How I Sent Warren Buffett Off to Israel

Whenever I tell people that I grew up in Omaha, NE, the first thing they want to know is whether I’ve met Warren Buffett. I answer yes: I spent an hour with him in 2006, and I owe it all to my rabbi, a book, and a cup of coffee.

Here’s how it happened.

One day, Susie Buffett, Warren’s wife, bought a copy of Let’s Talk About God (1953) and read it to her daughter, who loved it. Upon learning that author Dorothy Kripke (also the wife of the rabbi of my youth, Myer Kripke) also lived in Omaha, Susie invited her over for coffee.

The two women discovered that they shared many interests and lived only a block apart. They resolved to meet again, next time with their husbands.

Rabbi Myer and Dorothy Kripke became fast friends with the Buffetts. The foursome regularly played bridge, and every year, the two families shared Thanksgiving dinner.

The Kripkes had inherited some money and saved a bit on their own. Warren agreed to invest their modest nest egg, which became shares in Berkshire Hathaway, Buffett’s holding company. Over time, they became fabulously wealthy, a fact that no one in the synagogue knew until the couple donated $7 million dollars to help rebuild the Jewish Theological Seminary’s library after is was destroyed in a 1966 fire. The Kripkes continued to give generously to other causes.

When Rabbi Kripke turned 90, my mother organized a gala birthday party, and I was tapped to become the master of ceremonies. Warren Buffett attended, and we met for the first time. He offered a heartfelt toast to his friend, telling the crowd how proud he was of the rabbi’s philanthropic achievements.

Two years later, I came to Rabbi Kripke with the idea of establishing a National Jewish Book Award in memoriam to Dorothy, who had died in 2000. He liked the idea and encouraged me to set up a nonprofit institute for that purpose. When I suggested we ask Warren for support, the rabbi arranged a meeting.

Warren escorted us to his modest office at Berkshire Hathaway headquarters. After an hour of conversation, Rabbi Kripke raised the subject of the institute.

Warren listened attentively and then came the answer: “Myer, Ron, I learned a long time ago to only do the things I know how to do. I know how to make dough; I don’t know how to give it away. That’s why I gave most of my money to Bill Gates…I’m sorry I cannot participate in your worthy endeavor.”

Not wanting to end the meeting on a downer, I changed the subject to Buffett’s multi-billion dollar purchase of ISCAR, the Israeli tool-making company.

“I hear you are planning to go to Israel soon,” I said.

 “Next month,” he acknowledged.

“The first time I told someone I was going to Israel, “ I said, “the person gave me money to take.”

“What’s that all about, Ron?” Warren asked.

“It’s a Jewish tradition,” I explained. “If you meet someone going to Israel, you give the person money to give to someone in need over there. The receiver thinks it’s coming from the pilgrim, but it’s not. It’s coming from the original donor, which makes it an anonymous gift, the highest level of tzedakah, righteous giving. It’s a kind of insurance too. God will protect you on your journey.”

Then I took out my wallet and I, Ron Wolfson, gave Warren Buffett a dollar bill. And he took it!