A wealthy man named Zalman, always carried with him a small, silver box filled with the finest snuff, and he gladly offered a pinch of snuff to anyone who wanted it. In his town, there also lived a pauper named Moshe, who was too proud to ask for charity. Often not earning enough money to feed his family bread and water. One Erev Yom Kippur, in Moshe’s home there was little food, that after he fed his children the barest minimum, he did not have enough food left for himself for the final meal before the fast. Dejected, he left for Shul on an empty stomach. The people were already saying Tefilla Zaka, the prayer of contrition that ushers in the holy day. Moshe also opened his machzor to Tefilla Zaka, but he could not stop thinking about the hunger pangs in his stomach. He could not imagine how he would manage through the night. And how would he be able to concentrate on his prayers in such a dark mood? He desperately needed something to cheer him up. It suddenly occurred to him that a good pinch of snuff might do the trick.
Zalman had his silver snuffbox with him and he approached Zalman, who was wrapped in his tallis and swaying back and forth as he said Tefilla Zaka. Zalman was a good man, at peace with the world and ready for the arrival of the holy day. It was time to connect with Hashem and confess his failures and shortcomings.
He looked up, there stood Moshe, with a smile on his face. “Rav Zalman, could I trouble you for a a pinch of snuff?” “Are you joking?” asked Zalman. At this most holy moment, all you can think about is the pleasure of a Smeck tabak? Can’t you see that I’m saying Tefillas Zaka? Moshe’s shoulders slumped, and walked back to his seat. He stared at the open machzor but could not see the words. “Master of the Universe,” he lamented, “is this what I’ve come to, that people think I am not even worth a shmeck tabak?”
There was an immediate uproar in Heaven. All the beneficent malochim (angels) created by Zalman’s generosity and good deeds were forced to fall silent as newly created angels stormed against the insensitivity and injustice with which he had treated the heartbroken pauper, and demanded retribution. The Heavenly Court weighed the matter and decided that Zalman’s wealth should be transferred to Moshe right after Yom Kippur.
The morning after Yom Kippur, Moshe was walking through the streets looking for any odd jobs that would bring him a few pennies. Along the way, he met a relative he had not seen for a long time. “Moshe!” said the relative. “It’s good to see you. How are you?” Moshe shrugged. “Things have been a little difficult.” “Well, it’s a new year. Hopefully, things will get better. Here, I’ll lend you three hundred rubles. Do some business with it.” Moshe’s face brightened. “Thank you so much.” Every business venture Moshe undertook from that time on was amazingly profitable, and over a period of time, he became quite a rich man. During the same time, Zalman suffered a reversal of his fortunes, as one investment after another failed. He was not particularly alarmed at first. But as the reverses continued to pile up, he became frightened. Was Hashem angry with him? Had he done something to deserve this? He also noticed that as his star was descending almost into oblivion, Moshe’s star was enjoying a meteoric rise. Was there a connection between the two diametrically opposite trends? What was he to do?
He decided to travel to Barditchev and seek Rav Levi Yitzchok’s advice. Rav Levi Yitzchok listened patiently as Zalman told his story at great length and with abundant detail. He also mentioned his suspicion that his fate was somehow linked to Moshe’s rise in fortune. Rav Levi Yitzchok nodded. “That seems to be the case. Have you done anything to him? Have you wronged him in any way?” “I don’t think so,” said Zalman. “I can’t think of anything bad I’ve ever done to him.” “Think hard.” Zalman knitted his brows and concentrated. “I’m sorry. I can’t think of anything.” “Think even harder,” said Rav Levi Yitzchok. “I can’t think–” His eyes opened wide, and he slapped himself on the forehead. “Yes, yes, I can think of something. Last Yom Kippur, Moshe came over to me in the middle of Tefilla Zaka and asked me for a shmeck tabak, and I brushed him aside. I may have been a little harsh with him.”
“Yes,” said Rav Levi Yitzchok, “that is the source of your misfortune. Hashem decreed that your wealth be transferred to Moshe, and so it was.” “But was that such a horrible thing? Did I deserve to lose everything because of it?
“You don’t know what a Smeck tabak meant to him at that moment. Apparently, it meant quite a lot. Your rejection was a stab in his heart.” “I did not intend to hurt him. I am really sorry. I would gladly have given him a Smeck tabak had I known it was important to him. So what can I do?” “Nothing?” “The money belongs to Moshe now. You cannot take it back.” Zalman began to cry. “There must be something, anything.” “All I can suggest,” said Rav Levi Yitzchok, “is that you wait for the right moment and ask him for a Smeck tabak. If he refuses to give it to you, things may change.” Zalman returned home with a tiny glimmer of hope in his heart, but the more he thought about it the more despondent he became. Moshe was generous to a fault, never forgetting his own suffering and never having less than full sympathy for those who suffered similarly. How would he manage to get Moshe to refuse a simple Smeck tabak? Time passed, and Moshe’s daughter became engaged to the son of the Rav of the town. The upcoming wedding was the sensation of the town. When the wedding day finally arrived, the excitement in the town was at a fever pitch. After the bride walked down the aisle, Moshe stood next to the Rav under the chuppa waiting with bated breath. The grand moment was finally here, and he wanted to savor every second of it.“Rav Moshe, do you have the kesuba?” said the Rav. “Yes, I do,” he replied. “It’s right here in my pocket.” Just then, Moshe felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw Zalman standing there. “Moshe, could I perhaps trouble you for a Smeck tabak?” said Zalman. Moshe glanced at his precious daughter standing under the chuppa. Then he smiled at Zalman. “Of course,” he said. He reached into his pocket, took out his silver snuffbox and handed it to Zalman. “Here, take as much as you like.” As Moshe reached into his other pocket for the kesuba, he heard a loud thud. He looked down and saw that Zalman had fainted. He quickly summoned two attendants to carry the unconscious man to a room and revive him.
After the chuppa, Moshe came to see how Zalman was faring. He had recovered consciousness and was sitting in a chair with a despondent look on his face. “Are you all right?” asked Moshe. “Yes, I’m fine. Go back to your daughter’s wedding. Don’t waste your time here with me.” “Well, you don’t look fine,” said Moshe. “I insist that you tell me what this is all about.” “Ok, but not now. After the wedding.” Late that night, Moshe listened sympathetically as Zalman told him the entire story, and they resolved to travel together to Rav Levi Yitzchok as soon as possible. In Barditchev, Rav Levi Yitzchok listened to both of them and then suggested that they share the fortune. “Are you willing to do that, Rav Moshe?” he asked. “Absolutely,” said Moshe. “Half of everything goes back to him.”
This was a super lesson for Zalman, never to dismiss the wants of another Yid anytime!
