Torah lawshave the ability to activate forces beyond the comprehension of man

My first and only experience in a beis din was years ago. Several fellow staff members and I were trying to receive our salaries from a company that folded. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was dreading the encounter and the necessity of such unpleasant proceedings.
While in the waiting room, across the hall, I had a glimpse of the dayanim in their long frocks, sitting in a semi-circle on a raised dais. Their faces looked somber, yet kind, and I was filled with a sense of awe. I had a sudden urge to run in there to tell them all my problems and commit to doing whatever they told me. These judges clearly understood the import of justice.
Spoiler alert: I never got a chance to speak with the dayanim. I subsequently went two more times to beis din, but the other party never showed up. We were then told that we now had the halachic right to sue in a secular court.
I left, weighted down with this responsibility and disappointed that I hadn’t had a chance to present my case to those exalted talmidei chachamim sitting up on that dais.
I chose not to pursue the matter in a secular court. Unfortunately, I had previous experience there as well.
Years back, I accompanied relatives who needed help understanding the Hebrew proceedings in an Israeli court. They’d put down payment for an apartment, and the owner pocketed the money and then declared bankruptcy. Apparently, he owed money to every Tom, Dick, and Harry (or Reuven, Shimon, and Levi here in Israel), and was wanted for tax evasion as well. His entire estate was brought to court, and my relatives, needing to recover their investment, ended up there as well.
While the language in the courtroom and the beis din may have been the same, the atmosphere was so different. The brightly lit government office was presided over by a judge who looked like he could also moonlight as a taxi driver, black robe notwithstanding. There was procedure and even pomp, but everything was reduced to paperwork and policy. We represented a number and a case, but there was no personal connection. By the time we left, I felt like we’d been drained of identity.
Comparing the two courts, it was clear to me who was the winner. Case closed.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 831)