was the perturbing defence of contributory negligence.  Rotem was not comfortable with it.  As a matter of policy, neither they nor Solbon would have opposed a reform of the applicable English doctrines. 

            The only difficult point concerned the issue of representation.  By convention, lawyers appeared before the Court of Appeal – which constituted a division of the Supreme Court in Jerusalem – only after five years of practical experience in the regional courts.  In consequence, I was unqualified to take the matter ‘up’. Jacob Keren, though, was not keen to take charge of the file or to transfer it to Rachel. Such a step would increase the costs but, in effect, would not be of any assistance to the clients.

“Well, Eli, so you will have to handle the appeal yourself!”

“But how? They’ll refuse to listen to me! And President Magor can be a terror when a young lawyer appears before him!”

“As regards the latter: you must learn to take the rough with the smooth. On the first point, don’t worry.  We’ll get a ‘status dispensation’.  As long as Boaz does not object, it’ll be a clean run.”

 

          On the day before the appeal – some eight months after the trial – I took the train up to Jerusalem.  Ruth Schwartz, Rotem’s in-house counsel, came up to oversee developments.  

            The panel before whom Boaz and I were to appear comprised President Magor – originally a London barrister – another permanent member of the Supreme Court, Justice Baram, who was universally admired for his learning but known to take his leads on controversial issues from the President, and Justice Baruch Shoham from Tel Aviv.  Shoham, who unlike most Israeli judges, was a mid-European Jew with German qualifications, was considered a common sense judge.  His somewhat deficient comprehension of the finer points of English law was compensated by his craving for justice and fair play.  The esteem felt for him by the Bar in Tel Aviv dictated that – in accordance with the practice of those days – he be invited from time to time to sit on the Court of the Appeal.

            Despite certain tensions between Magor and Shoham, we had a fair minded and competent panel.  The judge to watch was Baram. His faultless knowledge of precedents could give rise to unexpected points in respect of the contributory negligence doctrine.  On such technical issues, both Magor and Shoham might take their cue from him.  In the event, though, the issue was solved without argument.  When I arrived in court, Ruth Schwartz showed me a telegram, just received from her office, advising that Solbon had waived the defence.  They had no objection to our arguing the point, with a view to its determination for future cases.  Still, regardless of the decision, the damages awarded to Simha were not to be ‘apportioned’.

            Boaz displayed no surprise.  He confided that, after a discreet conversation with Amnon Degan, he anticipated such a move.  He knew also that Simha’s gang, accompanied by other Solbon employees, had made representations on this point to the local Management Committee.

“I only hope Magor won’t pounce on me for advising them at such a late stage.  He is not the most tolerant man in the world,” I let my apprehension show.

“Tell them you had just received the instructions.  If necessary, I’ll come in with a rear-guard action.  But, in any event, we can still argue it for the sake of the textbooks.  Baram would love a chance to analyse and pontificate, they’ll let him carry the day on that!  Nice to give the poor chap a chance to play first fiddle.”

            As it happened, events rendered the move unnecessary.  As soon as the possibility of arguing the point for future reference was raised, Baram had a whispered conference with the two other judges. When they finished, Magor advised us that the Law Reform Commission had just appointment a Committee, charged with the task of reviewing our law of torts.  Justice Baram was to be Chairman.  In the circumstances, the proper course to be taken by counsel would be to submit their views on this specific issue (or any others) to the Committee.  The Court ought to keep out.

             “The only issue is the measure of damages,” pronounced the President. “Mr. Tamir.”

“Your Honours,” Boaz spoke evenly but I sensed he was embarrassed. “On this issue, the plaintiff,  Mr. Balani, wishes to address Your Honours in person.”

“But Mr. Tamir,” Magor let his surprise show. “You are the plaintiff’s representative.  Unless discharged, you are the proper person to address the Court.  And I am confident my Brothers – just like myself – would not wish to be deprived of your eloquence!”

“The plaintiff, though, feels that the interest of justice would be better served if, on this issue, he presented his case himself.”

“But we do have to follow the rules of procedure,” Magor was both firm and stern.

“But the interest of justice, Mr President, is paramount,” Baruch Shoham spoke just as decisively but without a slant.  “I do think they should prevail over formal practice.”

“But should we hear two addresses by one party.  I mean by the plaintiff and by his counsel?” asked Magor.

“I agree this would be unacceptable,” said Shoham.  “If the plaintiff addressed us in person, his counsel should not be allowed to address us on the issue involved.  That, at least, is the mid-European practice!  Still, such an issue of practice must rest with the President.”

            Magor was reflecting, when Justice Baram passed to him a tightly written note.  For a second, Magor looked surprised.  Then, raising his head, he delivered his ruling. “Our Brother Baram, with his exceptional knowledge of precedents, tells me that, even in English law, some authorities sanction the procedure just advocated by Brother Shoham.  Accordingly, your application  to address the Court is granted, Mr Balani.  But your counsel, Mr Tamir, will not  argue this matter further before us.  Well, I shall call a 15 minutes recess so the courtroom can be rearranged.  And, Mr. Tamir, will you kindly explain to Mr. Balani the importance of speaking slowly and clearly so as to enable our stenographer to follow.”

            We all  bowed as the Court rose. Shoham, who knew Boaz and me well, smiled at us.  The President and Baram engaged in a short conversation on their way out.  Baram bestowed on Simha a sympathetic glance.

             Simha’s speech was neither polished nor literary.  Yet, it was a masterpiece.  Notwithstanding the faulty grammar and unsophisticated vocabulary, it was eloquent and left an impact.  Translating it into English is a difficult task. Still, I can give its gist and, in the process, seek to recreate the atmosphere.

            Simha started by describing the life he had led before the accident.   An out of doors man, he had been proud of his agility and energy.  Unlike other men of his age, who grabbed the opportunity to withdraw to a desk job, he craved to remain in the fresh air.  Knowing he was not the leader type, he gave up the foreman’s job and opted to remain a member of the gang.  This way he felt happy and fulfilled.

            His lust for fresh air had also been a key factor in his private life.  He remembered with pride the many football matches to which he had taken Shimon and the matches he used to have with him and his schoolmates.  When he felt he was no longer able to run as fast as them, he turned himself into a trainer. Their victory of a local trophy had filled him with pride, his perseverance, patience and skill as instructor had paved their way to victory.

            Simha’s speech did not display any bitterness or any antagonism towards his employers.  Solbon were good ‘masters’ and had their employees’ interests at heart.  He conceded that if the instructions in the manual had been observed when the truck had been  loaded, and if his gang had been more careful when unloading,  he would still be the same old  Simha.  Human error, though, could never be ruled out, from time to time it was bound to take place.  That the consequences had turned out to be that drastic was a stroke of bad luck.

“But Mr Balani,” interjected the President, “you stepped into the danger zone voluntarily.  The point is not pressed on us by the defendants, so, it is academic.  Still, I should like to understand.”

 “Your Honour,” Simha spoke spontaneously, “I didn’t think. It’s just that I saw Yossi – my future son in law – and that was that.  And I also saw, at the same minute, my daughter’s face.”

“Do you think you would have rushed in if Yossi weren’t there?” asked Baram.

“I honestly don’t know, Your Honour. I acted …”

“… instinctively,” the President interjected as Simha struggled for the word.

“Thank you Your Honour,” Simha spoke warmly.

         Resuming his address, Simha pointed out that the injuries sustained by him, which would be intolerable in the case of any man, were particularly hard on him.  A scholar might still pursue his interest, such as a reading habit.  A musician, though unable to play his instrument, would still enjoy listening to records; and an artist may still draw or paint, even if not at full speed.  He, in contrast, lost not only his ability to make a livelihood but also his comforts of life.  Being unable to write and having but a limited reading knowledge, his only option would be to turn to weaving or to taking up a receptionist’s or other light office job.  He was left without any hobby or interest to pursue.

“But, surely,” said Shoham, “you are not giving up.  People must always make the best of what is left to them!”

“I know, Your Honour,” agreed Simha.  “I am told that an Austrian poet kept writing even after he was confined to sickbed, one of Shimon’s friends told me.  But in my case: the options are very limited.”

“I know,” said Shoham.

“So, my loss is great, Your Honours, very great,” sighed Simha.

“Nobody would question this,” agreed the President, failing to meet Simha’s glance.

           Simha concluded his speech with a plea for understanding.  None of the Judges had any questions to raise.  A note from Ruth Schwartz – Rotem’s in-house lawyer – instructed me not to reply. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that Amnon Degan was sitting beside her.  He must have arrived shortly after Simha started his address.

            Emphasising the Court’s regrets of being deprived of the eloquence of both Boaz and myself, the President advised that judgment would be delivered after the lunch break.

           As soon as the Justices had retired, I walked across the courtroom and congratulated Simha. “You think I spoke well, Mr.  Eli?”

           “You did, Simha, you did indeed,” I assured him. 

“You come and visit me when we buy a big nice house from the profits Shimon makes in his business!”

“I’ll be delighted to come, Simha.  And I’m sure you’ll get a big award.  I watched their faces.”

X.  POST MORTEM

 

            Boaz  and I had lunch in a small vegetarian eatery patronised by students.  The food was wholesome and cheap even if plain. Boaz dug enthusiastically into a dish of aubergines and okra  (called Bamia in our part of the world) and, for a while, was oblivious to what was going on  around him. When he finished, he licked his fingers, grinned and asked amiably. “Well, what do you think of today’s proceedings?”

“Simha’s speech left an impact on the Judges.”

“You, too, were moved!”

“At our age, we are supposed to be emotive.  The Judges, in contrast, are old hands!”

“A nice aphorism,” chuckled Boaz. “I suppose you haven’t heard about ‘old fools’ and ‘sugar daddies’. As a rule, such ‘prodigies’ are well beyond the great ‘passions’ of life.  But this does not stop them from ‘falling’!”

“True,” I conceded.  “But how about Judges?”

“They are human,” replied Boaz.  “And believe me: to them too that unmentioned injury was the coup de grace.”

“You are right.  And you deserve to be congratulated. Simha will get a pretty decent award from them.”

“You congratulated the right person earlier on,” Boaz spoke sombrely. “We, Eli, were nothing but the paraphernalia! Simha won the day, it was his hour of glory.  And Solbon rose to the occasion.  But they, Eli, did not lose their cool.”

          I knew what was on Boaz’s mind. In the long run, the payment of a lump sum – be it as substantial as may be – would cost Solbon and their insurers, Rotem, less than the pension offered to Simha.  The pension was bound to go up with inflation and, over the years, the medical bills could escalate alarmingly.  Simha’s wages, too, would have gone up periodically, reflecting escalations in the cost of living.  Indeed, if Simha had accepted the generous offer made to him, he would have remained a long term liability on the books of Solbon or Rotem.  A lump sum obviated this problem.

“But, Boaz,” I quizzed. “Suppose Shimon loses the money, won’t Solbon do something to alleviate Simha’s plight?  Won’t they feel sort of obliged to provide some assistance?”

“I doubt it. They won’t be under a legal obligation to do so and they’re not a charitable institution.”

“How about Dagan?  The decision to drop contributory negligence and the instruction not to reply to Simha’s speech must have come from him.”

“Probably; but it wasn’t just his decision.  The Trade Union and a group of Simha’s buddies did their own ‘little bit’ of pushing.  I coached them.  And, in any event, don’t you make any mistake about Dagan. In the army he was reputed a fair but hard man.  If you asked for ‘justice’ he’d listen.  If you looked for ‘clemency’ or ‘pity’, it was better to turn to someone else.  In our case, Dagan ensured Simha got maximum compensation.  But once Simha got justice – whatever this may mean – Dagan would feel he’d done his ‘duty’.  Simha won’t get any more help from him.”

“Are you sure Dagan is like this?”

 “When Dagan’s daughter bombed her first year at the University, he consoled her and raised the money to give her a second chance.  When she panicked in the next year and failed again, he told her she was on her own.”  

            Boaz got things right.  In the ultimate, the two of us were soft touches.  In contrast, the world around us was hard, unsentimental and uncaring.  This meant that Simha Balani’s future depended on Shimon’s business acumen.  If the son did well, the crippled father would thrive.  If Shimon failed, Simha’s lot would turn into sheer misery.  Malka would take the brunt of it, but he, too, would suffer. Dejected and disillusioned, they would slowly waste away.  True, Shimon might still try to do the right thing by his father. But much would depend on the girl Shimon married.  If she was a selfish, unkindly woman, she would drive a wedge between father and son.

“Do you know what Shimon proposes to do with the money?” I asked. “Hopefully he’s not putting it into an unsound business.”

“I have no idea. Time will tell.”

“So, despite a phenomenal award Simha may still be the looser.”

 

             At 2.00pm, the Court reconvened.  Boaz explained that the plaintiff had to return to Tel Aviv to attend his physiotherapy session. Nodding sympathetically, the President delivered the Court’s unanimous judgment.  Emphasising the case rested on its own facts and should not be regarded a precedent, Simha was awarded the unheard  amount of IL400,000.

            Boaz got ready to take the train back to Tel Aviv. Miri and the children were expecting him. Having some time to kill, I accompanied him to the station, then situated in the German Colony.  

As soon as we entered the cafeteria, I raised a question that had been weighing on my mind. “Who, then, who is the real gainer? Surely not Simha! His lot depends on Shimon’s business acumen.

“I agree. Still, he had his hour of glory when he addressed the Court.  It’s a memory he’ll cherish for the rest of his life!”

“And, as we’ve also agreed, Solbon and Rotem aren’t the real losers,” I pointed out.

“True.  They’ll be glad to wipe the liability off their books. And they’re bound to get a favourable Press for their ‘decent behaviour’!  They’d love being called ‘fair players’!”

“How about the ‘contributory negligence’ point?”

“Baram’s Committee will take care of it.  The cost incurred by Rotem’s will be covered  by a rise in premiums.  Their ‘loss’ will be passed on to policy holders.  So, it ain’t a big deal.”

“Are we – I mean you and me – the losers, then?”

“Not really, Eli.  All in all we had a relaxing day in Court and both of us left a good impression. If we remain in practice, the appearance might stand us in good stead in time to come!  Still, neither of us had the chance to shine, we ain’t big winners either!”

“Who then is the winner – Shimon and his partners?”

“Not if they lose the money; and I think they will.”

“So, it is a case without real gainers  and losers?” I asked rhetorically.

“Except that, perhaps, the two of us got a better understanding of the working of our venerable law.  For me it drove home the inadequacies of our system!”

 XI.  UNEXPECTED DEVELOPMENT

 

            Boaz’s last words struck a chord. All Along, I had been perturbed by a sense of helplessness.  I wanted to do something for Simha – smart Alec as he might be – because I came to like him.  The thought of his wasting away, wallowing in his own filth, appalled me. Without risking my future by crossing the floor, I had pulled as many strings as I could, hoping to work out an arrangement like a pension he could not afford to turn down.  Jacob Keren and Ehud Morag, too, did their bit.  In the end, though, a commonplace emotion on Simha’s part defeated our efforts.  And the law could not and would not intervene.

“The law is an ass,” I observed.

“Precisely,” said Boaz.  “Even if traditional lawyers call ‘her’ our muse and mistress, and this time Eli, ‘her’ – or rather ‘its’ – stupidity might cause you harm indirectly!”

“Eh?”

“You  are looking forward to the materialisation of our plans!”

“As you well know.”

 

            He was referring to tacit understanding between Boaz, Rachel, Uzi Bloch of a renowned firm, and myself.  As soon as we felt we had learned all we could in our existing postings, we intended to defect and start our new law firm. Boaz was to be the Managing Partner.  Each of us knew some banks and insurance companies.  I n addition, a few  commercial firms were going to move their business discreetly in our direction.  Our proposed firm had a rosy future.  Was Boaz hinting it may all come to naught?

“I think you got the drift,” Boaz answered the question I did not dare to ask. “I am talking about the partnership we’ve been planning!”

“What’s Simha got to do with it? His case has no bearing on our plans,” I protested. 

“You are wrong there.  Simha’s case demonstrates how little you can achieve as a lawyer!  I’ve had misgivings for a while and this case clinches them.  And, Eli, you can’t seriously argue that yet another law firm might do any good to anybody?”

“You are wrong there. It’ll give us  a decent living and interesting work!”

“How about society as a whole?”

“Occasionally, Boaz, you get a case which enables you to turn the scales – to change the law. And once you are a judge, you can reform the law, even if through the back door!”

“Like Ehud Morag on this occasion?”

“True, he failed. But Baram’s Committee will reform the antiquated law of contributory negligence which we got from England!”

“But Eli, Baram is to head a Committee appointed by Parliament.  As a judge, his chances of changing the law arise sporadically, only if a suitable case comes up for decision.”

 

            Boaz had a point. After four years with Jacob Keren I, too, had lost any illusions about the legal process.  Far from being a forum of justice, the courtroom constituted an arena.  Its gladiators – the lawyers – conducted their skirmishes – known as trials – by a skilful manipulation of rules of procedure and of legal doctrines.  The word ‘justice’ – adroitly brandished by the legal gladiators – was nothing but rhetoric. In reality, Fortuna’s presence in the courtroom was more evident than Justus’. Occasionally, judges could swing a case in the direction of justice but more often than not were satisfied to apply precedents.  

 

“But, then, what is the answer, Boaz?”

“A reformer’s place is in Parliament: not amongst practising lawyers.”

“What are you telling me?”

“I have decided to leave the law and enter politics.  I am standing for election in September, Mapam has asked me to join them.”

            I looked at him in disbelief. Mapam was a radical party.  It represented the left wing of the labour movement and of the Kibbutzim.  Most of their MPs were commonsense people, with little education or learning.  Professionals were conspicuous by their absence from their ranks.  What had induced Boaz to throw his lot in with them and how would he possibly fit in?  As if he could read my mind, Boaz answered both questions.

“Miri’s Kibbutz is affiliated to Mapam. Their leadership told her they needed a few professionals in Parliament and so she talked to me.  Ideologically, I have identified with their ideals for years.  So, you see, Eli, if I’m not going to be too capricious or cocky, I’d fit in.”

“But, Boaz: do you have the makings of a politician?”

“What do you mean?”

“You are a fine lawyer.  By the time you’re forty the establishment will  clamour to kick you up onto the Bench.  If you wait another ten years in the ranks, you’d have every chance of going straight to the Supreme Court. Magor’s job may one day go your way …”

“Now, now, Eli – that’s pure flattery,” Boaz broke in but, all the same, sounded pleased.

            “You always topped class in Law School!”

“But …” Boaz prompted.

“ … do you have the aptitude for politics?  The goings can get rough!”

“Courts aren’t  beds of roses,” Boaz reminded me.

“But in comparison with politics, the goings are smooth and civilised!”

“I’ll have to adapt.  It won’t be easy.  But in politics you may leave a real impact on the State, not just on individual cases which come up for decision.”

“That’s  true,” I had to concede.

 

            It was clear Boaz had made up his mind.  One of my Doppelgängers – the hidden idealist –   applauded.  The other – the cynic who knew what was going on in law firms and in business – was dismayed.  My own dreams were being shattered. And my friend’s future became a cause for concern.  I knew Boaz was frugal but, like myself, he appreciated having his comforts, and he enjoyed the standard of living secured by a successful practice.

“You’ll have to tighten your belt, Boaz.  A left-wing politician has to exist on a pittance.  I know your aunt in America left you some dough. But for how long can this sustain Miri, the kids and yourself?  Even if you wish to make the sacrifice, are you being fair to them?”

“Miri is all in support.  And she’ll pull strings in Mapam.  Also, she can once again give some private tuition after work, so, we’ll have two incomes.   I won’t let money stand in my way.”

“You are taking a jump blindfolded, Boaz: think of the risk!”

“I have; and my mind is made up!”

“Oh, well; so that’s that,” I said resignedly.

“But, Eli, Rachel, Uzi and you can go ahead without me.  You’ll have to make some adjustments but that’s all.  Rachel would be a good Managing Partner.  If she doesn’t want the top post you would have to look around.”

“But, Boaz, it’s not that simple.  We expected you to take the lead.  Still, we’ll have to manage.”

 

            Boaz was about to answer when we heard the train rolled in.  To secure a good seat, Boaz had to rush into one of the wagons without delay.  It took a while before his head emerged from a window of a wagon down the platform.  By the time I managed to get there, the closing of the doors signalled the train was getting ready to leave.

“Give my love to Miri and the kids,” I yelled as the train started to move.

“Thanks. See you soon in our place,” he called back.    

 

            I could have taken a bus to the hotel in King George street but concluded that a brisk walk back to the City centre would do me good.  As it started to drizzle, I fastened my rain coat’s belt and raised the collar.

  Grudgingly, I recalled an Eastern paradigm comparing the world to a  pond.  The ripples caused by a pebble thrown into it could have far reaching effects.  In the Balani case, an accident commencing with a carelessly loaded truck had effected the plans for a new legal partnership.

            For the time being, though, this fine theoretical analysis had to be put on a back burner.  Later in the day I proposed to attend a recital.  A  young violinist, who was later going to make a name for himself, was playing Beethoven’s Kreutzer and Spring.  The pianist was an old classmate, who made a name for herself.  It was bound to be a pleasant evening.

            Sensing that, in one way or another, the big issues would take care of themselves, I smiled in anticipation of the delightful relaxation in store.  It would be a lovely sequel to the ordeal in Court  and the subsequent tense conversation of the day.  As long as you could still enjoy yourself, you remained both alive and happy.  And that – I concluded – was what mattered in our daily existence.