A rich man once swore an oath before his sons that when he died he would leave each of them one hundred dinars. He had ten sons, so the promise totaled one thousand dinars. Then his business suffered reversals, and fifty dinars were lost. He had nine hundred and fifty left — not one thousand.
On his deathbed, he did the math aloud with his sons gathered around him. I gave my oath. I must keep it to at least nine of you. He counted out nine hundred dinars and gave each of his nine older sons his hundred.
The youngest — the tenth — stepped forward. Father, what do you leave for me?
The father looked at him. You get twenty dinars of the fifty I have left. Thirty must stay aside for my burial. But in place of the rest, I bequeath you something worth more than all my gold: I leave you the friendship of ten men who were mine. They are worth more than a thousand dinars — you will see.
The father died. The nine older sons took their coins and went to their businesses. The youngest, with his twenty dinars, invited the ten friends of his father to a feast. He set out everything he could afford. He received them with honor. He told them: you were my father's; now I hope you will be mine.
The men were moved. Each one, independently, insisted on marking the relationship with a gift. One gave the boy a cow. Another gave him money. Another secured him a contract. Within a short time, the youngest son had become wealthier than his father had ever been.
Gaster's Exempla (No. 416, 1924), drawing from Rabbi Nissim of Kairouan's Chibbur Yafeh mei-haYeshuah (11th century North Africa), uses the parable to illustrate Proverbs 27:10, your own friend and your father's friend do not forsake. The rabbinic teaching is almost modern. A thousand dinars will be spent in a year. Ten true friends are a compounding investment that grows forever.