Chazal (Kiddushin 22b) explain why the ear is the organ of the body that is pierced: “It is the ear that heard on Har Sinai that Bnei Yisrael should be servants (only) to Me, and this man went and acquired a (new) master for himself.” The obvious question is: if the purpose of the piercing is to reprimand the eved, bondsman, for continuing his servitude, why was it not pierced when he originally sold himself to pay for his ill-begotten debts? Why wait until the end of his tenure? Furthermore, why is the master the one who bores the ear? Should it not be a member of the bais din?
Apparently, we must analyze the roots of his servitude and where he is now – six years later. Due to his financial collapse a man was compelled to enter servitude. His descent into slavery resulted neither from laziness nor from rebellion against society. He simply “messed up” and responded to his poverty in a tragic, but lawless, manner through an act of theft. The Torah does not brand him a criminal, but rather, a bondsman, where his identity will be preserved and the necessary rehabilitation, structure and training for his future will restore his life.
Today, six years later, he refuses freedom by declaring: “I like it here. I have a good master, a wife and children. I have gotten used to this lifestyle. I am staying.” This represents much more than satisfaction with his new family. This is an indication of a severe identity crisis. He has forgotten his calling as a Jew, his mission to be free and serve only Hashem. He is choosing material security over his spiritual destiny. The emotional surrender that willingly submits to servitude as an accepted way of life is the tragedy. A Jew may, at times, fall – no one is perfect; we all have flaws, but a Jew must get up, shake himself off, and continue his mission. We answer to a Higher Authority.
A quote attributed to the Kotzker Rebber, zl, teaches that the greatest prison is not one made of iron bars, but of habit and complacency. When one becomes comfortable in obsequiousness, his “cell” requires no guard; he has locked himself in.
A student who had attended a well-known outreach yeshivah stumbled and, in short time, spiraled back to addiction, homelessness and eventually trouble with the law. He entered recovery and was starting to see a glimmer of hope. Unfortunately, he was not willing to accept it, telling his rebbe, “I know I will fall again; I cannot imagine anything better than just managing to hold my head above water and survive.” The rebbe’s response is something anyone confronting a challenge should reiterate over and over, “The worst thing that happened to you was not that you fell, but that you stopped believing that you were meant to stand.” These words of reproof may have been brutal, but it was this message that became the springboard for his eventual return.
A Jew may stumble; he may struggle, but he may never give up his dream, his mission, his identity. The eved who chooses to turn his back on his future identity and settle for a life of complacency and subservience should have his ear pierced – not by bais din, but rather, by the master who has chosen to be his new source of identity. His tragedy, which had begun six years before he fell, is now complete when he refuses to try to pull himself up.
