When a Young Boy Chose Shabbat Over Gold

Rabbi Yitzchak Eisenbach came from a well-known Jerusalem family. As a child, he was full of life and energy, often turning the streets and alleys of Jerusalem into his personal playground, always up to some new adventure.

One Shabbat afternoon, when he was just eight years old, young Itz’le was walking toward the Kotel (Western Wall). He passed through Jaffa Gate and wandered through the Old City, through areas where many Arab families lived. As he made his way through the winding alleys and busy streets, something shiny caught his eye.

Lying by the side of the road was a gold coin. Not just any coin, it was worth enough to support a family like his for two whole weeks. His family was going through hard times financially, so the idea of bringing home such a treasure made his heart race.

But then he remembered: it was Shabbat. And according to halacha (Jewish law), you’re not allowed to pick up items like money on Shabbat. It’s called muktzeh, an object that we avoid handling on the holy day.

So instead of picking it up, the boy gently placed his foot over the coin to hide it. He decided to stay there, standing guard, until Shabbat ended. Then he would be allowed to take the coin and give it to his parents. There were still four hours left until nightfall, but Itz’le didn’t mind. He was determined. Waiting like this didn’t seem hard to him at all.

He stood there for over an hour, unnoticed, until an Arab teenager walked by and asked him, “Why are you just standing there, not moving?” At first, Itz’le didn’t answer. But the boy kept pushing, and eventually Itz’le replied with childlike honesty: “There’s something under my foot that I’m not allowed to pick up because it’s Shabbat. I’m waiting until Shabbat is over, so I can—”

Before he could even finish his sentence, the boy suddenly shoved him aside, bent down, grabbed the coin, and ran off. Itz’le lay stunned on the ground. By the time he stood up, the other boy had vanished. He knew there was no point in chasing after him, it might even be dangerous.

Heartbroken, Itz’le made his way back to the beit midrash (study hall) of the Rebbe of Chernobyl, Rabbi Nachum Twersky. His father prayed there and stayed for seudah shlishit (the third Shabbat meal). Usually, Itz’le helped out by setting up the tables and serving food to the guests. But this time, he quietly curled up in a corner, too upset to move.

The Rebbe of Chernobyl, who loved the boy dearly, noticed something was wrong. He looked around and saw Itz’le sitting alone. He approached him gently and asked, “What happened today? Why are you so sad? Everyone is waiting for you to help with the table.”

Itz’le told the Rebbe everything that had happened. He spoke about how excited he’d been, how hard he’d tried to do the right thing, and how crushed he felt after the coin was taken. The Rebbe listened carefully, then took Itz’le by the hand and said, “Come help now, and after Shabbat, please come to my home.”

When Shabbat was over, the Rebbe brought Itz’le to his house, which was just next to the study hall. He opened a drawer and took out a gold coin—just like the one the boy had found.

“This coin is for you,” the Rebbe said, “but only on one condition: I want you to give me the zechut (the spiritual reward) for the mitzvah you did today.”

Itz’le stared at him. “The Rebbe wants the reward for the mitzvah... just for a coin?”

“Yes,” the Rebbe said with a smile. “You honored the holiness of Shabbat in such a beautiful way. That’s a great kiddush Hashem, a sanctification of G-d’s name. This gold coin is yours, but I ask that you give me the reward for that mitzvah.”

Itz’le’s eyes widened. “Was it really such a big mitzvah? Was it worth so much?” He looked down at the coin, imagining all the things he could buy for his family. Then he looked up at the Rebbe and said, “If the mitzvah is worth so much… then it’s not for sale!”

The Rebbe smiled warmly and kissed the boy on his forehead.

For years afterward, Rabbi Yitzchak would tell this story to his children and grandchildren. More than anything he learned in later life, he would say, this childhood moment with the Rebbe taught him the true value of a mitzvah.

(Adapted from In the Paths of the Maggid, courtesy of the Dirshu website.)