I don't mind getting my hands dirty, and I don't mind getting to

Judy Sheindlin, known to many as Judge Judy, speaks with a voice that cuts like a blade through confusion and pretense: “I don't mind getting my hands dirty, and I don't mind getting to the truth of a situation and saying, 'You're right, you're wrong, next case.'” This is not merely the creed of a courtroom judge, but the declaration of a soul unafraid of the mess of life. For truth is seldom clean and polished—it is buried beneath quarrels, excuses, and half-told stories. To find it, one must be willing to dig, to wrestle, to get their hands dirty.

The origin of such a saying lies in the ancient duty of justice itself. From the earliest days of civilization, when tribal elders sat beneath the trees to settle disputes, the role of the judge was not to please all, but to discern truth. And truth is not always sweet to hear. It divides. It exposes. It leaves one party satisfied and another humbled. But the ancients knew—as Sheindlin reminds us—that a society without such courage collapses into chaos. To say, “You’re right, you’re wrong, next case,” is to uphold the rhythm of order against the tide of endless conflict.

This spirit has been seen throughout history. Think of Solomon, the wise king of Israel, who was confronted by two women claiming to be the mother of the same child. The situation was messy, tangled with deception and grief. Solomon was not afraid to get his hands dirty—to probe, to test, to push the case to its breaking point. By offering to divide the child, he exposed the true mother through her compassion. Justice was served not by avoiding the difficulty, but by facing it directly. So too does Judge Sheindlin’s creed echo Solomon’s wisdom: truth comes to light when one dares to enter the heart of conflict with clear judgment.

Yet there is something heroic in the bluntness of her words. Many in the modern world shrink from declaring absolutes. They fear offending, they fear the backlash of saying, “This is right, that is wrong.” But Sheindlin reminds us that justice demands clarity. To waver, to cloud truth with endless compromise, is to betray both parties. In life as in law, there comes a time to draw the line, to speak the judgment, and to move forward. This decisiveness is not cruelty, but mercy—for it releases all from the paralysis of indecision.

Still, the imagery of “getting my hands dirty” carries another lesson. It reminds us that truth is not uncovered from afar. One cannot discover it by sitting in lofty detachment, untouched by the grit of reality. Whether in law, in leadership, or in daily life, truth must be wrestled from the dust of human imperfection. A parent guiding a child, a teacher correcting a student, a friend speaking hard counsel—all must be willing to step into discomfort, to labor for truth even when it is unpleasant. Truth is earned through toil, not granted by ease.

The lesson for us, then, is both simple and profound: do not fear the mess of life. When conflicts arise, when confusion reigns, do not hide behind silence or delay. Be willing to listen, to question, to labor—yes, to get your hands dirty—until the truth is clear. And when it is clear, have the courage to speak it plainly. Say, without hesitation, “You are right, you are wrong,” and then move forward without lingering in resentment or doubt. This is not harshness, but the discipline of justice.

Practically, this means cultivating honesty and courage in our own dealings. When disagreements come, do not avoid them. When a decision is needed, do not endlessly delay. Seek the truth, declare it, and let the matter rest. Train yourself to act with fairness, to balance firmness with compassion. And above all, do not let fear of conflict keep you from the clarity that truth demands.

For in the end, Judge Sheindlin’s words are not about the courtroom alone—they are about life. The world needs more souls who are unafraid of its mess, who will labor for the truth, and who will speak it plainly. Such people, though they may offend some, will uphold the very fabric of justice and peace. Let us, then, follow this path: hands in the dust, eyes on the truth, hearts strong enough to say what must be said—and then, with wisdom, to move on to the next case.