Stories on Giving

He scoured the shops nearby and bought anything that was kosher and edible, and then went into a bookshop to buy some reading material to while away the many free, friendless and family-less hours he would be spending alone in his room.

Late one night, we knocked on a door in a large apartment complex and waited through a long moment of silence.

Near the park, we were forced to detour via a parallel street. At the next traffic light, the Rebbetzin said to me: “I heard a woman screaming. Can you go back and see what that was about?”

Like any small town, Safed has a few professional beggars. None of them are drunkards, thank G-d, or homeless, G-d forbid. They just beg for a living. It’s their job, and they work hard at it. They keep regular hours, and each has his own territory.

“This,” they declared, in contrast to how most people thought a home should be furnished, “is interior decorating.”

Turkish Jews often told this story to exemplify a meritorious approach to charity.