In the Jewish quarter of Kraków in the 17th century lived a man named Yossele, who was both infamous and pitied. He was a miser, so the townspeople said—a man of means who refused to share a single coin with the poor. He dressed in threadbare clothing, ate little, and avoided company. When beggars came to his door, he turned them away. When the community fundraisers came calling, he sent them off empty-handed. In a city where charity was a sacred duty, Yossele’s reputation sank lower each year.
When he died, no one mourned him. There was no rabbi to eulogize him, no crowd to escort him to the cemetery. The burial society consigned him to a lonely corner of the graveyard, among the least respected of the dead. The people of Kraków were relieved that the stingy old man was finally gone.
The tombstone of Yossele the Holy Miser in the Remah Cemetery, Kraków, Poland. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
But then, something strange began to happen.
Within days of Yossele’s death, the poor of Kraków started to suffer. Widows who had always found loaves of bread at their doors awoke to find them missing. Orphans who had mysteriously received coins slipped under their pillows now found nothing. Families who had quietly managed to survive the winter could no longer afford to heat their homes. It was as if the unseen hand that had always sustained them had vanished overnight.
Puzzled and desperate, the townspeople began to talk. Who had been helping all these people so discreetly? No one knew. The rabbi called a meeting, and the stories poured forth—too many to be coincidence. Each account spoke of anonymous gifts: bread, wood, money, clothing—always arriving quietly, without credit or witness.
Then realization struck. The timing could not be ignored. The secret benefactor must have been none other than the man they had despised: Yossele the miser.
The rabbi himself wept. The community that had scorned him now recognized him as a tzaddik—a righteous man who had practiced the highest form of charity. In Jewish tradition, tzedakah is greatest when given in secret, so that the giver and receiver remain unknown to each other. Yossele had lived that ideal to perfection, even at the cost of his own good name.
Credit: Wikimedia Commons
Word of the revelation spread far beyond Kraków. From then on, the townspeople called him Yossele the Holy Miser, honouring him as a saintly example of humility and selflessness. His grave, once neglected, became a site of reverence. And the story of his hidden charity became one of the most beloved tales in Jewish folklore—a reminder that true virtue often works unseen, and that appearances can deceive.
For centuries afterward, the legend of Yossele the Holy Miser has been retold in sermons and storybooks alike. It endures as a moral fable about compassion and anonymity, and an admonition not to judge by outward behaviour, and a tribute to those who give quietly, expecting nothing in return.
References:
# Yosseleh the Holy Miser. Adath Israel
# Yosseleh the Holy Miser. www.rivertonshul.org
Comments
Post a Comment