“I’ve been robbed! Thieves! Burglars! Criminals!”

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon on Sunny Lane when the peaceful atmosphere was suddenly shattered by the sound of loud yells from Mr. Krankowitz’s house. A police car drew up outside, and two police officers emerged, rapping sharply on the old man’s door before being admitted inside.

They drove off a mere few minutes later.

“What happened?” softhearted Mrs. Friedman from next door approached the old man. “Have you had a break in? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Pah!” retorted Mr. Krankowitz. “I don’t need help. What I need is my menorah back. Some rotten thieves have gone off with it!”

“Oh my!” exclaimed Mrs. Friedman. “Let’s hope they police get it back quickly.”

“The police are useless,” growled Mr. Krankowitz. “All they did was write up some notes for their central database. What’s the point? They should have had the whole police force out on the streets looking for the criminals that committed this dastardly crime. I’ve a good mind to complain to the mayor.”

In truth, the police really hadn’t taken the old man very seriously. As soon as he told them the menorah had last been seen almost a year ago on Chanukah, and there was no evidence of a break in, they openly expressed their doubt that a crime had actually been committed.

“I suggest you have a good hunt around the house for your mendoza,” commented the first policeman briskly.

“Yeah, or think about whether someone may have borrowed the mesorah from you and forgotten to give it back,” the second policeman added.

Mr. Krankowitz protested loudly and strongly, but it was no use. The officers had made up their minds.

“Hmm,” murmured Mrs. Friedman sympathetically to the old man. She wondered how to proceed. The problem was that Mr. Krankowitz was extremely absentminded and often forgot where he’d put things. He would get into a terrible tizzy over some missing item, only to find it where he’d left it ten minutes earlier. Still, she wasn’t sure how to put it to him that the menorah might have been misplaced rather than stolen, without offending the old man.

Then she thought of an idea.

(Excerpted from Mishpacha Jr., Issue 738)