Two of Rabbi Meir's sons died on Shabbat afternoon. They had been in the house while their father was at the synagogue leading the congregation.

When Rabbi Meir came home, he asked after them. His wife Beruriah — one of the great scholars of the Talmud in her own right — did not answer directly. She would not place a grief so enormous in her husband's hands before the Sabbath had departed. To mourn on Shabbat is to let sorrow interrupt the one day of the week that belongs to God alone.

So she deflected. She set the Shabbat table. They ate. They sang zemirot. Three stars appeared. She said Havdalah with him.

And then, in the moments after Shabbat ended, she finally spoke. I have a question of halachah for you. A man once entrusted me with two precious jewels for safekeeping. Now he has returned and wishes to reclaim what he left. Am I obligated to give them back?

Rabbi Meir was astonished at the question. Of course you must return them. What kind of question is that? The jewels were never yours to keep.

Then Beruriah took his hand and led him into the room where their two sons lay. These are the jewels the Holy One, Blessed be He, entrusted to us. And now He has come to collect.

Rabbi Meir wept. But he understood. Gaster's Exempla (No. 146, 1924) and Midrash Mishlei 31 preserve the teaching as the ultimate Jewish statement on parenting: children are gifts on loan, and the lender keeps the receipt.