PARSHAT SHOFTIM

 (5768)

 

JUDGING OTHERS

 

“You shall appoint magistrates and officials for your tribes, in all the settlements that the Lord your God is giving you, and they shall govern the people with due justice.”

                                                                        (Deuteronomy 16:18)

 

            I was called downtown for jury duty and was part of a panel on a driving under the influence case.  The judge walked in and asked each of us if we knew anybody in the courtroom.  When he came to me and asked, I had to answer yes.  “Who do you know in this courtroom?”  I responded to the judge, “I know you, your honor.”  “How do you know me?”  “I officiated at your daughter’s bat mitzvah.”  I was dismissed from the case.

            I do not know if knowing the judge would prejudice me in a court of law.  But certainly knowing the defendant or any of the attorneys could prevent a person on the jury from being impartial.  Juries who are put in a position of judging their fellow citizens must be impartial.  How much more so, at the heart of this week’s portion we learn that a judge must be totally impartial.  As the cliché teaches us, justice is blind.

            This is true in a courtroom.  But what about in our day-to-day lives?   If we ever interact with other human beings, we are placed in a position of judging.  Parents must judge their children.  And sometimes children must judge their parents.  Employers must judge their employees.  And sometimes employees must judge their employers.  Teachers must judge their students.  And sometimes students must judge their teachers.  (I learned that our college students all go on a website to “rate their professors” before signing up for class.  I wonder if there is a community website “rate your rabbis.”)

            We all must judge the people we encounter in life.  We must judge our doctors, our lawyers, our accountants, our photographers, our jewelers, and our shopkeepers.  And sometimes we must judge our neighbors.  Perhaps most difficult of all, sometimes we must judge our family.  Was our brother or sister, uncle or aunt, nephew or niece fair in the way they behaved towards us?  And if our judgment is negative, it often puts a huge damper on family events and interactions.  How often have I seen family members boycott other family member’s joyous events – weddings, b’nai mitzvah, graduations – out of a sense of severe judgment.

            How do we judge our fellow human beings?   Jewish tradition is clear.  “Joshua ben Perachiah said, …judge all people on the scale of merit.”  (Avot 1:6)   Find a way to judge people favorably.  Jewish law has a fascinating insight.  In order to convict someone of a capital crime, they must come before a court of twenty-three judges.  What if all twenty-three find them guilty?   If so, the guilty party goes free.  There must be at least one judge who finds some merit for the defendant, some way of judging in their favor.  Perhaps this ancient Jewish law is the template for the modern idea that every defendant deserves the right of counsel, someone to argue in his or her defense.

            How much more so, in our daily interactions with others, must we find a way to judge favorably.  There has to be some merit, some purpose on their side.  Even the person whose behavior is totally out of line may be affected be something within themselves that might mitigate the situation.  I have often written on the importance of individuals learning to control their appetites.  But I am well aware that some people never learn the self-control necessary to do the right thing.  We can judge such people unfavorably.  Or we can say, this is a person who cannot control their appetite.  Perhaps this is the best that this person can do.

            The great sage Hillel taught, “Do not judge your fellow until you stand in his place.”  (Avot 2:5)   There is a Native American saying, “Do not judge your fellow until you walk two moons in his moccasins.”   How much gentler this world would be if we all withheld judgment and simply gave each other the benefit of the doubt.

           

 

 

PARSHAT SHOFTIM

 (5767)

 

DIFFICULT TEXTS

 

“In the towns of the latter peoples, however, which the Lord your God is giving you as a heritage, you shall not let a soul remain alive.”                   (Deuteronomy 20:16)

 

            My thoughts this week were inspired by a discussion with our bat mitzvah Rachel Dannick.  She was troubled by the many verses in the Torah which seem to be unjust and unethical.  For example, in this week’s Torah reading we read the laws of war.  Some are beautiful laws (seek peace with a city before attacking, send back from the front a newly married man who has not yet lived with his wife, do not destroy the fruit trees.)  Yet some of the laws are highly difficult, such as the commandment to leave no soul alive among the Canaanites.

            If the Torah is God’s word, why did God not outlaw war altogether?  And even if war is a necessary evil, why does the Torah permit genocide?  Why does it say to kill all the men and take all the women as booty?   Certainly this is not the way of a holy people.  How do we deal with difficult texts?

            Some would claim that we have no right to judge God’s word.  God commanded it and God must have His reasons, even if we have difficulty accepting it.  If God commanded something in the Torah, it is ethical.  If it seems unethical to us, it is because our knowledge is incomplete.  Perhaps God has us destroy the Canaanites because there was a greater good preventing their negative influence on the newly settled Israelites.  It may be beyond our comprehension, but God has His reasons which we dare not question.

            I must respectfully disagree with this view.  The truth is that we have the right to hold God accountable to ethics.   Abraham confronted God with the famous words, “Should the judge of all the earth not do justly?”  (Genesis 18:25)  We hold God – and God’s Torah – accountable to a high ethical standard.   So how can the Torah condone genocide, slavery, cruelty, and murder? 

            There is an insight I first heard in a speech by Rabbi Yitzhak Greenberg.  He explained that the Torah is the beginning of revelation, not the end.  God’s will was not given once for all time.  The Torah’s ideas about ethics evolved through history.  Rabbis for generations have struggled with the Torah’s law, sometimes limiting their application or reinterpreting them.  In order to understand God’s will, we cannot look at the Torah alone, but at the long history of Rabbinic insight and interpretation.  The Torah is an evolving document.

            The Torah was given to real people who lived in a particular time and place.  It was a time when slavery, war, and sad to say, genocide were normal human behaviors.  (Today genocide is still a normal human behavior in parts of the world, but at least most of us recognize it as wrong.)  People interpreted God’s word according to their best understanding from their limited perspective.  But morality evolves.  And so the Torah evolves.  Our ideas of right and wrong change, and the Torah changes with it.  That is why no responsible scholar of the Torah today would say that the Torah condones genocide.

            I will examine this issue further on the holidays.  I will show how the Torah was given to real people who lived in a particular place and time, who tried to interpret it according to their best understanding.   The Torah had a vision of humans as holy, created in the image of God.  The people who received the Torah tried to apply it to the reality of life in their own time.  And so began an evolving understanding of human ethics.

            Let us look at difficult texts as the beginning of revelation.  That revelation is an ongoing, evolving process.  If we are troubled by words in the Torah, it is because our own sense of right and wrong continues to develop.  And we should know that the Torah will continue to develop in the future, until we human beings reach the maximum in ethics and holiness.  Only then will the Messiah come.

 

 

PARSHAT SHOFTIM

 (5766)

 

LEADERSHIP

 

“When he (the king) is seated on his royal throne, he shall have a copy of this Teaching written for him on a scroll by the Levitical priests.”              (Deuteronomy 17:18)

             There is a story of a man who wandered through the streets of wicked Sodom crying out to the people, “Love your neighbor as yourself.  Love the stranger.  Do not wrong one another.”  Unfortunately no one would listen.  But he continued to speak out.  One day someone asked him, “Why do you keep crying out for the people to be good.  It is obvious that they are not listening.”  He replied, “I don’t cry out so they will listen.  I know they will not listen.  I cry out so that I will listen and not become like them.”

            A person needs to constantly remind himself or herself of the proper way he or she should go.  This is particularly true for someone in a position of power – a king or ruler.  That is why the Torah commands the king to always keep a copy of the book of the Torah with him and to constantly refer to it.  It is a cliché to say that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.  That is why the king needs a constant reminder of the limit of his power.  Those in positions of leadership need a constant reminder of the way they ought to go.

            There is much talk about leadership in the news these days.  The government of Israel is under fire for poor leadership in the war against Hezbollah in south Lebanon.  Critics claim that the Israel Defense Forces were poorly prepared and poorly supplied for battles that turned out to be far more difficult than expected.   In the United States, many claim that President Bush has shown poor leadership in embroiling us in a war in Iraq.  They claim he lacks the vision to foresee where our military adventure, or misadventure would lead. 

My purpose here is not to comment on the truth or falsity of these claims against the Prime Minister of Israel and the President of the United States.  These will be decided by history.  Rather it is to emphasize the importance of leaders having a clear vision.  As the Bible teaches, “When there is no vision the people fail.”  (Proverbs 29:18)  It is up to leaders to provide that vision.

What is true for leaders of an entire nation is true for leaders of much smaller groups of people – a business, an organization, a synagogue, or for that matter, a family.  Leaders need a vision.  And leaders need a code of conduct as to how to pursue their leadership.  Without vision, leadership becomes a matter of people simply following their passions.  Without vision, leadership becomes mere ego gratification.  If the ancient kings of Israel, anointed by God, had to keep a copy of the Torah as a guide, how much more so do our modern leaders need a guide.  What are they trying to accomplish in their leadership and how do they intend to get there?

As a rabbi, I am expected to take a leadership role in the life of the synagogue.  It is a unique kind of leadership, because it focuses on spiritual and educational goals.  The financial and business leadership is in the hands of others.  It is vital that as a rabbi, I have a vision of where the synagogue ought to go and the ability to articulate that vision to our members.  Without such a vision, we are lost.  It is like the tail wagging the dog.  Or as Rabbi Joshua ben Levi said in the Midrash, “The tail of the serpent said to the head, how much longer will you walk first?  Let me go first.  The head replied, go.  The tail went forward and coming to a ditch of water dragged the head into it; it encountered a fire and pulled the head into it; coming to thorns it dragged the head amongst them.  What was the cause of all of this?  Because the head followed the tail. ”    (Deuteronomy Rabbah 1:10)  This is the fate of organizations whose leaders lack vision and become mere followers.

I plan on Yom Kippur to articulate a vision for our synagogue.  All of us who aspire to lead first acquire a vision of where we wish to go.  The king in ancient Israel had a clear sense of direction.  We can do no less.

 

PARSHAT SHOFTIM

(5764)

 

PREPARING FOR MARRIAGE

 

“Is there anyone who has betrothed a wife and who has not yet married her?  Let him go back to his home, lest he die in battle and another marry her.”                                      (Deuteronomy 20:7)

 

            My children are on the cusp of adulthood.  As I listen to them and their friends speak, I recall memories of decisions I nade when I was young.   What education do I need?  What shall I do for a career?  Where shall I live?  Will I fall in love?  Whom will I marry?   When I was young, my mother used to sing to me the beautiful Doris Day song, Que Sera Sera, Whatever will be will be.  But I am not sure I agree with the lyrics.   We have a great deal of choice over what will be.

            For example, I hear young people talk about love and marriage.  “First you fall in love and then you get married.”  I ask the question, “Are you marrying someone who can help support a household?”   Young people seem to answer, “Money does not matter.  What is important is that we love each other.”  Years of counseling couples have convinced me that they are so wrong.

            There is a very interesting insight about love and marriage in this week’s Torah reading.  The portion deals with the laws of war, and preparing to fight against our enemies.  Before going into battle, a special priest is appointed to address the troops.   He asks a series of questions.  “Is there anyone who has built a home and not dedicated it?  Let him go back to his home, lest he die in battle and another dedicate it.”  “Is there anyone who has planted a vineyard but has never harvested it?   Let him go back to his home, lest he die in battle and another harvest it.”   “Is there anyone who has betrothed a wife and who has not yet married her?  Let him go back to his home, lest he die in battle and another marry her.”  (Deuteronomy 20:5-7)

            The Rabbis of the Talmud interpreted this passage far more broadly, saying that it deals with an issue beyond going to war.  “A man should first build a house, then plant a vineyard, and only after that take a wife.”  (Sota 44a)   Of course, the Talmud is speaking from a masculine point of view.  It is telling a man that before he marries, he needs to have a place to live and a way to eat.  In our more egalitarian age, particularly with the high divorce rate, a woman should have a way to support herself before she seeks a marriage partner.  It sounds very unromantic, but any couple seeking to commit to one another for a lifetime needs to have a place to live and a way to earn a living.

            Our young people have been taught upon love and marriage from the media, the music industry, romance novels, and from their friends.  They have been taught that love is a matter of pure chance.  Que Sera Sera, Whatever will be will be.   When they fall in love, they can get married, raise a family, and love will keep them together.  Economics are irrelevant.  To think about how they will afford a place to live, put food on the table, and take on family obligations is unromantic.  To quote too many movies, “The only important thing is that we love each other.”

            That is the reason I admonish every young person searching for a life partner to “look with your head, not with your heart.”   Is this person husband or wife material?   Will this marriage be economically feasible?  Is this person responsible?  Are you ready to finish college first.  Pursue a career first.  Think about how you will earn a living before you think about whom you wish to love.

            One of the problems with life is that by the time we have the wisdom to make appropriate decisions, we are too old to benefit from those decisions.   On the other hand, at the age when we make most of our major decisions, we lack the wisdom and experience to choose wisely.  That is why it is important for young people making key life choices to learn the wisdom of tradition.  To our young people I say, find a place to live and how you will support yourself, and only then look for an appropriate marriage partner.  Hopefully, this advice will help you build a much stronger marriage.

 

 

 

 

PARSHAT SHOFTIM

(5763)

 

WHAT IS PEACE?

 

"When you approach a town to attack it you shall offer it terms of peace."

(Deuteronomy 20:10)

 

An entire chapter of this week's portion deals with the laws of war.  On the surface this is surprising.  If the Torah is God=s word and if peace is God's dream for humanity, why does the Torah not outlaw war altogether?  Why does the Torah not simply command peace?

The answer is that the Torah was not given to angels, but to real human beings.  It is guidance for living in this real world today, not some perfect world of the future.   We are not pacifists, and war is sometimes an evil necessity.  Yet even before going to war, the Torah teaches that we should offer terms of peace.  Later Rabbinic law teaches that the attacker should hold the peace offer out for at least three days, giving the enemy time to consider.  War is sometimes necessary, but peace is always the dream.  Isaiah contains a vision of a future where the lion will lie down with the lamb, where even the animal world shall live at peace.

As the headlines scream at us daily, that is not the real world we live in today.  The prophet Jeremiah cried out, "Peace, peace, but there is no peace."  (Jeremiah 6:14)  So the Torah teaches us how to conduct war in as ethical a way as possible, considering the cruelties and tragedies any war brings.  And any war has to begin with peace overtures.

What is peace?  Most basically peace is a cessation of hostilities.  Peace on its most basic level is a cease-fire, perhaps followed by a truce or an armistice.  Peace can exist on the most basic level when two combatants stop fighting.  They can ignore each other, but at least they are not killing each other.  So far even this kind of peace between Israel and the Palestinians seems a distant dream. 

Non-combat is the first step, yet it is not the true meaning of peace.  President John F. Kennedy said in his State of the Union message the year he was assassinated, "The mere absence of war is not peace."   The Hebrew word for peace, shalom, has a far deeper meaning.  It comes from the Hebrew root sh-l-m, which means "wholeness" or "completeness."  The best image of peace perhaps is a completed jigsaw puzzle, with all the pieces in the proper place.  There is  completeness, a fitting together.  Real peace is more than a cease-fire; it is a sense of wholeness, as if two parties, once enemies, no have found how to fit together in a way that maintains the dignity of each.

From the root sh-l-m comes the Hebrew verb leshalem, which means "to pay."  When I purchase goods or services and have not yet paid, there is a sense of incompleteness, of tension, between me and the other party.  Will I make good on my debt?  After I pay, the transaction is complete; there is a balance in the relationship.  The same is true when speaking of relationships between nations, and relationships between human beings.   Real peace is more than a cessation of hostilities; it is a sense of wholeness.

How will real peace, defined as wholeness, ever happen between Israel and the Palestinians?   It will happen when both sides see the other and recognize both their humanity and their legitimate aspirations.  It will happen when both sides learn to live with the other, fitting together as smoothly as two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.  Sadly, we are probably decades if not centuries from such a true peace.  Perhaps the most we can work towards now is a cessation of hostilities, allowing future generations to build relationships that will bring us true wholeness.

What is true between nations is also true between individuals.  In my counseling I meet many people at war with other people B their parents, their spouse, their children, their neighbors, fellow members of the congregation.  We talk about making peace.  The first step of course is a ceasing of hostilities.  This is an armistice, but still not peace.  Peace comes with wholeness in a relationship, when two parties recognize the dignity of the other, when each truly sees the other and finds a way to live with one another.  

Peace begins with recognition of the other.  As we all sang as youngsters in camp, "Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me."  The verse from this week's portion, "you shall offer terms of peace," speaks not just of nations, but also of each of us in our relationships with others.

PARSHAT SHOFTIM

(5762)

 

WHEN DIVORCE HAPPENS

 

"Justice Justice shall you pursue."

(Deuteronomy 16:20)

 

Divorce is the number one counseling issue I deal with as a rabbi.  Allow me to share a short selection from my book God, Love, Sex, and Family.

Once people are married, they have shared a connection to one another that a government decree cannot simply erase.  They have a shared past.  There are family pictures that cannot be erased, and family memories that are difficult to throw away.  Each spouse has given a part of their life to the another, something they can never retrieve.  Like two balls that carom off one another and change trajectories, they are each intimately affected by the fact that they were once married to one another.

I have met so many divorcees who passionately hate their ex-spouse.  It is a hate that can only be explained by the fact that they still feel a connection, even a love.  The opposite of love is not hate, it is indifference.  And it is rare to find a divorced person who is totally indifferent about the fate of their ex-spouse.

Part of the strong emotions tied to divorce are due to the adversarial nature of most divorce proceedings.  Our legal system does not encourage a husband and a wife to simply go their separate ways, they must hire attorneys, decide child custody and visitation, divide property, work out alimony and child support, and take care of countless details.  Usually this is accomplished in court through litigation; in the end, it is the attorneys who grow rich through this adversarial approach to breaking up a marriage.

That is the reason more and more couples are turning to family mediation as a more civil way to end a marriage.  Many religious groups recommend mediation.  A mediator is a neutral party, usually an attorney but sometimes a psychologist or even a clergyperson, who tries to facilitate an agreement.  I personally have taken mediation training offered through the courts to help me deal with issues of divorce.  The mediator is not an arbitrator; he or she has no right to force an agreement on the parties.  The role of the mediator is to help the parties speak to one another and come to their own agreement.

In my pursuit of divorce mediation, I look once again to the Biblical Aaron as a role model.  According to a rabbinic tradition, Aaron raised a question about the biblical verse "Justice justice shall you pursue" (Deuterono­my 16:20).  Why the double usage of the word "justice?"  One is pure justice, which is decided by a judge through litigation.  The other is mediation, finding a fair middle ground that both sides can agree on. (Sanhedrin 32b.)   In a divorce, the second type of justice seems far closer to God's ideal.  I tell a couple when we begin mediation, "We can come to a settlement right now that you both can agree on.  Or we can let a judge impose a settlement."  Fortunately, divorce mediation is becoming more and more popular as a way to dissolve a marriage.

I emphasize the importance of following the Biblical commandment, "You shall not hate your brother in your heart."  (Leviticus 19:17)  What is true for a stranger is doubly true for one's ex-spouse.  It is a religious mandate to walk away from a marriage without thoughts of hatred or revenge.  It is also extremely difficult.  That is why I think it is vital that there be a religious ritual linked to divorce just as there is for marriage.

When a man and woman get married, the change in status is a major religious moment conducted by a clergyperson.  When they divorce, the change in status usually takes place in a courtroom out of sight of the synagogue or church.  Often the couple is embarrassed to share their change in status with the rabbi, priest, or minister who performed the wedding.  I am often the last to know about the divorce.  (In fact, divorcees often quietly leave our synagogue, feeling it is a place for couples, not singles.)

I would like to see other religious traditions formulate parallel rituals of separation.  Such rituals would state that divorce is not simply a civil matter to be decided by the courts.  If marriage is a way of achieving God's will, the breakup of a marriage has profound religious significance.  Marriage is the dream, and divorce is the death of a dream.  Like any other death, it needs to be mourned in a religious setting.

PARSHAT SHOFTIM

(5761)

 

THE COMMUNITY'S RESPONSIBILITY

 

"And they shall make a declaration, Our hands did not shed this blood, nor did our eyes see it done."

(Deuteronomy 21:7)

 

In a few weeks I will be flying to New York to tape a television program.  I will be landing at LaGuardia airport.

New York City has seen many mayors, but only one who was considered great enough to have an airport named after him.  Fiorello LaGuardia was know for his outreach to all people in his city, the rich and the poor.  According to one apocryphal story, on a cold winter evening in 1935 LaGuardia went to the poorest neighborhood of the Bronx to sit in the courtroom as a municipal judge.

A woman was brought before him for stealing a loaf of bread to feed her family.  LaGuardia asked her why she stole the bread, and she replied that her daughter's husband had deserted her, her daughter was sick, and the children were hungry.  The owner of the bakery replied that his business was constantly robbed, and he could not tolerate theft.  He asked LaGuardia to set an example and punish the woman.

LaGuardia looked at the woman and ruled, "You must pay a $10 fine for stealing the bread."  (That was at a time when $10 was more serious money.)  He then reached into his pocket and handed the woman $10 to pay the fine.  LaGuardia continued, "I now fine every person in this courtroom 50 cents."  Everybody, spectators, attorneys, even the bailiff, had to pay the fine.  "I fine you for living in a city where a woman has to steal bread to support her family." $47.50 was raised in the courtroom and handed to this bewildered grandmother.

All of us, as part of a community, are responsible for the well-being of everyone else.  We cannot be comfortable while our fellow humans are suffering; we cannot eat while our fellows are starving.  On Passover we open our doors and say "All who are hungry come and eat."  The Torah teaches that we should not stand idly by our neighbor's blood.  LaGuardia knew that if a woman cannot feed her family, all New Yorkers must share responsibility.

This deep Biblical teaching is clear from a very strange law at the end of this week's portion.  If a murder victim is found in the countryside and no one knows who is responsible for the death, the elders of the nearest community are brought to the spot where the body was found.  They lay their hand on the head of a heifer who has never worked or been pulled by a yoke.  The heifer was then sacrificed in a rugged wadi, which has never been tilled or sowed.  The elders of the town must wash their hands over the heifer and declare, "Our hands did not shed this blood, nor did our eyes see it done."

Who would possibly think the elders and the leaders of the town were responsible for this murder?  The classical Rabbinic Midrash explains the elders words, "He did not come to us hungry and we failed to feed him, he did not come to us friendless and we failed to befriend him."  The Biblical commentator Rashi wrote, "The elders declare that they did not allow him to travel without food, or if the route was dangerous, without an escort."  In other words, the elders must take some responsibility for people who pass through their community.  As leaders, the well-being of everybody in the community falls on them.

We are all responsible for one another.  Whether our fellow human is hungry and in need of bread, in danger and in need of an escort, or simply lonely and in need of a friend, we need to be there.  We may not have an airport named after us.  But we will do our part to make this a better world.

PARSHAT SHOFTIM

(5760)

 

WHAT IS JUSTICE?

 

"Justice, justice shall you pursue." 

(Deuteronomy 16:20)

 

The Torah teaches us to pursue justice.  The United States Constitution teaches that the first role of government is to establish justice.  God is called a God of justice.  But what is justice?  And why is the word repeated twice in this verse?

Justice is one of those ideals that everyone pays tribute to, but it remains difficult to pin down.  I will attempt to define justice.  And the definition will lead us to the double use of the term in this week's portion.

Justice - tzedek in Hebrew -  means absolute fairness.  Justice means people getting precisely what they deserve, whether in a court of law, or by society as a whole.  Justice means, to quote Gilbert and Sullivan, having "the punishment fit the crime."  Justice means that in a civil case, a person receives precisely the damages that are appropriate.  Justice means that in society, everybody has a fair chance. 

True justice is impartial.  It favors neither the rich nor the poor.  Jewish tradition is filled with stories of judges who remain absolutely impartial, blindly applying the law as appropriate.  I think particularly of the judge who ruled against the poor man in a case, because that is what the facts demanded.  But then he paid the poor man's fine out of his own pocket.

The Prophet Amos spoke the words, "Let justice pour forth like water, righteousness like a mighty stream."  (Amos 5:24)   He went on to say, "And establish justice in the gate."  (Amos 5:15)  Amos was speaking to a society where unfairness reigned, where the rich and powerful took advantage of the poor and helpless.  Whether in the courts or in society, people did not receive what was fairly coming to them.  Amos's words ring even today in his call for absolute justice.

Still, the term "justice" is repeated twice in the verse.  What does the second use of the word "justice" mean?  Are there times when absolute justice is - not just?  Are there times when a fair punishment for a wrongdoing is - not fair?  According to the Talmud, the second use of the word justice is for mediation and compromise.  It is used when we need to seek an alternative to pure justice.

The easiest example is when one partner in a marriage has wronged the other, perhaps through committing adultery or some other improper act.  The other partner seeks revenge through the courts, hiring an attorney to destroy the partner who did the wrongdoing.  I have had a man come into my office for counseling, and tell me, "I will not pay my wife one penny; she does not deserve it."  And perhaps justice is on his side.  Yet, there are children involved, and ultimately they become the victims of strict justice.