What, All This Over a Thousand Lira? Abu Tony had a small shop in the neighborhood, and everyone knew one thing about him: he never let even a single lira slide. Every day, Jad would buy something from him, and if he was a thousand lira short, Abu Tony would say: “Hey, you still owe me a thousand.” “Come on, Abu Tony! All this over a thousand lira?” “Of course! Isn’t a thousand lira money?” One rainy day, an elderly woman walked in, her clothes soaked and her face tired. “God give you strength, brother. I need some bread and milk.” Abu Tony totaled everything. She opened her purse, counted her money, then quietly said: “I’m fifty thousand short… put the milk back.” Abu Tony placed the milk right back in her bag. “You’re not putting anything back. Take it.” “But, brother…” “No buts. Go home before the rain gets worse.” The woman left, and Jad stood there staring at him. “Hold on! You chase me for a thousand, but you let her walk away owing fifty thousand?” Abu Tony looked at him. “You have the money and try to get away without paying. She wants to pay, but she can’t.” Jad went quiet. Abu Tony continued: “Listen, brother. Not everyone who fails to pay is trying to cheat you, and not everyone asking for mercy is taking advantage of you.” Then he went back to arranging the shelves. “Money needs accounting, no question about that… but people need a conscience.” From that day on, whenever Jad was quick to judge someone, he remembered Abu Tony. Because he had learned something worth far more than the money: Justice doesn’t mean treating everyone exactly the same. It means knowing the difference between someone who won’t—and someone who simply can’t.