by dan pine
staff writer
Whenever I bought lottery tickets, I would say a little brachah, hoping I’d win. When I had my cheek swabbed for the Jewish bone marrow registry, I said a little brachah, hoping I might be a match and save a life.
But whenever I received a jury duty summons, I trashed it and said a little brachah hoping no one would notice.
I had been summoned before, but in my hometown of Los Angeles we ignore jury duty. A summons was just another piece of junk mail. In the Bay Area, it’s a different story. When I got summoned here, Robyn said with alarm, “Jury duty? Oh, you have to go!”
I pictured some grim county apparatchik showing up with a hot brand and rusty dental tools ready to inflict punishment if I ducked out. So over the years, when summoned, I dutifully called in. Each time I was told to stay home.
Until last time.
America mandates just two things of its adult citizens: pay taxes and do jury duty. We’re not required to serve in the military, attend college or help old ladies across the street. But deciding a civil or criminal case? Declining is not an option.
In Jewish tradition, we have the beit din, a rabbinic court overseeing all manner of disputes, from divorce to financial disagreements to religious conversion.
I wondered whether there is any overlap between Jewish legal tradition and the Anglo-American style of jurisprudence.
Yosef Levin, rabbi at Chabad of Palo Alto, has served on a beit din. He told me, “When a beit din sits, there’s a strong sense that this is a holy endeavor. We feel a strong responsibility to God’s law of the Torah. In the U.S. system they talk about justice, but in the Torah, the most important thing is to make sure justice and righteousness are brought out.”
I was contemplating neither the morning I showed up for jury duty. Instead, I was thinking, “How the hell do I get out of this? What if I’m picked? What if the trial lasts days? Weeks?” Unless it was a blockbuster O.J.-level trial with a book deal and Oprah appearance at the end, I preferred to pass.
Sullenly, I checked in and within minutes was sent to Department 109, the Hon. Judge Sandra Bean presiding, to be a prospective juror on a criminal case. My plan: do whatever it took to be sent packing.
But the oddest thing happened as I sat in the jury box while the judge, prosecutor and defense attorney questioned me about my life, work and feelings about the law.
I found myself taking it all very seriously. The defendant –– an Oakland man accused of a hidden weapons charge –– appeared guilty on the face of things. But that business about “innocent until proven guilty” loomed large.
I found myself wanting to be picked, and I said a little brachah hoping to be named one of the 12 good men and true (yeah, yeah, women too).
By day two, I was hooked. They kept me in the jury box as candidate after candidate was dismissed. It appeared likely I’d be one of the chosen jurors. The prosecutor and defense attorney looked like kids to me, all dressed up, playing lawyer. The judge seemed kind and earnest, in love with the law. The defendant stared straight ahead, unwilling to betray the fear I suspected battered his heart.
By late morning, I was convinced I had made it. So when the prosecutor abruptly announced, “The court wishes to thank and excuse Mr. Pine,” I was stunned.
What was I, chopped liver? What did I do or say wrong? Was it because I was a journalist? Did I come across too smart? Too dumb? I’ll never know.
Not that it matters, but my first name means “Judge of God” in Hebrew. This trial was the closest I ever came to living that out. I wasn’t eager to pass judgment at first, but being asked, I was ready to devote myself to the task.
None of us is neutral. We bring a lifetime of baggage to every endeavor. But had I been selected as a juror, I would have tried hard to shed the baggage, bringing instead a Jewish sense of justice and righteousness to Department 109.
After that experience, I’m not worried about the next jury summons. In fact, as far as I’m concerned: Call the next case.
Dan Pine can be reached at dan@jweekly.com.
CopyrightJ, the Jewish news weekly of Northern California