The Wannabe Trader
Then his sister came along.
"Max, be a dear and take my boy into the business," she said. "Show him the ropes."
Max agreed—against his better judgment. The boy was family, after all. He had no experience, no talent, no apparent interest in commerce, but Max would do his duty.
His first mistake.
Eager to set the young man on his way, Max handed him $10,000 and a simple task: "Buy something useful. Something we can sell at a profit."
The nephew returned a week later beaming with pride. Behind him, laborers unloaded crate after crate. Max leaned in for a closer look. Toothpicks. Not a few. Not a dozen crates. Hundreds.
Max’s mouth opened, then closed. He blinked. Then, finding his voice, he said, "Tell me, my dear nephew, are we in the fine dining business?"
"No, Uncle."
"Do we supply restaurants? Catering halls? Toothpick collectors?"
"No, Uncle."
Max pinched the bridge of his nose. "So why, in the name of all that is sensible, did you take ten thousand dollars and spend it—every last cent—on a hundred thousand boxes of toothpicks?"
The nephew brightened. "Because they were a bargain!"
Max sat down. He poured himself a drink. He took a long, long sip.
Then he did the only thing he could: shoved the boxes into storage and relegated his nephew to office errands.
Months passed. Max worked hard, his business thrived, and he slowly repressed the memory of the Great Toothpick Debacle. Then his sister called.
"Max, darling, give my son another chance. Everyone makes mistakes!"
Mistakes. Yes. What was one more?
Max sighed and, against his better judgment (again), handed his nephew another $10,000. He also gave him one simple instruction: "Do not—under any circumstances—buy more toothpicks."
The boy left. Max waited.
A week later, his nephew returned, brimming with confidence, and behind him? Crates. Piles of them. Not toothpicks this time. No, no. This time, the young man had found something much more valuable.
Shofars.
Hundreds upon hundreds of ram’s horns.
Max stared at the warehouse filling with shofars. He stared at his nephew. He stared at the ceiling as though looking for answers.
"You bought...shofars?"
"Yes, Uncle!" the boy said enthusiastically. "It’s almost Rosh Hashanah! A very important item!"
Max rubbed his temples. "Even if you sold one to every synagogue in the country, they need exactly one." He gestured at the crates. "We now have enough to last until the great shofar of the Mashiach!"
Once again, the nephew was demoted to office chores. Max, meanwhile, was left with a warehouse packed with religious items and enough toothpicks to supply the world’s dental industry for a decade.
So, he did what any man in his position would do—he found two experienced traders and offered them a deal: Get rid of this inventory, and there’s a fat commission in it for you.
Weeks passed. Then both traders returned, triumphant.
"Max, great news!" said the first. "I found a buyer for the toothpicks. And you'll never believe it—he's got a warehouse full of shofars to trade!"
"Max, great news!" said the second. "I found a buyer for the shofars. And you'll never believe it—he's got a warehouse full of toothpicks to trade!"
Max took a deep breath. He counted to ten. He counted to twenty. Then he had another drink.
Later that evening, his nephew approached him, looking smug.
"You see, Uncle? You were so upset with me, but even your expert traders didn’t do any better than I did. They also ended up with shofars and toothpicks!"
Max lost his temper. "Fool! They had lousy merchandise to start with! It’s no wonder they didn’t do any better. You, on the other hand—I gave you cash! You could have bought anything! But what did you choose? Toothpicks and ram’s horns!"
The nephew, unfazed, smiled. "But at a great price, Uncle!"
Max gave up. Some men are born merchants. Others should be kept far, far away from the family business.
Jeremiah's Rebuke
This was precisely Jeremiah’s message to the Jewish people.
"Yet My people have exchanged their glory for that which is useless." The Jewish people—chosen to serve the living God—had traded their greatest honor, their covenant, their destiny, for lifeless wood and stone. Like the hapless nephew in the parable, they had squandered their inheritance on worthless merchandise. Not just a foolish exchange, but a tragic one.
