Parashat Ki Teitze
Return the Object to Its Source

By Rabbi Shawn Fields-Meyer

The Talmud (Pesachim 113a) teaches that God praises three types of people every day:
a person who has many temptations but controls his libido;
a rich person who gives his Tzedakah in private;
and a poor person who returns a lost object.

Think about that third one:  one who returns a lost object.

It’s certainly a nice thing to do but is it so incredibly great, so important, that it deserves such high acclaim? The great sage, Maimonides, teaches that one who picks up a “metzia” – a lost object – but does not return it, excludes himself from the process of T’shuva. He says that if a person who could return something to its rightful owner, doesn’t – the gates of repentance are locked to him.

The returning of lost objects is one of the most prominent mitzvot in rabbinic law and literature. It first explicitly appears to us in this week’s parasha, Ki Teitze, in just three short verses.

But in later generations, volumes of legal writings are devoted to the particulars of this law. For example, the Rabbis discuss – at great length – which types of objects must be returned (they offer exemptions, such as very common objects and totally valueless objects); they debate the process for returning the object (a complex system of announcements, waiting and interim care); and they argue about what to do with an object if no one claims it. There are different responsibilities for inanimate vs. animate objects (how much care do I have to give an animal if I find it? If it’s a horse, may I ride it? If it’s a cow, may I sell the milk? Who owns the proceeds?)

And not just law cropped around this mitzvah; literature did, too. Rabbinic sources tell story after story about individuals who struggled – and in many cases succeeded:

The Talmud tells a story of a certain Jewish man who was a laundry washer. One day, the queen of the land brought her clothes to the launderer to have them washed. In the laundry, some gold jewelry got lost. When the man brought the jewelry back to the queen, she told him to keep the jewels. But he responded: “No, I can’t. The Torah won’t let me.”

Just one little mitzvah –“you shall surely return it” – inspires so much detailed legal and literary development. The question is: why? Why is this such a compelling, intricate commandment to the mind of the rabbis?

Why is this mitzvah so stressed? What’s the big deal?
What is at the core of this idea of returning lost objects?

Classical commentators, and sages, also ask our question. One teacher, the Abarvanel, explains that the act of returning a lost object will cause the entire society just to be a better place – if everyone is returning things to each other, then trust increases, compassion increases and consideration will be rampant in society. Another commentator, the Alsheich, believes that this mitzvah is actually the real fulfillment another commandment: “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev 19:18). While the Abarvanel sees the mitzvah as externally-oriented and the Alsheich sees it as internally motivated, both believe it either will make society or individuals better, more thoughtful, nicer.

But perhaps there is even more to it.

This mitzvah is a metaphor for Rosh Hashanna.

During the month of Elul, we wander around – and we discover a lost object. What is that lost object? It is your best self – the best you that you can be.

It’s your soul.
It’s been lost for a while. What do you do with it?

You pick it up.
You announce that it’s been found.
You wait for its rightful owner to come and get it.
And then you care for it, tenderly and responsibly, with thought and compassion, until it can re-unite with its rightful owner.

And then, on Rosh Hashannah: we return it to its rightful place.