Benny was finishing up his final year of high school, and the exciting occasion of his upcoming graduation was nearing. A Jewish American teenager in a yeshiva day school, he was looking forward to the graduation present that his parents would surely grant him. Many of his friends were getting cars as graduation gifts from their parents, and Benny, too, fantasized about driving his own, new vehicle.

Then his father poured cold water all over his four-wheeled fantasy. “Why does a young boy need his own car?” he asked dismissively. “What kind of gift is that for a Jewish boy? When you finish high school, I will buy you a shas.”

Benny’s dreams were dashed and he looked at his father in dismay. “A shas? Why would I need my own shas? I can use your shas, and if not, I can go into any shul and use whichever Gemara I want. What do I need my own shas for?!”

But his father would not change his mind. No matter how much Benny tried to explain the reality to him, his position wouldn’t budge. He didn’t care that every other boy in the class was getting a car. He didn’t care that his son was upset about his choice of a graduation present. Instead of going to the dealership, he went to the local Judaica store and purchased a shas for his son.

The graduation ceremony was a watershed moment. There were speeches and awards and then the graduates marched off the stage and into their adult lives. When Benny and his parents returned home after the graduation, a beautiful set of Shas was sitting on the table, a gift from his parents.

Benny was so disappointed with this gift that he could not bring himself to thank his parents. “All my friends got cars, and I get a Shas,” he grumbled as he lugged the heavy volumes to his room. “Why am I different?”

When his father wasn’t looking, Benny dragged the set of Shas up to the attic. He certainly wasn’t planning on using the gift, and just the sight of it in his room was enough to remind him about a certain kind of present, one that came equipped with a steering wheel and a motor, that he did not receive.

Just a few days later, while Benny was still stewing over the injustice of his gift, his father was diagnosed with a devastating illness and rushed into surgery. However, the illness had been discovered at an advanced state, and the doctors had little hope to offer the family. Only three months later, he passed away, leaving over a wife and a few children.

In a short span of just three months, Benny became an orphan, and he was left with the bitter aftertaste in his mouth, the stale memories of the final altercation with his father. There had been no time for reconciliation over the disappointing gift, and the ghost of their disagreement lingered for a long, long time.

The years passed, and Benny and his siblings married and moved out of the house. Their mother continued living alone in her home until she grew too old and frail to care for herself. At that point, she made arrangements to sell the house along with everything in it and move in with her daughter.

“If you’d like anything from the house, you need to take it by the end of this week,” she told her children. “After that, everything will belong to the buyer.”

It proved to be an emotionally difficult week for the children. Together, they went through their childhood home and chose which furniture they would leave and which they would keep. They uncovered an abundance of sentimental treasures that stirred up old memories, laughing and crying together with each discovery.

“Let’s check the attic,” Benny suggested. “Maybe there are some things there that we would like to keep.”

He pulled down the rusty attic stairs and ascended into the cramped alcove. It was hot and dusty, and hundreds of objects littered the floor haphazardly. A pile of volumes caught his attention, and Benny walked over to investigate. He wiped the dust off the cover of the top volume, and his throat squeezed.

It was a Shas.

The Shas that his father had given him as a gift on the night of his graduation. The Shas that he’d received instead of a car like the rest of his classmates. The Shas he had never bothered to open since he’d been so upset about it. The Shas that had caused a rift between his father and himself, a rift that had never been repaired during his father’s lifetime.

But Benny was twenty years older now, the father of children of his own. As he choked down the bitter feelings associated with the Shas, he opened the cover for the first time. This was a gift from his father, his father whom he had not seen in two decades! What a precious gift!

There was an inscription on the first page. Benny’s voice caught as he read it out loud. The note said:

My son,

Take this Shas. The Torah will give you true happiness in life, more than anything else in the world. I know that you also want a car. Therefore, I bought you a new car. Go to such and such place, and they will give you the car, paid for in full. But know that true happiness will come from the shas.

Your dear father, who loves you more than everyone in the word.

Benny read the inscription once, twice, three times. His father had indeed loved him! Then he noticed a small envelope taped into the Gemara. With trembling fingers, he disconnected it from the page and opened it up.

Inside the envelope was a set of car keys.

Benny promptly fainted and his body crumpled in a heap on the floor. The knowledge that his father had indeed tried to give everything he’d wished for and so much more was simply too much to bear.

Hearing the thud on the floor overhead, his siblings came rushing upstairs, and when they saw their brother lying motionless on the floor, they began screaming in panic. Someone poured a bucket of ice water on his head, and Benny groggily came to.

“What happened?” they asked him. “What did you find that shocked you so badly?”

Benny struggled to sit up and pointed to the pile of dusty Gemaras. Tears streaming down his face, he told them the story. “I was mad at Daddy because I wanted a car like the rest of my friends,” he explained. “I was so angry that I didn’t try to make peace with him before he died. But it turned out that he did love me. He gave me not just a car, but also a life’s lesson. He wanted me to know that true happiness doesn’t come from materialism, but only from the Torah.”

We all want happiness, and we all search for happiness. But we must remind ourselves that the expensive cars and nice clothes and beautiful homes are not the true harbingers of joy. True happiness comes only from Torah.