blogs/rabbi-huberman

Parashat Pikudei

" To Give is to Live"

In 2010, a remarkable discovery was made in the basement of a library in London, England. A woman working on her doctorate at Cambridge University noticed a pile of dust-covered papers written in both Hebrew and Portuguese.

Further examination revealed that they were the minutes of a revived Jewish community, which had been granted permission to return to England and openly practice in 1656, after almost four centuries of exile.

Most remarkable about these papers was the revelation that as the Jewish community—mainly Spanish and Portuguese immigrants—reconvened, one of its top priorities was to institute a committee for Gimilut Chasadim – “Acts of Lovingkindness.”

From that core value – lovingkindness – England’s reborn Jewish community began to flourish. The great Sage, Maimonides (1135-1204), once wrote, “We have never seen, or heard about, a Jewish community which does not have a charity fund.”

And while the Torah accepts the fact that “there will always be poor among you,“ Jewish tradition states that is incumbent upon every Jewish community to ensure that no one starves or slumbers without shelter.

Maimonides also wrote, “We are obligated to be more scrupulous in fulfilling the commandment of Tzedakah (charity) than any other positive commandment, because Tzedakah is the sign of a righteous person.”

And so, this week—as we complete the reading of Exodus, the second book of the Torah—we witness the Jewish people officially emerging from slavery, to create a free society based on justice, equality, kindness and compassion.

Following the Golden Calf Disaster, the Israelites are asked to donate gifts to adorn the tent of meeting that houses the 10 Commandments. People respond enthusiastically, providing precious metals, gems, tapestries, cloth, yarn, oil and other gifts “from the heart.”

The giving becomes so overwhelming, that Moses asks the people to stop. “We often miss how revolutionary this was,” Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, England’s former chief rabbi, once noted. “That’s incendiary in a culture where only emperors and other rulers were thought to be made in the image of God. Then Judaism suddenly comes along and says, ‘Everyone is in the image of God’.”

That spirit of social justice and equality continues today. Friends, we are living in complex times, witnessing a full-scale assault on truth. Our institutions are being attacked. It is not clear who is worthy of trust.

And one of the side effects of this assault, is suspicion of charitable institutions.

Unfortunately, when we consider a donation to a large organization, we are concerned about how much the CEO earns, the amount of money earmarked for administrative costs, and whether our funds actually make it to the front lines.

In many cases, this has encouraged people to—as the Bible describes it—”Close their hands.” Yet, this week’s parashah provides a partial antidote.

It has often called the “Accountants’ Parashah” because it lists, in excruciating detail, the quantity and value of the material used to construct the Mishkan. Many describe the parashah as “boring.”

Why all the detail? Rabbi Sacks explains: “It is the Torah’s way of teaching us the need for financial transparency.” We live in a world of unpresented uncertainty. Who can we trust? Which institutions are truly helping those in need?

Over the past few months, the Cantor and I have been obsessively scrupulous in our disbursement of money to support Israel to assure that our funds have an impact on the front lines. We have not closed our hands. Rather, we have made an extra effort to research charities and individuals, and to ensure accountability.

How interesting that the word Tzedakah—commonly translated as “charity”—is so closely related to the word Tzedek, justice. Indeed, when we give Tzedakah, in some way, we are rebalancing and realigning the world as we bless and support all of God’s creation.

I’ve often recounted the following story which occurred years before I decided to become a rabbi. At about 9 pm on a particularly cold February night in Edmonton, Canada. Our family heard the doorbell ring. When I opened the door, I found a middle-aged couple standing on our doormat holding packets and brochures in their arms.

“We’re representing the Diabetes Association,” the woman said. “Could you please support us with a donation?” “Come in,” we replied, as they stepped into our heated entry.

As Patte briefly disappeared to find a pen and a checkbook, I noticed the man looking up at our doorpost. As we handed our contribution to the couple, the man turned, nodding to his wife, noting: “See, I told you. Every time we go to a house with one of those little boxes up there, we always get a donation.”

As we watched them trudge down our driveway to the next house, I smiled. His comment told me that several fellow Jews in our neighborhood had also contributed. To be clear, all religions preach and practice charity, but perhaps few take it as seriously as Judaism.

For us, Tzedakah is not an option. It is a commandment—so much so that Maimonides established an eight-level hierarchy of giving – from giving less reluctantly to providing work and stability for those in need.

From the person on the pavement outside Penn Station to the institutions who feed and sustain the needy, we always seem to find excuses not to give.  Yet, Judaism cautions against turning our backs, for life and death may rest in the balance, if we allow cynicism to prevail.

Giving can be complex; it is never perfect. But the alternative is an unstable society based on a collection of individuals, rather than a cohesive society grounded upon respect and compassion. I choose the latter.  

Our daughter, Sarah, was the one who uncovered the ancient documents in the basement of that English library. The text she uncovered provided additional evidence of the timeless Jewish value of ensuring the health and security of those in need.

As Rabbi Sacks noted, “So it was in the time of Moses. So it is today. In virtually every country in which Jews live, their charitable giving is out of all proportion to their numbers. In Judaism, to live is to give.”

From the depths of persecution to our current affluence, the concept of Tzedakah remains central to who we are. Even during these times of mistrust and suspicion, we must find ways to help those in need. As we learn from this week’s Torah portion, when we give from the heart, God travels with us.

Shabbat Shalom, v'kol tuv. 

Rabbi Irwin Huberman.