Twenty Three Judges

PERSONAL EXPERIENCE: My Father’s Siddur
To her surprise, the darkest corner of her basement was now filled with light. While she was away on her journey, someone must have replaced all the bulbs!

Judges and law officers you shall establish for yourselves at all your [city] gates ... and they shall judge the people with righteous judgment

In the courts of Torah law that were established by Moses—and which continue to serve us to this day[1]—cases are heard by a tribunal (bet din) of three judges.

Why three judges? Because, as the Talmud expresses it, “You should not judge alone, for there is none qualified to judge alone, only the One.”[2] Nor can two judges form a bet din: because the Torah commands to “rule in accordance with the majority,”[3] the bet din must consist of an uneven number of judges, so that in the case that there is disagreement between them, there will always be a majority opinion. Hence the requirement for three judges.

In addition to the standard three-member bet din, there were two types of higher-level courts in the Torah’s judicial system:

a) “Minor Sanhedrins” established in all major cities and districts. These consisted of 23 judges and were authorized to try capital offenses and other weighty matters.

b) The “Great Sanhedrin” of 71 judges which sat in a chamber in the courtyard of the Holy Temple. The Great Sanhedrin was the highest court of Torah law, having sole jurisdiction in matters of national importance.[4]

The Great Sanhedrin was modeled after the assembly of 70 elders which G-d instructed Moses to convene to assist him in the jurisdiction and governance of Israel.[5] But why 23 judges in the other Sanhedrins?

The Talmud[6] explains that the requirement for 23 judges is derived from the following verses, which discuss the trial of a person who has unintentionally caused the death of another:

The congregation [of judges] shall judge between the killer and the avenger of the blood, according to these judgments.

And the congregation shall save the killer from the hand of the avenger of the blood.

c) To hand down the verdict and—if the accused is found guilty—the sentence through which his rehabilitation will be achieved. (In the case of the unintentional killer, to “send him back to his city of refuge.”[8])

In the Sanhedrin, the judges themselves served in the roles of the “prosecution” and the “defense.” After hearing the testimony of the witnesses, the judges would divide themselves into two groups: those inclined to exonerate the accused, and those inclined to find him guilty.[9] Each judge would express his view of the evidence and seek to convince his fellows of his position. The Sanhedrin would then vote. A majority of one (e.g., a vote of 12-11) sufficed to exonerate the accused; a majority of two (e.g., a vote of 12-10) was required to convict.[10]

In the above-quoted verses, the Torah refers three times to the judges as a “congregation” (eidah), in connection with each of these functions—“judging,” “saving” and convicting/sentencing. Throughout the Torah, the word “congregation” is understood to mean a minimum of ten individuals.[11] Thus, in a court authorized to try capital cases, there must be enough judges for at least a congregation of “savers” and a congregation of “judgers,” and that the court should still be able to convict the accused in such circumstances.This brings us to a total of 22 judges. For in the case that there are 10 “savers,” there must be at least 12 “judgers” (10+2) to convict. And since a court must always have an uneven number of judges, the “Minor Sanhedrin” must consist of at least 23 judges.

“A judge who judges with absolute truthfulness,” say our sages, “becomes like a partner with G-d in creation.”[12] G-d modeled His world after the blueprint He had sketched in the laws of the Torah;[13] by “maintaining” His creation in accordance with these laws, we become partners to His endeavor.

Thus, the forces that comprise a Sanhedrin mirror the dynamics of G-d’s creation: here, too, are element of “judgment,” “saving” and the verdict that is born of their combination. In the words of the Midrash:

G-d said: “If I create the world with Mercy, there will be many sinners; if I create with Law, how would it survive? So I shall create it with a combination of Mercy and Law.”[14]

A human court that endeavors to be a partner in G-d’s creation must embody the three strains in these musings of the Creator’s mind. It must be an instrument of “mercy” that seeks the redeeming and exonerating element even in a person who has committed the worst of crimes. It must also be an instrument of “law” that vigilantly preserves the infrastructure of creation. And it must combine these two functions in the handing down of its verdict and sentence—a verdict and sentence that atones even as it punishes, that rehabilitates the person even as it condemns his deed.

It is told of the chassid Reb Binyamin Kletzker that one year, when totalling the annual accounts for his lumber business, he summed up the long column of figures in his ledger with the words: “total: Ein od milevado” (“There is none else besides Him”[16]).

In relating this story, the Lubavitcher Rebbe notes that Reb Binyamin wrote “There is none else besides Him” on the last line of his tally. If there is truly none else besides Him, what were all the other figures about? Why wasn’t the chassid inspired to write these words as the very first entry in his ledger?

But the entire point of Chabad Chassidism,[17] the Rebbe explains, is not to renounce and denigrate the material world, but rather to elevate it by infusing it with an awareness of the divine. If the purpose of a business is merely to satisfy one’s selfish needs and wants, it is indeed contradictory to the truth that “There is none else besides Him”; but if the business serves to increase one’s awareness of Divine Providence and to support a life dedicated to serving G-d, it becomes an instrument and facilitator of this truth.

That Reb Binyamin Kletzker was steeped in the awareness that every plank of wood in his yard and every ruble in his strongbox “is actually considered naught and absolute nothingness in relation to the divine force... that brings it into being”[18] did not make him a less astute businessman or a less careful accountant. When he sat to do his accounts, he entered every item of income and expenditure, each loss and each profit, in complete accordance with the dictates of the so-called “real world.” But to him, the total of it all was that “There is none else besides Him.”[19]

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

I rediscovered my father’s siddur among my books last week—a siddur he must have given me when I was a little girl. Stuck in the pages were little pieces of ripped paper for bookmarks, written in the simple handwriting of a nine-year-old. The sections were marked “Bedtime Shema,” “Blessings for Various Occasions,” and “The 13 Principles of Faith.” Now, I could understand my interest then in the Shema and the Blessings… but I thought, “What was a nine-year-old doing marking off the 13 Principles of Faith?” I had forgotten how often I would sit alone in my room reading…

I believe with perfect faith that the Creator, blessed be His name, is the Author and Guide of everything that has been created, and that He alone has made, does make, and will make all things.

I realize now that this nine-year-old knew something very deep in her soul, something that transcended logic, and certainly something that transcended her level of intellectual understanding. So I got to thinking about her and the course of her life.

Feeling very deeply and very purely about G-d and the nature of existence, this little girl packed a lunch one day, put her father’s siddur under her arm, and set off on her journey through life. She wanted to experience her love for G-d in the world and share it with the people she met. So she went on her way and knocked on the very first door she came to. The door opened and a big, booming voice hollered out at her:
“G-d? Don’t be so naïve!”

So she knocked on another door and a voice called out, not loud like the first one, but sarcastically, which the little girl thought was much worse: “Do you have to think so much about everything? Can’t you just be like everyone else?”

And so she went from door to door. But instead of sharing the light and the joy she got from her father’s siddur, she heard:

“Why do you waste your time helping people? No one would do anything for you!”

“If you eat that second piece of cake, you’ll get fat, and then none of the boys will like you.”

Gee, the nine-year-old thought, somebody wouldn’t like me because I ate a second piece of cake? Is that what this world is about? And she began to cry. And as she cried, her father’s siddur fell out from under her arm and she realized that she probably wouldn’t be needing it anymore, so she took it and put it in a box which she put in the darkest corner of her basement.

And so, the nine-year-old grew up, and excelled in a lot of things that would make her popular, and studied how to dress from girl magazines, and made very, very sure that she never, never had a second piece of cake.

And she went to college and learned a lot of things that would make her successful and well-liked, and she went to corporate America where she wore three-inch heels and a three-piece business suit, and learned to give really great handshakes, because, we all know, only wimps have weak handshakes.

And her father’s siddur sat at the bottom of a box, gathering dust, its glow somewhat dimmed by years of neglect, its heart beating ever so faintly, whispering, I believe with perfect faith, I believe…

And the nine-year-old went on to do some terrible things. But she didn’t know that they were so terrible, because she was just a little girl—and she was just doing what everyone was telling her to do.

And then one day she fell to the bottom of a deep well, and while she was sitting there wondering if anyone would come by and find her, a big hand reached down and helped her up out of the well. The owner of the hand said in a voice, ever so gently, “Aren’t you Jewish?”

And the girl didn’t want to say yes, because she didn’t even know what that meant anymore. She never really learned anything about being Jewish, she just knew what she felt in her soul long, long ago, but it was too far and too buried and besides, she didn’t want to be naïve.

But the owner of the hand was persistent, and kind, and taught her about being a Jew. And it was never sarcastic, or mean. It didn’t even care if she was popular or not.

And then one night, the owner of the hand asked her to join it for her first Shabbat meal, and when the meal was over, she asked… could she please have a second piece of cake?

And she went back to the beginning of her journey and knocked on the first door she had come to so long ago and said to the voice of the person who said he didn’t believe in G-d, “I’m sorry. I don’t believe in you anymore.”

And she knocked on all the other doors and quietly told all the other voices that although she wished them well, she was going to have to go her own way…

…which led her right down into the darkest corner of her own basement, which to her surprise, was now filled with light. While she was away on her journey, someone must have replaced all the bulbs!

And it didn’t take long before she found her father’s siddur under layers and layers of dust, and after she cleaned it off, she held it close to her heart for a very, very long time. And then, when she thought she was ready, she opened her father’s siddur and she read:

I believe with perfect faith that the Creator, blessed be His name, is the Author and Guide of everything that has been created, and that He alone has made, does make, and will make all things.

…and I believe with perfect faith in the coming of Moshiach, and though he tarry, I wait daily for his coming.

[4]. Forty years before the destruction of the Second Temple, a combination of Roman persecution and internal lawlessness caused the Great Sanhedrin to remove themselves from the Temple courtyard. This deprived them, and also the Minor Sanhedrins, of the authority to try capital offenses. The Sanhedrins continued to function, in a limited way, for another three hundred years, until Jewish autonomy had deteriorated to the point that they ceased operation altogether. Today, every Jewish community has a bet din, but we still await the restoration of the Sanhedrins by Moshiach.

[8]. Exile to one of the designated “cities of refuge” is the prescribed punishment for unintentional killing through negligence. At first, all killers fled to a “city of refuge,” where they were safe from the “avenger of the blood” (a relative of the victim who seeks to avenge his death; the “avenger of the blood” was not prosecuted for killing the killer if he did so outside of a city of refuge). From the city of refuge the killer was brought before the court: killers who were found guilty of intentional murder were executed; those who were found guilty of unintentional murder were sent back to the city of refuge to serve their sentence of exile.

[9]. If none of the judges were inclined to argue in defense of the accused, he could not be convicted.

[10]. In the same verse (Exodus 23:2) that the Torah says to follow the majority, it also instructs: “Do not follow a [mere] majority to detriment.”

[11]. Hence the minyan, the quorum of ten required for congregational prayer. The definition of “congregation” is derived from Numbers 14:27, where the ten spies who spoke ill of the Holy Land are referred to as “this evil congregation.”

[17]. Reb Binyamin Kletzker was a disciple of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812), founder of the Chabad philosophy and the Chabad branch of Chassidism.