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The Ktav Sofer was elated. So much of his time and
energy in the recent years had been involved in the fight to protect the
traditional way of life, and now the government decision was finally official:
the right of the religious community to their own educational system was now
ensconced in law.
Feeling boundless joy and relief, he decided to sponsor an enormous
celebration of thanksgiving, to which he invited the leading rabbis, Torah
scholars and community leaders of Austria-Hungary, all those who had shared in
and would benefit from the struggle.
Perhaps there had never been a comparable gathering in Pressburg throughout
its glorious history as a great center of Jewish scholarship. The evening was
filled with new and exciting Torah interpretations as one distinguished Rabbi
after another offered his presentation. Hours passed, unnoticed. The food and
drink were secondary, barely registering in the lofty consciousness of this
rarefied assembly.
The exhilaration heightened when the Ktav Sofer rose
from his seat and began to speak excitedly. Without preamble, he announced that
in honor of the occasion he wished to share something unique and thrilling with
all those present; not only was it something they had never seen before, it was
something they had never even imagined they would see.
With all eyes and ears continuing to focus upon him, he took out his wallet
and withdrew from it a small object wrapped in silk. When he carefully removed
the cover, they could see it was a small, ancient silver coin.
"Gentlemen," he said, "my elders, my mentors, my peers. You
are looking at a genuine machtzit hashekel [half-shekel coin], such as
was donated to the Holy Temple two thousand years ago for the various holy
purposes that all of you know well (as per Ex. 30:11-16, 38:25-28; Mishna
Shekalim, etc.) I inherited it from my holy father of blessed memory;
it has been a prized secret possession in our family for many generations. I
don't think there is another one in the world today. I never thought to display
it publicly until this evening."
The listeners all stared in amazement. An actual silver half-shekel from
Temple times! Everyone wanted to touch it, feel it, examine it closely. The coin
passed from hand to hand. Spirited discussions erupted throughout the room as to
its weight, its shape, and the manner of its use. Voices rose louder and louder.  | | " ...The coin had disappeared!" | | |
A soft voice penetrated the din of scholarly argument. A rabbi who had yet to
see the coin up close inquired as to its whereabouts. No one could answer him.
The coin had disappeared!
Everyone began searching frantically. They felt all over the floor and probed
under whatever food and utensils remained on the table. The priceless coin, the
artifact of inestimable value, was nowhere to be found.
Silence descended upon the crowded room. All eyes turned to their illustrious
host. The Ktav Sofer was visibly upset, his face white as frost, at the
loss of the unique coin which had been treasured in his family for so many
generations.
He stood at his place. Casting his eyes around the room, he addressed them
again. "Gentleman, G-d forbid to think that I suspect any of the honorable
people in this room of transgressing an explicit commandment of the Torah.
However, we were all so engrossed in analyzing the half-shekel and its
significance; it could be that by mistake someone got it mixed up with a current
coin of his own and slipped it into his pocket by mistake. We have no choice:
with all due respect, I must ask everyone to empty their pockets, wallets, and
change-purses so that we can determine if such an accident has taken place."
Everyone quickly agreed. They well understood the delicacy of the situation.
But then a voice was heard from the side of the room. It was one of the oldest,
most respected Torah scholars present, who had been an important rabbinical
leader in Hungary for over forty years. "I oppose such a search," he called out.
"Better to wait a quarter hour or so, and perhaps in that time the coin will
turn up."
The Ktav Sofer had great respect for the venerable sage. He agreed to
his suggestion. The quarter hour passed, with noticeable tension, but without a
trace of the coin.
"Alright," said the Ktav Sofer, "let's empty our pockets in front of
each other, as we already agreed."
To everyone's surprise, the elderly rabbi again objected, and requested
another fifteen-minute delay. The Ktav Sofer agreed, so again everyone
sat impatiently, waiting for the second quarter hour to pass. The tension
increased, became palpable. Several of the guests stared bitterly at the old
rabbi who had caused the delay, suspecting that he had indeed pocketed the coin
and had asked for extra time in order to come up with a way to return it without
being detected.
At last the time was up. As before, there was no sign of the coin. The
Ktav Sofer rose again. Sorrow and impatience could be heard in his voice.
"Gentlemen, I have the greatest respect for our venerable, illustrious
colleague. But we cannot postpone it anymore. The search must begin."
Even though they were half expecting it, everyone was nevertheless astonished
when the elderly sage once again stood up to halt the process. This time his
voice shook, and tears streamed down his cheeks, as he addressed the Ktav
Sofer. "Please, Rebbe, remember the great love of your father of
blessed memory and I for each other, and let us wait another fifteen minutes. If
the coin hasn't been found by then, I agree that we shall do however you see
fit."
The Ktav Sofer hesitated briefly, then nodded his head in
acquiescence. The tension in the room heightened again. The old rabbi stood in a
corner of the room, his lips moving rapidly in silent prayer. The Ktav Sofer
sat at the other end, his face extremely pale and etched with worry. It appeared
that he might soon faint. The guests nervously awaited the next turn of events.
Many expected that the old rabbi would confess to the theft.
Suddenly, all eyes turned toward the door. Running steps could be heard in
the vestibule leading to the great hall where they now sat. The door burst open,
and the attendant of the Ktav Sofer charged in. "Good news!" he cried
out. "The coin has been found."
The emotional crowd stormed toward the attendant. Each one wanted to verify
the half-shekel's presence with his own eyes. The thick tension dissolved
instantaneously. Instead, voices loudly proclaimed, "Thank G-d", "Baruch
HaShem", and so forth. Above all the noise could be heard the ringing voice
of the Ktav Sofer, demanding of his attendant that he relate to everyone
how he had found the precious coin. The crowd fell silent. Everyone turned
towards the attendant anxiously, eager to hear his reply.
He smiled. "When I saw that everyone was so deeply involved in discussing the
half-shekel, I decided to utilize the opportunity to begin cleaning up. I
removed the tablecloths and shook them out over the garbage to get read of all
the crumbs and other food remains. When I heard that the coin was missing, I
worried that it might have been put down on one of the tables and that I had
inadvertently thrown it out along with the rest of the garbage. I went to the
trash pile and began to sift through a veritable mountain of refuse. Finally,
something sparkling caught my eye. Here is the treasure I found in the trash."
He said, as he handed his precious find over to its owner.
Slowly the crowd quieted down and order was restored. Most of the guests
returned to their seats. The elderly sage requested permission to speak.
Everyone turned towards him eagerly, realizing that now they had not the
slightest idea why he had acted as he did to delay the Ktav Sofer's
reasonable request for a search. | | " "...I left my half-shekel in my pocket."" | | |
"Dear friends," he began, "I'm sure you are all waiting for an explanation of
my three requests for postponements. I suspect you will find it wondrous. You
see, just like our esteemed host, I also have in my possession a genuine half-shekel coin from Temple times! It
too was passed down from generation to generation in my family, just like in his.
Today, in honor of this momentous festive gathering, I decided to surprise you
by displaying it. But then the illustrious head of the Yeshiva preceded me and
showed his coin, along with the statement that it was unique in the world. I
didn't want to weaken the power of his presentation, so I left my half-shekel in
my pocket.
"Now, imagine to yourselves, honorable colleagues, if the search had been
conducted according to the instructions of our host. The coin in my pocket would
have been immediately identified, and I certainly would have come under
suspicion as having stolen it. That is why I tried everything I could to delay
the process, the whole time praying that in the merit of the great Chatam
Sofer of blessed memory I wouldn't be subjected to such a terrible
embarrassment. Thank G-d, my prayers were accepted."
Concluding his words, the venerable sage slipped his half-shekel coin from
his pocket, and passed it to his enchanted audience. As it made the rounds, they
were astounded to see that it was an identical twin to the one of the Ktav
Sofer.
The exciting evening finally drew to a close. Before the concluding
blessings, the Ktav Sofer rose to speak one last time. Once again, his
words surprised his listeners.
"Gentlemen, I truly believe that the inner purpose of this great gathering
was that we all gain a deeper perspective of the true meaning of the Mishna
"Judge everyman favorably" (Avot 1:6) If the search had been conducted
and the coin discovered in our venerable associate's pocket, is there anyone in
this room who can honestly say he wouldn't have presumed that he had stolen my
coin - especially after I had influenced you by saying there wasn't another one
like it in the world?
"No, this teaching is not as simple as its wording makes it seem. The lesson
of tonight is that even if all indications point to a person's guilt, we still
have to presume his innocence until proven otherwise. That is the Divine
Providence of the unforgettable events of this thanksgiving feast."
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