A large funeral procession made its way through the alleys of Jerusalem on the way to the Mount of Olives, and the crowd of attendees included the great rabbis, Torah scholars, merchants and business owners, and many people who knew the great deceased, Rabbi Lipkin. The Turkish governor of the city also sent a guard of honor to accompany his friend, the future of the assets, to his final rest. The funeral procession stopped in front of the synagogue where he used to pray, and in the street the voice of his sons reverberated saying, "May his name be magnified and sanctified." To his chagrin, the deceased did not merit that his descendants would continue his path. Their appearance testified that they were not observant of Torah and mitzvot, and more than once none of them failed in their language and distorted the familiar words of the Kaddish. The funeral procession came to an end with a series of emotional eulogies signed by an elderly relative named Rabbi Wallach and ended his remarks in a choked voice: "May the great deceased, who was a man of kindness and great charity, merit to see Jewish satisfaction from all his descendants", the scroll was closed and the escorts quietly dispersed each on his way.
The luxurious home of the deceased are comforters who came to express their sincere condolences. On the last day of the shiva days, the elderly Rabbi Wallach appeared at the family home and asked to sweeten a secret with the deceased's sons. The alertness increased after he pulled out a white envelope from his coat pocket with the seal of their father's trading house stamped on it. Slowly, Rabbi Wallach opened the envelope and took out a sheet of it and began to read: "My dear sons and daughters, who are very dear to me. No one knows the day of his death, and therefore I have sat down today while I am still clear and clever in order to command my possessions after I have gone from you to the world of truth. I command that all my possessions be divided equally among you and I pray and hope that peace and tranquility will dwell in our family for many days. My dear ones, I bequeath you many good assets, but I have one humble request to you, please do not sell the house in which I lived, do not sell it or rent it, but you and your children after you will live in it for up to 10 generations, I also command that as long as you live in my house, you should not change and do not move the library room where I have invested a lot of effort and trouble, I love you, father." Rabbi Wallach sighed lightly and turned to go on his way, entrusting the will to them. "I did mine," he muttered and left.
As soon as he was gone, the sons began to talk to each other. They had just discovered that their father had left them only the real estate, while all his vast wealth accumulated in coins and diamonds remained hidden and he did not mention it at all in his will. Searches and inquiries to the banks with which they had business relations yielded nothing, the money "spread its wings" and as if it had blossomed with the deceased into the heavens of heaven. The days of the "thirtieth" passed, the sons gathered again in memory of their father, and then parted ways, each in his place.
Generation after generation comes, Jerusalem changes its face, the Turkish government gives way to the next occupier in line for the British, and the Lipkin family house stands in its place, and despite their strong desire to sell the house, the sons refrained from doing so for fear that their father had hidden the diamonds and gold in a secret place in the house. The ancient wooden sign still hangs on the door: his sons and descendants did indeed fulfill his will and did not leave his home, the library was also preserved, and now the rumor has spread, "The descendants of the Lipkin family have returned to their origins." One day, when he returned from his beit midrash, the grandson entered his grandfather's library to repeat his Talmud, he went to the bookshelf and took out a tractate of vows, placed the volume on the table and began to flip through its pages to the place he wanted on page 48, where the Gemara deals with a grandfather who does not want to bequeath his assets to his son who has strayed from the path of the Torah, but to his grandson if he returns to the Torah. He began to study, turned the page of the Talmud upside down, and letters that had been written with a fountain pen many years ago flickered before my eyes. And this is what was written: "My dear grandson, I don't know if you are my grandson or my great-grandson, maybe even my great-grandson, but I am overwhelmed with great joy at this moment, when I try to imagine in my head one of the descendants of the Torah's toil. If you have opened the Gemara, it is a sign that you are one of the people who wear the benches of the beit midrash, go to the cypress tree standing in the corner of the yard, stand by its trunk and walk seven steps towards the house, stand in your place, dig into the ground, everything you find is yours," the lover complicated.
And indeed, the land is loyal to its owner, who for years has stored within it the crate of gold coins and diamonds that the father of the Lipkin family hid in it as a gift to his descendants who will return to the path of Torah and mitzvot.
