The Luck of Valentino
THE LUCK OF VALENTINO
(Tel Aviv 1956)
The correspondence respecting the case of Omri Tal versus
Solomon Vered and Movil & Co. Ltd was dumped unceremoniously on my desk
late in the morning, on a heavily clouded day in early spring, by
Jacob Keren, sole proprietor of J. Keren & Associates, Advocates, of
“I
can’t understand why this idiotic matter has been sent to us. Ruth Schwartz
ought to handle such a simple case from her smart desk at Rotem. Find out why she passed it on to us, will you,
Eli?”
“When
do you need the answer, Mr Keren?”
“Yesterday!!!”
he muttered.
“I’ll
attend to it over lunch,” I heard my mute reply.
“Very
good! And – before I forget – think who would be good person to handle the
case! And that file of Kadmon you are working on can wait: he sat on it for three months!”
“Very
well, Mr Keren!”
“And,
Eli, did I see you yesterday in ‘Habimah’?”
“I
was there. I love Peer Gynt! Where were you seated?”
“Circle,
3rd Row! What did you think of the performance?”
“Excellent.
But I wish Finkel had curbed his Russian accent!”
“You can’t expect everybody to speak Hebrew like a Yekke!” He retorted, departing before I had a chance to recover.
It was fortunate
that the last exchange took place in 1958. Three years earlier on, when I had joined Keren’s firm during my last year in Law School,
his pungent retort would have crushed me. My long spell in
his firm, taught me to take Jacob Keren’s acid tongue
with a pinch of salt. To start with, it had dawned on me that, like
most Russian Jews, Keren respected the mid-European German speaking Jewry. His jibes at the Yekkes camouflaged cultural envy. I had also worked out that Keren’s
assessment of his staff was based on their performance. If you were
good at your job, you could safely
ignore his outbursts, tantrums and patent rudeness.
Jacob
Keren’s mannerism did not endear him to his employees. Many banged the door
never to return. On a few occasions, I, too, came close to quitting. Invariably,
though, I decided to stick it out. Jacob Keren was a brilliant courtroom
tactician, had a singularly sharp and methodical legal mind and was an
excellent teacher. During my years in his firm, I grew from a starry-eyed law
graduate into a realistic and down to earth lawyer.
Placing Kadmon’s file in my ‘hold’ tray, I got stuck into
the papers referred to me. Running quickly through them, I concluded that
Keren’s outburst was well founded. The facts of the case were plain. Omri Tal,
a young dental technician, had been riding home on his bicycle after a pleasant
evening in a dancing club in Ramat-Gan. He was proceeding along a poorly lit
and narrow stretch of road on his way back to Tel-Aviv, when a truck bumped
into him. Fortunately, he escaped without head or back injuries. But his right leg was a mess. His shin and thigh
bones sustained multiple fractures and
his knee
cap was smashed. Omri spent eight
days in hospital followed by six weeks at home, with his leg in a cast. The
bones healed. But the report of his orthopaedic surgeon affirmed that a certain weakness would remain for life
and that his knee would be stiff for years to come. A second orthopaedic
surgeon, engaged by our clients – the Rotem Insurance Company –
confirmed that Omri’s injury was of a ‘permanent or semi-permanent’
nature.
Omri Tal conceded
that the accident was caused in part
by his own ‘stupidity’. The
charger, connected to the headlight of his bike, had been out of order for a
few days and he had not “had the time to get it fixed or to buy a torch”. His dark clothes exacerbated the visibility
problem. The driver, who had knocked Omri
off his bike, was also at fault. Solomon
Vered had been on the road since 6.00 a.m. On his own admission, he had been ‘dead
tired’ when he picked up his last load for the
day in Netanya. The delivery, though, was marked ‘urgent’. The designated relief driver was ill in bed
and Solomon Vered, whose son was in his third year in the School of
Engineering, coveted the generous overtime pay.
He conceded that, had he not been ‘so exhausted’, he might have spotted
Omri although the bike was without lights.
The basic legal position was clear: the loss was to be
apportioned based on the parties’ fault, which meant that each of them had to
bear a part reflecting his contribution to the occurrence of the accident. In the instant case, any lawyer practising in
the field would have predicted a division of approximately fifty-fifty, with a
possible variation of up to 10% either way depending on the facts emerging in
the cross-examination. It followed that Rotem had to reckon with the payment of
damages equalling about one half of the loss sustained by Omri.
The difficulty in the case was in quantifying that
loss. Naturally, there was no argument
about the amount due to Omri for the
money he lost during the eight weeks he was unable to work. His annual income was about IL4,000. Accordingly, this
loss amounted to about IL615.00. Rotem had agreed to pay half of that amount and
was prepared to cover Omri’s medical expenses. In addition, the firm was
prepared to pay an appropriate sum by way of
damages to compensate him for the pain
and sufferings he had sustained during the period involved.
The contentious element
concerned two further claims made by Omri’s lawyers. One was for loss of future earnings resulting from the permanent injury
to his right leg. In a letter addressed to Rotem, Omri’s lawyer, Boaz
Tamir, said that dental technicians did most of their work on their feet, standing by their
bench or “moving about in their sophisticated workshops, equipped with kilns, moulds and other instruments placed on different work
stations”. Omri’s accident was bound to
slow him down considerably, reducing his foreseeable future earnings by at least 50%. Taking into account all factors,
including the benefit derived by the payment of a lump sum ahead of the anticipated
earnings, the damages so suffered were assessed at IL18,000.00. Ruth Schwartz, Rotem’s in-house legal adviser, expressed her strong
disagreement in her reply. Jacob Keren
was less adamant. “Ask for further particulars,” was scribbled in
the margin of our copy of Boaz Tamir’s letter.
Omri’s other controversial claim had nothing to do with
his profession. For the three years preceding the accident, he and his charming
girl friend had held the Israeli Dancing
Club’s trophy for the Rumba and were also voted
the runners up in the Polish Folk Dances competition. Boaz Tamir dealt with this aspect of the claim in a
few pungent sentences: “It is a shame
that our client’s injuries – which will prevent him from taking
part in further dancing competitions – have
deprived the Israeli World
of Art of the
stimulating input of a most able and
promising participant. It saddens us to
have to say that our client will never regain his skills as a virtuoso dancer.
The quality of his life will, thus, not be the same as prior to the accident!”
The
amount of IL30,000.00 demanded for the ‘ensuing loss of enjoyment of life and
consequential mental pain’ made me gasp.
Ruth Schwartz’s reaction had been equally strong. In her reply, she described the claim as unreasonable and wildly excessive. On this point, Jacob
Keren voiced his consent, scribbling: “Why not suggest the young man take up a less strenuous
hobby like playing the piano or crossword puzzles?”
Usually, cases of this sort ended with an amicable
settlement. But Boaz Tamir was a tough, tenacious and shrewd courtroom virtuoso. I had argued
cases against him in mock trials during our days in
Ruth knew she was no match for Boaz. When
he rejected her overture for a settlement, she decided to play safe. She passed the file
on to her old pupil-master and first employer, Jacob Keren. His jaundiced remarks about the referral were
triggered by his natural resentment of employees who left his firm to join the
staff of one of his major clients. Although for all outward appearances he
remained on good term with Ruth, he continued to smoulder about her desertion.
I spent the next two hours on a further perusal of the
documents. I soon noted that Boaz had cooked his figures. A meticulous search
in our library established, further,
that the claim for Omri’s loss of future enjoyment on life was flawed. In his enthusiastic quest for justice, Boaz had
conveniently forgotten that the law
imposed on the injured party a duty to mitigate his loss. This meant that if
Omri was no longer able to pursue his original vocation or hobby he had to look
for suitable alternatives. Encapsulating
my conclusions in a short, handwritten note, I
added: “I suggest we call the plaintiff’s bluff: in my opinion, Hannah Hod is the best person to
take charge.” Satisfied with my decision, I delivered the file to Jacob Keren’s secretary. Then, just as the clock chimed 2.00pm, I
rushed out to grab a sandwich for lunch.
II. TEAMING WITH HANNAH
My choice of
Hannah was partly explainable by the friendship I felt for her. Although Hannah’s solid Hamburgese background
differed in more than one way from my relaxed and light-hearted Viennese milieu,
both of us were Yekkes. In a firm dominated by Russian Jews and Sabres this
cultural affinity drew us together.
Every so often, when we felt alienated by the rough mannerismand Chutzpah of our colleagues, we reverted to German,
earning hostile glances from those present.
In addition, Hannah and I shared a taste for books and for good films.
Frequently, we lent German novels to one another and, occasionally, went together to the cinema.
Another, even stranger, bond was
that both of us suffered from Asthma. When either of us came down with an attack, the other lent a supportive shoulder.
A romance, though, was out of the question. To start
with, Hannah was my senior by some
fourteen years, had been divorced by her husband after twelve years
of an unhappy marriage and had a
daughter aged ten. She had let it be known that another involvement was not on the
cards unless she met a man, in her own age group, who was certain to be a dependable companion and a model stepfather. Obviously, I was not mister right. Another disincentive was Hannah’s
down to earth and uncompromising approach to life. She was simply not of the material of which dreams are made. Her plain looks, gaunt figure and sharp
tongue did the rest. In the event, we had developed a
relationship of sister and brother. It bound us together without producing
the undesirable side effects often associated with an
affair.
Professionally, too, Hannah and I got on famously. Her stamina and perseverance, her
skill as a cross-examiner, her ready grasp of facts and her sheer doggedness made her an effective courtroom advocate. I had a more
analytical and academic approach to legal problems and an inborn knack for spotting weak points. So, in
effect, we complemented each other’s skills. When pitted together, we formed a
formidable team.
My recommendation that she take charge of the Omri Tal case was, therefore, dictated not only by subjective but also by objective considerations. She would nip Boaz Tamir’s attempt to steal a march in the bud, would know how to handle witnesses coached by him and, further, would thrive on piercing the veil of any demagogic or fancy argument Boaz chose to raise. My own role, I smiled inwardly, would be to undermine Boaz’s performance by placing traps on his course. This was the strategy I had used against him on previous occasions.
Although the Omri Tal case appeared lacklustre, I expected
Hannah to take charge happily. There was, after all, room
for imaginative manoeuvrings and for an apt cross-examination. I was surprised by the scowl that marred her
face when, two days after my conversation with Keren, she barged into my office and sat on the edge of my desk “I thought you were my friend, Mr Eliahu Peter Berger!”
“Never
must you question me!” I adapted the classic Wagnerian phrase.
“Ha, Ha, Ha!” She retorted, letting her mouth drop. “But you better tell me – what
made you ask Keren to assign this blasted Omri Tal case to me?”
“You
are the best person for it!”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Sir Galahad! That
case is well within the brilliant horizon of Abraham Kadmon.”
“Kadmon
is aging fast: he’s losing touch. He may confound the issues!”
“How
about Ravid then?”
“He’ll
accept an unfavourable settlement and walk to his club early in the afternoon for a drink!”
“So
what? Rotem can afford to be generous, can’t they?”
“They
can! But, Hannah, I’d like to outmanoeuvre Boaz Tamir!”
“Using poor me to settle a score with your pal Boaz? What has he done to you
lately? Stolen your girl friend?”
“No
– Hannah – he is happily married to his Miri; and no – he hasn’t done anything to me. He’s a nice chap and, actually, we’re close
friends! But it’ll do him good to be pegged down from his Olympian heights!”
“So,
you want to teach him a lesson out of friendship and brotherly concern.
Well, well, well – I didn’t know you were such a caring person, my dear Eli. But, then,
life is full of surprises.”
“And for you, Hannah, the case will be a respite: needed, after your recent six weeks trial
with Keren in the lead. Just for once, you can do with a walk-over matter.”
“You have a point there.” Hannah loss of weight and dry cough affirmed that working on a major
case with a martinet like Jacob Keren
took its toll. I was concerned. “Are we on then?”
“Do
I have a choice? So shall we have our orientation conference over lunch?”
For a while we gossiped about our colleagues and the
office staff. When our orders arrived Hannah
turned to our case. It soon transpired that, like myself, she had
spotted the errors in Boaz’s calculation.
We then turned to the first fundamental issue: would Omri Tal’s handicap interfere
with his work in the long run.
“My cousin lost a leg in the
War of Independence,” said Hannah. “But
he’s still one of the best jewellers in Tel Aviv. So why can’t our Omri sit on
his backside when he works!?”
“We better find out more about the work of dental technicians,” I voiced my consent.
“I
intend to,” said Hannah.
“And
how about his dancing?” I prompted.
“This
is the other main issue! We must accept that he won’t end up as the
Israeli Valentino!”
“If he ever had a chance. But, even if he did, he
had shown no aspiration to turn himself
into a professional dancer!”
“True,” agreed Hannah. “But he does not claim loss of
earning under this heading. We’re talking about loss of future enjoyment of
life!”
“Quite.
But why can’t he find some other hobby? He’s young enough to pick one up!”
“Ruth Schwartz’s secretary sent his photo over. Have a look.”
The young, well built and good-looking man, whose face
was brightened by a warm, ingratiating, smile could not be readily associated
with libraries or literary circles. His
zest for life was bound to direct him to
beaches and, perhaps, to soccer. Here was an out of doors man, proud of
his prowess in physical activities.
“Sooner
or later this chap will be back on the dancing floor,” I said. “But then, Boaz
doesn’t assert Omri will never dance
again. All he says is that his client’s wings have been clipped.”
“Quite.
But Boaz will do his best to persuade our Omri to lay off. For a while, our Valentino
will listen to him.”
“So,
we have to bide our time,” I mused. “Putting a P.I. [private investigator:
detective] on his tail too early may be counter-productive. Omri may spot him.”
“Precisely.
I’ll give him six months. So, Eli – you know what do! And one more thing: I’ve not appeared against
Boaz Tamir before. Do tell me a bit about him – is he a good courtroom lawyer?
“He is
indeed: excellent on his feet, keeps his cool in a
crisis, likes to lay traps and is quick to spot one placed by the other
party. And his timing is spot on. Still,
he is not so bright when it comes to legal points: freaks out when
things get complex.”
“How
comes you know him so well? He graduated two years before you?”
“We met in
the Debating Society. Also, we appeared
together and against each other in Moots. And we are friends: don’t you make any mistake about this.”
“You
must have been a first-class team when you joined forces.”
“We
were. But he used to beat me when we crossed swords.”
“So that’s why you’d love to give him a black eye.
But tell me, does he specialise in running down cases?”
“He
doesn’t. Silver &
“That’s
what I thought. So how comes he handles this file?”
“Omri
may have been referred by a common friend?”
“No, Eli, no! Boaz would have passed the file on
to Leah! I suspect Omri is one of his personal friends!”
“But
why does this matter?”
“Boaz
will fight hard for a friend. We all do. So we have to be prepared. Also, I want to know where these two met! They
can’t be school mates: Boaz is some five years older than Omri! Were they brought together by some
common interest or, perhaps, hobby?”
“Boaz hates dancing
and I can’t visualise Omri in a debating club. But – hold on – Boaz likes to
play chess. He’s not too good but, even so, he’s a member of the Emanuel Lasker
Club. He and his Miri love to watch
tournaments!”
“So, we better find out if our Valentino finds
respite from his exertions on the dancing floor in chess! If he is a good
player, we’ll tell him to regain his zest for life in chess. I’ll get the relevant
information from an old friend.”
“That
would be excellent. So, we’re all set?”
“We are. I better write to tell Boaz to direct
all future correspondence and documents
to us!”
“Mind
if I do this?”
“Go
ahead, Eli – but why?”
“Because
I shall use one of Kadmon’s standard letters. I’ll get his secretary to type it
and, I am sure, she’ll dispatch it under ‘in reply please quote: `AK\zb’!”
“What’s
the big idea?” Hannah let her surprise show.
“Boaz
will think it’s Kadmon’s file. He’ll draft his documents and plan his strategy
accordingly!!!”
To my amazement,
Hannah burst into peel of laughter,
earning us the startled glances of patrons filling their stomachs on adjacent
tables. “What’s so funny, Frau Hod?” I asked irked.
“You: my dear Eli!
When you first joined our esteemed firm, you sought to broaden our
narrow horizons by talks about Rousseau’s social contract and about natural justice. And look at you now! Still,
you might as well go ahead and give your pal Boaz a taste of his own
medicine! Only don’t complain if he puts
a laxative in your coffee when he gets a chance!”
III. SETTING
TRAPS
Hannah spent two
weeks in the dental laboratory of an old
acquaintance. In due course, Kadmon’s secretary handed me the documents received in respect of Omri Tal’s claim. To my delight, Boaz Tamir had stepped into my trap. The
verbose documents served on us had been prepared with a view to confusing Kadmon. They failed to state a plain ‘case’ as
was appropriate for a skirmish with down to earth
protagonists like Hannah
and me. Suppressing a malicious grin, I retired to my
office to prepare our response.
Both documents had to spell out full details respecting each
point. If, for instance, the victim of
a running down case averred that the driver had been negligent, he had to provide particulars of the negligence alleged by him.
If, in his Defence, the driver claimed that the victim had been equally
careless, he, too, had to furnish full
details.
If either party’s pleadings failed to meet the mark, the
other party was entitled to demand ‘Further and Better Particulars’. The
ostensible object of such an application was to force the evasive party to
show his hand and to nail him down. In
real life, though, such applications were often utilised as a
delaying tactic. In theory, a
case could be set down for its
hearing as early as thirty days following the last exchange of pleadings. That stage, however, was not reached until all relevant
particulars and details had been
provided. A request for further
particulars could readily buy the
applicant six weeks of
grace and, if his opponent decided to respond by filing a similar
application of his own, the trial would, usually, be delayed by at least three
or even four months.
Boaz’s Statement of Claim left the door wide open for
such manoeuvres. In one clause, for instance, he asserted that Solomon Vered
had driven his truck in a “reckless manner devoid of any
consideration for the safety of others”. Utilising the strict Rules of Court, I
asked, first, for details of Solomon’s
alleged recklessness and, secondly,
demanded to know what measures of safety he should have observed “in
consideration of the safety of others”. In another clause, Boaz averred that
Solomon had undertaken his last trip for the day in “blatant defiance of the
elementary guidelines on driving shifts”. Seeking to get matters straight, I asked ‘my Learned
Friend’ to cite the guidelines in point. Boaz, who had anticipated that his high flying rhetoric would drive Abraham Kadmon to
a quick and favourable settlement, was going grind his teeth when he encountered our dispassionate reaction.
It took me two days to draft my Application for Further and Better Particulars. The end product comprised 120
queries. I then drafted our Defence,
leaving Boaz ample opportunity to demand further particulars on our contentions respecting Omri Tal’s own carelessness,
technically described as
‘contributory negligence’. Boaz was certain to bite and, in this way, make room for another six or seven weeks of delay. Once these skirmishes were over, the courts would be getting ready for their summer recess. The case
would, obviously, have to be set down for trial in the next session.
As was common in those days, my
initial drafts had been illegible scribbles. My
immediate task was to transform them for submission. In an era in which
word-processors were still the subject of science fiction and in
which only senior executives were
equipped with dictating machines, the exercise required skill, patience and
stamina. My first step was to transcribe my untidy notes into neat pages written in as clear a
handwriting as I
could command. It took one of our secretaries three days to type them.
Two days after Hannah returned to the office from her spell in the dental laboratory, we had our strategy
meeting with Jacob Keren. Having regard to the nature of case, there was no
need for the ceremony. Hannah was
an experienced court room gladiator,
and I could be trusted to lay the legal foundations soundly and
carefully. Keren, though, reserved to himself the right to say the last
word in every matter. His philosophy on this point was, in the ultimate,
commendable: he was the head and sole proprietor of Jacob Keren &
Associates. A blemish on its record was
bound to stain his own impeccable
record. He was not prepared to take such a risk!
“Excellent
detective work, Hannah. Our Omri Tal
doesn’t have to stand when he’s at work.
He can sit down and still function efficiently. What a stroke of good luck to find out that three excellent
dental technicians in Tel Aviv do their
work from a wheelchair!”
“Still,
his new work technique will slow him down for
a while,” Hannah commented judiciously.
“For
a year?”
“A year or two. He’ll get used to the new
pattern of work gradually. Sachs was
working again at full speed two years after his spinal injury.”
“And
what do you say about the liability?” Keren asked me.
“I still think it’s about fifty-fifty. Omri
could have got a new battery for
his torch before he rode to the club. There are three
hardware shops on the way.
But Vered could have taken the
well lit road instead of the dark and narrow lane; and he knew he was tired!”
“We’ll
settle on 50-50 liability for his loss of future earnings. The problem is our Valentino’s loss of
enjoyment of life: his dancing career has come to an abrupt end! That’s our
Achilles heel!”
“Surely,
we’ll tell him to concentrate on his
second hobby – you must have seen Ratosh’s note?” said Hannah.
“I have,” grunted Keren. “And you did the right
thing when you followed up the trail. But do you think the information is
helpful?”
“Why not?” Hannah tried to sound adamant. “Ratosh
says Omri Tal played fifth and fourth board in tournaments of the Emanuel Lasker Club.
I’ll try to convince our Omri, in cross, that with
extra time at hand he can end up as
first board!”
“What
do you think, Eli? You play chess. Well, what are Omri’s chances? Ratosh says
Omri is good at openings but freaks out
in the middle game. What do you make of this?”
“Excellent memory but poor strategy and initiative. Not the type of chap who rises to first or even
second board.”
“So, his prospects at chess are nothing like
his record as an amateur dancer!” Keren
summed up.
“Perhaps.
But you didn’t think too much of his prospects as a dancer in our first meeting,”
said Hannah. “What made you change your mind?”
“The Registrar has assigned the case to Ehood
Morag!”
“What
a rotten piece of luck,” said Hannah. “So, we start with a handicap!”
“A
two barrelled handicap,” muttered Keren, adding pointedly: “and I gather that
you, Eli, aren’t – in a manner of
speaking – one of Morag’s favourites!”
“True,”
I admitted.
“I’m
told he snaps at you?”
“He
does sometimes!”
“Well, Eli”
said Keren, his eyes fixed on a point over my shoulder, “a good general knows how to profit from a tactical disadvantage.”
“I
understand,” I affirmed, taking note of Hannah’s sympathetic glance.
“Then
see what you can come up with when he hears this application. You are to handle
it. It’s time you leave your mark!”
“Oh,
very well, then,” I said with resignation.
Keren
smiled malevolently: “Good; but now Hannah and I must turn to another
matter. You’ll excuse us!”
IV. JUSTICE
EHUD MORAG
Back in my minuscule office, I took stock of the
situation. Having the Omri Tal case assigned to Justice Ehood Morag was an unfortunate development. Although Morag
was a fair-minded man and an excellent
lawyer, his sympathy was bound to be with the victim of the accident.
Originally, Ehood
Morag’s liberal orientation had come as surprise to the legal fraternity of Tel
Aviv. Prior to his elevation to the Bench, he
had been one of the leading
advocates engaged by insurance companies in road and industrial accident
cases. He was an accomplished
cross-examiner. He had also been
renowned for driving a hard bargain when cases were settled before trial.
When his appointment was announced, insurance companies
and industrials firms smirked gleefully.
At long last, the Bench would be graced
by an incumbent who could be trusted to
see matters their way. Their jubilation, though, was short lived. Justice Morag’s philosophy bore no resemblance to the sentiments expressed by him in his years as
an advocate. In that earlier role, he owed
a duty to his clients. On the
Bench his duty was to do justice.
He made use of his first-class
knowledge of the tight fisted, often unfair, attitude of insurance companies and of industry. He readily thwarted their
untoward manoeuvres. In no time he became the champion of the cause of the little man, whose overworked and often poorly remunerated lawyer was no match for
the skilled gladiator engaged by the business world.
In our case, his sympathy was bound to be with Omri Tal.
This was the first handicap Hannah and I would face. The second hurdle, alluded
to by Jacob Keren, was of a more personal
nature. One of Ehud Morag’s passions in life was dancing. For years he and his
charming wife, Varda, held the trophies awarded by the Tel Aviv Classical Dances
Society for the Tango and for the Waltz. Eventually, they lost the latter to a
younger, more sophisticated, couple. But they clung to the former. Indeed,
Morag’s nickname in the profession was ‘the Tango King’! From all the judges in
Tel Aviv, he was the one most likely to
feel empathy for Valentino’s mental
sufferings when his dancing career came to such an abrupt and untimely end.
Obviously, Jacob Keren wanted to see Morag off the
case. The oblique instruction given to me was clear. Morag’s weakness was
his hot temper and his inability to suffer fools lightly. On two previous
occasions, his outbursts in reaction to stupid remarks of advocates were used
as grounds for appeals against what were, in reality, well balanced judgments. Sending the cases back
for rehearings, the Court of Appeal pointed
out that justice had to be both done and seen to be done. How could a party to a case be expected
to believe he had been given a fair hearing, when the judge had ridiculed and
abused his legal representative!
Jacob Keren’s idea was to utilise the tension, which
he knew existed between Morag and myself as lever for getting the case set
before another judge. I was to use picador tricks to induce the Judge to charge!
It was a daring stratagem, manifesting Keren’s trust in my discretion and
tactical ability. But despite the hidden compliment involved, I was not pleased
with the task allocated to me. I had developed a great deal of respect for Morag’s
intellectual ability and trusted his integrity. I had no wish to sour the
relationship, which went back to my
second year in
As I tried to decide
how to deal with the Hobson’s choice
fostered on me, I let my mind run through my years of interaction
with Ehud Morag. Shortly after his
elevation to the Bench, Morag was constituted an Adjunct Lecturer at the Hebrew
University of Jerusalem. In my second year of studies, I had enrolled in his course on the ‘Law of Civil Wrong
(Torts)’ and admired the clarity of his lectures and the brilliance of his stimulating and highly
imaginative analysis. Despite his acid tongue, I took his own
tutorials in the course and discovered that Ehud Morag appreciated a good
argument in class and was willing to
consider novel and unorthodox points. In no
time, I became his star student for the year.
The scene changed in my next year at the University when I enrolled in Morag’s optional course on Commercial
Transactions. He took the course over for just one session to fill a gap
created by a resignation of another lecturer. It soon dawned on me that Ehud Morag had no aptitude for the subject. He read his lectures out perfunctorily and
evaded any intricate question raised from the floor. Indeed, my own
understanding of some of the topics, gleaned during periods I had spent as a
cadet in banks, surpassed my teacher’s.
The
sensible reaction would have been to keep
silent and to outshine the rest of the class in the examination. But I was a
contentious young man and, in addition, chagrined to find that my idol had feet
of clay! To give vent to my disappointment, I started to raise confusing points, asked daunting questions and made observations highlighting
absurdities in Morag’s ill conceived analysis of the topic.
Ehood Morag was a fair man. Notwithstanding my boorish
behaviour, I got a high distinction in
Commercial Transactions. His Honour, though, had a long memory. When, after two years of
articles in Jacob Keren’s firm, I was called to the Bar and started to appear in interlocutory matters, Ehud Morag gave me a taste of my own
medicine. True, he listened attentively to each argument I developed and
remained objective in his
decisions. But he gave me a rough time
whenever an opportunity presented itself.
Jacob Keren’s instruction provided a legitimate
opportunity to turn the tables again.
One inner voice whispered that I ought to go ahead.
Another, more sober voice, counselled caution. True, Morag’s taunts and
jibes were humiliating; but they had remained harmless. The same voice reminded me that Ehud
Morag was a fine judge. Why should I damage his
reputation and standing?
Morag leafed
rapidly through the file in front of him.
Although he was well into
his forties, his deportment
displayed the vigour of youth.
Notwithstanding his massive head, which appeared out of place on his short and stocky torso, he projected
the aura of upper-class elegance and self-assurance.
When he was done, Morag closed the file and replaced the
thick reading glasses he had been using with a pair of sleek, lightly tinted,
spectacles.
“Quite
a neatly drafted application, Mr Berger,” he observed with a tight smile. “But you do cross
all the T’s and dot all the I’s!”
“An
old weakness, Your Honour – not easy to shake off!”
“I
am not saying it’s a weakness. Still, it has a bearing on the length of your documents.”
“In this regard, my Learned
Friend is in the good company of Emanuel
Kant and Karl Marx,” chimed in Boaz.
“No
wonder I never finished the first page of The Critique of Pure Reason.
Quite a book,” observed the Judge dryly.
“But,
surely,” I retorted, trying to sound just as detached as the Judge, “the object of this first page is to warn off
the casual reader!”
Ehud Morag, who was the Honorary Treasurer of our Philosophical Society of Israel, ground
his teeth. Boaz Tamir tried hard to suppress a chuckle. He did, at the same
time, give me a wink. Obviously, the first round went to me.
The next move was up to Ehud Morag. In
open court, he would have followed the rules of procedure and asked me to address him in
support of my application. In the less
formal ‘camera meeting’ – where we did
not wear our gowns – most judges tended to speed up the proceedings. In this
spirit, Ehood Morag turned directly to the points that concerned him.
To start with, he instructed both of us to supply details
of the other party’s alleged negligence. When that issue was settled, he turned
to the main point of contention.
“Mr.
Berger, you request that the plaintiff supply particulars of his other hobbies
or interests, if any. Isn’t that a fishing expedition? Why should he provide
details of his personal life and interests?”
“I
agree that a ‘fishing expedition’ is
improper in an application of this type, your Honour
...”
“Quite,”
observed Morag sternly. “Even in cross-examination
a person’s private life should not be
exposed more than is absolutely
necessary.”
“Of
course. But my Learned Friend has opened
the flood gates, if I may use the expression!”
“How?”
“In
clause 24(3)(ii) of the Statement of Claim, which deals with the plaintiff’s loss of enjoyment of life, it
is averred that ‘dancing constituted the plaintiff's main hobby and interest as
well as a major source of pleasure and
satisfaction”. Aren’t we then entitled to explore whether his other hobbies or
interests will minimise or mitigate that loss?”
“But why should that affect the plaintiff's claim based on the sufferings caused to him by
the sudden end to his dancing activities?”
“If
your Honour has already decided that no other interest or hobby can mitigate the plaintiff’s loss on this count, our request for further
particulars on the points in question ought to be denied!”
Stung by Morag’s dismissive tone, I had carried out
Keren’s instruction. The angry flush that spread over the Judge’s face and
the look in his eyes showed that the barb had gone home!
Morag was about to erupt; but just before he did, Boaz Tamir stepped in.
“Perhaps
I could clear the matter up. The
plaintiff's only other hobby and interest is chess. He has
played fifth and occasionally fourth board of the Emanual Lasker Club in national
tournaments. We are prepared to provide
the particulars, although I do not think they have a direct bearing on the
count.”
His words smoothed the stormy waters. Ehud Morag’s face
cleared and the fire went out of his
eyes. Deliberately, he replaced his glasses again and pushed the documents to the
corner of the table. I in turn, bestowed a grateful
glance on Boaz, whose expression had remained immobile throughout. If he sensed how deeply I regretted my antic, he showed no sign of
it.
“Dancing and chess: not an ordinary combination, I
suspect.” Morag was again his composed self. “I know nothing
about chess. What is the Emanuel Lasker Club – something akin to our august Philosophical Society of Israel?”
“In
some ways – except that there are far
more chess players than philosophers,” answered Boaz.
“And
how would you rate the Emanuel Lasker
Club?”
“It’s
the best,” affirmed Boaz.
“What
then is this 4th and 5th board business all about?”
“Ranking.
First Board is top; fifth is the lowest.”
“Is either of you gentlemen a chess player?” asked the Judge, showing a flicker of interest.
“I’m
pretty lousy,” I told him openly.
“Ditto,”
said Boaz. “My Learned Colleague usually wins six of every ten games we play!”
“I
though it was the other way round,” I said uneasily. “Still, neither of us
would be invited to play for the Emanuel Lasker Club. They’d rather arrive
short of one player and concede the set.”
“I
don’t understand,” said Morag testily.
“If one of us played, a chess columnist might
have something to say about the remarkable standard of the fifth player of club,”
muttered Boaz.
“I see.”
Morag broke into a smile. “So why do you
imply that the plaintiff’s achievements at chess are irrelevant?”
he asked Boaz, adding uneasily; “but perhaps we should not touch on this. It has
to settled in the trial. Unless you wish to discuss it informally.”
“I do. Such
a discussion is bound to be of
considerable assistance,” opined
Boaz.
“I agree, your Honour.” My words gave the Judge
the assurance that our deliberations would be kept out of the official record
of the case. A breach of such an undertaking was unthinkable in our tightly knit legal
community. A transgressor would become a pariah.
“Very
well then. Let’s proceed.”
“The
plaintiff’s performance as an amateur dancer was outstanding, Judge,” said
Boaz. “As a chess player, he is mediocre!”
“Do
you agree with this analysis, Mr Berger?”
“Our investigations confirm my Learned Friend’s
statement. Omri Tal is unlikely to rise to second or even third board at the club: he ain’t a chess champion. Still, many people would be proud to play 4th board! If I may say so,
Judge, I’d rather play 4th board in the
Emanuel Lasker Club than be acclaimed a dancing champion!”
“Quite a line
for somebody who might make an exhibition of himself on the floor!” countered Morag dryly. Boaz Tamir
chuckled. Obviously, the second round went to the Judge.
“The matter has to be left for the trial. The
Judge will decide the issue in reliance on the ‘objective bystander test’:
would a young man like Omri Tal get over his ‘loss’ and enjoy other hobbies.
Agreed?”
“Agreed,
Judge,” conceded Boaz.
“So,
anything respecting the ‘victim’s’ hobbies is relevant. Well then, let us turn
back to our session,” said Morag, indicating the off-the-record discussion was
at its end. “Unless you have an objection, Mr Tamir, I propose to grant the application.”
“I have none, Your Honour.” Boaz reverted
to the more formal form of address.
“Still, I should like to reserve the right to serve a similar application. Can I have
three weeks?”
“Mr
Berger?” asked the Judge.
“I
have no objection, Your Honour.”
“Very
well then. But, before we adjourn, I should like to ask why this case has not
been settled. The liability issue, for instance, speaks for itself. Have the parties discussed it?”
“We
negotiated with the insurers, but
reached no agreement,” explained Boaz.
“May
I ask the parties to have a further go? Even if no agreement is reached as
regards the amount, a consensus on
the liability issue is bound to
save a great deal of time.”
“May
we have Your Honour’s tentative views on this issue?” I asked with some hesitation. “Copies of the main depositions are attached to the
pleadings.”
“Off
the record?” Morag asked after a pause.
“Of
course,” said Boaz and I in unison.
“Fifty-fifty
as a starting point. What do you say, Tamir?”
“I agree, subject to a variation of 10 per cent
either way depending on the outcome of the cross.”
“Berger?”
asked the Judge.
“Quite.”
“So
why not use 50-50 as a base for apportioning liability?” Morag trod carefully. “From the
documents available to me at this stage,
I cannot form any impression about the
damages due under the different counts. Perhaps you could consider
these as well?”
“We’ll
sure try, Judge” affirmed Boaz.
“Can we then fix a date for the hearing –
just in case you get stymied?” suggested Morag.
“There may be a need for further applications, Your Honour,” I said apprehensively.
“Depending
on the ‘better particulars’?” asked Morag.
“Yes,
Your Honour!”
“But in that case, we shall be unable to fix a
date before the June break.” Morag spoke testily.
“Also, Your Honour,” stepped
in Boaz. “I appear with Israel Silver in a major industrial accident case,
which has been set for the last week of this term.”
For a few minutes Morag was lost in his thoughts. When,
at long last, he spoke, he let his disappointment show: “When the Registrar
referred the case to me, we both thought it could be tried either before the break or at the very beginning of the next term.
It now appears we were unduly
optimistic. May I suggest that, if the parties wish to take any further procedural steps, they
discuss them amongst themselves. Where each party agrees to the requests of the
other, there is no need to revert to
the Court. I’ll schedule the case for a
pre-trial hearing in chambers in the
second week of the next term. I shall be away during the first week.”
“Very
well, your Honour,” said Boaz. I, in turn, nodded.
As we walked out, Boaz heaved a sigh of relief. “Ehud Morag gives me a headache. He has a knack of complicating simple points!”
“Don’t
you think his analysis of our case is right? Isn’t Morag brilliant?”
“He
is; but only in a narrow field,” conceded Boaz. “But he is unbending and makes no allowances once
he steers a course. Judges like him
forget they deal with human problems: not with philosophical arguments!”
“I
don’t think he is narrow,” I muttered.
“The
way you step up to his defence after doing your best to put him down! You do admire him, don’t you?”
“I
suppose I do.”
“How
about his rotten performance in his commercial law course. You showed him up there!”
“It
ain’t his field, Boaz!”
“That’s what I am getting at. A man with his ability
should have spent some time in the library and prepared a
decent series of lectures. He is up to it!”
“Of course he is. His commercial law
course was disappointing. Perhaps he
was too busy?”
“No,
Eli, he was too bloody arrogant. It’s the same in his other activities. Take
his interest in philosophy: he has read every scrap of paper written by writers he likes. But he ‘can’t be bothered’ to read Kant. I’m told it’s
the same in the dancing club. He sticks to Waltz and Tango, which he says are civilised.
You won’t get him to try a Polka. Sheer arrogance and narrow mindedness!”
“Oh well,we’ll have to agree to disagree,” I
gave in, knowing in my heart of hearts that Boaz was a better judge of human
nature than myself.
Boaz and I relished the succulent Shashlik and Kebabs, the marinated eggplants and the Pitas dipped into the
delicious Humus. As we kept indulging in small talk, I recalled our days at the
After he graduated, Boaz Tamir left
When I saw her, I opened my eyes wide. The bride was not the type of easy going,
light hearted, glamour girl we used to
associate with the lady’s killer of Jerusalem.
She struck me as a caring, self assured, dependable and warm hearted woman, whose beauty lay in her
character and outlook on life.
Her plain looks did not detract from the impact left by her personality
and by her warm, dark brown, eyes.
“So you are Eli,” she said when I called
on them a few weeks after their wedding. “Boaz never stops talking about your days in
“Hopefully
he told you only good things, Miriam,” I said lamely.
“Please, call me Miri – all my friends do. And I’m sure there are only good things to tell,” she answered with a
smile that transformed her face.
“I
hope I’ll live up to your expectations,” I said, starting to feel at home.
Miri had prepared an excellent meal. In response to my
compliments she revealed how she had picked the art up from her
mother. Long before the family migrated to Palestine, Mrs. Dagan (Kornfeld in those days) had run a table d'hote in
Then,
to my dismay, I felt the first wheeze and the asthmatic’s dreaded sense of choking.
Trying awkwardly to conceal my inhaler in my palm, I took two puffs and, to my relief, found that the
tight discomfort in my
chest was abating.
“How long have you suffered from it?” asked Miri. Boaz, who knew I was reticent on the subject, looked at me
with unease. Miri’s directness, though,
had disarmed me.
“Since
I was a boy of 4 or 5, Miri. It started after a bout of pneumonia I got when we
were refugees in
“I
had asthma when I was a child,” she volunteered. “I grew out of it in my teens.
And you, Eli, should not take things that can bring it on, like sweet wine.
There’s nothing to be embarrassed about: you can be sure people understand.” Discreet Boaz looked at her reproachfully. I, though, was not offended: Miri had spoken sincerely and her words made sense. Smiling at
both of them, I thought to myself that Fortuna had been at her gracious best when she brought Boaz and Miri together.
During the next two years I spent many a happy evening in their comfortable flat in North Tel Aviv, with its pleasant glimpses of
the Yarkon river. Boaz was rising fast in Israel Silver’s office and
Miri coped well with her two careers: the meticulous housewife
and the model schoolteacher. To the regret of all their friends, the atmosphere of solid well being changed thereafter. Miri, who was a few years older than Boaz and
who was
concerned about her maternal age, decided to start a family. For a while
Boaz resisted: he was blissfully happy
with her and satisfied with his career. He craved for no permutation. In the end, though, he
gave way.
Miri had a difficult pregnancy. The worried look that
often crept over Boaz’s face was a source of concern to all his friends. Fortunately, he did not
allow his personal problems to affect his work. On occasions, though,
he appeared close to breaking
point. As time went on, calling on them became an ordeal. Miri continued to
shower her hospitality when a guest turned up. To our
dismay, she often rushed down the three flights of stairs leading to their
flat to get some sweetmeats or soft
drinks from the grocer on the corner. Like other friends, I concluded it was
best to keep away for a while.
Matters took a turn for the better when little
Ruthi arrived. Leaving the dining room at the Kibbutz in charge of her second
in command, Miri’s mother came down to Tel Aviv to help
her daughter out. Miri recovered in no
time and was again able to welcome guests with the ease of earlier days. Once again, many of us flocked to their home.
This happy state was not disrupted by Miri’s second pregnancy which went well. Unfortunately, she
took things too lightly, carrying on her full-time job until, one sad morning,
she had to be rushed to hospital. To
everyone’s relief, the episode ended without a tragedy: Miri recovered after a few weeks. But baby Benjamin, who had arrived prematurely, remained
undersize and sickly. After a number of heavy head and chest cold, he had his first attack of asthma.
Despite the favourable diagnosis of two paediatricians
and the care lavished on him by his parents, he was unable to shake it off.
Benjamin's condition led to a turning point in the Tamir’s fortunes. Determined to nurse her son back to health,
Miri resigned her job and, before long, the loss of her salary triggered financial problems. Eventually, their house
loan fell into arrears. Although the bank agreed to reinstate it and to extend the repayment period, the interest rate applied to the new package was considerably higher than that charged originally. In consequence, the reduction of
the monthly instalments was smaller than the Tamirs had anticipated. Occasionally, Miri was able
to help keep their heads above water by giving private tuition. But more often than not, they were short of cash.
“A
penny for your thoughts, Eli,” I heard Boaz chuckle.
“Our
life philosophy: the lawyer’s need to separate the personal from the
professional. Is it wholesome?”
“You
mean: is it sensible?”
“I
had rather ask: isn’t it perverse?”
“I don’t think it is,” said Boaz after a
reflective pause. “When you handle a
case, or negotiate a deal, you act for your client: you look after his interests. You can’t allow
your friendship for the other party or his representative to
interfere. But once that matter is settled, we function as individuals. The client’s dealings must not be allowed to
affect us on that plane.”
“I suppose you are right. But
sometimes the boundaries get obliterated!”
“Quite,” agreed Boaz dryly. “Like when you use someone else’s
style and standard letters as a camouflage!”
“You
think that’s going too far?” I asked, mortified.
“Borderline,”
Boaz comforted me. “But pinching your friend’s notes just before he gets up for
his opening is a different matter altogether!”
“I
can’t imagine any one of us stooping that low!”
“I am told it has happened.”
For a while we gossiped about old friends and new acquaintances. Then, at long last, I assumed the courage to ask about Miri and Benjamin.
“Miri's OK, Eli. But Benji is no better. Sometimes
I wish Miri didn’t drag him from one doctor to another. The bills
accumulate but the medicines do him no good – no good at all.”
“You ought to put a stop to it, Boaz. I’ve been
through it when I was a boy. Usually,
these specialists are just a bunch of
sharks – sharks and quacks!”
“Why
don’t you tell Miri when you come over next? And, coming to think of it, we haven’t seen you for some time.”
“I’ve been shuttling between Tel Aviv and
As we were getting ready to leave, Boaz reverted to the Omri Tal matter. “Eli, we should really spend some time on the
liability issue. Is fifty-fifty agreeable?”
“I’m
pretty sure it is. I’ll have to check with Hannah; but I see no problem. Off the record, it’s the very figure
she had in mind.”
“Shall
I drop you a line to this effect?” asked Boaz.
“Please
do. I’m quite certain we won’t haggle on this point. The actual sum is
something different!”
“Very
well,” said Boaz, taking hold of his briefcase.
“But
before we go, Boaz, thanks for saving the situation in Morag’s chambers.”
“Don’t
mention it, Eli. And you must not let Jacob Keren put you up to such ruses.
It’s one thing to parry with a chap like Morag. I suspect he enjoys it if he gives as good as he takes. Tricking him into an
outburst with a view to getting him off
a case is a different matter altogether: he would have never forgiven you.”
“Did
he know what I was up to?”
“Hard
to tell. If he was, he also knew Keren was behind it. In any event, you handled him well later on. So the episode
is closed. But don’t you ever again let
Keren use you as a pawn! I suppose he’d express regrets if you came to grief. But he won’t lift a finger to help! A
chap like him never does!”
“Are
they all like that, Boaz?”
“Some
may be smoother – less obvious. But they are of the same mould. It’s a harsh
world, Eli!”
“Are
we, too, going to end up like them?” I asked after a pause.
“I
fear we may. It’s the price of success at our game. All leading lawyer have worked their ways up through the
ranks. They had their own ideals as young men and, even today, observe
legal ethics and the norms of honesty
and good behaviour. We must concede that they are honourable and
righteous men! Still, they have taught themselves to play hard and fast within
the accepted parameters. As long as they ‘act lawfully’, they are not pricked by conscience or bothered by any consideration for others!”
“And
we too may end up like them,” I said sadly. “After all, even now we enjoy the
games we play in court and out of it.”
“Quite. And see you soon in our place. Ruthi has been clamouring for her Uncle Eli. But please don’t bring her chocolates. She breaks into a rash the next morning!”
VI. HANNAH’S DECISION TO CHANGE JOBS
A few days passed before I managed to track Hannah down. After weeks of a
major courtroom battle, she took one week
of leave. When she reappeared, I stared at her with concern. Once again she had lost weight, looked worn out and
a dry cough and persistent wheeze marred her speech.
“You
need a real break, Hannah. “And you ought
to spend a few days in Eilat. A change of climate can do wonders.”
“Next
week I’m taking Tali to Tiberias. I’ll be away for two or three weeks.”
“Give
me a tinkle if you need anything,” I
offered.
“I shan’t need a thing. I’m going to leave the
office behind!”
“Good
on you!” I approbated. “In the words of Goethe: ‘it [the office] can lick… ”.
“Now,
now, Eli,” Hannah burst into a fit laughter interrupted by a cough, “poetic licence is prohibited in all
respectable law firms! And we
better spend a few minutes on the Omri Tal case. I read
your memo. So you
think Morag will do?”
“I’m
positive.”
“Very
well then. And, Eli, I’m glad you didn’t follow up Jacob Keren’s hint. I
wanted to warn you off but got too entangled in my
recent case. I didn’t have the chance to
talk to you.”
“Still,
don’t we have to go back to Keren?”
“No!
We won’t! I'll take the responsibility!
And, Eli, for all practical purposes you
are in charge. As soon as I’m back, Jacob Keren and I have to get ready for the
next phase of our major case.”
“What
if Keren raises the Omri Tal matter with me when you are away?”
“He
won’t. Malka is taking him for a holiday in
“Is Keren in a bad way?” I asked. “I
thought he took court cases in his stride.”
“He isn’t getting younger! And this is a particularly tricky matter.”
“Well Hannah, don’t let him drag you into cases like that.”
“Actually,
Eli, I’m going to do better than that!”
“How?”
“I’m
quitting!”
“Quitting?"”
“Yes,
Eli. I can’t go on like this! And it’s not just my health!”
“What
else?”
“The other day I came home
just before midnight. Tali was all worked up. She wanted to know if I had an
affair with Jacob Keren!”
“I
hope you gave her a good hiding!”
“No, Eli. That would have been counter-productive.
I simply told her what Keren and I had been working on – step by step. Before
long she broke into tears, hugged me and said she’d quit school and get a job so that I could
have a decent rest. And she warmed up the dinner she had made for us and
insisted I eat; and it was delicious!”
“But
what has all this got to do with your job here?”
“A teenaged girl like Tali needs her mother. I’ve
neglected her long enough! As things
stand, I’m never at home before 8.00pm. It ain’t right!”
“But
do you have another job?”
“As
a matter of fact, I do. Rotem is setting up a Legal Department. It’ll take
charge of lending contracts, mortgage registrations, debt collections and run of the mill litigation.
Ruth Schwartz offered me the job.
It’s not as glamorous as doing big cases with Keren. But the salary is OK, and it’s a
9.00am to 5.00pm desk job, just what I want. And Keren can look for some
other aspiring lawyer to take my place! I’m tired of the limelight!”
“I can
see your point, Hannah. I only hope I shan’t be Keren’s next victim!”
Hannah
broke into a smile. “You need not fear.
Keren knows your strength is working out
complex legal points. He prefers to work with somebody who is strong on facts
and practicalities.”
“That
leaves me out.”
“It
does. So don’t worry!”
“Well,
how about the Omri Tal case? Keren won’t let me handle a full trial for at
least another year or two. Will you be
able to appear?”
“I
think so. Rotem expects me to take up court cases from time to time. So even
if the case is heard after I leave, I’ll
be able to take it on by arrangement.”
During the following weeks, Boaz and I kept exchanging procedural
broadsides. Each clever move cancelled
out another, which meant that we produced more heat than light. The proceedings, though, did not disrupt our friendship. During the very
same period, I came over regularly to the Tamirs’ residence, usually bringing with me a
bottle of wine or, as was the custom in
Israel, fresh fruit for their table. Invariably, we had a pleasant time, playing after dinner a game
of Monopoly, listening to music, or discussing fervently some political events
or newly published books. The only
subject we stayed clear off was the Omri
Tal trial.
I recall one
evening, when Miri prepared a sumptuous
meal. Noting my apprehensive look, she smiled at me warmly: “No, Eli, I’m not being extravagant. We have just received a letter from
“That’s
wonderful,” I said.
“Let’s
hope Auntie Lilly’s spirit agrees with you,” observed Boaz dryly. “Still, we are now able to repay our mortgage in full!”
“But
don’t you want to take a trip to Europe or
“Sooner
or later we shall. We’ll start saving for it straight away. But first I want to
tell our bank manager to go jump!”
A few days later the Tamirs went for a fortnight to
Kibbutz Yokneam. I, in turn, proceeded to
As
I prepared myself for the hearing before
Ehood Morag, I sensed that all procedural antics had been exhausted. Unfortunately, a discreet report of Joseph
Almog, a
well known private investigator, affirmed that, up to then, young Omri Tal had not put in an
appearance in his beloved dancing club. I was raking my brain for a good excuse
for a further adjournment, when I got an
unexpected telephone call from Miri Tamir.
“Eli,”
she said in her direct manner. “Boaz asked me to ring you about the appearance before Judge
Morag next Monday.”
“Is
anything wrong?”
“Not
really. We are all fine, but Boaz was called up for reservist service! He had
to leave yesterday!”
“Didn’t
they give him some notice?”
“They said
they sent him a summons, but we never got it. They probably sent it to the
wrong address. When he didn’t respond, they came over to take him!”
“Just
like that?” I let my annoyance show.
“Just
like that, and they were rude. Still, he’s an officer, so, in the end, they had
to behave themselves. But Boaz had to go; and he won’t be
back for six weeks!”
“What
is to be done?”
“Nobody in the office wants to take the case
over. Boaz wants you to
explain the position to the Judge.”
“It’s unusual, Miri. Still, Morag knows both of us
well. So I’m pretty sure he’ll understand.”
“That’s
what Boaz said,” she replied.
“I’ll ring you as soon as I have
appeared before Morag.
In the meantime, please give my
best wishes to Boaz.”
“In
view of what I have got to say, we can skip all formalities, Berger. But, first, how was your break?”
“Good,
Judge. I had a pleasant time up
“Hopefully,
your haven will not be discovered too soon by tourists,” he said with a smile. Looking at him more
closely, I concluded that he, too, had had a relaxing holiday.
All the same, he did not appear particularly ebullient. Indeed, I had the impression he
was ill at ease.
“Boaz Tamir asked me to apologise to you for this irregularity, Judge. Regrettably, the army did not give him
any warning. He was called up suddenly, and he’ll be away for six weeks.”
“I understand. The army says the safety of the homeland constitutes a first priority. In their eyes, our timetables
are irrelevant. Unfortunately, Tamir’s ‘abduction’ means that I shan’t be able to hear the case.”
“Why,
Sir” I said, correcting myself instantly, “I mean, Judge.”
“The Frumm Factory explosion case is coming up in
five weeks and I have been asked to take it on. I expect it to last at least four months. Your case should not be in
abeyance for such a span. It would have
to be heard by another judge, probably Baruch Shoham. I hope Tamir and you will
appear before me in another matter in the future. I like to watch my former
students in action.”
Hannah, too, voiced her relief. “I always know where I stand with Shoham. Morag is mercurial!
I know he is very clever. But I’d rather have a down to earth judge than an intellectual giant!”
A
few days later Hannah told me the major case, handled by Keren and herself, had been settled. “A sudden breakthrough?” I
asked.
“Not
really. They could have settled on the same terms from the word go. But all
involved had to exhaust themselves before they were prepared to come to the
conference table in a mood to compromise!”
“And the lawyers made a handsome profit. Still,
the settlement lets you off the hook earlier than expected.”
“It
does. And Keren has already found a suitable replacement.”
“Who?”
“Rachel Zeitlin. She has ditched her second husband and feels
“So,
we’ll have the honour of seeing her in Tel Aviv,” I grunted.
“And you better watch out,” Hannah confided,
maternally. “Rachel is sure to look for her number three!”
“You better introduce her to Abraham Kadmon. The
poor chap had a bad shock when his wife ran away with that taxi driver.
A liaison with a hot shot lawyer like Rachel will boost his shaken ego.”
“I’ll
do my best,” Hannah giggled. “But I have it on good authority that Rachel is
looking for a nice, young and innocent bloke!”
“That
leaves me out!” I asserted.
“Glad to have
allayed your fears. We better turn our undivided attention to Omri Tal! I remain on the case. And, Eli, have a
look at Almog’s latest report: Valentino is back on the dancing floor but
restricts himself to Waltz and Tango.”
“Does this help our cause?” I asked,
skimming through the document. “The chap was a virtuoso. Some
social dancing is neither here nor there!”
“True!
But where there’s life there’s hope. Before
long, Omri will start afresh!”
“But surely,” I persevered, “there is a difference
between social dancing and Omri Tal’s
original aspirations to fame?”
“There is. But the orthopaedic surgeons did not rule out rehabilitation. So, perhaps, we can demand a further medical
examination?”
“I’ll raise the matter in the pre-trial session. If the case is really assigned to
Shoham, we’ll get an order.”
“Very
likely. In the meantime, we better keep Omri Tal ‘under observation’. But, Eli,
we need time!”
“I'll
see what I can do. But I’m running out of gimmicks!”
“Play
it by ear, then” she suggested.
“Don’t
tell me they’re keeping him for some extra time?”
“No,
that’s not the reason”, her voice shook as spoke.
“What
is wrong? I hope nothing happened to him.”
“He
is sick, Eli. He’s got hepatitis! He is in hospital.”
“Jaundice?”
I asked anxiously. “I’ve never known Boaz to be sick, Miri, except of course a
cold or soar throat here and there. What happened?”
“Two of his
men took him for a meal in Ramleh. You know he loves Arab food. I suspect the plates had not been
properly rinsed.”
“Can
I visit him?”
“He’ll
be hospitalised for two weeks. You can come over when I bring him home.
But you better be careful, it’s very
contagious. I’m sending the kids to Yokneam. Mom will look after them until
Boaz recovers.”
“Let me know how he is doing and when he is likely to be back at work? The judge may ask.”
“It’ll take him six weeks to recover and
he’ll have to rest at home for another two or three weeks.”
“I’ll ask for a two months adjournment.”
Judge Shoham’s associate secured the required adjournment straight away. During the next two months, Hannah kept getting detailed reports from Joseph Almog, our PI.
He confirmed that Omri and his ‘charming Dahlia’ were attending two, occasionally three, social dancing sessions in their club each week. In
later reports, Almog, who had gained Omri’s confidence, confirmed that
Omri was again keeping normal working hours in his workshop. Later still, Omri had confided he was ‘fed up with the stuck up society of Tel Aviv’ and planned to move to Be’er Sheva in the
“So
you see,
Eli,” Hannah smirked with satisfaction. “Young Valentino’s positive outlook on life is
standing him in good stead. I bet that as soon as Mr & Mrs Tal settle in Be’er Sheva, they’ll start a dancing
club!”
In an attempt to
alleviate their burden, I came over to their place as often as work permitted. Because alcohol
and fruit had been proscribed by the doctor, I brought Boaz books, magazines and, from time to time, reports
of new legal decisions. Boaz was a voracious reader and, over the
seven weeks he remained bedridden, got immersed in some philosophic tracts as well
as in modern novels.
“She
has. We gave her a splendid farewell party. Keren used the occasion to deliver
a moving speech!”
“Praising
Hannah’s performance?”
“That
too. But his main theme was the virtue of steady work and perseverance.”
“Was Keren by any chance trying to impress Rachel
Zeitlin? I’m told she has taken over from Hannah!”
“You
do keep your ear to the ground.”
“I am allowed to tap the grapevine – even
although drinking is prohibited for the time being. And, Eli, I hope you’ll come to like Rachel.
She’s exciting and – let me tell you – a nice girl!”
“Nice?
How about her two divorces?”
“I’m not suggesting she’s suitable for a lasting relationship. She is self-centred and can be quite a handful. But an evening with her is
fun!”
“I’ll convey the information to Abraham Kadmon. We
are making a concentrated effort to
bring the two lost souls together!”
“Don’t be silly. Kadmon is too old for her. And he is a
non-entity. Rachel will have a fit if he dares to ask her out.”
“So
why do you wish her Ladyship on poor me?”
“Because
you, Eli, must not go on pining for the girl who said ‘no’ to you ages ago!”
“I’ll
look around when pressure eases at work!”
“Balderdash.
You use every spare moment to dash over to the Philosophic Society. You better
take stock of the situation or you’ll end up a confirmed bachelor with beautiful dreams behind you!”
When Boaz returned to work, winter was just around the
corner. Our pre-trial hearing with Baruch Shoham took place on a wet and chilly
day. Unlike the sparkling conference table in Morag’s ante chamber, Shoham’s plain table was covered with books, untidily strewn files and proofs of articles to be
published in The Advocate, which he edited for our Law Society. As we entered, he raised his eyes from the
document in front of him and beckoned us to sit down.
“I'm glad you are well again, Mr. Tamir,” he said warmly. “I was extremely sorry to hear about
your ailment. Hepatitis is a nasty thing!”
“It
is indeed, Judge,” affirmed Boaz.
“My wife had
it shortly after we fled from
“I suppose it has. But, even so, it took me
seven weeks to get over it!”
“Still,
all’s well that ends well. I hope you will stick to the diet prescribed by your doctor. We must never
take chances with our health! You do agree, don’t you?”
“Of
course,” said Boaz, smiling gratefully.
Grinning to myself, I concluded
that, like many Yekkes, Baruch Shoham had a way with people. Despite his beaked
nose, inordinately long ears, bald head
and nondescript countenance, he was
liked and respected by everyone who worked with him. His associate doted on him
and his secretary stayed behind for long hours to finish her work without
expecting overtime pay. Most lawyers in Tel Aviv were delighted when their cases were set down before him. I
recalled with amusement how, at the end one of his customary tirades against the ‘bloody Yekkes’, Keren
added, “thank goodness there are some exceptions, like Baruch Shoham.”
In more than one way, this general esteem was surprising. To start with, Baruch Shoham was a
stickler to the rules. Unlike other judges, who would occasionally use shortcuts
in order to expedite hearings, Shoham believed in leaving no procedural or substantive issue unresolved. Occasionally, this was both unnecessary and pedantic. His pleasant manner alone saved him
from critical comments.
The other handicap
that Baruch Shoham had to overcome in order to gain the respect of the young but vigorous Israeli
Bar related to his legal background. Shortly after the end of the First World
War, Markus Edelstein – as he was then known – studied law and economics in
Heidelberg. After two years in
Ordinarily, such pronouncements would have antagonised
the luminaries of the local profession, most of whom had qualified after studies for the English Bar
qualification. What saved Baruch Shoham from their censure was his masterful handling of all cases tried by him. Even where matters were complex and the subject of conflicting
evidence, his analysis of the facts remained superb. No detail in any document, deposition, expert’s report or testimony escaped his attention. And his ability to get to the
heart of the matter was phenomenal. It was, generally, thought that this
flair made up for certain shortcomings in his analysis of fine points
of law.
“Please,
Judge” said Boaz.
“Well, both of you have been meticulous in asking for and providing ‘further particulars’. I am, of course, all in
favour, the issues have crystallises and
we’ll have no surprises during the trial. But I think it would be for the
best if all the additional details were incorporated in a single of amended
pleadings. This way we shall not have to rove from document to document as we
go. What do you say?”
“The
thought has crossed our minds,” Boaz volunteered. “We were going to raise it
with you.”
“Splendid.
Will two weeks do? You can always come back to me if you are unable to meet the deadline.”
“What
do you think, Eli” asked Boaz.
“It’s
fine with me.”
“Good,”
said Shoham. “The next point I want to raise concerns the reports of the two orthopaedic
surgeons. Both conclude that the
plaintiff’s progress ought to be
monitored. Although the ‘extent of the injury’ is determined as at the time of
the accident, the reports confirm that, in our case, the extent of the injuries
sustained can be assessed only after a review of the healing process, which varies
from person to person. Well, what do you say?”
“Again,
Judge, Eli and I are of the same view.
But we have a practical problem.
The two surgeons who provided the reports are no longer available. Ours migrated to
“Have
you tried Dr. Alon Shaked?”
“He
was our first choice,” said Boaz.
“His
receptionist was rather curt!” I grumbled.
“We may get a different response if I ask
Alon Shaked to act as ‘Court’s Expert’. This way he’ll be cross examined only if his report
gives rise to controversy. Well, shall I
ask my associate to approach him?”
Boaz
was supportive. “Please do, Judge. Do you think it might, perhaps, be
possible to prevail on Dr. Shaked
to submit his report in eight copies?”
“That,” said Shoham sadly, “might be the last straw!
I suspect many surgeons and physicians refuse to assist us
because they hate to get their reports typed, proof read and retyped. But I
have another suggestion. A few days ago a new photographic shop opened up in
“I’m
sure it will,” I stepped in. “If, perhaps, your associate could ring me when you get the report, I’ll take it to the
shop. I’m sure our clients will be prepared to defray the expenses subject to
the order of costs to be made subsequently.”
“That’s
fine with me,” agreed Boaz gratefully.
“Splendid. And, Gentlemen, you will be interested to know that, before long, problems
concerning the production of copies of documents will become a thing
of the past! Copies will be produced
readily on the premises of every law office
and commercial firm!”
“How?”
I wanted to know.
“According to an
American magazine, a new photographic technology will be announced soon. It will enable us to make
a copy of a typed or written page by feeding it through the ‘camera’,
without first producing a ‘negative’. The entire procedure will take
less than 10 seconds per page!”
“It
will revolutionise office practice!” said I.
“It will. But its introduction will also
trigger fresh work for law offices!”
“Why?”
“At
present you hand your judge a ‘List of Authorities’ just before the trial begins. He has to read them
in the library or get his long-suffering associate to haul the books to his
Chambers. How long will it take before judges demand that law offices ‘reproduce’
all the authorities cited?”
“True,”
agreed Boaz. “But that manual work can be done by a secretary!”
“Quite so,” nodded Shoham. “But her boss will have
to check that nothing has been left out! But, now, we must turn
back to the matter presently before us. Mr Berger, I understand Frau Hod
is no longer with your firm. Are you
going to represent Rotem at the trial?”
“Not on this occasion, Judge. Mr Keren has asked Hannah
Hod to carry on with this case.
But I do hope I shall have the
pleasure of appearing before you, in Court, on some future occasion.”
“The
pleasure will be mine,” smiled Shoham. “And I shall, of course, be pleased to
see Frau Hod in Court this time. So can we perhaps fix the date?”
“I hope it can be heard soon after we have Dr.
Shaked’s report, Judge,” said Boaz.
“My client proposes to move to
Be'er Sheva as soon as the hearing is finished.”
“Well, we sure ought to try to accommodate him. Will a date
early in March be suitable? If the plaintiff sees Alon Shaked next week, we’ll
receive the report before the end of this month.”
“The
first week of March is fine for us,” said Boaz.
“I’ll
have to check with Hannah Hod. But, as far as I know, she has no other trial at
that time. May I suggest we pencil the dates in, subject to my confirming with her?”
“Excellent. So we are all set.
IX. BOAZ’S SETBACK
Leaving our briefcases in the “robing room”, Boaz and I walked to Nahalat Benjamin Street. Ignoring Boaz’s covetous glance in the direction of
David Mizrachi’s Eatery, I steered a course to the old fashioned restaurant which served home cooked
Jewish dishes. Boaz sighed as he perused the bill of fares
but cheered up when the salt beef, boiled chicken, mashed potatoes and a mixed salad were placed in
front of us.
“Today
it’s on me, Eli” he said.
“Boaz, what’s the matter. It’s not like you to sit here and brood! Have I offended you
somehow?”
“Of
course not, Eli. Don’t be silly. The little games we play when we practise law
are contests of skill. But there are
certain matters on my mind.”
“I hope nothing is wrong ...” I started and stopped dead in my tracks, apprehensive of asking a tactless
question.
“No, Eli, nothing’s wrong at home,” Boaz hurried to assure me. “Now that things are back to normal, Miri is again her good happy self. And – let me tell
you – a few days ago Ruthi got a distinction in school for her essay!”
“So
maybe one day she’ll outshine Dad!” I grinned.
“Let’s hope
she picks on something better than our bloody profession,” answered Boaz, then
hastily covered his mouth with his palm.
“So,
something’s wrong at work. Care to tell me?”
For
a moment Boaz hesitated. “You see, Eli, some two weeks ago, just before I was back at
work, they had their quarterly partners’ meeting. Well, they constituted me a
salaried partner!”
“Congratulations. That’s excellent news. So what on earth is wrong?”
“They
elected Leah Sapir and that fellow Dror Ergass full equity partners! I
keep telling myself both
have been with the firm longer than me.
But I still can’t understand why they were jumped from associates to full partners
in one go!”
“It is unfair. Both are average. Dror is also bone lazy! And Leah is useless, in her two years with Keren, she was
nicknamed ‘the mother of all lost cases’!”
“Well, neither of them has changed for the better over the years.” Boaz, broke our eye contact and fixed his
dejected glance on the plate in front of him. I, in turn, looked at him with
understanding.
Boaz’ chagrin and
my sympathy might have puzzled an
outsider. Indeed, to anybody except a fellow lawyer, Boaz’ new
designation would have sounded grand. In reality, though, a ‘salaried partner’ was
nothing but a well paid associate. He had
no say in the running of the firm, was not entitled to a
share in its profits and, unlike an ‘equity partner’, remained an employee. In
a ‘Sole Proprietorship’, such as ‘J Keren & Associates’, such an appointee was known as a ‘Senior Associate’. His pay was higher than a mere
associate’s. But the ‘Sole Proprietor’ remained the one and only boss!
“Surely,
Boaz, you’ll be made an equity partner
next year! Still, I don’t understand how Israel Silver could do this to you!”
“He didn’t, Eli. You must remember that, unlike
Jacob Keren, Silver is just the Senior or Managing Partner. The
younger partners have the power to outvote him.
This time they did! They argued
it would be safer to consider my case after I’d recovered. Silver had to give way but wrung out the Salaried Partnership and an
undertaking that I would be reviewed again next year!”
“Well,
at least he fought for you. And I hope he got you a good salary.”
“He
did, rather. I’ll get as much as Dror and Leah. And the firm will also pay me a percentage of my billings. If I pull my
weight my ‘take home package’ will be fine. But there’ll still be the thorn in
the flesh, I can’t bear to think these two have been advanced before
me.”
“They’ve
been with the firm much longer than you. It’s not as if they had
stolen a march. And perhaps it was their last chance.”
“That
what I keep telling myself. But Dror and
Leah trot home by 5.00pm and I stay behind till 9.00 or even 10.30pm. I’ve
worked my guts out for the firm, and just because I’ve crossed swords with some of these bastards, they do a dirty on me when I’m ill in bed!”
“You
mustn’t let this get you down . If it
does, they’ll have the last laugh!”
“I
know. Thanks, Eli.”
Soon the waitress cleared the table and brought
us two cups of steaming, strongly brewed and aromatic coffee. Seeing that
Boaz remained lost in his thoughts, I prompted, “Is
there anything else you wanted to tell me?”
“As
a matter of fact, there is. When this Omri Tal case is over, I want to have
a chat with you. If there
is any unexpected development at work, please take it easy. I
have a plan you might find interesting!”
X. PRE
TRIAL MEETING
Omri Tal saw
Dr. Alon Shaked before the end of the
month. When the medical report was in, I convened the
firm’s pre-trial ‘conference’, chaired by Jacob Keren in person. Shortly before
the appointed hour, Hannah Hod slipped into
my office. She looked invigorated, had put on weight and, to
my delight, had taken the trouble to make herself up.
“And
how are you, Eli? I hear you have moved up in the world?”
“Eh?”
“Oh, I am not suggesting you got a promotion. I am
no longer a party to such little
secrets. But I’m told that you have
risen high in the
esteem of one Rachel Zeitlin, although she won’t go to
another dance with you unless and until she finds a pair of steel framed
shoes!”
“I did tread
on her toes once or twice,” I
admitted shamefacedly. “But I
thought that even so she enjoyed the evening?”
“I’m
sure she did. But I suspect she prefers to take you to the opera, the Philharmonic Orchestra,
Habimah, cinemas, posh restaurants and let me not guess where else!”
“Hannah!!!”
“Calm
down, Eli: my motto is: ‘live and let live’. But, seriously, you better take care not to cross the point
of no return blindfolded!”
“Rachel and I
have a good working relationship,” I stated lamely. “But I do
like to go out with her – she is fun.”
“I’m
glad you enjoy her company. How do you find her as a lawyer?”
“She is a fine courtroom advocate.” Indeed, Rachel
could be as aggressive a cross-examiner as Hannah but also knew when to pull
her punches or opt for a tactical retreat.
“But
don’t you have to do some of her thinking for her?”
“She’s
not an Ehood Morag on points of law.”
“So,
you may complement one another. Well, then,
best of luck to both of you. But
now we better trot over to Jacob Keren’s
office. He won’t appreciate being kept waiting!”
“Nice to see you again, Hannah. And how do you find
your new post?” Keren, I noticed, looked
at peace with the world. His ruddy
complexion and relaxed expression attested that his spell in the Greek Islands
had agreed with him. Just for once, he appeared to be at the top of the world.
“I’m
fine, Mr. Keren. And you look splendid. Well, what do you think of our present
matter?” Hannah pressed ahead.
“Joseph Almog’s reports confirm that Valentino is
back on the dancing floor. But dear
Omri restricts himself to social
dancing. And Dr. Shaked thinks this is
all he’ll be able to manage for the time being. So it seems
to me we better to crush his claim for loss of future earnings and settle the loss of enjoyment of life claim.
Omri is getting married, has the courage to plan a move to Be’er Sheva
and, generally, shows no signs of becoming
a social pariah or a dejected recluse. I think that
settlement for an amount
of IL18,000.00 sounds reasonable. What do you think, Hannah?”
“I still
want to tackle him on both counts. I know that our Omri won’t
win another Rumba trophy. But
Almog’s reports show he continues to enjoy
a full life: so, isn’t his ‘loss
of enjoyment of life’ nominal?”
“Eli?”
asked Keren.
“I’m not so
sure. A man can put a good face on his ‘loss’ but go on
losing sleep over it. Suppose Omri tells us: ‘My big dream was
to be the greatest Rumba dancer ever. I can’t bear the
thought of giving it up!’ Honestly.”
“Sounds
highly articulate to me,” observed Hannah.
“Don’t
you think Boaz will coach him?”
“But then,
why don’t you think he’ll coach him on
the loss of earnings?”
“Because
I don’t think Boaz knows what you have up your
sleeve!”
“But
surely, Omri must know some dental technicians work from a wheelchair!”
“He
may – but I don’t think he has told Boaz!” I said with confidence.
“He
can’t be that dumb!” countered Hannah.
“I agree with Eli,” interceded Jacob Keren.
“Many cases are lost because the client
keeps facts from his lawyer. Such
idiocy is more damaging than
the other party’s brilliant tactics!”
“Well,
then, what do you suggest?”
“Tread carefully on the ‘loss of enjoyment of life’
issue and go to town on the ‘future earnings’. Perhaps you should
start with the former and leave the
cross-examination on the latter for a devastating finale.”
“I’d
rather crush Omri at the start!” said Hannah.
“Well, you are in charge. But I advocate extreme
caution on the dancing issue. To my mind, Omri has been surprisingly candid
with our esteemed Mr. Almog.
Beware of the double bluff!”
For a moment I glanced at my boss in amazement. Usually,
Jacob Keren would have insisted that his tactics be adopted or, in the very
least, would have kept arguing. It then dawned on me that his acquiescence was
natural. Although the Omri Tal matter remained, nominally, a case handled by J.
Keren & Associates, the lead lawyer was Rotem’s new in-house counsel. In
the circumstances, Keren saw no need to persevere.
Having concluded our discussion of the strategy, we
turned to the nitty gritty details of Omri
Tal’s claim. A meticulous calculation, carried out by Jacob Keren
with the aid of his old fashioned
adding machine, convinced us that a settlement should not exceed a total of IL19,000
or 20,000 at the most. As Boaz had told
Ruth Schwartz, he
would not “even consider” a
settlement for less
than IL27,000, we were reluctant to make an overture.
“I suspect the best time for a frank chat will be a day or two before the trial,” observed Jacob Keren. “They’ll feel less confident by then!”
XI. THE
TRIAL
Some three weeks
after our conference with Keren, Hannah and I marched over to our dilapidated court building. Boaz
looked well and at ease. In contrast, Omri Tal, who was sitting next to him, appeared nervous,
even apprehensive. He was talking in undertone with the singularly attractive girl, who was doing
her best to calm him down.
“And you, Mr Tamir,” Shoham added as he
relaxed in his comfortable leather chair, “look much better! You must have followed
your doctor’s orders to the letter! And it is good to have the privilege of seeing you
again in the ranks, Frau Hod. I feared
that Rotem’s gain might be our loss of your spirited appearances before us!”
“No such luck, Your Honour. I’ll continue to be a
thorn in the flesh of the courts for
years to come, whenever Rotem sounds the all clear!”
Everybody,
including the Judge, guffawed. Then all of us turned our attention to the papers in
front of us. Shoham went through his file deftly, as persons do when they are
in command of the contents. When he had collected his thoughts, he cleared his throat and addressed both sides, “I
take it neither party wishes to raise any objections to, or queries about, Dr. Alon Shaked’s medical report. It
strikes me as very clear and meticulous.”
“Both
parties found it most helpful,” confirmed Boaz.
“So,
you have discussed it amongst yourselves?”
“We
have indeed. The defendants agree that, at this stage, it is impossible to state with certainty whether or not the
plaintiff's injury is permanent. The prognosis is that some disability will
remain.”
“I too read the report in this way,” conceded
Shoham. “Can we then proceed on this
basis? Are the parties ad idem to this extent?”
”We
are,” confirmed Boaz. “We are, further, agreed that, as Dr Shaked concludes, the permanent impairment will not be major.”
“Very well, then. So, unless either party wishes to raise a preliminary point, you, Mr Tamir, can
commence with your opening.”
It was only when
he came close to the end that, as I had anticipated, Boaz made a slip. Turning in the direction of Omri
Tal, who was listening to him spell
bound, Boaz became eloquent: “So, Your
Honour, my client’s dream of becoming a household name amongst dancing
fans in Israel has come to an abrupt end! True, his permanent handicap may not be major. Still,
he will never leave the dancing floor again as the holder of the trophy awarded
for any fast moving dance. True, social dancing, as well as a mediocre
performance as an amateur chess player, remain within his reach. But he can no
longer hope to become
“But Your Honour,” Hannah had risen to
her feet, “doesn’t this argument suggest that, in the ultimate, the plaintiff’s
shattered dream will have a beneficial effect on his career? According to the
argument just raised, work will become his main solace! Isn’t this fresh
motivation bound to drive him from strength to strength in his
profession!”
“The
point occurred to me,” observed Shoham. “But how about the adverse effect of his injury?”
“This
question is in issue, Your Honour. May we revert to it later on?”
“Very well,” said Shoham complacently. It was, however, clear from his
expression that the arrow had found its mark. Boaz frowned, bestowed a searching glance on his client and, for just a second,
remained lost in his thoughts. He then turned back to his
notes and brought his address to a swift
conclusion.
“I note that the defendants are not calling
witnesses but have reserved the right to call evidence in rebuttal,”
observed Shoham.
“Judging from
the opening, I don’t think the need will arise,” answered Hannah.
Shoham let his satisfaction show “So we can take things easy. It’s only 10.45. Let’s have a 20 minutes break. We can all do
with a cup of coffee and the smokers with a cigarette!”
“I
have not lost my hope for the future,” Omri Tal affirmed as the examination-in-chief drew to its close. “But, whenever I think
of how I performed on the floor before this stupid
accident, I feel drained – empty.”
“No
further questions,” said Boaz and resumed his seat on the front bench.
“It’s too early to break,” observed Baruch Shoham. “But I suspect your cross-examination will take us well into the afternoon, Frau Hod. And how about evidence in rebuttal?”
“Barring unexpected surprises we’ll do without such
evidence. And I may be able to finish just before lunch if we break, say, at 1.00pm or so?”
“That suits me,” nodded Shoham. “Actually, I have a
late luncheon engagement. Let’s agree to break at about 13.00 hours. You can carry on after the break if need be.”
As was the norm amongst lawyers trained by Keren, Hannah skimmed through her notes leisurely, straightened her gown and kept frowning. After a while, Omri Tal’s self-assured manner underwent a subtle change. He started to fidget and, once again, looked ill at ease.
“Well, Mr Tal,” Hannah went straight to the point, “so this … not particularly substantial accident will
stop you from rising to the top of your professional career?”
“If You Honour pleases,” Boaz was up on his feet,
“this is a loaded question. Is my Learned Colleague asking whether the
accident was substantial or does she want to know whether it will impede the development
of my client’s career?”
“Let me then rephrase the question,” Hannah smiled
tightly. “Mr. Tal, will the accident, the subject of this case, stop you from rising to the top of your professional career?”
“The
injury has slowed me down frightfully!”
“And
why is that?”
“Because I can’t
stand on my feet for any length of time. My knee gets too painful and my leg feels uncomfortable!” Boaz’s intervention had helped
Omri to regain some of his self-assurance.
“And
a dental technician has to do his work on his feet?”
“That’s
the way I used to work before the accident!”
“Please answer my question, does a dental technician
have to stand on his feet at work! To make myself even clearer, can’t he work
in a sitting posture?”
“My
client is not here as an expert witness,” Boaz was up again, trying hard to
hide his anxiety. “How can he testify about the work of a dental technician in
general?”
“Does
my Learned Colleague suggest he himself is unable to testify about the work of
‘a lawyer’?” Hannah asked sweetly.
Baruch Shoham smiled and, instantly, gazed awkwardly at
an unidentified point in front of his desk. Boaz, in turn, started
to make a reply, thought better of it, shrugged and sat down.
“Well,
Mr. Tal, won’t you enlighten us?”
“I
don’t know how other technicians work!” Omri protested, glancing anxiously in Boaz’s direction.
“Don’t you know Mr Joseph Cohen – the Dental Technician at
“I’ve
met him!”
“Does
he have any handicap?”
“Really,
Your Honour! Where does all this lead us?” Boaz rushed in.
“I’d better make myself clearer then”, Hannah
raised her voice. “Did you, Mr Tal, notice that Mr Cohen is a
paraplegic, confined to a wheelchair!”
“I
know,” agreed Omri cowed.
“And
what is his reputation like?”
“Second
to none,” conceded Omri. “But I only said that I am used to doing my work
standing on my feet.”
“But,
if necessary, such work can be carried out even from a wheelchair!”
“I
don’t know how?” Omri was cornered but, bravely, tried to stand his ground.
“Well,
let us see,” said Hannah.
For the next thirty minutes, Hannah cross-examined Omri
meticulously on each phase and detail in
the work of dental technicians. When she finished, it was evident that, with
some adjustments and reorganisation of the workstations on the premises, all processes and procedures could be carried out by a technician sitting at a
workbench. She proceeded quickly, without pulling her punches, but at the same
time kept glancing at Shoham to ensure he
was able to keep notes. Using one of the few minutes of respite to steal a
glance around me, I caught the immobile expression that had descended on
Boaz’s face. A few minutes later, I was taken aback by the hostile glance he
bestowed on his wriggling client.
“Come,
come, Mr. Tal,” urged Hannah. “Don’t tell us you won’t be able to earn a living that way!”
“It'll
slow me down!”
“By
how much?”
“Quite
a bit during the first few months!”
“But,
say, during the next five years?”
“Perhaps 15 per cent?”
“And
over 10 years?”
“Ten
per cent or perhaps even less. I suppose I’ll get used to it.”
“So a 10
per cent loss of future earnings over
ten years is as much as we have to contemplate. As you are young and adjustable
it might even be less than that!”
“It
might,” Omri conceded.
Smoothing her gown over again, Hannah whispered to me, “OK on the earnings? Start on the dancing?”
“Fine
on the earning, but go slow on the dancing. He volunteered he’s not lost his
hopes for the future. I smell a rat!”
“Let’s see.” Drunk with the success of the last half hour, she turned back to the cowed Omri Tal. Like a matador
brandishing his sword in the face of an
exhausted bull, she got ready for the kill.
“Let’s now turn to your alleged loss of enjoyment of life, Mr Tal. By all accounts you were a gifted amateur
dancer!”
“I was, and I could have ended right at the top.” Omri regained some of his spirit.
“But
there are no certainties?”
“True, but my record speaks for itself!”
“But
could you have kept training as assiduously as needed while your practice
developed?”
“Dancing was first priority!” Lifting my head from my
note pad, I spotted a smiling Boaz, who gave me a roguish wink
when our eyes met.
“So,
your accident, regrettable as it has been, may have had a positive effect on
your career!”
“Man
doesn’t live on bread alone!” was the pointed reply.
“But
it’s good to have plenty of it!”
“I
agree,” countered Omri, regaining the composure he had displayed during the examination-in-chief. “Sometimes I can’t concentrate on my work
because I keep thinking of my lost
dancing career!”
“But
isn’t time a great healer? Won’t you come to terms with life in time?”
“I
don’t think I ever will. I’ve tried to put my dancing career behind me. I’ve done my best to forget about it. I’ve really tried. But every time I watch others perform on the floor, I feel empty, hollow, out of
place! I’m like a singer who lost his
voice!” He had pronounced the last few words intently, fervently. I knew that
Boaz’s skilful tutelage might
have fine tuned Omri’s script. All the same, Omri’s sentiments carried
conviction.
“But
despite your frustrations you go to your club once or twice a week?”
“So
as not to be cut off altogether!”
“And
let’s face it: you do dance!”
“Only when we have social evenings; and
only slow moving,
old fashioned dances!”
“But,” Hannah brandished one of Joseph Almog’s reports, “sometimes you keep going for two or even three hours.”
“I
do, although it ain’t easy!”
“But
how???”
“I
take pain killers on each occasion!”
“Pain
killers? Do you mean an aspirin?”
“Something
stronger than that,” muttered Omri, looking injured.
“Like
what?” intervened Baruch Shoham.
“I
take Petidin, You Honour,” confessed Omri.
“Petidin,”
Shoham was aghast. “That's an opiate, Mr Tal. How do you get access to that?”
“My
GP, Dr Levi, prescribes it!”
“Your GP!?” Shoham was leaning over his desk,
looking at the young man in the witness box with unconcealed concern and alarm. “What on earth is he up to?
Petidin is a heavy-duty drug, to be taken on rare occasions when the patient experiences acute, uncontrollable, pain like
in the early phase of a badly slipped
disk! Petidin should not be prescribed regularly!”
“I think this is why Dr Levi gives me
only enough for two days a week,” explained Omri. “He has
refused, flatly, to give me any more or to increase the dosage.”
“But why does he give it to you at all?” Shoham
persevered. “Why doesn’t he prescribe something milder - less
addictive?”
“He
tried, but it didn’t work.”
“So
why didn’t he tell you to stop dancing, at least for a while?”
“We tried but I was getting terribly depressed. I couldn’t work or eat and didn’t
even want to see my friends.”
“Didn’t
he send you to a psychiatrist?” Hannah stepped in adroitly.
“Dr Levi practises also as a psychiatrist,”
said Omri lamely, whilst I bestowed an admiring glance on my friend Boaz who was smirking contentedly.
“But then,” asked Hannah unthinkingly, “why doesn’t Dr Levi prescribe medicines to help
you to overcome your handicap at work?”
“But,
Frau Hod,” Baruch Shoham stepped in urbanely. “We've just been told that Dr Levi prescribed the drug in moderation. I can tell you, from my own experience, how dangerous it is. I used it when my back gave way some four years ago. I needed Dr. Shaked’s help to kick it off before it was too late. Oh no – we don’t want our young generation to be turned into drug addicts.” Shuffling through his notes for a few seconds, he
turned back to Omri Tal: “But, Mr Tal, why didn’t you mention the problem to
Dr. Shaked.”
“Actually,
I did.”
“You
did? Oh yes ... so this explains Dr. Shaked’s reference to your having to
use pain killers from time to time. Well,
yes, I take the point. And you better ask Dr Levi to refer you back to Dr Shaked for a further
opinion about the medication. Two views are better than one!” Turning to Hannah, Baruch Shoham said, “But I really shouldn’t take the
thunder out of your cross-examination. The
floor is yours! Please do continue!”
Looking forlorn, Hannah mechanically smoothed her gown over once again and looked at me anxiously. She was as deflated as Omri had appeared at the end of the first phase of her cross examination.
“Get him to
confirm he’s still looking forward to the future and ask about Be’er Sheva. We’ve got
nothing to lose there,” I whispered.
“Thanks,”
she muttered and turned back to the self assured Omri who was purring
contentedly.
“Well, Mr Tal,” she said in a conciliatory tone,
“but despite the regrettable accident
you do have your hopes for the future.”
“I
do. I’ve already said so.”
“So,
your attitude to life has remained positive!”
“It
has; it has to be; if you don’t keep your head high everybody tramples all over
you.”
“So,
in the long run, you will try to remain a valuable member of society?”
“I shall indeed!”
“And so the accident
has not marred your hopes. It has not taken the joy of life away from you
altogether?” asked Hannah.
“It
hasn’t,” conceded Omri readily.
“And
you are looking forward to your move to Be’er Sheva?”
“I
do!”
“How
about your departure from your club in
“I am sure all of us wish you success and satisfaction!” congratulated
Baruch Shoham.
“I couldn’t
agree more,” affirmed Hannah, back to her ebullient self. Taking in my gesture,
she added, “No further questions, Your Honour.”
“Any
re-examination, Mr Tamir?” asked Shoham, giving the side that called the witness the chance to repair any damage
done in the cross-examination.
“None,
Your Honour.”
“Thank
you Mr. Tal; you are excused,” said Baruch Shoham, indicating that Omri Tal’s ordeal was over.
“This
is the plaintiff's case,” announced Boaz, indicating he was not calling any
further witnesses.
“The
defence is not calling witnesses”
advised Hannah.
“So you'll have the last word. Well, it’s 12.45. So I suggest you, Mr Tamir, address us when we reconvene after lunch.”
“Actually,” said
Hannah, “our firm waives the right to speak
last in all accident cases we defend. So, if Your
Honour pleases, I shall speak first.”
“That’s
very decent,” countered Boaz. “But, actually, Your Honour, the parties had earlier on considered asking you to suggest a settlement. As all the evidence is now on
record, I wonder if this might perhaps be a good time?”
“It
would, rather,” agreed Hannah.
“In
that case, I suggest we reconvene in my Chambers at, say, 14.45. This will
give the parties adequate time to get
instructions and will enable me to go over my notes.”
XII. MEANDERINGS DURING THE RECESS
As soon as the judge left the Courtroom,
Boaz departed in the company of Omri and
his attractive fiancée. Hannah left in a hurry, mumbling she had to report to Ruth Schwartz. Fearing David Mizrachi’s eatery would be crowded, I crossed the road to a nearby
sandwiches and coffee bar. Munching away, I started to soliloquise about the
events of the morning and about the legal
fraternity.
My years with Jacob Keren’s firm convinced me that
law and drama coincided mainly in films and in poorly
written books. Undoubtedly, every trial had had its tense and often unpredictable moment. But I had never seen a
witness crumbling in the box and coming up with a tearful confession. Most
trials were less momentous than the Omri Tal case. Victory was
secured by careful preparation,
sound tactics and skilful
arguments. On many occasions the final result was dictated
by sheer luck.
Lawyers, too, were not the Olympian heroes portrayed by writers of fiction. By and large,
lawyers fell into three groups. Just a
handful were super stars. The bulk of the profession was comprised of
practitioners reasonably competent in their chosen fields. The rest
– fortunately a minority – slogged on
notwithstanding their incompetence. Abraham Kadmon, who had had great expectations in his early days, was a case in point. Somehow, he managed to hang on
despite the steadily increasing number of his failures in court. Generally, though, useless advocates like him
were weeded out by the market when their disappointed clients turned elsewhere.
A competent lawyer did not have to possess outstanding
skills. His tools of trade were good memory cum concentration and the ability to assimilate facts and to
comprehend and recall the contents of documents. Obviously, the craft of
establishing rapport with court and with
witnesses, the gift of repartee and the
ability to think quickly on ones feet were valuable assets. By and large, though, these could be acquired in the course of practice. Colleagues, who had appeared hopeless in their first few
cases, often became capable technicians as time passed by.
Few
of them, though, could rise any higher. Having observed most of the super stars of the older generation, I had
come to realise that they were set
apart from their fellow practitioners by qualities that
could not be acquired by mere training or dedication. These
comprised a robust constitution that enabled each of them to carry on when
lesser mortals had long exhausted themselves, an uncanny ability to assess a
situation effortlessly, an ability to analyse legal points and a vivid imagination. In addition, each of them had a
special gift which was best described as
his individual forté.
During his years at the Bar, Ehud Morag had been admired for his unparalleled handling of subtle legal points. His sharp tongue,
too, was a fine asset. Other lawyers
feared its lashes. From amongst the current
virtuosos, Jacob Keren excelled
in tactical skills and meticulous planning. These enabled him to avoid traps and to place smart obstacles
to hamper his opponents. Boaz Tamir’s boss, Israel Silver, could not match
Jacob Keren on those fronts. But his masterful delivery and his presence of mind were often just as effective. I had seen him
shrugging off bombshells which would have demolished any other lawyer.
Silver used to come up with a convincing counter reply or move.
I knew, that like most of my contemporaries, I was
unlikely to become a courtroom star. My
poor timing and tendency to get lost in
my thoughts compounded my inadequate
manoeuvring ability when on my feet. In time, I should develop into a
competent lawyer; that, though, was my
limit. Hannah, too, was not going to rise
above the ranks. Her performance
in the Omri Tal case underscored her faults. Boaz Tamir, in contrast, was a young man of promise. His
masterly delivery, excellent rapport with the
judge and his fine tactical skills should in due course compensate for
his somewhat inadequate analytical
ability and occasional lapses. With the help of reliable supporting staff
he might, in due course, reach
the same standard as his
current employer.
Wiping my lips after I had drained my cup of coffee, my
thoughts turned to the new leader of my team:
Rachel Zeitlin. Instantly, my face brightened, in recent months she had become the centre of my life.
I had been captivated by her trim figure, lush hair, self-assured manner and gift of repartee; and I was
proud of our fine professional
record. Out of the six cases we had handled since Jacob Keren
pronounced us a team, we won five, including three Keren had described as
hopeless. And we had settled the remaining one on favourable terms.
We had celebrated our latest victory in a fashionable restaurant in Jaffa. Rachel insisted on settling
the bill, left a
generous tip and, with a twinkle in her eye, observed it was high
time she made a man out of me. She then
drove us over to her comfortable flat on
“I
was reflecting on an old question, Boaz”, I answered readily. “What does it take to become a star lawyer?”
“Luck,
competence and above all perseverance.”
“Luck
and competence are essential; but is perseverance that important?”
“It’s
crucial, without it you sink.”
“How
about Hannah?”
“She
perseveres. But look at her performance this morning: she lacks judgment.”
“And
Rachel Zeitlin?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“I
thought you were thinking of her,” grinned Boaz. “Your expression when you sat there all on your own told its tale. And, to your, question, Rachel will make it with you by her side; not on her own.”
“Why?”
I protested, blushing scarlet. “She is always in the lead!”
“But without your pushing, she’d take things
easy. Rachel likes her comforts. And,
Eli, she’s not really good when it comes
to legal points.”
“Perhaps;
but her delivery is brilliant, and she is not easily rattled.”
“Quite,”
agreed Boaz. “But she needs somebody to spur her on and be around when needed, and you love to work with her.”
“How about
yourself, Boaz; do you think you’ll
make it to the top league?” I thought it best to change the
subject. “I’m confident you can get there; but sometimes I’m not sure
if that’s what you want.”
“Spot on,” smiled Boaz. “And
look here, Eli, how much respect and admiration do you feel for our super
stars?”
“They
are great lawyers!”
“But do you
enjoy their company? Do you regard any one of them as a model member of our society?”
“Perhaps
not, but nobody’s perfect.”
“True. But what’s the point in slogging it out for years, rising at 4 o'clock in the morning to get ready for your
next appearance at 9.00am only to drop onto your bed, flat out, as soon as you get back home late at night? Is this the sort of life you aspire to?”
“I won’t make it in any event. I’m not robust and my timing is poor. But you can make it.”
“I made
a few booboos today. I don’t know how I let that blasted Omri pull the wool over
my eyes on the working method. I made a fool of myself!”
“But you won’t make that mistake again. And it’s
not as if today’s luminaries were good
right from day one.”
“True. Silver, you may be interested to know, likes
to amuse us with stories of gaffs he
made in his early cases.”
“So,
you see! And today your performance on the loss of enjoyment of life issue
compensated. Actually, how did you work out that bit about the Petidin?”
“I
had a spot of luck there,” conceded Boaz. “Baruch Shoham’s bad back is common knowledge and I’ve spotted the pill bottles on his desk. I put two and two together.”
“And
the Dr Levi business? Did you send Omri to him?”
“Off
the record and between friends?”
“Sure!”
“Well, I met Levi in the army. He handled the case
of a trooper of mine who busted his knee in training. Levi’s a fine doctor and knows how to relate to
difficult patients. And like all GPs with an interest in psychiatry he’s a
good man when you need some ... unorthodox arrow to your bow!”
“Brilliant!”
“But,
still off the record, you suspected something was wrong?”
“Still talking in confidence – so did Jacob Keren!”
“But
Hannah Hod refused to listen. She had to lead with her chin to prove she was
Miss Know All. That – in a nutshell – is why she’ll never make it! But enough
of that. We’ve got to talk about the case. Have you given any
further thought to a settlement?”
“You
better have a word with Hannah. I’m sure she’s discussed the matter with Ruth Schwartz during the break!”
XIII. SETTLEMENT
At 2.45pm, Hannah, Boaz and myself rose as Baruch Shoham took his place at the head of the conference table in his chambers.
“Well,”
he said benignly, “I hope everybody had a pleasant lunch?”
“Thank
you, Judge,” Hannah assured him on behalf of all present.
“And
have you had any discussion about a
suitable figure?”
“We
are still rather apart, Judge,” volunteered Hannah. “I believe both parties
would like to have your view on the matter.”
“But it would help me greatly to know where
you were heading for. It’s always easier
to come up with a reasonable proposal after hearing the parties’ views. Needless to say, our discussion in this room is off the
record and without prejudice. If no agreement is
reached, I’ll listen to formal arguments.”
“I discussed the subject with my Learned Colleague just before we resumed,”
responded Hannah. “We made a firm offer of IL18,000.
The plaintiff was prepared to take 26,000. But I think it’s only fair to say that, despite the substantial gap, both parties remained
somewhat flexible.”
“You
mean there’s some leeway?”
“Quite
so, Judge,” affirmed Boaz.
“That’ll do,” said Baruch Shoham. “As it happens, the figure I am about to propose is within the margin. But before I refer to
it I want the parties to know how I
arrived at it. You see, I was most impressed with the plaintiff’s positive attitude to life. It came across
during the cross-examination about his
working technique. Once the feasibility
of working in a sitting posture was demonstrated to him, he confirmed he ought
to be able to adjust. His main loss is the abrupt
termination of his dancing career: he had
put his heart and soul into to it and his great dreams were nipped in the bud. True, his approach to life remains positive, his forthcoming move to Be’er Sheva underscores the point. But, as he
himself told us, man does not live on bread alone. And I sympathise. These considerations led me, originally, to contemplate an all-in
figure of say IL23,000.”
Shoham stopped for a moment, took his breath, reflected and then went on. “My assessment underwent a change when I discussed the case over lunch with my Brother Ehud Morag. You will recall that, originally, the case had been assigned to him and so he was quite conversant with the facts. He is also an avid dancer. Accordingly, he has a special ability to identify with Omri Tal’s predicament. Well, you can gauge my surprise when Ehud Morag took the view that an amateur dancer’s career was usually short lived. Very few enthusiasts could keep up with their training. In addition, they found their professional career clashing with their hobby. Morag further said that, after a while, many amateurs started to find dancing somewhat boring. So Omri Tal’s accident resulted in an early termination of a hobby which might, in any event, have lost its spell sooner or later on different grounds. Moreover, Omri Tal had apparently solved his immediate problem by turning himself into a teacher and dancing instructor. In the circumstances, Ehud Morag opined that a settlement of some IL17,000 would be just and fair.”
Once again, Baruch Shoham broke off, collected his thoughts, leafed quickly through
notes he had made during the lunch break and, then, summed up. “After careful consideration, I concluded that my
Brother Morag took a rather hard line. Undoubtedly,
like the rest of us, Omri Tal would one day have to come to terms with the wear and tear inflicted by
time. Still, my own impression, based on the evidence, was that for the time
being Omri Tal would have continued to
regard his dancing hobby as a major commitment in his life. In consequence, I recommend a
settlement of an all-in figure of IL21,000.00. May I suggest that Counsel discuss this proposal with their respective clients and come
back to me. Shall we resume in 20 minutes?”
“So
does Rotem.”
“So, the case is settled.” Shoham spoke with
satisfaction and, addressing me, instructed, “Mr Berger, will you kindly draw up the
agreement and submit the draft to Mr
Tamir for approval. I’ll issue my order as soon as I’ve heard from the
parties.”
It pleased me that Shoham, the ever tactful
and considerate man, had remembered the importance of drawing junior
lawyers into the fold by giving them
some role to play. “Thank you, Judge,” I told him.
Eager to make her report to Ruth Schwartz, Hannah left straightaway. Boaz and I spent
some time drafting the settlement document and then walked back together, wadding our way through the thin, aggravating, drizzle. As if by agreement, we dropped into
David Mizrachi’s eatery. Lunch time was long over but both of
us felt the need for a cup of his
strong brewed aromatic coffee.
“What
was that odd crack about Shalom Cohen?” I asked as I wiped the raindrops off my
face. “I didn’t know Hannah and Omri had common friends?”
“He
meant Joseph Almog,” grinned Boaz. “Shalom Cohen was the nom-de-plume Almog
used for this job!”
“How
did you identify him?”
“Originally, when Almog became so friendly, Omri suspected
he was after his girl.
But when Almog kept snooping about the effects of the accident, Omri had second thoughts. When the telephone book yielded no
information about a Shalom Cohen at the given address, Omri
showed me the photos taken at the
engagement party. Well, Eli, we too use Mr Joseph Almog
from time to time!”
“And
didn’t you use Almog to feed us a line?” I muttered.
“Perish
the thought,” grinned Boaz. “What do you think we are? No, Eli, shall we say that we edited some information
for your benefit!”
“You
mean, selectively edited,” I grumbled.
“Let’s not split hair. Wouldn’t your Jacob Keren love to do the
same to us?”
“Wouldn’t he ever. All in all, Boaz, I have to say, well done, very cool indeed!”
“That’s better. Our case went on so smoothly
until you had these two breaks this morning!”
“Two?”
“Precisely, to start with, my idiot of a client tried to be clever about some facts.
Still, we braved that storm thanks to help from the benign Frau Hod. But
then came Shoham's ‘informal chat’ with Ehud Morag. That, Eli, did it!”
“And
to think Keren wanted to get Morag off the case!” I observed.
“For
once your boss was out of touch. Ehood Morag’s views about dancing changed
radically when his charming Varda said goodbye!”
“When
did this happen?”
“A few weeks before we took out our writ in the
Omri Tal case. Morag’s wife was disenchanted when they failed to win
back the Waltz trophy. She eloped with
the current Waltz King!”
“What???”
“You
see, that chap’s dancing partner was his own sister. When she migrated to
“Just
because of the waltzing? What a bitch!”
“No, Eli, you mustn’t say that. Varda’s a good friend of Miri.
For years Varda suffered
patiently all of Ehood’s nonsense: his long lapses into other worlds when he was on a case; his
incessant preoccupation with work; his inability to face everyday problems. The disappointment
on the floor was the last straw.”
“Poor
chap,” I said feelingly. “He can’t help being what he is!”
“That,” Boaz spoke severely, “is a good excuse for any scoundrel. But be this as it may, Morag’s
resulting disenchantment with dancing tells it own tale about the man’s megalomania! Morag can do no wrong! Varda’s elopement must be the fault of
the Waltz, although it appeared such a rewarding pastime
yesterday!”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree about Morag. Still, his new orientation proved a good
stroke of luck for us.”
“Or
an appallingly bad one for my poor client: why should Varda’s desertion of
her dear Ehud have any bearing on the settlement offered to Omri Tal
this morning?”
“I’ve got to agree with you there,” I
conceded. “Still, a twenty one thousand Pounds settlement is not to be sneezed at.”
“Not
when your income is IL4,000 per annum,” agreed Boaz.
“But
that is precisely what Omri was earning,” I pointed out.
“That,
Eli, is the taxed income on which he had to base his claim!”
“Oh
well,” I said, seeing light. “We thought he might have earned a bit more on the side.”
“And
how much did you think he was making on the sly?”
“We didn’t really give the matter much thought. Say another 400 or 500 pounds?”
“Omri
Tal’s moonlighting brought him an extra IL6,000 per year. I’ve seen his
‘confidential books’, Eli.”
“Six
thousand,” I was stunned. “So that chap earned about ten thousand a year. That’s
as much as
Keren or Silver.”
“Yes,
Eli. Omri Tal was making as much as our top lawyers. And none of them has much
to hide. They have to issue receipts!”
“And
Omri couldn’t base his claim on real earnings for fear of prosecution?”
“The Income Tax people have been after him for a
few years. The stupid idiot put most of
his black money into a luxury apartment purchased in his own name. They gave
him the benefit of the doubt when he said the money was left to him by a relative in
“Oh,
well; but didn’t he get back to his tricks when he returned to work?”
“No, he didn’t. Didn’t something catch your eye
when you went over his employment record?”
“Before
he started his own business he was a job hopper! We wondered why he changed jobs so often. He seems a good
tradesman.”
“An excellent one. But he was too greedy. He
pinched clients when he was still with a
firm, got dentists to send work to his own backroom establishment at slashed
prices. When his employers found out,
they showed him the door. None of them
reported him because they too had jam on
their fingers.”
“I see. But what was there to stop him in his tracks when
he was back on deck?”
“Just before the
accident he engaged two assistants. The silly idiot trusted them. Well, when he had the accident
they did a dirty on him!”
“Serve
him right,” I muttered. “But still, why didn’t he undercut them further once he got well?”
“He tried, but the margin got very low and the risk became too high. He went to see them and they agreed to buy
him out.”
“Joseph
Almog’s last report mentioned Omri had sold his practice for IL3,000” I nodded, “not exactly riches!”
“But he’s getting another
four thousand from them as soon as he opens his new workshop in Be’er Sheva.
Israel Silver is the stakeholder!’
“So
that explains why Omri is in such a hurry to get down South?”
“That and because he’s really fed up with Tel Aviv. Give him credit for that, Eli. Be
charitable!”
“Not
an easy task. I think about the pittance
Israel Silver and Jacob Keren pay to hard working characters like you and me. Pfui, Boaz! Pfui to charity!”
“Don’t get hot under the collar, Eli. Think of the
fame we’ll gain while Omri continues to repair filthy dentures and works
from casts sucked in saliva!”
“You’ve
got a point there,” I sighed. “But don’t tell me money doesn’t count. I shudder
to think of Keren’s reaction when Rotem’s in-house accountants haggle over
our forthcoming fee note. Hannah and I will cop it! Hopefully, you’ll do better with
Omri!”
“You
must be joking!”
“Surely,
in the very least you get our sainted scale fees!”
“Scale fees!” Boaz, lost his cool. “When it comes to
money, Omri Tal is a bastard. He’s paying only 60 per cent of the scale fees. And I, Eli, got an omelette on my face this morning! And I put in
over 200 hours of work!”
“Why
on earth did you accept such a rotten deal?”
“Because some two years ago Omri Tal amused himself by trying to teach me chess openings. I’m still
as lousy as before. Still, Omri Tal used that ‘help’ as a lever to demand a hefty discount when he
brought me this rotten case. And on top of it, he bloody well
pulled the wool over my eyes!”
“So, we are
all left holding the sack,” I could not resist giving vent to my
feelings. “Omri gets what is, in
reality, a poor settlement, you are chewed up, Hannah makes a fool of herself;
and our firm will earn what Rotem graciously consent to pay in due
course. The old Israelites were more lucky than us: Manna
from heaven for a leisurely stroll across the desert!”
“Care
to try it?” grinned Boaz.
“No, thank you. I’d better stick to the Law. Jacob Keren’s firm
ain’t paradise, but in the very least it’s not a wilderness.”
XV. PLANNING OUR
FUTURE
“Well Eli,” said Boaz after a short lull. “This is a
good a time to bring up a point I wanted
to raise with you for a while. As you say, Keren’s firm isn’t paradise, ditto for Israel Silver’s outfit. Why don’t we make ourselves independent?”
“Start a new
practice? There are some two hundred law
firms in Tel Aviv?”
“Even so, don’t you think we can make it? We had good training and we’ve worked well together as a team in law school!”
“But
how about ...”
“I’m pretty sure Rachel Zeitlin will approve. I’ve
dropped a hint her way a few days ago, and she told me to talk to
you first. And I have already identified a good documentation lawyer. We’ll
need one. Well, are you interested?”
“Subject
to a chat with Rachel. But from what you say, I’m pretty sure she’ll agree.”
“So let’s agree in principle,” said Boaz
with satisfaction. “There is, of
course, no hurry. At this stage, we still have a lot learn from the grand old men.
Still, in a year or perhaps in two we’ll be ready. And there’ll be nothing to stop us!”
“Precisely,”
I said and shook his outstretched hand.
For a few minutes, both of us were lost in our thoughts. Eventually, Boaz broke the silence, “I’ll have to make a move now. And
it’s really high time you come over to our place again. Oh yes, and do bring
Rachel with you. Miri is dying to meet
your girl friend.”
“We’ll
come over early next week.”
“See you then. Do give us a ring, Miri is sure to prepare something special to impress Rachel. See you soon.”
Looking
around me after Boaz had left, I
realised there was no other patron in the establishment. I was about to leave
when David Mizrachi came over with two steaming mugs of coffee.
“Please,
Mr Eli, I need your advice.”
“How
can I help you, David,” I said when he joined the table and placed one mug
in front of me.
David
Mizrachi curled his long sideburns nervously with his right hand. “You see, Mr Eli, Sarah and I have a big plan. We make a
little bit of money here; good money. Two years ago I bought the whole building.”
“You
are a capitalist, David,” I said amused.
“I’m
not sure what you mean, Mr. Eli. But you see, now it is our house. So, Mr. Eli,
we want to make this a large restaurant, with nice tables, colourful
tablecloth, and good chairs. You know what I mean?”
“But
David,” I let my concern show, “you’ll
have to raise your prices and then
many of us will have to go to some other place. And this will be sad.”
“No,
Mr. Eli, the prices will be the same. We want our guests to be happy. And in a
bigger place we will have more guests; so, no need to raise prices. We’ll make
less from one meal but more because we serve more!”
“Good financial planning. You, David, should have
been a banker!”
“Too
complicated, Mr. Eli. For us the restaurant is good enough. But now, Mr. Eli, here is my problem: we want to give
our new restaurant a grand name – a name with quality!”
“What sort of name are you looking for,
David?”
“I
want lawyers to come to our place. The name must make them feel at home,
Mr. Eli.”
“That’s
simple, David. Why not call it, ‘The Lucky Lawyers Haven’?”
“Why
‘Luck’ and ‘Haven?” wondered David.
“Because
lawyers know success depends on luck. And a ‘haven’ is where they hide to get away from pressure at
work!”
“Thanks
Mr. Eli. Sarah and I will think it over. Would you like another coffee, or
perhaps a Humus? It’s on the house.”
“Thanks, David. But it’s getting late, and I have to pick up Miss Zeitlin. We go to Habimah this evening.”
“Have
a good time then, Mr. Eli, and come again soon,” said David warmly.
Outside it was drizzling. Shrugging my shoulders in
resignation, I pulled up the collar of my raincoat. I was on my way to
meet Rachel: neither the rain nor the cold wind wiped an
inward looking smile – a smile of anticipation – off my face.
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