This
week the Torah tells us of a mitzvah that the Chofetz Chaim is alleged
to have prayed never to have to perform. Difficult as it may be, it is a
positive commandment.
But as the Chofetz Chaim wished, may we all be spared from it. The
Torah tells us that if an individual succumbed and stole property, or
deceitfully held an item entrusted to him, there is a mitzvah to make
amends. “And he shall return the stolen object that he stole, the
fraudulent gains that he defrauded, the pledge that was secured with
him” (Leviticus 5:23). The redundancy is glaring. Of course the stolen
item is what you stole. Surely the pledge was secured with you. And the
fraudulent gains are those that you swindled. Why does the Torah repeat
the action words, “that he stole, that he defrauded, that was secured
with him” ?
On a Talmudic level, the Gemarah derives from the extra words the
technical laws that determine when monetary restitution takes precedence
over reparations of real property. If a person steals a piece of wood,
for example, and builds a boat with it, must he return the newly formed
item to the original owner of the wood, or would monetary compensation
suffice? After all, the wood in the thief’s possession is no longer the
“the stolen object that he stole.” The man stole wood. It is now a boat.
On those issues and ideas there are tomes of analysis that translate
into centuries of Torah observance. I’d like to explain the illusory
redundancies on a simple, homiletic level.
Rabbi Moshe Sofer, beloved Rabbi of Pressburg and author of the
noted work Chasam Sofer, was about to preside as a judge in a difficult
lawsuit. A few days before trial was to begin he received a package from
one of the litigants. It was a beautiful sterling kiddush cup. That
Friday night the Chasam Sofer took the cup out of its velvet pouch, and
raised it for his entire family to see.
“Look how beautiful this becher is. Do you notice the intricate etchings? It must be worth a fortune!”
The family looked on in horror. They knew that the gift was sent as a
form of a bribe. They could not imagine why the Chasam Sofer had
removed it and was seemingly admiring it. Abruptly, the Chasam Sofer
stopped talking. His eyes became sternly focused on the cup. He began,
once again, to speak. “But, my children, the Torah tells us we may not
take a bribe! Therefore I will put this beautiful cup away and never use
it. It must be returned to the sender immediately! He must be chastised
for this terrible breach.”
Then he continued. “You must be wondering why I even looked at the
cup. You certainly must be bewildered why I even admired it openly. I
will explain. How often is it that I am offered a bribe? Never! I never
felt the passion or desire to accept a bribe, as it was never offered!
When I had the opportunity to observe the Torah’s prohibition against
corruption, I wanted to make sure that I did it from a vantage of
passion. I wanted to realize what I was turning down. I wanted to value
the Torah’s command over an exquisite and ornate silver goblet. I felt
that by working up our appetite for the item we surely would appreciate
its refusal.”
Perhaps the Torah is hinting at the most proper aspect of
restitution. There are two reasons to return a stolen item. First, you
are in possession of an item that is not yours. Simple. But there is
another reason. Every one of our actions helps mold us. By returning an
item that we once desired enough to have stolen, we train ourselves to
break the covetous constitution of our nature. We learn that even though
we want something, we may not take it.
That redemption is much more effective when the attachment for the
item is still active. A stolen item that one may have forgotten about or
lost desire for may be much easier to return. After all, ten years
after you stole a bicycle you probably would be driving a car. The
desire for the bike is no longer there. Maimonides teaches us that the
greatest act of teshuva (repentance) is when the passion for the crime
still exists. Repentance is always accepted, but if the item is still
categorized in your mind with the expression “the stolen item that you
stole, the fraudulent gains that you defrauded, the pledge that was
secured with you,” then the repentance is more meaningful. When desires
conflict with conscience – and conscience prevails — that is true
teshuvah. 50 years after a crime, there are those who may issue
statements of apologies and excuses. However a lingering question
remains. Are the “stolen items ones that they stole” or are they just
relegated to black and white memories of an almost forgotten crime? The
words “I am sorry” should not be sorry excuses, but rather true regret
with a commitment never to sin again. That can best happen while the
iron (or steal) is still hot.
Dedicated by Mr. and Mrs. Lionel Fisch In Memor of George Fisch and Rebbeca Stein Good Shabbos!
Copyright © 1998 by Rabbi M. Kamenetzky and Project Genesis, Inc.
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The author is the Dean of the Yeshiva of South Shore.
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