The sunlight bounced off the young man's gold-trimmed robe as he rode past my olive stall. His sandals were clean—too clean for someone who claimed to search for truth. A servant hurried behind, carrying scrolls and coins.
“He’s going to Rabbi Yeshua,” I whispered to my sister. “Maybe he wants to impress Him.”
But nothing impressed Rabbi Yeshua—not wealth, not robes, not words. Only the heart.
I dropped my olive basket and followed.
By the time I arrived, the man had already dismounted and knelt before Yeshua on the dusty roadside. “Teacher,” he said, eyes wide with urgency, “what good thing must I do to inherit eternal life?”
A question spoken like a transaction—what must I do, what must I pay?
Yeshua looked at him gently. “Why ask me about what is good? There is only One who is good. But if you want to enter life, keep the commandments.”
The young man straightened. “I have. All of them. Since I was a boy.”
The crowd shifted. Even I glanced sideways. Who says that out loud?
Yeshua's expression didn’t change, but I saw a glint of sorrow in His eyes—as if He knew what the man would say before he said it.
“One thing you still lack,” Yeshua said quietly. “Go. Sell what you own. Give it to the poor. You’ll have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow Me.”
At that moment, everything changed. The question, the kneeling, the rushing to meet Jesus—it all crumbled behind the silence that followed.
The rich man’s face fell.
I’ll never forget it. One blink, and all the hope in his eyes became fear. His hands twitched, fingers brushing the edge of his money pouch, then falling back.
He stood. Slowly.
And walked away.
I wanted to believe he’d turn back. I wanted to scream at him, “It’s worth more! You can’t keep your riches forever! But His words—His words lead to life!”
But he never looked back.
Later, we sat with Yeshua under an olive tree, stunned. Someone whispered what we were all thinking: “If he can’t be saved… who can?”
Yeshua smiled, sad but strong. “With people, it’s impossible. But with God—all things are possible.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing the man’s eyes when he heard the truth. //What must it feel like to walk away from love?//
But I also saw the eyes of those who stayed. Fishermen who left their nets. Women who gave their last coins. A tax collector who gave everything back—four times over.
I realized then: to follow Jesus, you can’t hold onto everything. But what you get instead is a forever kind of treasure.
That day, one man walked away from the Kingdom.
But I took one step closer.
And it changed everything.
Because I understood: eternal life isn’t something to buy. It’s something to trust.
The sunlight bounced off the young man's gold-trimmed robe as he rode past my olive stall. His sandals were clean—too clean for someone who claimed to search for truth. A servant hurried behind, carrying scrolls and coins.
“He’s going to Rabbi Yeshua,” I whispered to my sister. “Maybe he wants to impress Him.”
But nothing impressed Rabbi Yeshua—not wealth, not robes, not words. Only the heart.
I dropped my olive basket and followed.
By the time I arrived, the man had already dismounted and knelt before Yeshua on the dusty roadside. “Teacher,” he said, eyes wide with urgency, “what good thing must I do to inherit eternal life?”
A question spoken like a transaction—what must I do, what must I pay?
Yeshua looked at him gently. “Why ask me about what is good? There is only One who is good. But if you want to enter life, keep the commandments.”
The young man straightened. “I have. All of them. Since I was a boy.”
The crowd shifted. Even I glanced sideways. Who says that out loud?
Yeshua's expression didn’t change, but I saw a glint of sorrow in His eyes—as if He knew what the man would say before he said it.
“One thing you still lack,” Yeshua said quietly. “Go. Sell what you own. Give it to the poor. You’ll have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow Me.”
At that moment, everything changed. The question, the kneeling, the rushing to meet Jesus—it all crumbled behind the silence that followed.
The rich man’s face fell.
I’ll never forget it. One blink, and all the hope in his eyes became fear. His hands twitched, fingers brushing the edge of his money pouch, then falling back.
He stood. Slowly.
And walked away.
I wanted to believe he’d turn back. I wanted to scream at him, “It’s worth more! You can’t keep your riches forever! But His words—His words lead to life!”
But he never looked back.
Later, we sat with Yeshua under an olive tree, stunned. Someone whispered what we were all thinking: “If he can’t be saved… who can?”
Yeshua smiled, sad but strong. “With people, it’s impossible. But with God—all things are possible.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing the man’s eyes when he heard the truth. //What must it feel like to walk away from love?//
But I also saw the eyes of those who stayed. Fishermen who left their nets. Women who gave their last coins. A tax collector who gave everything back—four times over.
I realized then: to follow Jesus, you can’t hold onto everything. But what you get instead is a forever kind of treasure.
That day, one man walked away from the Kingdom.
But I took one step closer.
And it changed everything.
Because I understood: eternal life isn’t something to buy. It’s something to trust.
