Chaya (a pseudonym) was the principal of a Chabad-Lubavitch school in Jerusalem. She filed a lawsuit in the Jerusalem Regional Court to prevent her dismissal, and I was the judge. Dismissal cases are often highly emotional, with mutual accusations and personal animosity. However, they are not infrequent, and there are laws and court precedents to guide the judges. Court appearances by ultra-Orthodox Jews are a common component of the multicultural Jerusalem population. So I prepared for another difficult, but routine, trial. To my surprise, this was an unusual trial which I remember well, even though it took place about 40 years ago.
Chaya entered the courtroom, modestly dressed, in clothing that covered her collarbone, elbows, knees, and head. She was accompanied by a few male parents of girls in the school – men with impressive beards, long black robes, white shirts, and Chabad fedora hats. Representing the Chabad institutions and other parents were male Chabad Hassidim, similarly dressed. Aside from the Hassid who represented the administration, the others introduced themselves as senior members of the Jerusalem Chabad community, interested in Chabad education, with children in the school and other Chabad educational institutions.
I requested background information about the dispute. Chaya was part of the Chabad community. An experienced educator, she claimed that her policies where suitable for Chabad schools. A dispute had developed between parents who were satisfied with Chaya and those who wanted her to be replaced. The administration decided to replace her, and the dispute became an issue in the Jerusalem Chabad community.
I invited them into my chambers for an “off the record” discussion to see if they could settle their dispute without a court judgment. I explained why a trial is unpleasant: It would be necessary to hear testimony of the administrators, rabbis and parents involved about history of the dispute and whether Chaya had been duly warned of her failings and given an opportunity to present her perception and opinion, and to correct whatever problems there were. The testimony would be in open court, perhaps with the press present. The court would examine whether the parties were acting in good faith, with legitimate and relevant motives. And there was no guarantee what the court would decide. I emphasized that they were all part of the Chabad community, the importance of education in the Chabad tradition, and the central position of peace and good relations between people as part of the educational process.
My “message” that an agreed settlement was the best outcome was understood and appreciated, but the emotions and animosity made it difficult for them to negotiate. I was about to send them to the courtroom and begin hearing witnesses when I had what I thought was a brilliant idea. With the most serious and grave tone a 35-year-old judge could use to speak to elderly Hassidim, I said that their beloved Lubavitcher Rebbe emphasized the importance of shalom bayit (peace) in the family and movement. To preserve good relations, they could ask the Rebbe to decide the dispute. They were perturbed by my suggestion, looked at each other sheepishly, and responded: “We already asked the Rebbe; he said that the court should decide.”
Why did the Lubavitcher Rebbe send the case to Israel's Labor Court?
Now I was surprised. At first, I marveled at how smart the Rebbe was not to decide this dispute. If he favored one side, the other side would claim he didn’t understand the problem, or it wasn’t presented to him properly and the outcome was unfair. The winning side would say there was no reason to ask the Rebbe or file a court case, since they were right all along. The community would remain divided. A lose-lose outcome.
Then I realized that the Rebbe’s answer had another interpretation. He understood that an imposed solution would not solve the dispute. Whether Chaya continued or not, the community would remain divided and unsettled about the school. As the leader of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement, the Rebbe was being asked to give a psak, a judgment according to Jewish law, to declare who was “right” and who was “wrong.” However, some disputes do not have a right and wrong. Not every dispute is best settled by a rabbi or a court’s judgment. The Rebbe was conveying that for this type of dispute, the Labor Court was in a better position to try to help the parties settle the dispute themselves. The court had expertise in matters concerning human resources and dismissal of workers. The court was in the best position to assist the parties to reach a settlement, which was the ideal outcome for Chaya, the school, and the Chabad community. So, in his way, the Rebbe was asking the court to help the parties settle their dispute.
With my understanding that the Rebbe had given me a hechsher (approval) to help the parties reach an agreement, I applied many mediation techniques: The parties heard each other explain to me their positions and feelings; the issues were discussed on practical and not personal levels; I explained the weak point of each position; they searched for common interests. Also discussed was how Jewish law regarded compromises, and whether the judicial process always results in truth and justice. Finally, the ultimate reason: I emphasized that the Rebbe would be pleased if they reached an agreement. That broke the ice and, based on relevant good faith considerations, they reached an agreement acceptable to Chaya, the administration, and the parents.
All’s well that ends well, and the Labor Court had received a hechsher from the Lubavitcher Rebbe. ■
The writer is a former president of the National Labor Court.