Jethro and judicial reform

You are at the height of your powers, you have just redeemed a nation of slaves and transformed them into a new power feared throughout the known world, and you have just been God’s instrument in the destruction of the mightiest evil empire on earth. What is it, at this moment in time, that you want most?

What else? A visit from your father-in-law, so he can tell you how to run your business.

To be fair, Jethro does not tell Moses that his dispensation of justice is wrong. He just tells him that it is inefficient, enervating, and, while absolutely just, too undemocratic to succeed.

For the first two, Jethro didn’t need to be a genius. The inefficiency is obvious. One man, even Moses, cannot possibly judge the disputes of an entire nation, especially when that nation is composed of litigious Jews. Moreover, even a casual observer could discern that the effort of judging from dawn to nightfall would be exhausting for an 80-year old man (I am about to be 77 — good wishes gratefully accepted — and I get tired walking to the bathroom, not to mention occasionally forgetting why I set out on the journey in the first place).

But Jethro also seems to suggest that the judicial results of the process are unacceptable to the people, who remain dissatisfied. How could that be? Moses, the Lawgiver, adjudicating every dispute and pronouncing judgment would appear to be the epitome of the administration of justice. Yet Jethro tells Moses that if he follows his advice, teaches the law to the people, appoints judges for the various constituencies, allows them to judge the people, reserving only the most serious matters for himself, then Moses will be able to endure, and… the people will go back to their homes in peace, content with the decision of the judges.

This clearly implies that Jethro believes that the people were not content with Moses’ legal pronouncements. Mind-boggling. How could that be?

My granddaughter Orly tells me that the Netziv (Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin) has an answer. Moses, of course, was rendering strict justice. Right always reigned. The law, as determined in the court of Moses, was decisive and beyond question. One side would win and the other side would lose. The victor would rejoice and the vanquished would sulk. Justice would prevail and society would unravel with smoldering animosity.

Jethro’s system of tiered justice with many layers introduced an element of arbitration, courts that had a healthy measure of human uncertainty, and, therefore, the willingness to listen, adapt, and compromise. Perhaps everything wasn’t black and white, but the subtle shades of grey that emerged allowed for a social framework of greater flexibility. People were more ready to accept the result, even if it fell short of perfect justice.

A lesson for us. Like you, I know, with absolute certainty, which side was correct in the tragic, internecine civil dispute over judicial reform. Like you, I know which side overreacted and unreasonably ascribed evil motives to the other side. Like you, I know which side was defending democracy and which side was attacking it.

When we are correct, after all, each of us is Moses in our absolute certainty.

And yet, God waits until Jethro introduces compromise, flexibility, and humanity into the system before He is willing to present the Torah. (That may not have been the historical sequence, but that is the order in which the Torah presents the narrative.)

During the worst year in my life, when I served as the president of a synagogue, I was once required to offer congratulations from the pulpit to a newly married couple. Ahuva told me that it would be inappropriate for me to tell them to reconsider. Thus stripped of my intended message, I repeated something — source unknown — that I am sure I had heard elsewhere. I told them and the assembled masses: “You can either be right or you can be happy. You can’t be both. Choose wisely.” Over the years, I have had that wisdom repeated to me by countless people who claim to have been in the audience. It apparently resonates with married folk (never having been right in the last 54 years, I am unable to offer my own judgment).

The message of Jethro may be that the accuracy and righteousness of your opinion are undoubtedly important, but may not be dispositive when there are other people involved who believe differently. Then the process and the perception of the process are critical, flexibility is required, and self-restraint and compromise become the most important features of the social contract.

The message of Jethro: it is satisfying but not sufficient to be right. We need to be open to the opinions of others and to have a process where everyone feels heard, valued, and respected. And compromise, though inherently imperfect, leaves everyone with some measure of vindication, and some measure of satisfaction.

And then, like all good fathers-in-law, Jethro goes home. Another lesson, for another time.