The Trade He Never Made

A Crisis in the Marketplace

In the heart of the bustling city of Antwerp, a Jewish store owner ran a massive shop in the city’s commercial district. For years, he was far from religious observance, until something in him stirred. Slowly, he returned to his roots, embracing Torah and mitzvot, and began to observe Shabbat with sincerity.

Once he became a Shabbat observer, he made it a point to close his store hours before sunset every Friday. From midday on, he would urge customers to finish shopping, then close up to prepare for the holy day. He dedicated his Shabbat to prayer and Torah study.

Then came his greatest challenge. The local Christian holiday, typically a shopping frenzy, fell on a Sunday that year, making the Friday and Saturday beforehand the most profitable days of the season. Merchants in the area made a fortune. His shop, located in the very heart of the district, was teeming with buyers. Still, as the clock struck midday on Friday, right at the height of business, he began urging customers to wrap up, and he closed his doors.

That night, on his walk home from synagogue, he passed the vibrant marketplace. Stores bustled with thousands of customers. Competitors' shops were overflowing. Former friends spotted him and scoffed.

“Why would you close your store on a day like this?” they mocked. “You’re ruining your business. Customers will stop coming. Your competitors will win them over.” When he tried to explain that he was observing Shabbat, they laughed and walked away.

He returned home heavy-hearted. “This test is too much,” he told his wife. “I’ll drink some vodka and sleep through Shabbat. Maybe I can forget all this pain.” He drank until he fell into a deep sleep that lasted until late Shabbat afternoon. He barely made it to Minchah.

When Shabbat ended, he was filled with regret. He had slept through the entire day. No Torah, no prayers, no kiddush, no zemirot (traditional songs), not even time with family. He was crushed. Wanting to make amends, he went to the home of Antwerp’s great rabbi, the late Rabbi Chaim Kreiswirth, hoping to find a way to repair his spiritual lapse.

The Rabbi’s Astonishing Offer

He entered the rabbi’s home, still saturated with the holiness of Shabbat. The rabbi had just returned from the Great Synagogue, radiant in the afterglow of the sacred day. His Jewish books were still on the table. The silver candlesticks still gleamed. Peace and sanctity filled the air.

The rabbi welcomed him warmly and asked what was troubling him. The man burst into tears.

“Rabbi, I envy your Shabbat. It was filled with holiness and Torah. Mine was spent in bed, empty of everything. No prayer, no Torah reading, not even a moment of sanctity. Just sleep and despair.” His tears streamed onto the holy books on the table.

The rabbi looked at him and said something utterly unexpected:
“Please,” he said gently, “I’d be honored to trade my Shabbat for yours.  Take mine, and give me yours.”

The man was stunned.

“Your Shabbat,” the rabbi continued, “shines far brighter than mine in Heaven. Do you know how much strength it took to stand firm? To close your shop at the peak of the busy season? To walk through mocking crowds and keep going? The reward for your struggle is beyond measure. Our sages teach: "lefum tza’ara agra" The greater the struggle, the greater the reward.”

The rabbi explained that this test had been sent from Heaven, a personal challenge to elevate the man’s commitment to Judaism and Shabbat. There was, of course, no need for an actual trade. The man returned home uplifted and at peace, now fully aware of the value and love Hashem held for his courageous stand.