Jewish Folklore Codexery

Yossele the Holy Miser

A legendary figure from 17th-century Kraków folklore, known for hidden generosity.

Yossele the Holy Miser

According to a famous Jewish folktale set in 17th-century Kraków, a Jew named Yossele lived in the Kazimierz Jewish quarter. Though he was widely reviled for his stinginess and refusal to give charity, the story reveals his hidden generosity. In the legend, Yossele was the richest man in the city, yet the community scorned him as a miser. When he died, the townspeople delayed his burial for days and, out of contempt, interred him in the back of the cemetery—a spot reserved for paupers and outcasts. Within a week, the poor began pleading with the local rabbi for money, as the anonymous weekly allowances they had relied on had stopped arriving. The rabbi realized Yossele had been the secret benefactor, transforming the notorious miser into a righteous man, or Tzadik. The rabbi ordered the entire town to beg forgiveness at Yossele’s grave, and added the word *HaTzadik* to his tombstone. In the story, the rabbi involved was the famed sage Yom-Tov Lipmann Heller, who requested to be buried beside Yossele—explaining why the venerated rabbi’s grave is said to lie at the back of the Remuh Cemetery next to the Holy Miser’s. The tale underscores the highest form of tzedakah, as defined by Maimonides: giving anonymously.

Lived
Legendary figure, story set in the 17th century
Location
Kazimierz Jewish quarter of Kraków (in folklore)
Field
Folklore, charity
Known for
Apparent stinginess but hidden generosity; giving anonymous charity
Burial
Remah Cemetery, Kraków (in legend, next to Rabbi Yom-Tov Lipmann Heller)

Lore & Background

According to the general outline of the legend, the richest Jew in Kraków in the 17th century was Yossele the Miser. He was known by this title because in the community he was reviled for his stinginess and refusal to contribute to tzedakah despite his great wealth. When the Miser died, the townspeople who long despised him refused to bury his body for several days. Out of scorn, they eventually buried him in the back of the cemetery, an area normally reserved for paupers and other societal outcasts.

Within a week of the Miser's death, strange occurrences began to unfold in the town. All the poor began beseeching the local rabbi for money because the weekly allowances they had regularly been receiving from an anonymous benefactor had ceased arriving. Eventually, the rabbi realized that Yossele was the source of these charitable donations and in fact, the notorious miser was a great Tzadik (righteous man).

Immediately, the rabbi commanded the entire town to converge on Yossele's grave and beg for forgiveness. And on the tombstone which read 'Yossele the Miser,' the rabbi added the word HaTzadik—the Righteous One. According to the story, the rabbi involved was the famed sage Yom-Tov Lipmann Heller, who requested to be buried next to the Holy Miser. This is understood as the reason why the grave of the venerated Rabbi Yom-Tov is said to lie at the back of the Remuh Cemetery next to Yossele in the legend.

Reader's Guide

The tale of Yossele the Holy Miser underlines one of the highest forms of tzedakah according to the pre-eminent Jewish philosopher Maimonides — giving anonymously. The story serves as a moral lesson about judging others based on appearances, as Yossele was reviled during his life for his apparent stinginess, yet his hidden generosity made him a Tzadik. His burial next to the renowned Rabbi Yom-Tov Lipmann Heller in the Remah Cemetery of Kraków further elevates his status in Jewish folklore. The legend continues to be retold, with audio versions available by Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach and Rabbi David Cooper. The tale remains a powerful example of how anonymous charity is valued in Jewish tradition, and it cautions against hasty judgment of others' actions.

Did You Know?

More in Jewish folklore 1-24

Spotted an error? Know more?

Reader corrections go straight into our review queue. Suggest an edit · How this site is sourced

Comments

Loading…
Open in the interactive codex →