The Rebbe’s L’Chaim

All Zechariah wanted was to help out his widowed mother. How did this diligent, hardworking boy wind up with a noose around his neck?

I n a small village between Kitov and Kossov lived a Jewish family who despite their poverty were a happy contented lot.

Although they sufficed with very little — subsisting on bread and root vegetables, and fish and meat only on Shabbos and Yom Tov, they were instilled with simple emunah by their father, Zanvil Stein. Zanvil was not particularly learned, but whatever he had learned from his parents — also simple villagers — he conveyed to his children: some passages of tefillah, parshas hashavua, a bit of halachah relating to the yearly cycle, and pure faith in the Creator and His servants, the tzaddikim of the generation.

Zanvil eked out a living by managing a small tavern. He spent most of his time and energy involved in drinks and those who imbibed them. Each morning, he thanked Hashem for granting him the day before, which had ended in health and peace and enough money to sustain his family and purchase more drinks to continue maintaining his business.

Because money was so tight, every purchase for Zanvil, from a sack of potatoes to a few kilos of grain, became a series of endless calculations — was it absolutely necessary? And if so, where could  he buy it for less money? It wasn’t stinginess on Zanvil’s part, but rather an effort to stretch every kopeck to be able to provide for his family.