1. We Attend Trials
Our teacher granted us leave to attend court hearings during three mornings dominated by classes on science. As Pilkin’s home was not far from the District Court building, I went to pick him up early in the morning. His mother’s unadorned poorly furnished flat on the top floor of a run down apartment block made me gape. Obviously, his late father had not left them well off. Embarrassed, I remembered Shosh had told me that, when opportunity presented itself, Pilkin and his young brother, David, carried out odd jobs, such as deliveries, doubling up for newspaper vendors and occasional home repairs. To my relief, Pilkin appeared unaware of my consternation. He watched with satisfaction as I sipped the cup of hot and aromatic lemon tea his mother brought me and then showed me, with relish, his small but neatly organised and catalogued collection of coins.
At Pilkin’s suggestion, we spent our first morning watching a murder trial and an armed robbery. Both cases were dull. In neither did the accused have an alibi or coherent defence. We then watched a number of run of the mill road and industrial accident cases. Pilkin was taken aback by the rigour and speed of the cross-examinations administered to the main witnesses and by the brevity of the lawyers’ arguments. And he was disappointed by the absence of drama.
To stem the flow of his critical comments, I took him to watch the final stage of one of the spectacular trials of the day. It involved an action for compensation for personal injuries suffered by a civil servant. He had bought a bottle of locally distilled brandy supposedly fortified with pure alcohol. He had consumed the same fiery drink on previous occasions without ill effects. But this time the brandy was laced with methylated spirits. The source was a hardware and paints shop. Its owner had sold the methylated spirits to a painting contractor, who, together with another middleman, had eliminated the dye and smelly substance from the liquid. The rogues then sold it to the unsuspecting liqueur outlet at the prevailing black market price for illegally imported pure alcohol. The civil servant was one of the unfortunate purchasers of the final product.
Pilkin and I watched with fascination the pungent cross-examination of the owner of the hardware and paints shop. Doggedly, Jacob Keren – a lawyer whose sparkling performance I had admired on previous occasions – forced the witness to concede he had failed to exercise proper care and prudence when he sold large quantities of the ‘poison’ to a contractor who could not possibly need more than ‘one single bottle at a time’ for his business as painter and renovator. Eventually, the hapless witness even admitted that he knew the ‘filthy stuff’ could be ‘doctored’.
“Yes - I understand,” said Keren, who despite his short and lean figure loomed larger than life. “It was no villainy – just a lapse. Well, let me tell you again what were the consequence: the plaintiff is now nearly blind, partially deaf, has a stammer and will walk unsteadily for the rest of his life. Not a life to be envied!”
“This is not a proper question,” intervened the judge.
“I’ll withdraw it then, Your Honour. No further questions.” Keren nodded and sat down.
2. Meeting Jacob Keren
“What an act,” said Pilkin when we made ourselves comfortable at a nearby oriental restaurant, patronised by the legal fraternity of Tel Aviv.
“I agree. But, you know, from what I have seen up to now, it’s clear the screenplay has to follow some pretty tight rules,” I observed. “Even a showman like Keren must reckon with them when he improvises.”
“Can the other party’s lawyer step in?”
“Only if the cross-examiner steps out of line, for instance, if he misleads the witness or uses unfair tactics to bully or confuse him. Still, when the cross-examination is over, the other party’s lawyer can try to repair any damage.”
“With the few questions he asks when the cross-examination is finished?”
“Yes. They call it the ‘re-examination’. But a skilful cross-examiner like Keren guards his rear. He makes sure that what he gets out of a witness will stick: just the way he did today.”
“I see,” nodded Pilkin. “And is this how you want us to conduct our trial of Josephus? By examining, cross-examining and re-examining witnesses?”
“Well, yes: it’s more fun than just arguing!”
“I want to think this over,” said Pilkin. “Still, it appears alright. It’ll put a bit of life into the case. But look here, Bushi …”.
“Didn’t I see you two in Court today?” Jacob Keren’s protruding eyes were peering at us with unconcealed interest.
“We were there, Mr Keren,” I confirmed, rising to my feet. Pilkin, in contrast, remained seated.
“And what drove you to our little show?” Keren wanted to know. “And haven’t I seen you before, Mr. …”.
“Eli Berger, Mr Keren,” I introduced myself, “and this is my friend, Chayim Rosenberg. And, yes, I come to watch court cases whenever I can.”
“You like the excitement?”
“I do indeed!”
“And you, Mr. Rosenberg?”
“Please, call me Chayim,” Pilkin replied. “I came because we are going to have a trial at school. So Eli insisted I see what happens in the real courts.”
“What sort of trial?” Keren was interested.
“A historical trial of Josephus Flavius. Eli is the defence lawyer; I am the prosecutor.”
“But how do you propose to go about it?” Keren asked with a smile. “The accused can’t give any evidence!”
“We’ll be using his writings, Mr. Keren,” I explained. “Do you know them?”
“I do, although it’s been some time since I’ve read them. But how do you propose to defend him? Who will be your witnesses?”
“I don’t intend to call any. I’ll make my points by cross-examining my ‘Learned Colleagues’ witnesses. They’ll testify about Josephus’ writings.”
“So they’ll try to pierce holes and you’ll try to plug them?”
“My object is to establish his innocence!”
“But you needn’t prove him innocent. The prosecution must prove his guilt!”
“I know. But my poor client,” I said, startled as both Keren and Pilkin grinned when I brandished the courtroom phrase, “has been maligned for generations. To clear his name, I must show the accusations are unfounded!”
“And you’ll risk a ‘guilty’ verdict if your attempt fails?”
“He’ll be no worse off than before,” I observed.
“I see,” nodded Keren. “And what will be your strategy? But perhaps you don’t want to reveal your hand at this stage?”
Initially, I sought to dodge his question. The plan I had formed involved surprises. Communicating an inkling of it to Pilkin might take the wind out of my sails. At the same time, I had no wish to appear evasive. After a short pause, I replied: “I intend to show that passages in Josephus’ books, traditionally used to prove his guilt, proclaim his innocence. I may fail – but not for want of trying!”
“A daring plan; and quite imaginative,” Keren smiled supportively. “And shall we see you again in Court when your trial is over? You have been dropping in for months.”
“And I’ll continue to do so. You see, I’ve decided to study law. I come over in order to learn and gain experience.”
“But don’t you find many of the cases boring – plain routine?”
“I do. But ever so often there is a fascinating case, like your trial of today!”
“But much of what we do, especially office work, is mundane. Still, you’ll know whether or not you have a penchant for it after your second year in law school. If you remain interested, come and see me!”
“Thanks,” I said, moved. “I’m sure to take you up on this!”
“And you, Mr. Rosenberg – you also plan to join our ranks?”
“No,” Pilkin was laconic. “I intend to become an actor!”
“A fine career,” approbated Keren. “I was toying with the idea before I picked on the law!”
“What made you prefer law?” Pilkin was no respecter of rank.
“Prudence; opting for security rather than poetry: for the sixpence – not for the moon!”
For a moment Jacob Keren remained lost in his thoughts. He then brought our conversation to an end, observing abruptly: “Interesting subjects, aren’t they? But I must really join my Learned Colleague. I think we can now settle this wretched case sensibly. So, Chayim, let me wish you much success in your career on the stage. I’ll look forward to your performances. And you, Eli, remember to see me once you have decided for sure you want a career in the Law.”
Shaking hands with both of us, he made his way rapidly to the stairway leading to the VIP section on the upper floor. Our eyes had followed him with respect. Even forty years after this chance meeting, as I was twisting restlessly on the comfortable bed in Pension Kegel, I recalled vividly the impact that the aging Jacob Keren had left on young Pilkin and myself. True, on my friend the encounter had but a transient effect. In contrast, it exercised a profound influence over my subsequent, lengthy, career as a lawyer.