My upstairs neighbor was having a rooftop garden put in. Fine and dandy, except for the fact that his special drainage system was not yet installed, and the unremitting drip-drip descending from above was driving us bananas. Worse yet, a cloud of mosquitoes hovered above the muddy patch under our bedroom windows, so that each morning my three beautiful daughters woke up covered with ugly insect bites.
I asked the guy in charge of the renovations up there to please stop the water torture. He patiently explained that the potted trees and shrubs (which included some very delicate ferns especially imported from some exotic sub-tropical country) had to be fed a small but steady stream of nutrient-enriched water, which must not be interrupted, ever. But they're working on a solution to divert the water by some less vexatious route. He referred me to the gardener/landscape artist in charge of the project for further elucidation.
"I don't care what you're doing up there and how you do it," said I, not ungraciously. "Just stop the dribble of water, ok?"
But the dribble didn't stop. I spoke with the guy's plumber, his foreman, his gardener, his secretary (who said that he's in San Francisco). I begged, I pleaded, I cajoled. Tears sprang to my eyes as I described the suffering of my family. I yelled, I threatened. Weeks went by, and the drip-drip of nutrient-enriched water and the buzz of nutrient-enriched mosquitoes continued.
So one Friday afternoon, after all the workers had left for the weekend, I clambered into a small dark closet under the stairs and shut off the water to the upstairs apartment.
Come Monday morning there was a pounding on my door. A shouting match ensued. He called me a criminal and I rejoined that there are situations in which an ordinary citizen is justified in taking the law into his own hands. He threatened to sue me, and I welcomed the suggestion. By the end of the week, a hose had been rigged up to send the water elsewhere.
But before I had a chance to properly savor my satisfaction over how I had handled the situation, I discovered The Three Fundamental Rules on How To Take The Law Into Your Own Hands. To my dismay, I found that I failed to meet all three requirements.
The three fundamental rules on how to take the law into your own hands are:
1) There has to be a truly extraordinary compelling need--e.g., tens of thousands of people are dying in a plague, and hundreds of thousands more will die unless drastic action is taken to stop it.
2) You must be prepared to pay the price. The law will not protect you from the consequences of your deed. You must be willing to sacrifice all--including your righteousness.
3) It must be completely against your nature to act this way, and it must pain you no end that you are forced to do so. In other words, if you enjoy doing this, then you shouldn't be doing this.
(In case you're wondering where I found these Fundamental Rules, it's all in the precedent of Pinchas' slaying of Zimri, as described in the Bible and discussed in the Talmud and the commentaries.)
Well, that nipped my career as an outlaw in the bud. Though it was fun while it lasted.
Editor's Note: This article is not intended to be a halachic treatise on the complex subject of taking the law into one's own hands. A rabbi should be consulted in case of actual need.
