It gives me
comfort, for the wedding band I didn't know how much I adored until it was lost
somewhere in the big old house. It calms my rage when I think of the heirloom
ring and necklace and single earring the drug addict stole in Germany when he
was packing us out the last time. I like to imagine that when he sold my stuff
for his drugs, it eventually found its way to long-lost European relatives I didn't even
know existed, but who recognized it from family photos.
But better
than that, I imagine us at the End of Days getting this cardboard box handed to
us; and when we open it, every single thing we ever lost and missed, everything
stolen, would be in that box. I'd see the ring and the necklace. I'd pair up
that earring with its mate that I never had the heart to get rid of. All the
other earrings I'd lost would be in there, too, plus the zipper decoration from
Tzanchanim that my son gave me, more precious than a golden bracelet
because it honored his IDF service. Every lost coin or piece of paper currency
-- even money short-changed or cheated -- would be in that box.
Caryn's box
would include the nearly valueless but irreplaceable charm bracelet stolen from
her, one of the charms a gift from my own dear mother. Dovid's would have the
favorite sefer he loaned out to the friend he couldn't remember, after
the book went out of print. Your box would have everything in it you remember
losing. All and any treasures lost or stolen from my friends and family would
suddenly simply be there in their very own designated cardboard boxes.
And I'd
breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that the tiny doll I stole as a child would
find its way home, too, and the child I'd inadvertently hurt and had carried
all those years in my guilt-pocket would be joyful again at its rediscovery.
In each box
also would be a glowing silver star-ball, looking too hot to touch, but totally
benign, for every lost thing we took the time to return to someone else during
our lifetimes. The diamond ring I found in the restroom and turned in to the
police instead of pocketing. The ruby earring we all looked for at the bus
stop for the elderly lady, and could not find. She would get the earring back,
in her cardboard box; and we would each receive the glowing silver star-ball of
merit.
More glowing star-balls would be distributed. For the wallet full of
money and ID someone returned to my son. For his wedding ring, lost among the
shells on their tiyul to the sea near Ashkelon six months after their
wedding, that his wife valiantly climbed yet another mountain in my esteem
reassuring him it was all okay, even when that ring belonged to her father's
family. Because in my imaginings, some soul found it, some poor fellow who
couldn't afford a ring and had been asking God for a sign that he, unworthy he,
should take the gamble and ask his lady love for her hand in marriage. And
there he was, diving in that clear water, when among the shells gold glistened
to him and beckoned and called his name, and a bat kol said "Marry
her and make her happy. Don't worry so much about money." And instead of
keeping the ring, he turned it in to the local police. They never could find
the owner, and the ring stayed in their lost and found until the End of Days’
angels came to gather it among their booty for the box my son would receive.
And of
course, the boy married the girl, and they still tell the story to their incredulous
great-grandchildren, who have decided that Saba is a one of the hidden tzadikim...
Rabbi Tzvi
Hirsch Weinreb shares that the Klausenberger Rebbe taught the value of using our
ko’ach hadimyon (power of imagination) in such matters as truly feeling
as if we had personally endured and escaped from the slavery of Egypt. Imagination
has long been my weapon of choice against the depression of property loss,
missed opportunities, infuriating life challenges.
There is
much comfort in believing that all will one day be righted, and that there is no
loss without a reason.
