Basya Tsybukmakher
Avi and Shloimy had been inseparable for as long as they could remember. They always sat at the same desk in class, did their homework together, and often spent their free time together as well. People who did not know them well often even thought they were brothers.
Our story takes place when the boys were in eighth grade and were beginning to think about which yeshiva would be best for them to attend. One morning, the principal came into their classroom and announced: “Dear boys! In two weeks, we will have a major oral examination here at the cheder. The cheder’s administration invites your fathers, brothers, and grandfathers to witness your outstanding achievements. Don’t forget that prominent rabbis will also be among the guests!”
Shloimy felt as though his heart was about to leap out of his chest: such an honor! He absolutely had to prepare properly for this test and prove himself one of the best students! His thoughts were interrupted by Ephraim’s voice: “Shloimy, would you like to study with me this evening?” Shloimy could only have dreamed of such an invitation: “Ephraim was the best student in the class, and every boy wanted to study with him!” Suddenly, Shloimy’s thoughts took a different turn: “But if I go and study with Ephraim, who will be Avi’s chavruta? We have always studied together, and he will probably be terribly hurt… On the other hand, if I study with Ephraim this evening, I’ll be able to prepare much better than if I started studying with Avi tomorrow afternoon…”
In the end, the fear of looking bad in front of the examiners won out, and Shloimy made up his mind: “Great, Ephraim, let’s study this evening!” The boys agreed to meet at the synagogue at six o’clock.
No matter how hard Shloimy tried to avoid talking to Avi that day, his friend caught up with him in the corridor with the very question Shloimy had been trying so hard to avoid: “So, where shall we study today—at your house or mine? Ahh… Umm… You know, Avi, today won’t work… Why? What happened? I just can’t…”
Avi had no choice but to try to study at home on his own, but studying without a chavruta just wasn’t working. Avi decided to go to the synagogue, hoping that the overall atmosphere of the study hall would help him concentrate and understand the material better. “Besides,” Avi thought, “perhaps I’ll meet another boy there who couldn’t find a chavruta, and we can study together!”
The first person Avi saw as soon as he entered the synagogue was his best friend, sitting beside a large bookcase and listening attentively to Ephraim’s explanation. Unable to stay, Avi turned around and trudged home. Ephraim, unaware that his chavruta arrangement was supposed to remain a secret, casually remarked: “I just saw Avi. He came into the beit midrash and left straight away. He was probably looking for someone.” Shloimy felt himself go pale and then immediately flush: surely his friend was hurt at having been passed over for another partner without being told. Shloimy reassured himself that Avi would understand on his own that Shloimy could prepare for the test much better with Ephraim than alone or with Avi. “It’s all right,” Shloimy reassured himself. “Tomorrow will be a new day, and we’ll talk.”
But the conversation never happened. Shloimy waited for Avi, as he had every morning for many years, so that they could walk to cheder together. But as soon as Avi spotted Shloimy from a distance, he quickly crossed to the other side and walked away at a brisk pace without even looking in Shloimy’s direction. And so, boys who only yesterday had been best friends were now not even speaking to each other.
The first classmate to notice that the friends had fallen out was Dovi. He was sincerely upset that such a wonderful friendship had been put to a serious test. That same evening, Dovi shared his worries with his grandfather, who could offer sound advice for any situation. “Tell you what, my dear boy,” his grandfather said after thinking for a minute. “Sit down beside me. I think there is a story that may help your friends restore the relationship they once had.”
It happened the day before Pesach, on the night of bedikat chametz, in the home of the Chortkover Rebbe. While carefully checking the house for bread crumbs, the Rebbe suddenly cried out: “The money is gone!” The members of his household immediately came running at the Rebbe’s cry and learned what had happened. The 500 dinars that the Rebbe had been saving for many years for his daughter’s dowry and had kept in a small desk drawer had been stolen! At the time, 500 dinars was considered a large fortune, enough to provide a daughter’s dowry and support a young family during the first years of married life. Moreover, his daughter was already engaged, and this exact sum had been promised as her dowry. It immediately became clear that the wedding would have to be postponed, and the Rebbe’s daughter was very upset.
Before long, news of the missing dowry reached the bridegroom’s family. The engagement was broken off. The Rebbe’s family had no choice but to do everything they could to discover where the money had gone. But all their efforts were fruitless. One day, a distant relative voiced his suspicion: don’t you think that this vile thief was Meir, your former shamash? It seems that he was the one who stole your money!
The Rebbe found this idea unacceptable. “Young Meir served faithfully and honestly as a shamash right up until his marriage and stopped working only because he moved to another town to live with his wife’s family. I will not allow such talk in my home; this is lashon hara! Besides, I don’t think you have any evidence…”
“On the contrary, it is precisely because I have evidence against Meir that I am telling you he stole the money! Not long ago, an acquaintance of mine visited that town and told me that Meir had built a new house and started a large business. I don’t recall his bride coming from a wealthy family; he must have used the money stolen from the Rebbe as his initial capital!”
At first, the Rebbe did not even want to listen, but the arguments were so irrefutable, and his own daughter’s unhappiness distressed him so much, that he decided to travel in person to the town where his former shamash lived and find out whether this was really how things stood.
It was impossible to describe Meir’s joy at his dear guest’s visit. Of course—the highly respected Rebbe had come personally to visit his former shamash! Soon, however, Meir, who knew the Rebbe quite well, noticed that something was troubling him and realized that there was a reason for this visit.
“Honored Rebbe,” Meir ventured to ask, “please tell me why you feel so uncomfortable in my home. Was there some other reason for your visit?”
The Rebbe decided not to delay and to say everything at once: “My savings have disappeared. If it were simply a matter of money, I would just forget about it. But all of this money was intended for my daughter’s dowry, and now we have had to break off the engagement. My daughter is unhappy, the bridegroom’s family will most likely find him another girl, and I cannot think of a way to keep on good terms with everyone…”
Before the Rebbe had even finished speaking, Meir burst into sobs: “Oh, dear Rebbe, will you ever be able to forgive me for what I have done! Oh, how could I have let the yetzer hara get the upper hand! How could I have given in to my desire and forgotten all the good you have done for me over all these years!”
Meir adopted a businesslike tone: “Rebbe, don’t worry. I have no choice, and I will return everything to you. By this evening you will receive half the sum, and in a couple of months I will pay you the other half. Go home and try to arrange your daughter’s marriage.”
Although the Rebbe’s visit had achieved its purpose, he could not help feeling the bitterness of disappointment in his former shamash. The Rebbe tried to forgive the young man—after all, who among us has never given in to temptation?—and left with the first portion of the money.
A few weeks had not even passed since the Rebbe’s return when two policemen knocked on his door and escorted him to the local station. The frightened Rebbe followed the representatives of the local authorities, having no idea what crime he would be accused of.
But things turned out much better than he had expected. The police chief warmly greeted the Rebbe, seated him in a comfortable armchair, and asked: “Has there been a theft in your home recently?” The Rebbe, reluctant to revisit the details of a matter that was so painful to him, said he would prefer not to discuss it. After all, the shamash had confessed, some of the money had been returned and the rest would be returned a little later, so why tarnish the name of a Jew who was, on the whole, a good man?
The police chief, however, persisted: “But Rebbe, this is for your own benefit! Think back: has anything been stolen from your home recently? Perhaps a large sum of money?” The Rebbe gave up trying to turn the conversation aside and had to admit part of the truth: “Yes, something was indeed stolen from my home, but we have already recovered what was lost, so there is nothing to discuss.”
“You know, Rebbe,” the puzzled police officer replied, “I don’t know what you mean by having recovered what was lost, but here, in my desk drawer, are 493 dinars that were stolen from your own home.”
“A certain man was a regular at the local bar,” the police officer continued. “Recently, instead of cheap beer, he began ordering expensive drinks, treating his friends, and paying for it all with gold coins. The owner suspected something was wrong and did not want to become an accomplice, so he reported this unusual behavior to the police. Two of our undercover officers visited the bar and got the man thoroughly drunk. His tongue loosened, and soon he told them about the 500 gold dinars that had been stolen from a small box in your home before Pesach. During questioning, he explained that his wife had been helping with the pre-Pesach cleaning in the Rebbe’s home, found the hidden money, and stolen it. We arrested his wife as well; she confessed everything to us and returned the money.”
Two days later, Meir came to the Rebbe’s home to return the second portion of the money. Instead of accepting it, the Rebbe began earnestly begging his forgiveness: “Forgive me, forgive me, my beloved Meir.” The Rebbe was crying! Meir tried to remain composed and kept saying that he did not understand anything, but…
“I know the truth,” said the Rebbe. “I simply cannot understand how I could have allowed outsiders to influence my opinion, when from the very beginning I could not believe that you could become a thief!”
The Rebbe told Meir everything he had learned at the police station, from beginning to end. “There is just one thing I cannot understand, my dear Meir,” the Rebbe concluded. “How did you bring yourself to take the blame for a crime you never committed?”
“Rebbe, I was deeply shaken by your sorrow. I thought about how unhappy your daughter must have felt, and how distressing the misunderstanding over the missing inheritance must have been for both families. And what could be more precious than peace? Then I decided that the amount of the dowry would be my gift to you, in gratitude for the years of kindness I experienced with you and your wonderful family. I borrowed the first half of the money, and managed to raise the second half by selling my home and business.”
The Rebbe was moved and overwhelmed by Meir’s deed, and gave him a blessing for great prosperity…
When he finished the story, Grandfather smiled slyly at his grandson: “Dovi, surely you have heard of this Meir! That selfless young man became as rich as Rothschild himself!”
“Grandfather,” said Dovi, “I think I understand what you were trying to say with your story. I want to be like Meir too! I can use my savings for a good cause—to put an end to the quarrel!”
Grandfather’s face lit up, and he wished his grandson every success in the important task of restoring peace between friends. Dovi ran home, grabbed his wallet, and ran just as quickly to the bookstore. Half an hour later, he was already knocking on Shloimy’s door: “Hello, Shloimy! Avi asked me to give you this!” After handing Shloimy the bag, Dovi disappeared. Shloimy stood rooted to the spot: “Imagine that—what a righteous person Avi is! Even though I treated him so badly, he decided to be the first to end our disagreement, and even bought me a gift!”
10 minutes later, Dovi was already knocking on Avi’s door. The same scene unfolded, except that this time Dovi said Shloimy was sending Avi a gift.
By the very next day, Shloimy and Avi were inseparable again. Dovi simply smiled to himself: imagine that—now I know what it is like to be as rich as Rothschild!
Prepared by A. Shvalb, based on material from “Mishmeret HaShalom.”