Caught Red-Handed: Rachel's Journey from Darkness to Light

"I learned to steal at the age of six, and kept honing my skills until I became a professional thief," recounts Rachel with sad candor, as I protest, "Don't call yourself a thief, that's too harsh. It doesn't suit you."

"But it's the truth," she insists. "I really did steal nonstop, and told myself countless times a day that I was wicked, and that Hashem hated me. Yet, even in those dark days, I wasn't evil. I'm not justifying my grave actions in any way, but I was miserable, frustrated, and starving."

Real Hunger

There's a mournful tone as Rachel talks about her theft from those days. Although these events occurred ten to seventeen years ago, she still feels their impact today.

You said you stole because you were hungry. How do you explain that? We're not talking about too long ago. The early 2000s, and you're talking about a hungry child?

"Precisely," she responds. "I grew up in a very poor home. We ate bread with a spread morning, noon, and night. Occasionally, we got to eat leftover rotten fruits my father collected from the market during the nights. We only ate chicken on Shabbat, and even that was a miracle. We did have a home, thank Hashem, but my father made sure we had a roof over our heads, even if it meant massive debts. He was frugal by nature, and saw no need for sweets or new clothes. As long as there was one container of cheese a week, he saw no problem. My mother, on the other hand, cries every time she remembers those days. We were little kids, hungry, asking for more food – and there was none.

"By the time I was a little older, I already had seven siblings, and a small apartment which my parents sold to buy a slightly larger one. The situation improved a bit, but the terrible poverty remained.

I endured this period from age five or six, with one dominant feeling – envy. I went to kindergarten and later school, constantly jealous of friends with their sandwiches full of tasty things I'd never tried. My most special sandwich had an egg in it, a rarity. Dad allowed one egg a day, and I could choose to take it to school or have it later. Cottage cheese, yellow cheese, or schnitzels were dreams, not to mention the cookies and American cereals others brought, and the only 'delicacy' was a block of Tzfat cheese we shared among us on holidays.

It wasn't just the food that made me envious: my friends were well-groomed, dressed tastefully – while I wore old hand-me-downs and worn-out shoes. My parents struggled to buy even one uniform shirt, as school rules required it. My classmates had beautiful stationery, colorful backpacks, and coordinating accessories which I loved and appreciated but couldn't have. I was born with a keen aesthetic sense and longed to look good. More than anyone in the house, I suffered from the dire state. I couldn't bear how neglected I appeared wearing old clothes, deeply lacking the basics."

Taking Anything

How did you cope with your envy in social settings?

"Sadly, when faced with my 'wealthy' friends, I couldn't resist and took whatever I could – chocolates, cookies, small toys, coins, interesting stationery, even notebooks. I was a small child, but I knew it was wrong and hid all my loot. I secretly ate the candies and hid the beautiful items in my drawer and other places. At kindergarten and school, the girls started suspecting me. Without friends, they mocked my poor appearance. Whenever something went missing, they complained and tried to find it... with me. They'd sometimes search my bag, but never found stolen items in my possession."

"I don't know how I could stand their distress over their lost items. No, I didn't pity them. It felt like a stone mask covered my heart. I didn't even enjoy what I stole, acting uncontrollably: taking, hiding, disguising tracks, and looking for the next thing to steal to fill the gaping holes within me."

Did your parents know about this?

"Not really. I remember that when I was in second grade, my parents discovered a stash of colorful stationery in my drawer. They were alarmed and knew I likely stole them. They collected everything they found into a large garbage bag and gave it to my instructor. What did she do with the stolen treasure? To this day, years later, I'm moved by her wisdom and righteousness: she entered the classroom with the large bag, put it on her desk where it was slightly open, and without a word, started teaching. After a few minutes, she stopped and said she needed to leave the room. The bored students slowly approached the intriguing bag, peeked inside, and suddenly recognized their lost items. 'That's my pencil!' one shrieked excitedly. 'Here's my luminous marker!', 'And my scented eraser!' They all joyfully raided the bag, retrieving their items, and in a few minutes, it was empty. Was it the teacher who took everything?, they wondered, but had no one to ask. Only much later did the teacher return, completely ignoring the empty bag, and resumed teaching right where she left off. This noble act prevented the immense humiliation I would've faced in front of my classmates, and I'm forever grateful to her.

I moved from grade to grade, and sadly, the thefts moved up with me. I recall in fifth grade stealing a friend's expensive color-changing 'Hello Kitty' sticker. I hadn't hidden it yet, and the friend discovered the theft. It's probably in your bag, Rachel!, she yelled, and without ceremony, grabbed my sad backpack to search for it. She sifted through my poor belongings, but Hashem had mercy on me again and she didn't find the sticker clinging to a textbook. Disheartened, she dropped the backpack, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Still not learning a lesson, and unable to control myself.

Something Bigger

How did you deal with financial difficulties as you grew older?

"Sadly, I only became more proficient. In sixth grade, I started light housework for a wonderful family blessed with children. Earning money with my own hands thrilled me, but then Dad said I'd use this to buy all my clothes. My excitement vanished instantly, replaced with resentment. I wanted to earn more and more and worked hard all week. I was enchanted by earning my own money but never knew how to enjoy it. 'Rachel has holes in her pockets,' they laughed at home, and indeed, as soon as the lady paid me, I ran to a store and spent eagerly. I bought food, sweets, and clothes, and my eyes were never satisfied.

Of course, the money wasn't enough for all my desires, so I always 'supplemented' with thefts. I was more cautious, and the money I earned helped hide my continued theft. I'd pay for some items and snatch others, entering a changing room with clothes, pretending to buy, and leaving with them deep in my bag. At home, I no longer hid my stolen goods: I said I bought them with my money, claiming they were on sale. My parents didn't know prices or brands and believed me. So I stole and took from various stores, always coming home with new eye-catching spoils: I could finally dress as I wished, matching item to item with attention and grace. I finally looked like my classmates, and even better at times. My seminary friends no longer knew Rachel the beggar, but a new, attractive, cheerful, and generous Rachel, who gave freely to anyone in need."

Did you share the stolen items with friends? It sounds absurd. Steal for that purpose?

"The giving provided more satisfaction than using the item itself," Rachel explains. "I also gave my siblings beautiful, good clothes, and finally, they looked like their classmates. I looked after them with dedication and love, cared for them with talent. I bought us appealing, tasty foods we’d never tasted before, pizzas and falafel became routine. My frugal father shook his head in disapproval, but was silent. If only he'd known how his daughter financed all those delicacies, he wouldn't have been silent. But he didn't know, and I continued to spoil and steal without restraint.

I loved to give and provide for everyone around me, perhaps compensating a little for the intense guilt I felt. I was older and understood the gravity of my actions. 'You're a thief! You're wicked!', the voices echoed inside day and night. I never had a moment's rest from guilt, but I was addicted. Addicted to stealing and didn't even realize it. There wasn't a day I returned home without new spoils. I always entered stores, checked what I liked, and always left with a new item—purchased or 'taken'. I didn't enjoy stealing. I was terribly angry with myself, embarrassed, but didn’t stop.

The Inevitable

"But Hashem didn't leave me. At eighteen, the Creator of the world took pity on me and extended a helping hand. Until then, I felt a providence that I never got caught during my thefts. And as our sages said: 'Even a thief in a tunnel prays for divine salvation and is answered.' However, this time, providence smiled at me and... I got caught.

I was looking to buy a stylish sweater for school, and after not finding one in my familiar stores, I decided to go to the 'Zara' store at the mall to look. Just going to the mall was unusual and uncharacteristic for me, but judgment left me when it came to 'new purchases'. Right after school, I went to the mall, wandered through the large store. I didn’t have a surplus penny to pay, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t find the sweater I was looking for but saw two lovely skirts and without much thought entered the fitting room, scissors in hand, clipping the security tags alerting against theft. As always, the skirts had holes, but that didn’t bother me. I was blinded by the desire to acquire. I stuffed them deep in my bag and returned to the store. A pair of tall boots caught my eye, and I headed back to the fitting room, intending to do the same. But no, the boots didn't have a beeping tag. Could it be boots had no anti-theft device? Impossible. There was a small sticker I couldn’t remove and I debated if risking taking them was wise. I had excellent boots at home, but this wasn’t relevant. I couldn’t resist, put them deep in my bulging bag, and with a swift nonchalant step, exited the store."

Owwwoooooooo---------

"A loud alarm echoed through the mall. I was terrified. I quickened my step pretending to have no connection, but the store's security guards were faster than me. They demanded I stop, took my bag and checked what triggered the alarm. The skirts passed silently, but the boots immediately set it off. 'Thief. You thief!', they yelled and led me to a small office near the department store. One guard walked ahead, another behind, with my bag in their hands, and all the shoppers, sellers, and salespeople were glaring at me. Such shame I felt with each step. I wished to disappear and trembled in fear and dread."

Questioning, Humiliation, and Accusations

It sounds terrible. Why did they drag you to an office? What did they want from you?

"They probably wanted revenge. They relished the chance. An observant client saw the commotion and quickly followed us hoping to save me. He pulled out his wallet and called out, 'Leave her! I'll pay for whatever she took', but the guards ignored him and his goodwill and shut the door in his face, leaving him to knock and plead outside until he gave up. Two more men entered the room behind us, and the four pounced on me, yelling, 'You're a thief! A wicked girl! Shameless! How could you steal?! Is this what they teach you at your religious school?'

"They checked the skirts, saw the little holes from the scissors, and became even angrier: 'You ruined the clothes! You owe us a thousand shekels! Thief! It's written on your forehead – thief.'

"They poured all my belongings onto the floor, enjoying tormenting me even more: 'Surely you stole this bag too! And the pens! And the wallet! Thief!'

"For what felt like thirty terrible minutes, they drained me of emotions. The screams I had told myself for years inside now hurled from them, burning my soul through the fire of shame.

"They finally called my parents and demanded they come and pay a thousand shekels for their thief daughter. Mom started crying, shocked I was at the mall at all, let alone what I'd done there. Where could she find a thousand shekels on the spot? She pleaded for leniency, and finally, they agreed not to charge for the boots, which were undamaged, and demanded 400 shekels for the expensive skirts.

A little later, my sister came with the money. I paid them without a word and returned home shattered and devastated."

How did you bear such humiliation?

"It was unbearable. I collapsed onto my bed, powerless. The humiliation and terrible shame drained every ounce of life. Deep in the dark, I lay there, unable even to cry.

"The next day was an election holiday, a miracle for me. I had no strength to pick up the pieces and face the world outside.

"My parents were silent. To the eye, they accepted my fragmented stammers about 'a friend pushing stuff into my bag unpaid', and didn't force me to speak the truth. But of course, they understood everything, preferring instead to support me to escape the ruin. It was a shaking earthquake for me. From that day, I didn’t dare steal again. The trauma was unbearably burning but it saved me from further thefts. It was the miracle of my life.

"Yet, I still felt branded and wicked. Knew the mark of Cain was forever on my forehead. I didn’t steal another penny or item, but the shouts from that horrible room stuck in my heart, never quiet. It was my dark secret. My life’s secret. Two years later, I married, and yet kept silent, carrying the burden of guilt and conscience."

Purifying Though Justice

Didn’t you share anything with your husband?

"Not a word. Only half a year after getting married did Hashem open a door of mercy for me. I hesitantly asked my husband, 'What’s the punishment in heaven for someone who steals?' He didn’t understand what I wanted, and asked, 'Who stole? What did they steal?' I repeated, 'If someone stole, what would be their punishment?'

"He put aside his tasks, sensing my question covered a deep wound. Gently, slowly, he asked what I meant, what happened, if I'd stolen – what, when, and how much. He patiently, lovingly drew the answers out of me until finally, at the end of this fateful conversation, he declared: 'We’re going to return everything stolen down to the last penny!'

"I was confused and overwhelmed by the exposed secret, but he stood by me with amazing loyalty and kept his promise. We took all our wedding money, I made a list of every store I stole from, and together we went to the store owners, returning the estimated amounts I'd stolen.

"It wasn’t easy. I was very embarrassed, often not admitting I was the thief, saying it was a past friend... Reactions varied: some appreciated the courage and were glad of the return, some continued to be angry, some couldn’t put money into their register without a purchase, preferring we donate it to charity. Every day, I traveled from store to store across Jerusalem until everything was returned.

"Finally, having completed the long mission, I bought myself something of infinite worth: a pure heart. Now I could feel joy, true peace, and calm. After years of unrelenting guilt – light returned to my life, and I knew my return was accepted above."

Rachel's story is part of the 'From Darkness to Light' project series for Chanukah. Do you know others who have come from darkness to light? Feel free to write to us at [email protected]​

Chaya Shedmy: "I was in shock; nothing prepared me for this scenario"
Twins After 17 Years: "You don't have to appreciate the light because of the darkness along the way"
From Distress, I Cried to Hashem: "Protect my eyes, and I will guard them"
"When the baby was born and didn't breathe, I shouted, 'Master of the World, help me'"