A Soul’s Last Wish: Paying Her Debt After Death

Mina, a kind and gentle woman, has been running a small shop in the Neve Yaakov shopping center for years. Her store, simply called “Mina,” was famous for having the best candies around. The whole neighborhood shopped there, and so did we. Anytime we wanted something sweet, we would hike up the long hill on Rabbi Pardes Street, arriving out of breath but it was always worth it. Only Mina had those long, sour-sweet candy sticks in every color, fiery flavored treats, melon and watermelon gum, and a whole world of sweetness in every form.

About three years ago, something unusual happened. A Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) man whom Mina didn’t recognize walked into her store. But he didn’t come for candy.

“Is this the shopping center?” he asked.

“Are you joking?” Mina replied, puzzled by the obvious question.

“Sorry,” he explained. “I’m not from around here. Are you Mina?”

She nodded, used to being asked that by suppliers.

“Do you happen to know someone named Vicki N.?”

Mina perked up. “I know her.”

“Short curly hair, brown eyes, average height, a little heavyset, lived here in Neve Yaakov?”

Yes, that was Vicki. She had been a regular customer at Mina’s store. Mina remembered her well and also remembered the sad news that Vicki had passed away suddenly the previous year, leaving behind grieving children and an unpaid store debt. Now Mina looked at the stranger with both curiosity and suspicion.

“Who are you?”

“I collect charity in Bnei Brak,” he said. “Vicki asked me to repay her debt to you.” And with that, he placed 1,000 shekels in cash on the counter.

Mina was stunned.

“But Vicki passed away a year ago,” she said. “How could she have sent you?”

“Two nights ago, I had a dream,” the man explained. “A woman around 45 appeared to me. She said her name was Vicki N. and asked me to go to Neve Yaakov in Jerusalem, find Mina from the shopping center, and give her 1,000 shekels. The first night I didn’t take it seriously. But she came back the next night and begged me. She said she couldn’t rest because of this debt. She gave me the same exact instructions again. I’ve been walking around here for quite a while, trying to find this place.”

Mina was a meticulous shopkeeper. She had a special box of cards where she wrote down all purchases made on credit. With trembling hands, she pulled out an old card labeled “Vicki N.” Total debt: 965 shekels.

A chill ran down her spine. She remembered how upset she had been over the unpaid debt, how she had gently approached Vicki’s relatives asking them to take care of it, but they had refused.

“She bought it, so she should pay for it,” they told her coldly. And the debt remained.

Until now.

Vicki, from the World of Truth, found a way to settle her debt just before Rosh Hashanah.

Before leaving, the charity collector asked Mina to say out loud that she forgives the delay. Mina, with tears in her eyes, said, “I forgive.”

That night, Mina shared the incredible story with her husband, Shalom. Deeply moved, Shalom suggested they give a portion of the money, 300 shekels, to buy an aliyah (a Torah honor) for the elevation of Vicki’s soul. Mina agreed without hesitation.

That’s how I heard this amazing story.

“Ohel Yisrael,” the small synagogue where Shalom prayed, was a warm and close-knit community. The members were simple, sincere Jews. They would even wait patiently when the minyan was one person short. My father, the gabbai (synagogue manager), took his job seriously and lovingly.

At “Ohel Yisrael,” aliyot were not bought with large donations. Everyone gave what they could, without fanfare or pressure. So when Shalom bought one for 300 shekels, a relatively high sum, my father asked who the aliyah was for. Should they say Kaddish?

Shalom replied, “It’s for a customer of my wife who passed away about a year ago.”

“A customer? A year ago?” That was unusual. So Shalom told him the whole story.

My father was so moved that he decided to visit Mina himself and hear it from her directly. She told him everything how she had asked Vicki’s family to help, how they refused, how the debt weighed on her, and how a total stranger, someone she had never met, had come and paid the full amount.

She had been in shock for days. Thinking. Crying. Thinking some more.

When my father shared the story with me, it lit a fire in my heart. I thought to myself: sometimes, Hashem lifts the veil just a little to let us see something important, to remind us what truly matters.

I don’t know what merit Vicki had to be allowed to send that message before Rosh Hashanah. But I know that once I heard her story, I had to take it seriously—and share it with others.

May her soul have an aliyah.

(The writer received permission to publish the story with all names, except for the name of the deceased.)