Why Do We No Longer Insist Today That Both Litigants Wear Equal Clothing, Even Though This Is an Obligation?

Why Do We No Longer Insist Today That Both Litigants Wear Equal Clothing, Even Though This Is an Obligation?

The Rich Man’s Robe and the Poor Man’s Rags: The Secret of Equal Clothing in the Hall of Justice

A dayan stands in the heart of the beit midrash, watching the litigants enter. Before him appears a scene that burns itself into the eye: on one side stands a very wealthy man wrapped in an expensive robe whose luxurious fibers radiate power and intimidate those around him; opposite him stands a poor man in worn rags that testify to poverty and a broken heart. The Shulhan Arukh lies before us, and the law cries out: “With righteousness shall you judge your fellow.” How can the heart remain straight and the eye avoid favoring the wealthy person—or perhaps pitying the poor? Yet the reality in our generations seems to contradict the explicit rule. In batei din everywhere, litigants enter wearing vastly different clothing, and no one orders: “Dress like him or clothe him like yourself.” Where did the complete obligation rooted in “distance yourself from falsehood” disappear? Have we, Heaven forbid, abandoned the effort to establish Torah law, or is there a deep secret here involving exile and redemption, human garments and the garments of the Shekhinah? We set out on a powerful journey from the depths of the Gemara in Shevuot to the inner teachings of Bnei Yissaschar, in order to understand how judgment functions in a world in which clothing sometimes speaks louder than words.

From the silence of the waiting room of the beit din, we enter the sacred sources that map the path of pure truth. There, within the letters of Torah that form the root of justice in Israel, we discover that clothing is not merely a covering for the body. It is a form of communication that can influence the dayan’s perception and the entire atmosphere of judgment. “With righteousness shall you judge your fellow” (Leviticus 19:15). This verse in Parashat Kedoshim is not merely a technical command regarding the final verdict; it demands the creation of a spiritual space in which truth can emerge without distortion. From here our Sages learned that the litigants must be treated equally in every respect.

Rashi (Leviticus 19:15) explains the equality required: “One should not be standing while the other sits; one should not be permitted to speak at length while the other is told, shorten your words.” Clothing is part of that same language. A person’s garments speak before he does. If one litigant stands in a magnificent robe and the other in rags, equality has already been disturbed before either has opened his mouth.

Rabbi Abraham Ibn Ezra explains the word “your fellow” as hinting at equality between human beings. The judge must think of the other as someone like himself. A large visible difference in dress can make that inner equality harder to preserve; clothing can become a screen between the dayan and the requirement to see both parties as fundamentally equal.

Ramban explains that justice depends on the vision of the judge. The dayan must take care not to honor the face of an important person improperly. In practical terms, “honoring the face” can begin with seeing impressive garments. The command “with righteousness shall you judge” therefore requires the dayan to remove or neutralize external factors capable of awakening misplaced awe toward a wealthy litigant.

Sforno explains that justice must be “complete justice” and that it must also appear just to all. Equality in clothing is therefore not only for the judge’s private protection. It also safeguards the public appearance of justice. If the community sees one litigant in luxury and the other in rags, then even a perfectly accurate verdict may fail to look just.

Kli Yakar broadens the idea and explains that Torah is concerned with bias of the heart. The judge may unconsciously accord respect to the rich man because of his clothing. Expensive dress can therefore function like a subtle visual bribe. “With righteousness shall you judge” demands removal of those external influences so that pure truth can emerge.

From the Torah we descend into the sea of Talmud, where the principle becomes a concrete rule.

Shevuot 31a gives the explicit source: “From where do we know that when two come to judgment, one wearing rags and one wearing a robe worth one hundred maneh, we tell the wealthy one: dress like him or clothe him like yourself? From the verse: ‘Distance yourself from a false matter.’” The Gemara teaches a remarkable principle. Unequal clothing is not merely an aesthetic discomfort. In an extreme case it belongs to the realm of falsehood. The wealthy litigant who appears in splendor opposite someone in degrading clothing creates an image of superiority and introduces falsehood into the chamber of justice.

The Gemara also tells of Rava bar Rav Huna, who would tell litigants appearing before him to remove their footwear before judgment. The purpose was to reduce visible hierarchy. Distinguished shoes raise a person physically and socially; Rava sought a courtroom in which both parties stood on the same ground.

Rashi on Shevuot 31a explains the reason behind “distance yourself from falsehood”: “This one appears rich and this one poor, and there is reason to suspect that the judge may favor the rich man, or that the poor man will be intimidated by him and unable to present his claims.” Rashi identifies two dangers. The first lies in the mind of the judge, who may be dazzled by wealth. The second lies in the psyche of the poor litigant, whose voice may freeze before the splendor of his opponent. Equal clothing is meant not only to protect the judge, but to liberate the weaker party from the chains of humiliation and enable him to argue confidently.

The Rosh (Shevuot, chapter 4, siman 2) cites the Gemara as law and emphasizes that responsibility lies upon the court. It is not merely an act of kindness by the rich person. The beit din must not proceed while a dramatic inequality remains. If the wealthy litigant refuses either to dress down or to clothe the poor man more respectfully, the judge may be required to postpone proceedings rather than conduct judgment within a setting that visibly distorts equality.

The Jerusalem Talmud, Sanhedrin 3:9, records in the name of Rabbi Yishmael: “We tell him: dress as he is dressed or clothe him as you are dressed.” The word “as” indicates that identical garments are not necessary; what matters is the general level and social meaning of the clothing. So long as one party’s appearance creates a glaring difference in status, the visual environment of justice has been compromised.

Tosafot (Shevuot 31a, s.v. ehad) ask why this rule is not applied every time two people dress differently. They answer that the Talmud is speaking of a case in which the difference is extreme—such as a robe worth one hundred maneh opposite rags. The Sages did not seek to create a uniform for every litigant. They sought to prevent an extreme situation in which clothing becomes the central feature and the person himself becomes secondary.

From the Talmud we rise to the Rishonim, who translate the teaching into precise law and begin to explain why later practice changed.

Rabbi Eliezer ben Natan, Raavan, commenting on Shevuot, provides an important foundation for the later custom. He writes that today we do not practice the rule in its literal form, because the Talmud referred specifically to an extraordinary robe worth one hundred maneh. In our times, ordinary differences in clothing do not create the same fear of bias. According to Raavan, everything depends upon how exceptional the clothing is. Only an astonishingly expensive and rare garment, one capable of dazzling the judge or terrifying the other litigant, triggers the original rule in full force. When differences remain within socially ordinary limits, we do not assume that they will distort judgment, and therefore the court does not burden litigants with changing clothes.

Rambam (Laws of Sanhedrin 21:1-2) codifies the rule in strong terms: when two litigants appear, one in expensive garments and the other in degrading garments, the dignified litigant is told either to clothe the other like himself or to dress like the other until they are equal, and only afterward should judgment proceed. Rambam’s contrast between “expensive garments” and “degrading garments” is significant. The problem is not mere price. It is humiliating inequality. If one litigant’s clothing preserves human dignity while the other’s clothing visibly degrades him, the setting is no longer equal enough for justice.

The Rosh repeats the Talmudic rule and places responsibility on the dayan. The command to “distance yourself from falsehood” obligates the judge to preserve the courtroom from obvious visual inequality. Unlike Raavan, the Rosh does not explicitly say that the law no longer applies in later generations, which leaves room to understand that the principle remains fully operative whenever there is a genuine and extreme disparity.

The Tur (Hoshen Mishpat 17), following the Rosh, codifies the rule but uses wording similar to Rambam: one litigant is dressed in honorable or expensive garments and the other in degrading clothing. This teaches that if both are dressed normally and respectfully, even if one is somewhat better dressed than the other, there is no requirement to equalize them. The concern begins when dress establishes a hierarchy of “respected” versus “humiliated.”

From the Rishonim we come to the Aharonim, who struggled to reconcile the explicit Talmudic rule with the reality of later batei din.

Rabbi Yehoshua Falk Katz, the Sema (Hoshen Mishpat 17:3), follows Raavan and explains the lenient custom: so long as the poorer litigant’s clothing is not actually degrading, the fact that it is less expensive than the other party’s clothing is not enough to require equalization. The threshold is therefore high. If the poor litigant is dressed in normal, socially acceptable clothing, even if the wealthy person is dressed more elegantly, we do not automatically assume that justice has been corrupted.

The Sema cites in the name of Maharshal the painful expression that “we do not have the power to establish the law in its full form,” because wealthy and influential people may resist coercion. According to this practical reality, the judge must at the very least tell the weaker litigant not to fear and must take active steps to protect equality in the hearing.

Rabbi Yoel Sirkis, the Bah (Hoshen Mishpat 17), strongly disagrees with excessive leniency. He seeks to restore the rule to its former strength and writes that even a smaller visible advantage—such as more important footwear—can require equalization. He brings support from the Tosefta and Jerusalem Talmud and argues that one does not need the exact extreme of “one hundred maneh.” In his view, the failure to enforce the rule in later generations reflects weakness of practice more than a change in the underlying halakhah. The dayan should strive to remove even lesser visual superiority that may influence the heart.

Rabbi Shabtai HaKohen, the Shakh (Hoshen Mishpat 17:1), brings Raavan and rules according to the lenient custom: today we do not generally apply the rule because the Talmud spoke specifically of an extraordinary robe worth one hundred maneh, whereas contemporary clothing differences do not normally create the same concern of judicial bias. According to the Shakh, “distance yourself from falsehood” is applied according to social meaning. When society is accustomed to ordinary differences in clothing, those differences may no longer carry the same psychological force.

Rabbi Yonatan Eybeschutz, Tumim (Hoshen Mishpat 17:2), similarly explains that “expensive clothes” means exceptionally costly garments. Ordinary respectable clothing, even when clearly better than what another litigant wears, does not automatically recreate the Talmudic case. The concern arises when luxury itself becomes an overwhelming signal of social power.

Rabbi Yosef Teomim, Pri Megadim, emphasizes an ethical point even if practical enforcement is weak. Even where the court does not compel the wealthy litigant to change clothing, the judge remains fully obligated to show equal countenance, equal patience, and equal respect. The external rule may be harder to enforce, but the inner requirement of “with righteousness shall you judge” remains entirely intact.

From the Aharonim we reach later authorities, who confront the moral difficulty of the lenient practice while also uncovering a deeper theological dimension.

Rabbi Raphael Yosef Hazan, Hikrei Lev (Hoshen Mishpat 11), asks the obvious question: how can we justify saying “we do not have the power to establish the law” because wealthy people are difficult to coerce? Does Torah not command, “You shall not fear any man”? He explains that this is not personal fear by the dayan, Heaven forbid, but an assessment of communal reality. A spiritual leader may judge that rigid enforcement of a practice the public will not accept could drive wealthy litigants away from Torah courts altogether and toward secular courts, creating even greater damage. “You shall not fear any man” demands courage, but leadership also requires the wisdom to preserve the larger Torah framework.

Rabbi Tzvi Hirsch Shapira, in Darkei Teshuvah, explains that in later society clothing has become a central component of social identity. Forcing a person to exchange his normal honorable clothing for rags could itself distort his ability to present his case. In earlier times, clothing may have functioned more as an external luxury; today, respectable dress can be part of basic social standing. If one litigant is deliberately humiliated by being forced into rags, that too may violate “with righteousness shall you judge.”

Rabbi Tzvi Elimelekh Shapira of Dinov, Bnei Yissaschar, citing Rabbi Menahem Azariah of Fano, lifts the discussion from the earthly courtroom to the Throne of Glory. He sees in this law a source of hope for Knesset Yisrael. Through our sins, our garments become red and stained, while the Holy One, blessed be He, is described metaphorically as clothed in white as snow. When God calls, “Come now and let us reason together,” He places Himself, as it were, opposite Israel in judgment. Since the heavenly “wealthy litigant” is clothed in radiant purity and Israel stands in the rags of sin, the law of equality suggests a plea: if one litigant is clothed in splendor and the other in shame, the wealthy one must clothe the poor like himself. Thus Israel prays that God remove the stained garments of sin and dress us in the whiteness of forgiveness and atonement.

The Rishon LeZion Rabbi Yitzhak Yosef, in Ein Yitzhak, discusses application today. Even where custom is lenient concerning literal clothing, the judge must take extraordinary care to use equal language and show equal demeanor. The original obligation of “distance yourself from falsehood” is transferred, as it were, from garment to heart. If the clothing cannot practically be equalized, the attitude must be equalized so completely that the wealthy person does not feel elevated and the poor person does not feel diminished.

My teacher Rabbi Asher Weiss, in Responsa Minhat Asher, analyzes Rambam and Bah and explains that the heart of the law is prevention of “procedural advantage.” In our times, equality is achieved through equal listening, equal time, equal seriousness, and equal judicial scrutiny. Even where the court does not order a clothing change, it may not allow the important litigant to speak longer because of imagined status, nor silence the weaker party. Both must stand beneath the same standard of Torah truth.

From these sources we can draw practical applications.

The first concerns the dayan’s obligation to equalize his treatment. Since later custom does not usually compel litigants to change clothing, the weight of responsibility moves even more heavily to the judge’s conduct. He must double his efforts to preserve equality of expression: equal tone, equal patience, equal speaking time, equal seriousness. If clothing is unequal, the dayan must create equality through his own demeanor so that the poor litigant does not feel weakened and the wealthy litigant does not feel elevated.

A second application concerns the conduct of a wealthy litigant. Even if the beit din will not force him to dress like the poor man, a God-fearing person should take the Bah’s concern seriously. It is proper to appear in modest, ordinary, respectable clothing that does not flaunt wealth or intimidate the other party. This is a form of piety within judgment: distancing oneself from the false message of status and making it easier for one’s opponent to stand upright.

A third application concerns cases of truly extreme disparity. Even according to the later lenient custom, if one litigant appears in genuinely degrading clothing that evokes disgust or overwhelming pity while the other appears in extravagant luxury, the original law may return with full force. The dayan should not ignore a situation in which the visual imbalance itself makes a fair hearing difficult. The court may need to pause, arrange more dignified clothing for the poor person, or otherwise neutralize the disparity before continuing.

A fourth application concerns the Maharshal’s warning that “the hand of the wealthy is strong.” The dayan must be alert to subtle pressure. If he senses that the rich litigant’s appearance creates psychological immunity or causes witnesses and the opposing party to fear him, he must use his authority to restore balance—verbally reassuring the weaker party and actively demonstrating that status has no weight in Torah judgment.

A fifth application arises from the Bnei Yissaschar’s spiritual teaching. Prayer itself is a kind of standing in judgment before the King. A person should therefore dress respectfully for prayer—“Prepare to meet your God, Israel.” By appearing honorably before the King, we awaken the plea that the King remove our stained garments and clothe us in whiteness, in forgiveness and atonement.

From the practical applications we enter the deeper meaning of clothing in judgment. The struggle over equal garments is not merely good administration or prevention of formal bias. It touches the Torah’s concept of truth and the way truth becomes visible in this world.

Clothing in Judaism is not merely technical covering. It is a statement of identity. When Torah invokes “distance yourself from falsehood” in relation to clothing, it teaches that garments are powerful symbols capable of becoming instruments of deception. In a fragmented world, clothing creates barriers and classes; it tells stories of wealth, power, and influence. The courtroom, however, is supposed to be a place where the person stands stripped, spiritually speaking, before pure truth. The demand for equal dress is therefore a demand to peel away external shells. Torah tells the wealthy litigant: remove the robe that tells the world about your success and stand as a soul equal to your poor brother, because in the court there is no ultimate master other than the Holy One, blessed be He.

The issue also reveals the connection between seeing and judging. The eye is a gateway to the heart. Even the greatest dayan remains flesh and blood and can be affected by what he sees. The “falsehood” from which Torah distances us includes the falsehood of image. Expensive clothing creates an aura of credibility and competence; worn clothing can evoke pity or a sense of insignificance. Torah justice seeks to neutralize these impressions. Equal clothing is one way of forcing the external scene to align with the deeper reality in which both litigants possess an equal right to be heard regardless of bank account or social standing.

A further idea concerns the struggle between matter and spirit. The later expression “we do not have the power to establish the law fully” is not merely technical weakness. It reflects the depth of exile—a world in which external appearance has become so central that it is difficult to detach human identity from it. The dispute between strict and lenient authorities therefore becomes part of a larger struggle to restore the sovereignty of spirit over matter. The demand for equality in clothing reminds the world that there must be at least one place where a garment does not determine the human being: the court of Torah.

At the psychological level, magnificent clothing can function as armor. A person may use it to hide weakness or establish artificial dominance. When the Sages tell the wealthy litigant “dress like him,” they are demanding an act of humility and inner breaking. The litigant is asked to let go of an ego embodied in clothing and stand before truth as he really is—without titles and without outer shells. The difficulty modern people feel in separating identity from status symbols shows how deep the bondage to image has become. The struggle for equal clothing is therefore also a struggle for inner freedom.

On the plane of faith, the issue expresses “I have set the Lord before me always.” A person who truly knows he stands before the Judge of truth understands that brand, fabric, and social image carry no weight before Him. The beit din becomes a laboratory of faith: a place where a person proves that he trusts the power of inner truth more than the power of impressive appearances. One who insists upon his “robe worth one hundred maneh” may, in some measure, reveal insecurity about the strength of his actual claim.

The teaching of Bnei Yissaschar concerning the heavenly dispute between the Holy One and Israel adds a moving dimension of hope. The “wealthy litigant” above, as it were, clothes the poor litigant in garments like His own. The law of equal clothing becomes an act of mercy within judgment. Even when we stand in the rags of sin, we still belong to the Divine whiteness. The dayan’s ability below to see the poor as equal to the rich reflects faith that every Jewish soul contains a Divine spark regardless of its material wrapping.

From this depth we enter the moral sphere.

The first moral principle is sensitivity to the poor person’s dignity. Unequal clothing in court is not merely a problem of judicial neutrality. It can wound a human soul. A wealthy person standing in splendor opposite someone in rags can silently make the other feel erased, choke his voice, and exploit economic power as psychological advantage. Moral justice therefore requires more than formal equality. It requires protecting the weaker litigant’s confidence and ability to speak.

A second principle is the responsibility of leadership. The statements of Maharshal and Bah regarding the difficulty of enforcing the rule against powerful wealthy people expose a painful dilemma: should a leader compromise on complete implementation in order to preserve the system, or insist even at the price of breaking the vessels? The moral lesson is that a leader must be wise without ever becoming comfortable with distortion. Even when reality forces a concession in clothing, the dayan must continue fighting for equality by other means. This is a morality of constant striving for truth within an imperfect world.

A third lesson concerns modesty in litigation. A person who understands the gravity of standing for judgment should appear in a way that does not flaunt power. True dignity does not require a spectacular robe. A morally sensitive wealthy person lowers the intensity of his outward display voluntarily so as not to intimidate his opponent. This is conduct beyond the letter of the law, rooted in recognition that justice begins in the relationship between human beings even before the judge speaks.

Finally, the Bnei Yissaschar teaches a morality of mercy. If we want the Holy One to practice “clothe him like yourself” toward us, we must practice the same below. Our moral compass must be directed toward raising the weaker person rather than merely demanding that he endure dry rules. Jewish morality is a morality of elevation: the strong accept responsibility for the dignity and standing of the weak, creating a society in which truth and kindness meet.

After this journey through the law of clothing in court, we return to ordinary life carrying a broader insight. Clothing is not merely covering. It is an ambassador of the soul, and we are responsible to ensure that this ambassador does not spread falsehood.

In daily life, equality and justice begin with the way our eyes look at another person. When we meet someone, we should try to peel away the robe of status or the rags of poverty and listen to the soul speaking beneath them. Every person is a litigant before the Holy One in the broad sense that he deserves to be seen and heard on his own merits, not according to the garment he wears. We should also adopt modesty in public appearance and avoid needless displays that intimidate or distance others. We should use our position to elevate another person and give him dignity and belonging. The more we create “equal clothing” in interpersonal relationships, the more truth and the Shekhinah can dwell within society.

The Main Point:

Why do we not generally insist today that both litigants wear equal clothing, even though the Gemara derives such an obligation from “distance yourself from falsehood”? The answer emerges from the pathways of halakhah developed by the Rishonim and Aharonim. The Bah protested against the weakening of the practice and sought to enforce equality even for smaller visible differences. Raavan, Shakh, and Sema, however, explained that the Talmudic rule was directed primarily at extreme disparity, such as a fantastically expensive robe opposite degrading rags. In ordinary modern differences of respectable dress, the psychological concern is not assumed to be as severe, and courts therefore do not usually compel the public to change clothing.

Maharshal added the painful dimension that later courts sometimes lack the practical ability to coerce powerful wealthy litigants, a position that raises the moral challenge of “you shall not fear any man.” Yet even where the physical clothing is not equalized, the obligation has not disappeared. It moves inward: the dayan must preserve essential equality through equal patience, equal listening, equal speech, and equal respect, while the wealthy litigant bears a moral responsibility not to use outward status as psychological power.

And on the deeper level, Bnei Yissaschar transforms the law into a prayer of hope. We stand before the richest “litigant,” the Holy One, blessed be He, wearing the stained garments of sin, and we ask Him to fulfill “clothe him like yourself”: remove our soiled garments and wrap us in the snow-white clothing of forgiveness and atonement, so that our judgment may emerge into the light.