The Two Merchants
Abe Geltman, a man of comfortable means, had no pressing need to travel—except for the urgent need to escape his wife. A formidable woman with a temper as sharp as her tongue, she had made his home life an exercise in endurance. A few months on the road? A small price to pay for peace and quiet.
His friend Mendel Brokeman, on the other hand, had no such luxuries. Business had been rough, bills were piling up, and he could no longer afford to wait for things to get better on their own. He set out in search of new markets, new opportunities—anything to keep his family afloat.
Months passed with no word. Their wives, left behind in town, worried about their husbands—though, truth be told, for rather different reasons.
Then, at last, a traveler arrived, carrying letters from both men. Naturally, both wives were eager to read them.
The messenger, however, was in no hurry. Road-weary and hungry, he begged for a night's rest before digging through his belongings. "First thing in the morning," he assured them, "you’ll have your letters."
Mendel’s wife, a woman accustomed to life’s hardships, was not about to wait. "I need my letter now," she insisted.
The messenger sighed. "Why can’t you wait until tomorrow, like Mrs. Geltman?"
She scoffed. "Oh, our situations couldn’t be more different. I’m living hand-to-mouth. I need to know how my husband is managing—if he’s found work, if we’ll have enough to eat."
"And Mrs. Geltman?"
"Mrs. Geltman? She has everything she needs. The only thing she’s worried about is whether her husband has decided never to come back. As far as she’s concerned, the fact that he wrote at all is good enough. The details—his business, his travels—completely irrelevant."
Our Consolation
The Jewish people is like the wife of Abe Geltman, the wealthy merchant. Her concern was never about survival. She knew her husband could provide. What troubled her was the fear that perhaps he had left her for good.
So too with us. We do not doubt God's power. We do not fear that He lacks the means to sustain us. What weighs on our hearts is the question: Has He abandoned us? Have our failures distanced us beyond repair?
And then comes the voice of the prophet: "Ami"—"My people." Not forsaken. Not forgotten. We are still His. The message alone is enough. In that one word, the consolation begins.
