The Three Friends
Three friends once made a pact. Each would travel to a distant land and return with a unique, world-changing expertise. A grand plan, no doubt—though their parents were, perhaps, less enthusiastic.
Years passed. The first immersed himself in optics, mastering the construction of a telescope that could see across vast distances. The second studied engineering and invented a vehicle so fast it left Road Runner in the dust. The third, ever practical, became a doctor, learning to cure everything from the sniffles to ailments requiring second opinions—and premium insurance coverage.
At last, the three reunited. The first, eager to demonstrate his expertise, whipped out his telescope. He peered through and gasped. "I see a distant kingdom in distress! People are running about, wailing, tearing at their hair. Something terrible has happened!"
Naturally, they turned to the second friend. He patted his marvelous vehicle. “This,” he declared, “is our moment.” In no time, they were off, racing across the countryside at speeds that would make Superman reconsider his career choice.
Arriving at the kingdom, they found a scene of despair. The king's daughter lay gravely ill, having defeated every royal physician's attempts at treatment. Fortunately, they had brought a doctor of their own. The third friend stepped forward, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work. Before long, the princess was sitting up, stretching languidly, and requesting her afternoon tea.
The king, beside himself with joy, declared, “You must be rewarded! And what greater reward than my daughter’s hand in marriage?”
A fine prize, to be sure. But there was a complication.
“Of course,” the king added, “only one of you can marry her. Which of you is most deserving?”
Awkward silence ensued.
The first friend stepped forward. “Without my telescope, we’d never have known she needed help.”
The second placed a hand on his vehicle. “And without my marvelous machine, we’d still be stuck three towns over examining train schedules.”
The third raised an eyebrow. “That’s true. And without me, she’d still be—how do I put this delicately—unavailable for marriage.”
A stalemate.
Then, to everyone’s surprise, the princess herself spoke.
“It’s true,” she said thoughtfully, “that each of you played a crucial role in saving my life. But that's in the past. If we consider the future, the answer becomes clear.”
She paused, surveying her three would-be suitors.
"A telescope? Lovely for stargazing, but hardly essential. A swift vehicle? Splendid for adventures, but not critical. A doctor, though?" Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "Well, life has a way of requiring healing arts at the most inconvenient moments."
Decision made.
Three Partners in a Child
At first glance, an odd pairing. What does keeping Shabbat have to do with respecting parents?
The Sages offer a deep insight: honoring parents is a sacred duty, but it has its limits. If a parent instructs a child to violate the Sabbath—or any other Torah law—the child must, with the utmost respect, decline. Why?
Because, as the Sages taught, a person is created by three partners: the mother, the father, and God. Parents give life, and God provides the soul.
Like the rescued princess, we must consider not only the past but also the future. Parents provide love and guidance; they shape the foundations of the child’s life. Yet, as the years pass, roles shift, and independence takes root. God, however, remains a constant presence—sustaining and guiding us.
And so, as in the story, while all three partners are essential, one remains indispensable.
