Allow me to share a remarkable story that my friend Ari Rosenberg shared with me. It serves as a powerful testament to the faith required to observe Shabbos without fear of financial loss.
Ari works for a well-known charitable organization in Chicago that does incredible work. One of his friends, whom we’ll call Harry Berkowitz, once approached him with a request. “Ari,” he said, “I need a favor. My brother-in-law is a respected rabbi with a large family. He works tirelessly, but I know he’s struggling financially, and Pesach is an expensive holiday. I want to help him, but I know he’d be embarrassed to accept money directly from me.
"Instead, let me donate the funds to your organization, and you can send him a check. Tell him it’s a gift from his shul, given in recognition of his dedication as a rabbi. This way, he’ll accept it without hesitation, and no one will know it came from me.”
Ari agreed, and Harry donated $3,600, which was sent to his brother-in-law. This arrangement continued for several years.
Then, tragedy struck. Harry passed away suddenly, leaving behind a young wife and children. His passing was devastating to those who knew him. After the funeral, Ari went to the airport, where the body was being flown to Israel for burial. Standing there, he found himself next to the deceased’s brother-in-law—the rabbi who had unknowingly been receiving Harry’s generous support for years.
Ari hesitated. Should he say something? After a moment, he approached him and said, “Reb Shlomi, I need to share something with you. I don’t know if the deceased will forgive me, or if you will, but I feel compelled to tell you.
“You know the $3,600 you received every Pesach? It came from your brother-in-law—the very man whose body is now before us. He was the one who ensured you had the means to celebrate Pesach with dignity.”
Reb Shlomi’s face froze in shock. “How do you know about that?” he asked, his voice trembling. “How could you possibly know?” Ari explained. “Because I work for the organization that facilitated it.”
Tears welled up in Reb Shlomi’s eyes. “I knew it,” he whispered. “I always had a feeling. I once tried to approach him about it, but he denied any involvement. I can’t believe it was him all along.” Overcome with emotion, he broke down crying. “What will I do now?” he sobbed. “He took care of me. Who will take care of me now?”
The next day, one of Harry’s friends approached Ari. “I saw you speaking to Reb Shlomi at the airport,” he said. “He started crying right after. What did you say to him?”
Ari recounted the story. The friend listened, deeply moved. Then, without hesitation, he said, “I want to continue that mitzvah. Please send him the same $3,600 through the organization. Don’t tell him it’s from me.”
A week later, Harry’s brother called Ari. “I have a feeling my brother was financially supporting Reb Shlomi,” he said. “Is that true?” “It is,” Ari confirmed. “How much did he give?” the brother asked. “$3,600 every year.” “Then I want to take his place and continue sending that amount.” Ari paused. “Actually, someone already stepped forward and donated this year’s $3,600.”
The brother didn’t flinch. “I don’t care. I want the mitzvah, too.” And with that, he donated another $3,600. Now, Reb Shlomi had received $7,200.
A few days later, Ari received another call—this time from Harry’s widow. “I know what my husband used to do,” she said. “He was always giving tzedakah discreetly. I know he was supporting my brother-in-law, and I want to continue in his footsteps.”
Ari hesitated. He already had $7,200 set aside for Reb Shlomi. Should he tell her? He decided to consult his rabbi.
“Rebbe,” he asked, “Harry’s widow wants to donate, but we already have more than enough. Should I tell her?” His rabbi answered decisively, “She’s a widow. If she wants to give, don’t say a word. Let her do the mitzvah. If it brings her joy, let her give.”
Ari called her back. “How much would you like to donate?” he asked. “How much did my husband give?” she inquired. “$3,600 every year,” Ari replied. “Then I’ll give $5,000,” she said. And with that, she wrote a check. Now, Rabbi Shlomi had received $12,200.
Ari looked at me and said, “Can you imagine? This man stood in the airport just days ago, crying, ‘How will I manage without my brother-in-law? Where will I find $3,600 for Pesach?’ And here he is receiving not $3,600, but $12,200—more than three times the amount.”
Ultimately, who provides for us? Hashem. He determines our livelihood. Human beings may serve as the conduits for His blessings, but it is Hashem who sustains us.
When it comes to Shabbos, we must trust that Hashem is in control. We close our businesses, shut down our emails, and disconnect from the financial concerns of the week. And yet, we lack nothing. Hashem Himself is saying, “I am taking care of you. Spend time with Me, and I will provide.”
Shabbos instills in us the emunah that Hashem governs the world and our finances. Just as Reb Shlomi was cared for even after his benefactor had passed, so too will each of us be provided for, especially when we uphold the sanctity of Shabbos.
