By Paulo Coelho
On his deathbed, Jacob summoned his wife, Sarah, to his side.
‘Dear Sarah, I want to make my will. To my first-born, Abraham, I am going to leave half of my estate. He is, after all, a man of faith.’
‘Oh, don’t do that, Jacob! Abraham doesn’t need all that money, he’s got his own business; besides, he has faith in our religion. Leave it to Isaac, who is in such turmoil about whether or not God exists, and who has still not found his way in the world.’
‘All right, I’ll leave it to Isaac. And Abraham can have my shares.’
‘Like I said, dear Jacob, Abraham doesn’t need anything. I’ll have the shares and I can always help out the children as and when.’
‘You’re quite right, Sarah. Now about the land we own in Israel. I think I’ll leave it to Deborah.’
‘To Deborah! Are you mad, Jacob? She’s already got land in Israel. Do you want to make her into a businesswoman and ruin her marriage? I think our daughter Michele is much more in need of help.’
Mustering his last ounce of strength, Jacob sat up indignantly.
‘My dear Sarah, you have been an excellent wife, an excellent mother, and I know you want the best for each of your children, but, please show some respect for my opinion. After all, who’s dying here, you or me?’
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