Boaz’s last words struck a chord. All Along, I had been perturbed by a sense of helplessness. I wanted to do something for Simha – smart Alec as he might be – because I came to like him. The thought of his wasting away, wallowing in his own filth, appalled me. Without risking my future by crossing the floor, I had pulled as many strings as I could, hoping to work out an arrangement like a pension he could not afford to turn down. Jacob Keren and Ehood Morag, too, did their bit. In the end, though, a commonplace emotion on Simha’s part defeated our efforts. And the law could not and would not intervene.
“The law is an ass,” I observed.
“Precisely,” said Boaz. “Even if traditional lawyers call ‘her’ our muse and mistress; and this time Eli, ‘her’ – or rather ‘its’ – stupidity might cause you harm indirectly!”
“Eh?”
“You are looking forward to the materialisation of our plans!”
“As you well know.”
He was referring to tacit understanding between Boaz, Rachel, Uzi Bloch of a renowned firm, and myself. As soon as we felt we had learned all we could in our existing postings, we intended to defect and start our new law firm. Boaz was to be the Managing Partner. Each of us knew some banks and insurance companies. In addition, a few commercial firms were going to move their business discreetly in our direction. Our proposed firm had a rosy future. Was Boaz hinting it may all come to naught?
“I think you got the drift,” Boaz answered the question I did not dare to ask. “I am talking about the partnership we’ve been planning!”
“What’s Simha got to do with it? His case has no bearing on our plans,” I protested.
“You are wrong there. Simha’s case demonstrates how little you can achieve as a lawyer! I’ve had misgivings for a while and this case clinches them. And, Eli, you can’t seriously argue that yet another law firm might do any good to anybody?”
“You are wrong there. It’ll give us a decent living and interesting work!”
“How about society as a whole?”
“Occasionally, Boaz, you get a case which enables you to turn the scales – to change the law. And once you are a judge, you can reform the law, even if through the back door!”
“Like Ehood Morag on this occasion?”
“True, he failed. But Baram’s Committee will reform the antiquated law of contributory negligence which we got from England!”
“But Eli: Baram is to head a Committee appointed by Parliament. As a judge, his chances of changing the law arise sporadically: only if a suitable case comes up for decision.”
Boaz had a point. After four years with Jacob Keren I, too, had lost any illusions about the legal process. Far from being a forum of justice, the courtroom constituted an arena. Its gladiators – the lawyers – conducted their skirmishes – known as trials – by a skilful manipulation of rules of procedure and of legal doctrines. The word ‘justice’ – adroitly brandished by the legal gladiators – was nothing but rhetoric. In reality, Fortuna’s presence in the courtroom was more evident than Justus’. Occasionally, judges could swing a case in the direction of justice but more often than not were satisfied to apply precedents.
“But, then, what is the answer, Boaz?”
“A reformer’s place is in Parliament: not amongst practising lawyers.”
“What are you telling me?”
“I have decided to leave the law and enter politics. I am standing for election in September: Mapam has asked me to join them.”
I looked at him in disbelief. Mapam was a radical party. It represented the left wing of the labour movement and of the Kibbutzim. Most of their MPs were commonsense people, with little education or learning. Professionals were conspicuous by their absence from their ranks. What had induced Boaz to throw his lot in with them and how would he possibly fit in? As if he could read my mind, Boaz answered both questions.
“Miri’s Kibbutz is affiliated to Mapam. Their leadership told her they needed a few professionals in Parliament and so she talked to me. Ideologically, I have identified with their ideals for years. So, you see, Eli, if I’m not going to be too capricious or cocky, I’d fit in.”
“But, Boaz: do you have the makings of a politician?”
“What do you mean?”
“You are a fine lawyer. By the time you’re forty the establishment will clamour to kick you up onto the Bench. If you wait another ten years in the ranks, you’d have every chance of going straight to the Supreme Court. Magor’s job may one day go your way …”
“Now, now, Eli – that’s pure flattery,” Boaz broke in but, all the same, sounded pleased.
“You always topped class in Law School!”
“But …” Boaz prompted.
“ … do you have the aptitude for politics? The goings can get rough!”
“Courts aren’t beds of roses,” Boaz reminded me.
“But in comparison with politics, the goings are smooth and civilised!”
“I’ll have to adapt. It won’t be easy. But in politics you may leave a real impact on the State: not just on individual cases which come up for decision.”
“That’s true,” I had to concede.
It was clear Boaz had made up his mind. One of my Doppelgängers – the hidden idealist – applauded. The other – the cynic who knew what was going on in law firms and in business – was dismayed. My own dreams were being shattered. And my friend’s future became a cause for concern. I knew Boaz was frugal but, like myself, he appreciated having his comforts; and he enjoyed the standard of living secured by a successful practice.
“You’ll have to tighten your belt, Boaz. A left-wing politician has to exist on a pittance. I know your aunt in America left you some dough. But for how long can this sustain Miri, the kids and yourself? Even if you wish to make the sacrifice, are you being fair to them?”
“Miri is all in support. And she’ll pull strings in Mapam. Also, she can once again give some private tuition after work; so, we’ll have two incomes. I won’t let money stand in my way.”
“You are taking a jump blindfolded, Boaz: think of the risk!”
“I have; and my mind is made up!”
“Oh, well; so that’s that,” I said resignedly.
“But, Eli, Rachel, Uzi and you can go ahead without me. You’ll have to make some adjustments but that’s all. Rachel would be a good Managing Partner. If she doesn’t want the top post you would have to look around.”
“But, Boaz, it’s not that simple. We expected you to take the lead. Still, we’ll have to manage.”
Boaz was about to answer when we heard the train rolled in. To secure a good seat, Boaz had to rush into one of the wagons without delay. It took a while before his head emerged from a window of a wagon down the platform. By the time I managed to get there, the closing of the doors signalled the train was getting ready to leave.
“Give my love to Miri and the kids,” I yelled as the train started to move.
“Thanks. See you soon in our place,” he called back.
I could have taken a bus to the hotel in King George street but concluded that a brisk walk back to the City centre would do me good. As it started to drizzle, I fastened my rain coat’s belt and raised the collar.
Grudgingly, I recalled an Eastern paradigm comparing the world to a pond. The ripples caused by a pebble thrown into it could have far reaching effects. In the Balani case, an accident commencing with a carelessly loaded truck had effected the plans for a new legal partnership.
For the time being, though, this fine theoretical analysis had to be put on a back burner. Later in the day I proposed to attend a recital. A young violinist, who was later going to make a name for himself, was playing Beethoven’s Kreutzer and Spring. The pianist was an old classmate, who made a name for herself. It was bound to be a pleasant evening.
Sensing that, in one way or another, the big issues would take care of themselves, I smiled in anticipation of the delightful relaxation in store. It would be a lovely sequel to the ordeal in Court and the subsequent tense conversation of the day. As long as you could still enjoy yourself, you remained both alive and happy. And that – I concluded – was what mattered in our daily existence.