The Rebuke of the Belt[1]
It was the way of the holy Rebbe, the Alter Rebbe, to live with utmost simplicity. He would often say: “Even the Torah cares for the wealth of Israel. And since my livelihood comes from the community, I must guard every expense.”
So strict was this principle that when his sons or grandsons wore fine garments, they would hide them from his sight.
One day, his grandson—the great and holy Rabbi Menachem Mendel, later known as the Tzemach Tzedek—wore a costly belt, worth fifteen silver rubles. Normally, before entering the Rebbe’s presence, he would remove it. But that day, summoned in haste, he forgot.
The Alter Rebbe’s eyes fell upon the belt.
“Ah,” he said, “a fine belt indeed. Tell me—what is its price?”
The grandson answered truthfully: “Fifteen silver rubles.”
The Rebbe’s face darkened.
“And are you a wealthy man,” he asked sternly, “that you dress in such extravagance?”
Then he pressed further:
“What was your dowry?”
“Two thousand rubles,” replied the grandson.
“And what do you plan to do with such a sum?”
“I will entrust it to a rich man, and earn a little profit.”
The Rebbe’s voice thundered: “And what if he returns neither the principal nor the profit?”
“He is a great and wealthy man,” said the grandson.
“A wealthy man?” thundered the Rebbe. “What of that? Today he is rich—tomorrow he may be poor! Then what will you do with your money?”
The grandson hesitated. “What then should I do?”
The Rebbe pointed to a charity box on the table.
“My faithful advice: place it here. Here, your principal and profit will remain whole.”
The Tzemach Tzedek thought the Rebbe spoke in jest. But the Alter Rebbe’s gaze burned with truth: “I mean it. Give the money to charity, and you will have both principal and profit. Give it to a wealthy man, and you will lose everything.”
Realizing the Rebbe was serious, the grandson withdrew, unwilling to part with all his wealth. Later, he entrusted the money to a great and trustworthy rich man.
Months passed. Then tragedy struck: the rich man’s fortune burned to ashes. He became a pauper, begging from door to door.
The Rebbe’s words had come true.
The Rebbe later cried out:
“Tell me—what became of your profit?”
The grandson confessed: the wealthy man had burned in a fire, and all was lost.
The Rebbe cried out:“Why did you not heed my words? Had you given that money to charity, both principal and profit would have remained whole! Why do you lack faith in your Rebbe, unlike the Jews of Volhynia, whose trust is complete?”
And then, to teach him, the Rebbe told a tale:
The Faith of a Simple Innkeeper
“Once,” said the Rebbe, “I traveled from Mezeritch in bitter cold. My feet froze so badly that the coachman carried me into an inn. The innkeeper, an old and honest man, rubbed my feet with snow and spirits until life returned to them.
I asked him, ‘How long have you lived here?’
‘More than fifty years,’ he said.
‘Do you have a Minyan for prayer?’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘Only on the High Holidays do I travel four leagues to the nearest town.’
I said, ‘Is this proper—that an old Jew should pray all his life without a minyan, never hearing Kedusha or Barchu? Why not move to town?’
He answered simply, ‘And what of my livelihood?’
‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘how many Jews live in that town?’
‘About a hundred.’
‘For a hundred Jews, the Almighty finds means to provide sustenance—and for you alone, He cannot?’
Then I revealed myself: ‘Know that I am a disciple of the great Maggid of Mezeritch.’
The old man left me. Half an hour later, I saw wagons loaded with his belongings.
‘What is this?’ I asked.
He said, ‘I am moving to town, as you commanded.’
See and understand,” the Rebbe said to his grandson, “such strength of faith! I was then young, yet when he heard that I was a disciple of my Rebbe, he uprooted his life of fifty years—where he had abundant livelihood—and moved without hesitation.
And you? You heard me twice warn you that your principal and profit might be lost, yet you did not listen.”
Takeaway
The story teaches that true security lies not in wealth but in faith and generosity. Money entrusted to people can vanish overnight, while what is given to charity remains eternally yours in blessing and merit. Trust in the wisdom of the righteous, for their guidance is rooted in divine truth. Real faith is not passive—it demands action, even when it feels risky. In short: what you give away in kindness will endure forever; what you cling to in fear may be lost in an instant.
[1] Sippurim Noraim p. 125
