Simha Balani's Hour of Glory

An interesting fact of life, reinforced by the Balani case, is that, occasionally, some apparently unrelated episodes may nevertheless be intertwined: the outcome of one may have a bearing on the other. The first information was a reportage in an Israeli newspaper. In dispassionate language, it related how a truck, that had been loaded with logs in one of Solbon’s depots near Haifa, arrived shortly before the Shabbath at its destination in Tel Aviv. It should have been there some two hours earlier but heavy traffic resulted in a protracted delay. ...

For a few minutes I fidgeted in front of Rachel’s office. For a few months we had been lovers. Recently, I left my parents’ house and went over to live with her. I feared that a decision to handle the case on my own rather than as a team member might disrupt our friendship. Then I saw that the door to her office was ajar. Rachel skimmed rapidly through the file. She did not take notes but flagged some pages in depositions and highlighted passages she considered important. When she finished, she closed the file and asked: “So why do you want my views about this file?” ...

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

Some three weeks later, when Jacob Keren and I were shown into Israel Silver’s spacious office, the Balanis were already there. Shimon had left before the negotiations started. Duty, so he said, was calling. So Simha and his wife faced us on their own. Patiently Jacob Keren outlined the fresh proposal: Simha was promised a monthly pension equal to 90 per cent of his last salary, index pegged, plus part-time employment as receptionist until he reached the normal age of retirement. His pension would be based on the average wages of his last two years and, again, would be indexed. In addition, Rotem would settle his running medical bills and related expenses. When Keren finished, Israel Silver confirmed it was an excellent offer and “as far as one could expect the defendants to go.” Boaz nodded his approval. ...

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

The ‘phone rang as soon as I entered my office. Boaz was smirking. “I thought you’d help the Balanis; sorry I couldn’t: I had an urgent ‘phone call.” “As good a reason as any,” I muttered. “Now, now, Eli – sarcasm is lost on my deaf ears; or – you could say – water down a duck’s back. But you are right: I wanted the two of you to get acquainted.” ...

Some eight months passed before Simha’s case was set for trial. At 9.00 a.m. on the appointed day, Justice Ehood Morag took his seat on the Bench. His quick glance at Simha’s wheelchair confirmed that Morag had read his papers and, in all probability, had made copious notes summarising the pleadings and the facts. Both Boaz and I knew him well from our days at the Law School. Morag, who held an Adjunct Lectureship, had taught the course on the Law of Torts and some elective subjects. His brilliant mind had gained him universal respect just as his sharp tongue had antagonised students unable to keep up with him. Boaz and I had had no problems in this regard: each of us had been a star performer. Boaz, though, had found Morag too mercurial, too unpredictable, as a judge. I, in contrast, admired Morag’s intellectual feats on the Bench. ...

Jacob Keren’s reaction to the judgment was short and to the point. If Simha Balani turned down the princely pension Solbon had offered, a lump sum was the proper compensation. What he did with the money was out of our control and, accordingly, not our concern. Keren was equally nonchalant about the contributory negligence issue. He agreed that the defence had to be pleaded. A contribution of 20 per cent would have been preferable but 15 per cent was appropriate. His one admonition was that I refrain from pressing Solbon and Rotem to drop the defence. Simha had been aware it would be raised and we – the firm of Jacob Keren and Associates – represented the defendants – not Simha Balani. A decision not to pursue the defence of contributory negligence had to come from the clients and be made at their initiative. ...

Usually the preparation of an appeal was cumbersome. You had to capitalise on whatever supported your client’s case. If he was the appellant, your task was to drive holes in the judgment given against him. If he was the respondent, you had to find every argument supporting the trial judge’s conclusions. Simha’s case was different. Our clients had no objection to a substantial increase in the damages awarded to Simha. Ehood Morag, who had entered judgment for the maximum amount he could, made it clear he thought the compensation ought to be higher. The only other point of contention was the perturbing defence of contributory negligence. Rotem was not comfortable with it. As a matter of policy, neither they nor Solbon would have opposed a reform of the applicable English doctrines. ...

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