The Case of Schmendrik & the Missing Pickle
Logical Fallacies
“The court is hereby opened; all rise,” he announced. In he walked, Judge Feinshmeckle himself, short and quickly pacing, nearly tripping over his long robe. As he sat down with a loud bang, he made a slight gesture for all to do the same. The whole town had shown up. Justice would be served, and all had decided to come witness it. Since his arrival, Judge Feinshmeckle had taken the town by storm with his penchant for no-nonsense shtetl justice.
“Good morning,” he started quietly, followed by a pregnant pause. He always showed his stature through his oratory skills. “I would like this court case to be as brief as possible. After all, justice should be swift and speedy. So, let’s learn the facts first of Schmendrik vs. Apfelboim.”
Looking up over his spectacles, the judge said, “Who is the defendant here?” Schmendrik stammered, “I am.” “Ah… are you defending yourself?” the judge asked, receiving a slight nod from Schmendrik, who was known around town for his freckled baby face. “Are you sure?” Judge Feinshmeckle said. “You know that you are under oath and what that means?” Schmendrik nodded bewilderedly, blurting out, as if the lid had fallen off, “I am not sure of anything anymore. One day, I’m walking in the market, and I stuff my mouth with a handful of pickles. The next morning, I get lifted from my bed to land in prison. Why? Aren’t pickles delicious?!”
Hammering Schmendrik down, the judge annoyedly interjected, “You can give an exposé when asked. I have zero tolerance for this type of unruly behaviour. Even though it might seem like eating a pickle is a small criminal act. What’s next?! Will you casually try out some of the smelly maatjes herring from Moses Blum? Or Auntie Mandy’s kishkes themselves?! Now, they are the best!”
Schmendrik didn’t agree: “I respectfully disagree with your honour; her kishkes are the worst. I would rather walk two days to the next shtetl over to get some. Can we not just settle? Or are you dead set on biblical justice? If the pickle man has a shortage of pickles, I’d gladly buy some others now. They were laid out on his stall to tease me with in the first place. Is he not at fault by laying them out like candy?”
The judge, getting increasingly flustered, loudly answered: “He works hard and needs to be rewarded for his entrepreneurial acumen.” This generated laughter from the crowd. Surprised by the crowd’s reaction, the judge continued, “What would happen if the world didn’t benefit from such tremendous ingenuity? No one should be able to jeopardise entrepreneurial spirit. It might lead to a babka shortage! Besides, making sure that businessmen can operate their ventures without fear is my primary concern. The main thing is to deter our youth from doing this. To set an example. Because we don’t want them stealing clothes from the tailor soon. It’s a slippery slope!
“If you think so,” Schmendrik interrupted him once more, “you should consider telling Lanky Lemel. We all know that he causes a raucous at the market every week; spinning his dreidels for some kopeks. Why can’t he spin his dreidel at home? Before we know it, he will start stealing phylacteries – who will guard them?!”
Assertively, the judge took back control: “So, do you think that the cost of the pickle is nothing? That pickle man Apfelboim has not spent money on pickling and growing them to perfection? It takes time to learn how to do that, you know.” Then under his breath, turning to Schmendrik, as if the entire town wasn’t present and no one could hear it: “We all know that he’s a neurotic nudge. He has enough tsores from his wife; she seriously needs a pickle.” Then louder: “I think that paying back his lost business and sleepless nights is something society owes him.”
“You know what,” Schmendrik jumped up, “society owes him nothing! He’s taken a few pickles that people happen to fill their empty lives with. He’s hardly a philanthropist! How about making sure that most of the town has food and aren’t walking around emaciated having schlepped and toiled all day like myself?! This while the market guys get to eat and be merry every day. Justice is surely not served by injustice?!”
Excited mumbling in the crowds…
“I’d be glad to pay him back and get on with things. Why do we need the whole town here wasting time on this? Look around you, judge – doesn’t Mendy the mohel have better things to do like practice on some sausages? Don’t we all agree this is somewhat fallacious?
Shaking his head, the judge continued with a high-pitched voice: “But it’s the principle! And what’s more, how is society going to function – if we can’t have people in our town randomly eating pickles?
“Believe me, society will function fine. Innocently eating a pickle doesn’t mean that society will fall apart. Let’s keep things in proportion! This is what happens when you falsely divide up society into the good, bad, and ugly!”
Encouraged by the crowd’s clear enthusiasm for his arguments, Schmendrik increased the rhetoric. “How does it make sense that Epstein the shoemaker in the back there only cobbles together a meagre existence working day and night? This while Apfelboim has received an effective monopoly for his pickles in this town? However delectable, they are mere pickles, yet he earns the power to take over the town for a Kozak court!!
With that, a large uproar started. The crowd wanted to see blood, and the tables had turned. The judge realized that he was losing control. Looking around the crowd, he saw faces that were increasingly smelling blood. “Alright, alright, I see where this is going. I think we can make this a quick token case to set an example for all to see here in town. I hereby order you to repay the pickle and let you go – this is a one-off though!”
Months later, Schmendrik had become the local legend. Walking around the shtetl, people would stop him on the street, often telling how he had changed their lives. He would talk to them and tell them to pay it forward by creating a just society. After all, shtetl justice doesn’t function when justice covers up for inequality.