Seidemann: Standing before the true Judge

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In close to 20 years of “lawyering” I would estimate that I have appeared in front of at least 100 different judges. Municipal court, civil court, Supreme Court, district court or the appellate division; New York, New Jersey or San Juan; each judge is so different. Learning what they want, what they tolerate and how they want me to present my argument is almost as important as knowing the law itself.
I have encountered judges that have made it clear that they want to hear from me, and those that were really not that interested. I have pleaded on behalf of clients in front of justices who were guided by the voice of mercy and in front of others who were guided by the stern hand of justice.
The overwhelming majority of judges I have encountered are sincerely interested in dispensing justice after a complete, fair and impartial hearing on the issues. And while bound by the ethos of justice, they do find the window to flavor the justice with a bit of compassion. Every once in a while, however, I stand on the other side of the bench from an individual whose temperament would suggest that it is time to exchange the judicial robe for a bath robe.
Sometimes I will bounce from courtroom to courtroom on the very same day, presenting before judges that want matters in a polar opposite fashion. On days like that, it’s difficult to think straight. I recall once, many years ago, standing in front of a judge with a client on sentencing day.
“Tell me,” said the judge. “Tell me why I should not sentence your client to jail.”
“Your honor,” I began. “All of his role models are in jail. Send him there and you can be sure he will follow them until the end of time. Your honor, you and only you can break the cycle.”
“Instead, your honor, sentence him to new opportunities. Sentence him to new role models. Sentence him to a job. Sentence him to an education. Sentence him to new responsibilities. Sentence him to a chance at a brighter future. Until now, your honor, he has lived a life of taking what he wants. Sentence him to a life where he can learn to exchange his wants for needs.”
I must have spoken for at least twenty minutes after which the judge sentenced my client. What a contrast to the Judge that we will all face in just over a week. No confusion as to what He wants. No question that mercy will triumph over the strict administration of justice. Instead of handing out “sentences,” this Judge hands out books, volumes filled with opportunities for the prospect of a better future.
And what does this Judge want in return? Simply for us to view Him as a father. For if we view Him as a father then all of humanity is our brother. And if all of humanity is our brother, then we must sublimate our “wants” for the “needs” of our brothers and sisters. Give your brother what he needs and in all likelihood you will be rewarded with what you want.
And so it happened, not in some shtetl in Eastern Europe two hundred years ago, but in our very own neighborhood a few weeks ago. Not involving two elderly Torah scholars, but rather a 10-year-old boy and his 20-year-old friend.
The 10-year-old, a student at a local yeshiva, had enough. Too much school, too much religion, too much studying, too much Chumash, too much Halacha. When the school year closed, so did his heart. Off came the tzitzis; off came the yarmulke. The Siddur would remain closed at least till the new school year in September. Or so he thought. This 10-year-old got a volunteer job at a camp for needy children. One of the counselors was a 20-year-old yeshiva boy and the two of them became instant friends. They began to talk and talk and talk some more. About what you ask? About everything but religion.
The 20-year-old sensed that his 10-year-old friend was searching and they talked some more. Within ten days the yarmulke reappeared on the younger boy’s head and his tzitzis reappeared as well. He reopened his Siddur earlier than planned.
Near the end of camp the 10-year-old turned to his new mentor and remarked, “We spent the entire summer talking about me. What about you? What are you doing in September?”
“Well I wanted to return to Yeshiva in Israel for a second year but it’s expensive,” said the 20-year-old.
“How expensive?” asked the little man.
“Very expensive,” replied the 20-year-old. “I am a few thousand dollars short.”
“Exactly how much more money do you need?” asked the 10-year-old.
“Approximately $2,000.”
That was the end of the conversation and they went back to playing basketball.
A few days later, on the last day of camp, the little boy handed his new best friend an envelope. Inside was a check for $2,000. An accompanying note from the little boy’s grandfather thanked the 20-year-old for giving his grandson what the little boy “needed.” It concluded with best wishes for a year of study in Israel, which is exactly what the 20-year-old “wanted.”
David Seidemann is a partner with the law firm of Seidemann & Mermelstein.  He can be reached at (718) 692-1013 and at ds@lawofficesm.com.

From the other side of the bench

By David Seidemann Issue of September 11,  2009 / 22 Elul 5769 In close to 20 years of “lawyering” I would estimate that I have appeared in front of at least 100 different judges. Municipal court, civil court, Supreme Court, district court or the appellate division; New York, New Jersey or San Juan; each judge is so different. Learning what they want, what they tolerate and how they want me to present my argument is almost as important as knowing the law itself. I have encountered judges that have made it clear that they want to hear from me, and those that were really not that interested. I have pleaded on behalf of clients in front of justices who were guided by the voice of mercy and in front of others who were guided by the stern hand of justice. The overwhelming majority of judges I have encountered are sincerely interested in dispensing justice after a complete, fair and impartial hearing on the issues. And while bound by the ethos of justice, they do find the window to flavor the justice with a bit of compassion. Every once in a while, however, I stand on the other side of the bench from an individual whose temperament would suggest that it is time to exchange the judicial robe for a bath robe. Sometimes I will bounce from courtroom to courtroom on the very same day, presenting before judges that want matters in a polar opposite fashion. On days like that, it’s difficult to think straight. I recall once, many years ago, standing in front of a judge with a client on sentencing day. “Tell me,” said the judge. “Tell me why I should not sentence your client to jail.” “Your honor,” I began. “All of his role models are in jail. Send him there and you can be sure he will follow them until the end of time. Your honor, you and only you can break the cycle.” “Instead, your honor, sentence him to new opportunities. Sentence him to new role models. Sentence him to a job. Sentence him to an education. Sentence him to new responsibilities. Sentence him to a chance at a brighter future. Until now, your honor, he has lived a life of taking what he wants. Sentence him to a life where he can learn to exchange his wants for needs.” I must have spoken for at least twenty minutes after which the judge sentenced my client. What a contrast to the Judge that we will all face in just over a week. No confusion as to what He wants. No question that mercy will triumph over the strict administration of justice. Instead of handing out “sentences,” this Judge hands out books, volumes filled with opportunities for the prospect of a better future. And what does this Judge want in return? Simply for us to view Him as a father. For if we view Him as a father then all of humanity is our brother. And if all of humanity is our brother, then we must sublimate our “wants” for the “needs” of our brothers and sisters. Give your brother what he needs and in all likelihood you will be rewarded with what you want. And so it happened, not in some shtetl in Eastern Europe two hundred years ago, but in our very own neighborhood a few weeks ago. Not involving two elderly Torah scholars, but rather a 10-year-old boy and his 20-year-old friend. The 10-year-old, a student at a local yeshiva, had enough. Too much school, too much religion, too much studying, too much Chumash, too much Halacha. When the school year closed, so did his heart. Off came the tzitzis; off came the yarmulke. The Siddur would remain closed at least till the new school year in September. Or so he thought. This 10-year-old got a volunteer job at a camp for needy children. One of the counselors was a 20-year-old yeshiva boy and the two of them became instant friends. They began to talk and talk and talk some more. About what you ask? About everything but religion. The 20-year-old sensed that his 10-year-old friend was searching and they talked some more. Within ten days the yarmulke reappeared on the younger boy’s head and his tzitzis reappeared as well. He reopened his Siddur earlier than planned. Near the end of camp the 10-year-old turned to his new mentor and remarked, “We spent the entire summer talking about me. What about you? What are you doing in September?” “Well I wanted to return to Yeshiva in Israel for a second year but it’s expensive,” said the 20-year-old. “How expensive?” asked the little man. “Very expensive,” replied the 20-year-old. “I am a few thousand dollars short.” “Exactly how much more money do you need?” asked the 10-year-old. “Approximately $2,000.” That was the end of the conversation and they went back to playing basketball. A few days later, on the last day of camp, the little boy handed his new best friend an envelope. Inside was a check for $2,000. An accompanying note from the little boy’s grandfather thanked the 20-year-old for giving his grandson what the little boy “needed.” It concluded with best wishes for a year of study in Israel, which is exactly what the 20-year-old “wanted.” David Seidemann is a partner with the law firm of Seidemann & Mermelstein.  He can be reached at (718) 692-1013 and at ds@lawofficesm.com.