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Nahum Ish Gamzu Opened a Box of Dust Before the Emperor

Thieves replaced his gift to Rome with dirt, and when the emperor opened the box, Nahum said what he always said: this too is for good.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Man Whose Philosophy Was a Sentence
  2. The Gift That Became Dirt
  3. The Prophet Elijah in the Emperor's Court
  4. What the Delay Had Cost

The Man Whose Philosophy Was a Sentence

Nahum Ish Gamzu had a saying and he never stopped using it. Gam zu l'tovah: this too is for the good. He said it in response to catastrophe, illness, humiliation, and loss. His students could finish the sentence before he began it. His name had become a standing joke that was also the most serious thing about him: Gamzu, literally "this also," was not his place of origin. It was his theology.

The suffering that accompanied this theology was not abstract. The Talmud records that Nahum Ish Gamzu was afflicted with devastating pain throughout his body. His eyes were dim. His hands had withered. His legs could barely carry him. He was a ruin of a man while still alive, and he knew why. He told his students himself. Once, long ago, he was traveling with three donkeys loaded with food and delicacies to bring as a gift. A poor man stopped him on the road. "Rabbi, give me something to eat." Nahum answered: "Wait until I unload the donkey." It was a reasonable thing to say. It was also wrong. Before he could unload, the poor man died where he stood.

The Gift That Became Dirt

Years later, the Jewish community chose Nahum to carry a diplomatic gift to Rome. The community had scraped together precious stones and jewels to present to the emperor, hoping tribute could soften imperial pressure. Nahum took the chest and set out. Along the way he stopped at an inn. During the night, the innkeepers opened the chest, removed every jewel, and filled it with ordinary dirt. Nahum either did not notice or did not say what he noticed. He carried the chest to Rome and presented it to the emperor.

The emperor opened the box and found soil. His court erupted. The Jews had sent Rome a box of dirt. The humiliation was understood immediately as mockery, and mockery of Rome in the imperial court was a death sentence. The emperor's guards seized Nahum. He was condemned to die. "Gam zu l'tovah," Nahum said. This too is for the good.

The Prophet Elijah in the Emperor's Court

At that moment, the tradition records, the prophet Elijah appeared in the court in the form of one of the emperor's advisors. "Perhaps this is the soil of Abraham," he said. Abraham's dust had magical properties in the tradition. When Abraham threw handfuls of it, in one story, the dust became swords and spears in the enemy's midst. The earth of the patriarch was not inert. It was a weapon.

The emperor ordered a test. His army was stuck in a war against a city they could not take. They threw some of the soil from Nahum's chest at the walls. The walls crumbled. They threw more. The city fell. The Roman army had won a siege they had been losing, using Jewish dirt as artillery.

The emperor released Nahum, filled the chest with actual jewels, and sent him home with honors. When Nahum returned to the inn where the theft had taken place, the innkeepers noticed the chest was now full of treasure. They asked where it came from. Nahum told them he had brought the dirt to Rome. The innkeepers demolished their inn, dug up the earth beneath it, and brought the dirt to the emperor, claiming they too had special soil. The emperor had them executed.

What the Delay Had Cost

Behind the miraculous mission to Rome was a debt Nahum had never fully discharged. The poor man who died on the road while Nahum was unloading the donkey was the crack in his foundation. The suffering that followed, the eyes, the hands, the legs, was not punishment in the ordinary sense. It was measurement. Nahum had delayed by seconds and a man had died. The principle ran all the way through his life: if the gift of sustenance can be given now, it must be given now. Waiting for a more convenient moment is not prudence. It is a risk that, in Nahum's case, had already resolved into tragedy.

His students asked why he had allowed himself to suffer such affliction rather than pray for relief. He told them that this suffering was the appropriate weight of the moment on the road. Gam zu l'tovah applied to the suffering too. It was all, in the end, for the good, even the part that destroyed him.

Nahum Ish GamzuGamzuDustElijahMiraclesTzedakahRome
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From the tradition

Sources

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Exempla of the Rabbis, No. 25Exempla of the Rabbis (Gaster, 1924)

Nahum ish Gamzo, called that because no matter what happened, he always said "Gam zu le-tovah" ("This too is for the best"), was sent by the Jewish community to the Roman Emperor carrying a chest full of precious gems as tribute.

He stopped at an inn along the way. During the night, the innkeepers crept into his room, opened the chest, stole every jewel, and filled it with ordinary dust. Nahum did not discover the theft until he stood before the Emperor himself and opened the chest.

The court erupted in laughter. The Jews had sent dirt as a gift to Rome? The Emperor, humiliated and furious, prepared to execute Nahum on the spot.

At that moment, the prophet Elijah appeared disguised as one of the Roman courtiers. He leaned toward the Emperor and whispered: "Perhaps this is the miraculous dust of Abraham. The patriarch had dust that turned into swords and arrows when thrown at his enemies."

The Emperor, intrigued, sent the dust to a battlefield where his legions had been besieging a city for three years without success. Soldiers hurled the dust at the walls. It turned into a storm of arrows and the city fell immediately.

The Emperor rewarded Nahum lavishly and sent him home laden with treasure. When the thieving innkeepers heard the story, they demolished their own building, gathered the rubble, and brought it to the Emperor, claiming it was the same miraculous dust. The Emperor tested it. Nothing happened. The innkeepers were executed. The Talmud in Sanhedrin (108b-109b) and Taanit (21a) preserves this as the quintessential tale of divine providence, gam zu le-tovah.

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Legends of the Jews 7:23Legends of the Jews

He’s carrying a gift from the Jewish community to the Emperor – a gift of great value, meant to secure favor and understanding. But somewhere along the way, disaster strikes. Thieves strike, and they replace the precious jewels in the casket with… dirt. Plain old earth.

Can you picture the scene? Rabbi Nahum presents the casket with pride, only to have the Emperor open it and find a box full of soil. Accusations of mockery fly, and Nahum is condemned to death. I mean,

Even facing execution, he doesn't lose hope. He simply says, "Gam zu l’tova" – "This too is for good." It's a powerful statement, a bedrock of Jewish thought.

Wouldn't you know it, divine intervention arrives in the nick of time! Suddenly, Elijah the Prophet, that legendary figure who often steps in during moments of crisis, appears disguised as a court official. (We find Elijah popping up in stories throughout Jewish tradition, always ready to lend a hand – or work a miracle.) Elijah suggests a theory: perhaps this earth is special, like the earth used by Abraham in war. According to this legend, a handful of this earth could be more effective than swords and bows.

At Elijah’s urging, the Emperor decides to test the earth's properties on a rebellious city that had long defied Roman power. And what do you think happens? The earth works! It proves more effective than the entire Roman army's arsenal. Victory is achieved, and Rabbi Nahum is not only spared but is also showered with honors and treasures.

The thieves, meanwhile, are exposed when they try to claim credit for the "precious earth." They meet their end, because, as the story reminds us, Elijah doesn't work wonders for evildoers.

This tale, found in Legends of the Jews as retold by Ginzberg, is a evidence of unwavering faith. It reminds us that even in the darkest of times, when everything seems to be going wrong, there might be a hidden purpose, a greater good at play. It's easy to say, "This too is for good" when things are rosy, but Rabbi Nahum shows us what it means to truly believe it, even when staring death in the face.

So, the next time you're facing a challenge, remember Rabbi Nahum and his box of dirt. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a miracle waiting to sprout from the most unexpected places.

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Exempla of the Rabbis, No. 103Exempla of the Rabbis (Gaster, 1924)

Nahum Ish Gamzu was a man whose name became his philosophy. Whatever happened to him, no matter how terrible, he would say "Gam zu l'tovah", "This too is for the good." But the reason he lived in such extraordinary suffering was not a mystery. He knew exactly why.

Nahum was afflicted with devastating pain throughout his entire body. His eyes grew dim. His hands withered. His legs could barely carry him. He was a ruin of a man, and his students could not understand why God would allow such suffering to befall a righteous sage.

Nahum told them the story himself. Once, long ago, he was traveling on the road with three donkeys loaded with food, drink, and fine delicacies. A poor man stood at the side of the road and called out to him: "Rabbi, feed me!" Nahum replied: "Wait until I unload the donkey." It was not a refusal, just a delay. He fully intended to help. But by the time he had climbed down and unpacked the food, the poor man had collapsed and died.

Nahum threw himself upon the dead man's body and wept. "Let these eyes that saw your suffering and did not rush to help, let them go blind," he cried. "Let these hands that were slow to feed you, let them wither. Let these legs that did not run to your aid, let them fail." Every affliction he suffered for the rest of his life was, by his own testimony, the punishment he demanded for himself.

His students were horrified. "Should we be grieved to see you like this?" they asked. Nahum answered: "I would be grieved if you did not see me like this." His suffering was his atonement, and he wore it willingly.

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Exempla of the Rabbis, No. 102Exempla of the Rabbis (Gaster, 1924)

Nahum of Gamzu, the sage whose name became a proverb, because to every misfortune he would say "Gam zu l'tovah," "This too is for the good", learned the cost of delayed charity through a personal catastrophe that haunted him for the rest of his life.

The Talmud (Taanit 21a) records what happened. Nahum was traveling with three donkeys loaded with food, drink, and delicacies, bringing them as a gift. Along the road, a poor man stopped him. "Rabbi, give me something to eat," the man begged.

"Wait until I unload the donkey," Nahum replied. It was not a refusal. It was a delay, a small, reasonable delay. He would feed the man. He simply wanted to unpack properly first.

Before Nahum could finish unloading, the poor man collapsed and died. The food arrived moments too late. A life that could have been saved by a handful of bread was lost because of a few minutes of delay.

Nahum threw himself upon the man's body and cried out: "Let my eyes, which had no pity on your eyes, go blind. Let my hands, which did not hurry to feed you, be cut off. Let my legs, which did not run to you, be broken." And every curse he spoke upon himself came true. He lost his sight, lost his hands, lost the use of his legs.

His students wept when they saw him. "Woe to us that we see you like this!" they cried. But Nahum replied: "Woe to you if you did not see me like this." His suffering was his atonement. And his warning to every person who thinks that charity can wait until tomorrow.

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Exempla of the Rabbis, No. 25Exempla of the Rabbis (Gaster, 1924)

Nahum ish Gamzo, also called Nahum of Hamadi used to say, “Everything for the best.” Sent to the Emperor with presents, miracles happened. He came to a place where during the night they emptied his chest and filled it with dust. Brought before the Emperor he thought they were laughing • at him. The prophet Elijah came and suggested that this might be the miraculous dust of Abraham which turned into arrows. They used it at a place which they had been investing for three years and they conquered by means of it. Greatly rewarded he returned home. The thievish hosts hearing of it pull down their building and bring the dust to the Emperor. It was found to be a fraud and they were duly punished.

V 26. Adrianus met an old man in Palestine planting fig trees. He rebuked him, saying that if he had not wrorked in his youth why did he work now in his old age. The old man replied that he worked as much as he could and left the rest to God. The Emperor replied, "If thou should ever gather figs of these trees bring some to me”. The old man brought some and the Emperor filled a basket with gold as a reward for him. The envious wife of a neighbour told her husband that the Emperor evidently liked figs, and so he must take him some. He did so and the Emperor placed him in front of the gate and everyone who passed was ordered to throw a fig in his face. When he came home his household said to him: "Thank thy Creator that they were not citrons but only figs, that they were ripe and not hard.”

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