Who Are You More Embarrassed Before—People or *Hashem*? Retired Judge Shimon Feinberg on the Turning Point That Changed His Life

"All rise!"

The call rang out from the court usher as he spotted the judge walking up to the bench. The gallery rose to its feet for the young judge, stepping into the courtroom for the first time, draped in a black robe.

That judge was Shimon Feinberg, one of the youngest judges in the State of Israel.

Speaking with Feinberg today, more than thirty years later, he looks back on that pivotal day in September 1995, when he took on the esteemed role. "I was born in the United States," he shares. "I made aliyah as a Conservative teen with my family, between the Six-Day War and the Yom Kippur War. After combat service in the army, I moved on to my first job at the Israel Broadcasting Authority, then continued to study law at the university in Jerusalem. At the same time I became an editor of a news broadcast, and even a radio announcer—a highly regarded role in those days."

שמעון פיינברג כשופט

A Judge Behind the Curtain

Feinberg’s path took plenty of turns. Even as an attorney he helped make legal history, with a landmark lawsuit that still stands as a cornerstone on the duties parents owe their children. He never imagined he’d end up on the bench.

"It surprised me too, and it came with a great sense of duty," he explains. "As a judge, you’re acutely aware of the weight on your shoulders. You weigh every word you say in court, fully aware that every syllable has legal significance for the parties. You’re also obligated to master all the facts in the files and know all the relevant laws—all without any formal training at a dedicated judges’ school. You could say I was thrown into the deep end and had to start swimming right away."

Do you remember the first case you presided over?

"Of course. It was a defamation suit against a journalist who had written an article criticizing another journalist amid some dispute between them. The maligned reporter sued, and each side showed up with a sharp attorney. The first witness took the stand, and on the very first question the opposing lawyer jumped up, objected, and launched into an elaborate explanation of why the question was improper. The first lawyer answered with a carefully reasoned speech about why the question stood. In the end, nearly the entire session was consumed by the fate of that very first question to the witness. Looking back, I can admit it showed I lacked experience in the role... But with time I figured out how to keep that from happening again—so I wouldn’t end up adjudicating the attorneys’ objections instead of the case itself. The more experience I gained, the more tools I had to steer the proceedings."

What does a person go through emotionally when he becomes a judge?

"I was a king," he answers simply. "And honestly, it felt nice. Suddenly everyone around me addressed me with honorifics: ‘Sir,’ ‘Your Honor,’ ‘His Honor,’ and so on, while I was just beginning to realize that I was the one telling everyone what to do—and no one dared argue. Everyone even laughed at my jokes to curry favor.

"Thankfully, I quickly understood that I didn’t connect with that pride—not in my personal life and not as a judge. I tried hard to detach from that ‘above the people’ feeling and, during hearings, to stay as down-to-earth as possible with the litigants. From day one I also insisted that my photo not appear anywhere, including the Ministry of Justice website. Until this interview, my picture hadn’t been published in any media outlet, and I’m very grateful for that.

"I made a similar decision more recently when I published The Judge’s Son—an autobiography about my life that tells my story in full detail, but under a pen name. It isn’t hard to identify me from the details in the book. Still, I take comfort in staying behind the curtain, because ‘who I am’ is secondary here; what matters is the journey I’ve taken in life."

כריכת הספר

A “Right-Wing, Extreme” Judge

Feinberg’s years on the bench—especially at the Jerusalem Magistrate’s Court—were anything but dull. Many of the cases before him were consequential, some even fate-changing.

"About two months after I started serving as a judge, Rabin was assassinated," he recalls. "On my desk landed an indictment against a resident of a community in the Hebron area. He was accused that when a TV reporter thrust a microphone at him and asked what he thought about the assassination, he replied that he was happy or glad that Rabin had died—something along those lines. This isn’t the place to dive into the long trial and all the considerations, but I can say one thing: in the end I acquitted him completely. Not because I agreed with the statement—far from it—but because, legally, that was the right thing to do. It’s called freedom of speech. Had there been a similar indictment against someone on the left praising violence against someone on the right, I would have reached the very same result."

But that wasn’t the end of it. "From that moment I sensed looks around me labeling me as right-wing and too extreme. I began to feel that even within the judicial system I wasn’t seen as ‘one of our own.’ The fact that I lived in Judea and Samaria didn’t win me any points.

"After I ruled and announced his acquittal, the prosecution appealed to the District Court. The appeal was accepted, and the man I had acquitted was convicted. Interestingly, not long after, an Arab defendant was tried under the exact same clause, after publicly praising Arabs who throw stones and Molotov cocktails at IDF soldiers. Amazingly, he was acquitted of all charges.

"It was infuriating and upsetting. That said, I must note that the Jewish man who was convicted in my case—and other defendants after him—later requested retrials in light of that ruling, and were ultimately acquitted. Without the Arab defendant’s acquittal, they likely would have been left with a criminal stain."

Near the end of his term on the bench, Feinberg was selected for a judicial panel that, for the first time in Israel’s history, heard a criminal indictment against a sitting president. "A huge media circus erupted," he recalls. "I remember when the hearing time approached, I left my chambers into the corridor where the reporters, photographers, and crews were already gathered. I tried to make my way through. I couldn’t, and one journalist even shoved me and said, ‘Move, the judges will be here any second—you’re in the shot!’ I chuckled to myself that he had no idea one of the very judges he was dying to photograph was me."

Were there particular types of cases you specialized in?

"I had the chance to preside over just about every kind of case imaginable," he says. "Honestly, it’s easier to ask what I didn’t hear. The Magistrate’s Court handles the largest volume of matters in the country. I was exposed to an enormous range of cases, with just one thing in common: my desire to reach a just resolution."

The Road Back to Judaism

On the personal front, at the time Feinberg was married to his wife, Deborah, and was the father of twin boys and a daughter a few years younger. "We had a good life," he says. "We lived in the community of Nili, enjoyed a high standard of living, and overall were very satisfied. Judaism wasn’t present in our home at all. Although as a high-schooler I had a powerful spiritual experience that brought me closer to religion, in the army I stopped putting on tefillin and decided to devote my time to other things."

At 36, the twins became bar mitzvah. Alongside his demanding work at court, Feinberg decided to teach them the cantillation, which he still remembered from his own bar mitzvah before moving to Israel. "Baruch Hashem, it went especially well. So I wasn’t surprised when, shortly afterward, a neighbor called asking me to teach his son to read the parashah for his bar mitzvah. Then more and more similar requests came in. Nili was growing quickly in those days, so I’d come home from a grueling day in court and start giving lessons one after another—from afternoon into the night. That’s how I ended up teaching Nili’s boys for twelve straight years."

Still, through those twelve years Feinberg remained distant from Torah and mitzvot, though he held a warm spot in his heart for Judaism. "Thanks to one of my twins, who—like several boys in Nili at the time—was drawn to Judaism and the synagogue experience, I began attending Friday-night Shabbat services. In hindsight I can say it definitely influenced me and drew me closer to Judaism."

The big turning point came about two years later, when Feinberg went with his wife to the hospital for the birth of their fourth child. "At first, the delivery progressed as expected," he recalls, "but suddenly the monitor flatlined and the lines dropped. They immediately rushed my wife’s bed into the operating room, with no time even to explain what was happening. I was left alone in the waiting room, with no information, feeling awful. At midnight I turned to Hashem from the depths of my heart and took upon myself that if my wife came out of surgery safely and a healthy baby was born—I would resume putting on tefillin, as I had in my youth. The surgery was very complicated, but baruch Hashem, it succeeded. Our fourth son, Daniel David, was born."

How do you explain the fact that you drew closer to Judaism, when most people in your situation don’t take that path?

"Looking back, I can say it isn’t really surprising, because I was always searching for truth in general—and for what it meant to me in particular. At a certain point, I realized I had to decide who I am and what I am. I owed that to myself, and to my family and children, to know the path I wanted for us. I decided to take a step that wasn’t easy, once I understood we couldn’t wait any longer. That led me to a decision I don’t regret for a moment."

The Judge’s Son

Feinberg kept his vow and began putting on tefillin regularly. That led to keeping Shabbat, and later to wearing a kippah and tzitzit, and to observing more mitzvot. "I was 45 when I began to outwardly look like a religious Jew," he says. "It wasn’t an easy decision, because I was very embarrassed to become a ‘religious judge.’ I didn’t dare leave home like that, but the thought that ultimately tipped the scales was: ‘Who are you more embarrassed before—the people who will see the distinguished judge dressed like a religious guy, or Hashem, who sees you dressed like a gentile?’ I decided I was more embarrassed before Hashem, and I changed how I dressed."

"Since then, I’ve come a long way. When I returned to observance, I did it out of respect for Judaism and to present a Jewish appearance, but I didn’t really understand what that meant. Today, as someone who devotes his time to learning Torah all day, I’m speaking from a completely different place. I also have to mention my wonderful wife, who stood with me through the entire process. When I started returning to observance, she didn’t understand what was happening to me and didn’t identify with it at all, yet she decided to join me to preserve our family’s unity. Thanks to her, today we have a big family, with children and grandchildren who keep mitzvot and bring us so much nachas."

As a former judge, do you keep up with the justice system today?

"I do so less," he answers candidly. "As a former journalist, I know the media up close, so I take what’s written or said with a grain of salt. I also feel uncomfortable seeing how today’s courts don’t really rule according to the laws of the Torah, and that bothers me a lot. The politics mixed into the judicial system doesn’t sit well with me either. Court rules must be fair from the outset and not be swept up by political opinions."

He pauses for a moment, then adds: "The main times my past as a judge rises before my eyes are during prayer—especially on the High Holy Days—when I tangibly feel that we stand every day before a King who loves righteousness and justice. We are all children of a true Judge, and standing before Hashem is entirely different from any other kind of judgment we know. The peak is on Yom Kippur, when Hashem does something that defies comprehension: He sets aside the very laws He Himself gave, in order to atone for us. The laws of the Creator are given to us with immense kindness and great love. I think that precisely because of my years serving as a judge, I know how to value that. More than once I also find myself trying, in various situations, to go lifnim mishurat ha-din—beyond the letter of the law—in the great hope that the Creator will see it, and may He act that way toward us as well."

To purchase the book "The Judge’s Son," visit Hidabroot Shops or call: 073-222-1250