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.
“Glad to see everybody’s on deck,” said Baruch Shoham, having responded graciously when all of us rose to our feet and bowed as he entered the court room from his chambers. Unlike the attorneys, who continued to wear gowns, the judge’s formal attire comprised a black silk jacket, a white shirt with a stiff collar and a sober tie.
“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.”
For the next half hour, I listened attentively to Boaz’s meticulous statement of the plaintiff’s case. As often before, I admired his delivery which was as elegant, as clear and as well balanced as any address delivered by Jacob Keren. What impressed me even more was the subtle manner in which he adapted his speech to suit the temperament and orientation of the Judge. Had he appeared before Ehood Morag, Boaz would, undoubtedly, have included prolific references to recent cases, incorporating here and there a pun on some clumsy expression in a judgment cited by him. In Baruch Shoham’s court he covered, assiduously, each and every issue, leaving no corner unturned.
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 Israel’s undisputed Valentino. His aspirations for success will now be confined to his professional career as a dental technician and even there he will have to cope with a handicap!”
“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.
“Thanks for this very comprehensive and clear address,” said Shoham benignly when Boaz finished. “Could you please furnish a copy of your address? I’m sure our notes are accurate but we can’t be too careful!” He was, implicitly, eluding to a problem that had plagued all Israeli courts in those remote days. In the absence of sound equipment, judges and their associates had to take copious notes of everything said in court, including the attorneys’ speeches and the testimony. The parties too kept records. Usually each entrusted the work to a pupil or a secretary and, at the end of each day, the respective ‘notes of proceedings’ were compared and reconciled. In lengthy trials, the process was cumbersome. Court stenographers were, as yet, a rarity.
“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!”
When the proceedings resumed, Boaz put Omri Tal in the box. As was the custom, the first, highly neutral and uncontroversial questions, were asked mainly in order to put the witness, who was fidgeting nervously, at ease. To this end, Boaz invited Omri to tell us about his forthcoming move to Be’er Sheva and, generally, about his plans for the future. As soon as Omri had regained his composure, Boaz turned to the relevant issue. Cutting himself short on the liability issue, which was no longer in dispute, he asked a series of questions about Omri’s injuries and their effect on his work as a dental technician. He also established the extent of Omri’s past losses and laid the foundation for the argument respecting the loss of future earnings. Watching the two of them carefully, I surmised that Boaz had not put the 20 minutes break to good use: he still believed that a dental technician had to do his work standing on his feet.
Boaz’s questions became more articulate when he turned to Omri’s loss of enjoyment of life. In response to his carefully phrased questions, Omri told us all about the pleasure and pride he had experienced when he won his trophies and about his aspirations to become Israel’s best known amateur dancing champion. Omri readily conceded that, even after the accident, he continued to play an active role in his club as an instructor and guide and that he stepped onto the parquet floor when they organised social dancing evenings. These experiences, though, were a poor compensation for the irreparable loss he had suffered when his great expectations came to such an abrupt end.
“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 1.00 p.m. 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 56 Herzl Street? I believe he is the Honorary Treasurer of your Organisation?”
“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.
At long last, Omri threw in the towel. Mopping the sweat off his brow, he confirmed: “Well, yes, I suppose that, in due course, I’ll learn how to work from a chair. It’s not the way I was trained but, well, beggars can’t be choosers.”
“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: “O.K. 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 G.P., Dr. Levi, prescribes it!”
“Your G.P.!?” 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 Ramat Gan?” asked Hannah, whilst I caught my breath. The answer could, easily, turn the tables on us once again. Omri, though, remained positive: “We have already founded a new club in Be’er Sheva. I’ve been voted President and Chief Instructor.”
“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.”