Elul: A time to return what is lost

Have you ever found something that didn’t belong to you?

What did you do with it? Did you leave it where it was? Did you keep it? Or, did you attempt to find the owner?

According to our tradition, all of these options could be correct depending on what it was that you found. Was the lost item an ordinary or common one, like pieces of fruit dropped and scattered or coins that obviously fell out of a pocket? Keep it. Did the lost item have any identifying marks, like patterns made in processed wool? Return it. Was the lost object new but could be easily replaced? Keep it. Did the lost object have sentimental value, like homemade bread, or appear to be well-worn and loved, like a favorite paintbrush? Return it.

Why all this talk about lost objects?

What to do with lost (and found) objects is one of the many things addressed in this week’s Torah portion. Specifically, we read: “If you see your neighbor’s ox or sheep gone astray, do not hide yourself from it; you must return it.” (Deuteronomy 22:1) We can all picture the scene: You are standing in your field watching your flock when a sheep you have never seen before wanders over. What do you do with it? According to the text, two things: Don’t hide from it, and return it. OK. Returning it we get. But what does the text mean when it says, “do not hide yourself” from it? It can’t truly mean “hiding,” as we traditionally define the word — we think of running away from what scares us, of trembling in a corner as our heart races when we hear loud noises in our basement in the middle of the night. Or we think of children’s games such as hide-and-seek — the fun that comes from hiding so well that you can’t be found.

But perhaps there is another way to understand what it means to hide: Perhaps to hide, one needs only to close one’s eyes. We may still be visible to whomever or whatever we have encountered, but we can no longer see them. In fact, one does not even have to close one’s eyes to avoid seeing. Too often, we pretend not to see. For if we choose not to see the wandering sheep or ox, then we are not responsible for returning it to its rightful owner, right? Our tradition doesn’t let us off the hook that easily. By stating that we cannot hide ourselves, the Torah commands us not to be indifferent. We are obligated to return what we find, especially if it has value to the one who lost it. We cannot leave it, or even keep it; we must seek out the owner to give back what is rightfully theirs.

In truth, it is unlikely that any of us will encounter lost sheep or oxen. But there are many modern scenarios that may fit the bill. How many times over the years have we left things in places and forgot where we left them? Who hasn’t misplaced glasses or keys, lost schoolbooks or important papers, or left platters at someone’s house? We hope that those things will be returned to us, and it is likely that they will be.
But what of the things we lose that aren’t of a physical nature? Sadly, we lose friendships, romantic relationships. We misplace trust and responsibility. We cause smiles to fade

by using hurtful words. We ruin special moments by doing the wrong thing, by acting insensitively. Holy moments lost — these are much harder to return. But we are obligated to try.

As we near the High Holy Days, we strive to make things right, to return the items that we have found and collected during the past year. For some of us, the task is no more difficult than returning power tools to a neighbor or giving back a book on loan. But for all of us, the personal stuff is much harder. How do we return emotions and feelings? We return by turning to each other, repairing relationships and healing through kindness and forgiveness. This is the work of teshuvah, of repentance. It is not a coincidence that teshuvah, often defined as “repentance” can also mean to “return.”

Our tradition gives us this month of Elul to prepare ourselves for the High Holy Days. May we use this time to repair the loose, frayed and even broken strings of connection to those who matter most to us. May we return to the rightful owners our gifts of trust, love and friendship as we enter the New Year together. PJC

Rabbi Jessica Locketz is a rabbi at Rodef Shalom Congregation. This column is a service of the Greater Pittsburgh Jewish Clergy Association.