A charitable man kept three chests in his house. One filled with gold, one with silver, one with copper. From these he gave to every beggar who came to his door, matching the gift to the need. He believed wealth was a trust, not a treasure, and his hand was always open.
His wife saw things differently. She was uncharitable and hostile to every request that came to their threshold. When her husband was home, she held her tongue, because the chests belonged to him and he managed them as he pleased. But in her heart she resented every coin that left the house.
One day, the husband was away. A poor man came to the door pressed by hunger, hoping the charity he knew from this house would sustain him in the master's absence. The wife received him coldly but was pressured by his visible need. She could not refuse without shame. She went into the storeroom and opened the first chest — the chest of gold.
Scorpions poured out. Black and quick, they scrambled over the rim of the box. She threw open the chest of silver. Insects crawled out in a hissing heap. She lifted the lid of the copper chest. More creeping vermin.
The wealth had not vanished. It had changed. Under the husband's generous hand, the chests had held blessing. Under the wife's grudging glance, they held curse.
Gaster's Exempla #306, drawing on the tradition of the ayin tovah — the "good eye" — and the ayin ra'ah — the "evil eye" — preserves the lesson: the same wealth brings blessing or venom depending on which eye is watching it.