The Disfigured Gem
Once upon a time, a wealthy prince owned a rare and exquisite gem—the kind that made visitors gasp, courtiers murmur appreciatively, and appraisers rub their hands together in glee.
Then, disaster.
The prince, understandably, was not pleased. He summoned the kingdom’s top jewelers and demanded they fix it. They examined the gem, squinted, sighed, and finally admitted defeat. The scratch, they said, was too deep. No amount of polishing, buffing, or royal indignation would restore it.
Defeated, the prince prepared to lock the gem away forever—when a craftsman stepped forward. Not just any craftsman, but an artist. The kind of man who saw beauty where others saw disaster.
“I can fix it,” he announced confidently. “And when I’m done, you won’t see a scratch at all.”
The prince, having little to lose and intrigued by the craftsman’s audacity, handed over the gem.
Days later, the craftsman returned. The prince took one look and blinked. Then blinked again.
The scratch was gone.
In its place, the craftsman had etched an intricate engraving—a rose, carved with such skill that the flaw had become the stem of the flower.
The jewelers, those same experts who had declared the gem ruined, now crowded around, marveling at the transformation. The prince, to his surprise, found himself in possession of something even more valuable than before.
David’s Sin and Redemption
The Sages teach (Avodah Zarah 5a) that King David, a man of towering spiritual greatness, should never have stumbled in taking Bathsheba. And yet, he did. Not by accident, nor by mere human failing, but as part of a divine plan—to show generations to come the depth and power of teshuvah, the path of return.
Sin leaves a mark, a blemish on the soul, just as a scratch mars the surface of a perfect gem. But in the hands of a master craftsman, even a flaw can become something beautiful. So it was with David. His repentance did not merely mend what was broken—it transformed him, refining him, elevating him. Through his fall, he rose higher.
David’s story is not one of failure, but of hope. He showed the world that no descent is final, no mistake beyond repair. For those who stumble—and who among us does not?—his life stands as a living promise: that through teshuvah, we do not merely return to where we were. We become something greater than we ever were before.
(Adapted from Mishlei Yaakov pp. 98-99)
