What Will I Tell Dad?

“What luxury!” thought Reb Zalman, staring in astonishment at the furnishings in the home of his hospitable host, Reb William, the famous Italian millionaire and philanthropist known for his generosity and kind heart. “I've never seen anything like it in my life!” Reb Zalman had recently arrived from Jerusalem to raise money to support his yeshiva. Here he had been given this address, with the added comment that the philanthropist was an interesting person in his own right and worth getting to know. And the surroundings really did stagger the imagination: crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, lighting the enormous drawing room with thousands of tiny lights; the walls were decorated with original paintings by the most famous artists, and the floor was covered with expensive Persian carpets... The table at which Reb Zalman sat rivaled the room in its lavish decoration: all the cutlery was made of pure gold, the plates were of the finest Japanese porcelain, and as for the delicacies... Nothing like this ever appeared at Reb Zalman's home —not even on all the Shabbats and holidays put together.

At the same time, the host was very warm and welcoming, and treated his many guests in an easygoing manner, with a smile. It was clear that they were dearer to him than the works of art decorating his home. He immediately agreed to help Reb Zalman raise funds and also invited him to stay in his home for as long as he was in Milan.

Reb Zalman’s gaze continued to wander around the room and came to rest on an enormous glass-fronted cabinet filled with all manner of silver and gold objects: beautiful Kiddush cups, gleaming Hanukkah menorahs, and spice boxes with intricate decorations... And suddenly, amid all this splendor, he noticed... shards of a bottle! Not a crystal bottle, either, but perfectly ordinary, slightly grimy pieces of glass that had clearly found their way there quite deliberately, carefully arranged by someone’s caring hand.

Reb Zalman could not contain his curiosity and asked:

“Reb William, sir, what is the significance of those bottle shards in your display case?”

“Oh, those?” the millionaire smiled. “I owe my life to those shards! My spiritual life, at least...”

Hearing this declaration, all the guests stopped talking and looked at their host in surprise.

“ Yes, there is quite a story behind them,” said Reb William, “and I will tell it to you. Today you see me as a wealthy man, busy with business and setting aside time for Torah study. But I was not always this way...”

When I was eighteen, I was studying in yeshiva and enjoying my studies immensely. My teachers said that I also had considerable aptitude for learning. I was certain that my life would continue this way, with Rashi and Tosafot filling my soul, leaving no room for the fleeting pleasures of this world. But the Almighty saw fit to put me to the test. My grandfather, who lived in Milan and owned a large business, began feeling unwell, and my parents sent me to help him with his business. Gradually, I learned the ropes. I came up with ideas for improving and expanding the business and began putting them into practice with all my youthful energy. Our customer base grew, and our business began reaching new markets. My grandfather was very pleased with me. For my part, I tried to show him the utmost respect and attend to all his needs. Sadly, however, his health continued to deteriorate, and a few years later he passed away. My parents wanted me to return, but by then I could no longer leave my business. I immersed myself in it completely. One deal followed another, my bank balance kept growing, and I... I was very busy. So busy that sometimes I did not even have time to pray with a minyan. Sometimes I did not manage to pray at all, consoling myself: “Well, tomorrow I will definitely make it all up!”

But that tomorrow never came. Instead, a different tomorrow arrived, one in which I gradually abandoned one mitzvah after another.

Without the firm hand of my grandfather, who, despite his business commitments, had never allowed himself—or me—the slightest compromise in observing the mitzvot, I slipped lower and lower. My decline was swift and imperceptible. After a while I married, and my family was quite “modern”—with practically no signs of Jewishness. Financially, however, I was very successful and quite satisfied with myself and my life.

One day, after concluding a particularly successful deal, I was walking down the street, enjoying Milan’s frosty air. Suddenly I saw a small group of poor children gathered around one of their friends. He was sitting right on the dirty ground, sobbing his heart out. I decided to go over and find out what was wrong. As I approached, I saw a huge puddle of oil beside the child, with shards of a bottle floating in it.

“What will I tell Dad? What will I tell Dad?!” the boy sobbed.

“What happened, little one? Why are you crying?” I asked.

He looked up at me and, initially intimidated by my appearance, could not get a word out. Gradually, however, seeing that I really wanted to help, he began to tell his story in fits and starts:

“Hanukkah begins tonight... And we have very little money... And my dad loves the mitzvot of Hanukkah so much... Ever since last Hanukkah, he has been saving one coin at a time to put together enough money for a bottle of pure olive oil, so he could light the Hanukkah lights specifically with olive oil. After all, that is the very best way to fulfill the mitzvah! Today he gave me the money and asked me to buy a bottle of oil. Dad told me very firmly to hold the bottle carefully and go straight home, without playing along the way. But I... I decided I would play with my friends for just a little while and then go home. And now... the bottle has broken. And we have no money to buy another one... What will I tell Dad now???”

And his sobbing began again with renewed force.

Well, that problem was very easy to solve. I calmed the boy down, took him with me to the nearest shop, and bought him a large bottle of the finest olive oil.

“Thank you, sir!” he said with a happy smile. “May the Almighty bless you! Happy Hanukkah!” And he ran joyfully home, taking care this time to deliver his precious cargo safe and sound.

I continued on my way, enjoying the pleasant feeling of having done a good deed. But before long, my good mood gave way to unease. The boy’s words kept ringing in my ears. “What will I tell Dad? What will I tell Dad???”

“And what will I tell Dad?” I suddenly thought. “What, what will I tell my Heavenly Father in 120 years, when I return to Him? What excuse will I give? Will I say that I, too, got carried away playing—playing at business, playing with the glitter of this fleeting world...  Why did I fail to safeguard the treasure entrusted to me—my soul...”

That became my moment of truth. I slowly retraced my steps and gathered up the bottle shards. Then I went into the same shop and bought something for myself this time—a Hanukkah menorah, cups for the lights, and a large bottle of olive oil. That very evening, under my children’s curious gaze, I lit the first Hanukkah light.

The road back to Dad was not easy, but I managed to travel it. Knowing full well that I might face further trials that could, G-d forbid, make me forget what matters most, I kept these shards so they would always remind me of the day when I will have to give an account before my Father... So you see, Reb Zalman, this is the most precious object in my home...

Translated by L. G. Shukhman