Originally published in the Jewish Journal · Table for Five
If, while breaking in, the thief is discovered, and he is beaten to death, there is no bloodguilt in this case. If the sun shone upon him, there is bloodguilt in that case; he shall surely make restitution. If he lacks means, he shall be sold for his theft. -Ex. 22:1-2
Why such different outcomes for the same crime?
The day thief is just a thief. The night thief acts with bad intent. Willing to sneak in the dark, we can assume he’s like Dostoevsky’s underground man, a wretch capable of anything, and so we may act to preempt him, even kill him. Shoot first, ask questions later.
The contrast illustrates Torah’s revolution in justice, an extension of its phonetic alphabet-granted ability to document, for the first time in history, the inner life of human souls. Its omniscient Author can peer into psyches and motives, the first-person intimate, and specify penalties to fit not just the apparent circumstances of an act but the intentions of the actors.
The night tunneller represents a whole class of malevolents, troglodytes whose sincerest intentions don’t match their behaviors, dissemblers, imposters, con-men, and liars. The Talmud tells us, God “hates him who says one thing with his mouth and another in his heart.” Maybe even plain everyday sarcasm and irony lies on the road to villainy, subverting trust, burgling innocence, eroding simplicity, tunneling under the foundation of truth. Isaiah says, “Woe to those who say bad is good and good, bad.”
On the other hand, who doesn’t have an outer and inner life in less than perfect accord? How do we measure the distance between what’s in our heart and what comes out our mouths? This is the calculus of the soul, our daily personal struggle with the metaphysics of good and evil.
