Branded a Thief: A 50-Year Wound—and the Struggle to Forgive

Rabbi Baruch Rosenblum shares a gripping story, as recorded in the book Doresh Tov: "A dignified-looking Jew approached me a few years ago, after a class I gave, and asked to speak with me privately for a few minutes. We stepped behind the building, and he told me his life story," Rabbi Rosenblum begins.

"I came to Israel as a teen, together with my parents and our family. Getting settled wasn’t easy—there was barely food at home. Some nights we went to bed without dinner, and in the morning there wasn’t always something to take for breakfast. Still, I didn’t complain. Years passed. When I reached bar mitzvah age, no one bought me a suit or a hat—no one had the money. I inherited a hat and suit from an uncle who had passed away. Nothing fit me, but I knew to be grateful that at least I had something to wear.

"My good days began in the yeshiva—at every meal I got a slice of bread. I sat there in disbelief: I’m here in the Land of Israel, able to learn Torah and eat bread!

"One day, on my way home, I noticed a flyer posted in the synagogue offering work during bein hazmanim. Since I didn’t have a penny to my name, and I always dreamed that one day I could buy myself a suit and hat, a shirt, a tie, and maybe even new shoes, the idea really appealed to me. I decided to dedicate bein hazmanim to working at that religious factory. With the small wages I’d earn, I hoped to outfit myself, and whatever remained I planned to give my father so he could buy what we needed for the Sukkot holiday.

"I came to the factory and asked to be hired. They told me the hours were eight in the morning until five in the afternoon and explained what I had to do. I agreed to everything and started working. That’s how my first, second, and third weeks went by.

"In the middle of the third week, it happened. The day began like any other. Around 2 p.m., the manager called all the workers—about thirty of us—into the dining room. We sat around the table, wondering why he’d called us. The owner came in last, his face showing intense anger. He locked the door and said: \"Gentlemen, in my office there was a small tape player that played songs.\" Back then, a small tape player was a prized item.

\"That tape player,\"—the manager raised his voice—\"I brought especially from abroad. Today I stepped out of the factory for a short while, and when I came back, I discovered the tape player was gone.\"

\"I demand that whoever took the tape player return it now! You can spare yourselves embarrassment—I won’t have to go bag by bag to discover the thief, and we won’t need to involve the police.\"

An awkward silence fell. The thirty of us sat there, biting our nails, looking at each other—but no one stood up and confessed.

The manager waited a few minutes and then said: \"You’re not confessing, so I’m going to the locker room now to check all your bags. Woe to the one on whom the tape player is found!\"

He went out, checked bag after bag—and found nothing. He came back to the room, and we all stood tense, waiting to see what he would do next.

Nothing Helped

He didn’t look the least bit embarrassed. \"No problem,\" he declared. \"I know how to read faces. I’ll look you over one by one and immediately figure out who the thief is.\"

Without waiting, he started scrutinizing the first man from head to toe, then the second. He went person by person, and then it was my turn. He looked straight into my eyes and suddenly said, \"You’re the thief! Return the tape player!\"

In that moment, the blood in my veins froze.

Thirty pairs of eyes stabbed into me like needles. Everyone examined me, waiting to see what I would do. I said: \"Ribono Shel Olam, You know there were nights when I had nothing to eat, but even then I never stretched out my hand to take a slice of bread that wasn’t mine!\" Out loud I said, \"Me? Touch a tape player that isn’t mine? I don’t even know what a tape player is!\"

But nothing helped me.

The manager said, \"You’re the thief. It’s obvious. Tomorrow you’ll get the wages due to you, and after we deduct the cost of the tape player—you’ll go home.\"

The next day I came; I was supposed to receive twenty liras. The manager deducted eighteen liras—the price of the tape player—gave me two liras, and sent me home. I left, and all the way, all I could see were those thirty pairs of eyes hanging on me.

From then on, every night when I went to sleep, I would say: \"I hereby forgive anyone who sinned against me, anyone who angered or insulted me—except for this man!\" Even on the eve of Yom Kippur, in a pure prayer, I said: \"I forgive everyone—except for this man!\"

\"Fifty years have passed since then,\" the man finished telling Rabbi Rosenblum. \"I never told anyone this story.\"

\"And what happened now?\" Rabbi Rosenblum asked.

\"This week I was walking down the street and suddenly I saw a notice announcing that this manager had passed away. I stood by the notice and spoke to myself: Isn’t it time to forgive? If Hashem forgives, why can’t you? Why are you so cruel?\"

\"I continued and said: Ribono Shel Olam, I ask You—let him not be punished because of me. I forgive him for everything he did to me… But as I said it, I heard his voice saying to me: ‘You’re a thief!!’—and I couldn’t forgive.\"

\"The next morning I went to the rabbi of the synagogue where I pray. I told him the whole story and asked what I should do. The rabbi told me: ‘There is a kollel of avreichim here in the synagogue. Divide among them the Shishah Sidrei Mishnah to learn for the elevation of his soul, and pay each of them two hundred shekels for it. When you fund two thousand shekels from your own pocket for his merit, you will surely forgive him.’\"

\"I did that. I waited for the avreichim to arrive, gave each one two hundred shekels, and asked them to learn all of the Shishah Sidrei Mishnah.\"

The man in front of me fell silent. I was moved by him. I shook his hand and said: \"Fortunate are you! About you it is said: ‘Whoever overlooks his measures, his days and years are lengthened.’ ‘Whoever has mercy on people is shown mercy from Heaven.’ Be blessed from on high! Hashem will remember your forgiveness for good, and it will stand for you as a merit!\"

As I spoke, he gripped my hand tightly and said to me: \"I want to tell you: I gave two thousand shekels for the elevation of his soul—but I do not forgive him!!\" And he burst into tears.

Rabbi Rosenblum continues: "He stood there—at least thirty years older than me—covered his eyes with both hands, and cried like a baby. Suddenly he couldn’t stand there in front of me anymore; he turned and walked away. I watched him as he went—his whole body trembling and shaking with sobs.

"It was the first time I saw a person carrying a bleeding wound on his shoulders for decades, unable to get the words out of his mouth: ‘I forgive!’" Rabbi Rosenblum adds.

"This experience shows how not-simple teshuvah and forgiveness truly are," Rabbi Rosenblum continues, quoting Rabbenu Yonah: "Among the kindnesses that Hashem, may He be blessed, has bestowed upon His creations is that He prepared for them a way to rise up from the pit of their deeds, and to flee from the snare of their transgressions." Rabbenu Yonah says that teshuvah is among the kindnesses that Hashem has done for His creations. Rav Nissim Gaon writes: "And none knows the strength of Your mercy except through Your removing the sins of those who fear You."

"We have no grasp of this wondrous kindness called teshuvah! We have no idea how much Heavenly mercy there is in the matter of teshuvah!" Rabbi Rosenblum declares. "Only a father can forgive his children and take them back in teshuvah! Only a father acts that way with his children! Let’s understand the incredible gift we were given—the gift of teshuvah, which atones for all sins."

Exploring Judaism? Don’t miss this talk: