ועל המריש הגזול שבנאו בבירה שיטול את דמיו מפני תקנת השבים
And Rabbi Yoḥanan ben Gudgeda further testified about a stolen beam that was already built into a large building [bira], that the victim of the robbery receives only the value of the beam but not the beam itself, due to an ordinance instituted for the penitent. By Torah law, a robber is obligated to return any stolen item in his possession, provided that its form has not been altered. If one stole a beam and incorporated it into a building, then by Torah law he would have to destroy the building and return the beam. In order to encourage repentance, the Sages were lenient and allowed a robber to return the value of the beam.
- What is the significance of the stolen beam?
- How would you define תקנת השבים in your own words?
- How might you apply this to our world today?
Isabelle Wilkerson, "Caste"
The inspector trained his infrared lens onto a misshapen bow in the ceiling, an invisible beam of light searching the layers of lath to test what the eye could not see. This house had been built generations ago, and I had noticed the slightest welt in a corner of plaster in a spare bedroom and had chalked in up to idiosyncrasy. Over time, the weld in the ceiling became a wave that widened and bulged despite the new root. It had been building beyond perception for years. An old house is its own kind of devotional, a dowager aunt with a story to be coaxed out of her, a mystery, a series of interlocking puzzles awaiting solution. Why is this soffit sucked into the southeast corner of an eave? What is behind this discolored patch of brick? With an old house, the work is never done, and you don't expect it to be.
America is an old house. We can never declare the work over. Wind, flood, drought, and human upheavals batter a structure that is already fighting whatever flaws were left unattended in the original foundation. When you live in an old house, you may not want to go into the basement after a storm to see what the rains have wrought. Choose not to look, however, at your own peril...Whatever you are wishing away will gnaw at you until you gather the courage to face what you would rather not see...
Many people may rightly say, "I had nothing to do with how this all started. I have nothing to do with the sins of the past. My ancestors never attacked indigenous people, never owned slaves." And, yes. Not one of us was here when this house was built. Our immediate ancestors may have had nothing to do with it, but here we are, the current occupants of a property with stress cracks and bowed walls and fissures built into the foundation. We are the heirs to whatever is right of wrong with it. We did not erect the uneven pillars or joists, but they are ours to deal with now.
The inspector trained his infrared lens onto a misshapen bow in the ceiling, an invisible beam of light searching the layers of lath to test what the eye could not see. This house had been built generations ago, and I had noticed the slightest welt in a corner of plaster in a spare bedroom and had chalked in up to idiosyncrasy. Over time, the weld in the ceiling became a wave that widened and bulged despite the new root. It had been building beyond perception for years. An old house is its own kind of devotional, a dowager aunt with a story to be coaxed out of her, a mystery, a series of interlocking puzzles awaiting solution. Why is this soffit sucked into the southeast corner of an eave? What is behind this discolored patch of brick? With an old house, the work is never done, and you don't expect it to be.
America is an old house. We can never declare the work over. Wind, flood, drought, and human upheavals batter a structure that is already fighting whatever flaws were left unattended in the original foundation. When you live in an old house, you may not want to go into the basement after a storm to see what the rains have wrought. Choose not to look, however, at your own peril...Whatever you are wishing away will gnaw at you until you gather the courage to face what you would rather not see...
Many people may rightly say, "I had nothing to do with how this all started. I have nothing to do with the sins of the past. My ancestors never attacked indigenous people, never owned slaves." And, yes. Not one of us was here when this house was built. Our immediate ancestors may have had nothing to do with it, but here we are, the current occupants of a property with stress cracks and bowed walls and fissures built into the foundation. We are the heirs to whatever is right of wrong with it. We did not erect the uneven pillars or joists, but they are ours to deal with now.