Parshat Teruma: The Differences in Giving

Last week was Shabbat Shekalim, the first of four special Shabbatot over the eight weeks leading up to Pesach.  The special maftir aliyah (the last section read from the Torah) for Shabbat Shekalim instructs us in the way to conduct a Jewish census and tax to collect money that would support the upkeep of the Mishkan (travelling temple):

The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: When you take a census of the Israelite people according to their enrollment, each shall pay the Lord a ransom for himself on being enrolled, that no plague may come upon them through their being enrolled.  This is what every person who is entered in the records shall pay: a half-shekel by the sanctuary weight – twenty gerahs to a shekel – as an offering to the Lord. (Shemot 30:11-13)

This section of the Torah is actually after this week’s Torah portion (we read it a bit out of order), but this week’s Torah portion also begins with a call for donations, which will be used in the building of the permanent Temple:

The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Tell the Israelite people to bring Me gifts; you shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart so moves him.  And these are the gifts that you shall accept from them… (Shemot 25:1-2)

The means of donation are very different.  In the first case, it is a command to pay “a ransom” of one half-shekel.  In the second case only those “whose heart so moves” them are asked to bring gifts.  Where is the turning point?  At what point do we change from being someone who contributes only the bare minimum, the ransom used for simple upkeep, and become someone whose heart drives us to be a giver?

In order to answer this question it is important to understand that Judaism is a religion with many external rituals, but that each of these has an internal nature that is less-often spoken of.  Judaism takes on many external forms.  More so than other (Western) religions we are external in our dress (tzitzit, skirts, kippot), our prayer garments (tefillin, tallit), our eating habits (kashrut, Shabbat meals, fasting, etc.), and our Shabbat and holiday objects (candles, special foods, etc.).  It is easy to become lost in the rituals as they are so prominent, especially to someone who is an outside observer or not familiar with them.  But by becoming lost in them, we risk falling into the category of “ransom” giving, only out of the obligation to contribute. 

On this subject, Rabbi Joseph Telushkin writes:

How bracing it is, therefore, to learn that according to Jewish tradition, honesty in one’s dealings with others is equated with observance of the whole Torah (“If one is honest in his business dealings and people esteem him, it is accounted to him as though he had fulfilled the whole Torah;” Mechilta, B’Shalach 1).  A talmudic source powerfully reinforces this teaching: “In the hour when an individual is brought before the heavenly court for judgment, the person is asked: Did you conduct your businesss honestly?”  (Shabbat 31a)

While Judaism is often associated with its’ rituals, the rituals are not the essence.  As just one example, I recall walking home with a friend (who at the time I had only known a few weeks) from shul on one of my first Shabbatot in Columbus.  He told me how much he looked forward to Shabbat, to his wife’s special Shabbat cooking and the extra bit of rest, to putting on his best shirt and tie.  At the time I remember telling him: why is the extra food needed or the nicer clothes?  Why can’t Shabbat be Shabbat without those things?  But after getting to know him, his wife, and kids I realized it is not those things specifically that are looked forward to.  Those physical things are the way in which Judaism expresses itself, though.  It isn’t the food, clothes, and rest that make Shabbat.  It is because of Shabbat that we prepare extra food in its honor, wear nicer clothes in its honor, and receive extra rest in its honor.  We greet the Sabbath bride, invite the angels into our home, make metaphorical alters out of our tables with God’s honor in mind.  We tend to express ourselves (including in discussion) through the physical acts, but the acts themselves represent something deeper, a feeling that is less easily expressed. 

The same thing is true with our donations.  We are obligated as Jews to give tzedakah, but we need to train ourselves not to do it out of obligation but out of generosity and with sincerity. To feel the importance of giving, it is often necessary than just to make an online donation or write a check a couple times a year.  I remember during high school Hebrew School downtown, my Rabbi would always give a few dollars to the homeless people on the street, encouraging them to buy some food at a nearby fast food restaurant.  He did so without hesitancy, something that is so hard for most of us (including me).  It is easiest for us to look the other way when we walk by a needy person; it takes a much stronger person to look that person in the eye, smile at them, and give them a few dollars to get some food.  But doing so helps us to not just fulfill the obligation to give, but to become someone whose heart so moves them to give.

Parshat Mishpatim: God and Man’s Search for Unity

This is at the core of all Biblical thoughts: God is not a being detached from man to be sought after, but a power that seeks, pursues, and calls upon man.  The way to God is a way of God.  It was not an invention of man but a creation of God; not a product of civilization, but a realm of its own.  Man would not have known Him if He had not approached man.  God’s relation to man precedes man’s relation to Him. 

-          Abraham Joshua Heschel, God in Search of Man: A Philosophy of Judaism

In this week’s parasha I cannot help but be reminded of this book by Heschel.  This week’s parasha is one of laws.  A justice system is set forth to govern the Jewish nation.  Slaves, murder, adultery, theft, property, monetary, and even psychological law are all laid forth.  But these are more than laws to govern our nation.  They are the way of God; they are a way to God.  They are an outcry of God to His people: this is My way; this is how you must live to come close to Me.  The inspiration of Mount Sinai will not last forever, the plagues and splitting of the sea will not happen again.  The time has come, God says, for My people to live Godly lives in order to come close to Me. 

Some moral foundations of the world are also laid down.  Caring for the poor, looking out for women and children, righting your wrong, acting fairly, and acting with integrity are both directly and indirectly behind the entire Torah portion.  Mixed into the judicial and moral foundations of our nation, however, is almost a sense of loneliness, if indeed we are able to apply such a feeling to God.  There is a searching voice, pleading with His people. 

There is the law: If a man shall steal an ox, or a sheep or goat, and slaughter it or sell it, he shall pay five cattle in place of the ox, and four sheep in place of the sheep.

There is the morality: You shall not taunt or oppress a stranger, for you were strangers in a foreign land.

And there is God’s need for man: One who brings offerings to the foreign gods shall be destroyed – to God alone!!

God has given us the Torah, the foundation of our lives.  He has given us structure for a productive society, a strong community, a healthy family, a loving relationship.  It is only through the Torah that we can actualize ourselves; only through the Torah can we become Rambam’s vision of Adam – where we achieve a state in which we perceive God and are concerned only with Him, only with True and False.  Only through Torah can we sense the Divine Blueprint in everyone, in everything.  But the Torah is not only for Man to connect with God, but for God to connect with man. 

There is the law: A man who strikes a man, so that he dies, shall surely be put to death.  But for one who had not lain in ambush…I shall provide you a place to which he shall flee.

There is the morality: If you take your [poor] fellow’s clothing as security [for a loan], you shall return it at sunset, for it alone is his clothing.  It is his garment for his skim; In what else shall he sleep?

And there is God’s need for man: Three pilgrimage festivals shall you celebrate for Me during the year…you shall not be seen before me empty-handed.

God contracted during creation, making room for the world to be created.  He is somewhat removed from the world.  We are the keilim, the vessels, by which His presence can reenter the world.  Without us, it is as if He does not exist.  God searches for Adam and Eve: Where art thou?  God called out to Moses: Moses, Moses. God chases Job: Thou dost hunt me like a lion (Job 10:16).  Yehuda HaLevi found God coming for him: And going out to meet Thee, I found Thee coming toward me. 

But this is precisely the way God meant it to be: It is not an invention of man but a creation of God.  He imbued us with a part of Him.  Our spirit is a part of Him that longs to be reunited.  And just as our neshama wants to reunite with where it came from (i.e. become one with God), God’s neshama longs to collect all the pieces of His being that have been dispersed throughout the world.  It is never a one-way pull.  We may feel completely detached, but our soul is always searching for something more.  And its missing piece is likewise searching.  As Heschel says, our soul does not always penetrate our mind but it is always trying.  Because of this fundamental problem, the problem that we cannot always be inspired; that we cannot always be immersed in faith; that we cannot always be spiritually “tapped in;” it is because of this that we are given the Torah through which to constantly be expressing our Faith.  Even when we do not experience faith, we can express it.  We can express, over and over, the experience of faith that we have had once without ever experiencing it again. 

Man is not for the sake of good deeds; the good deeds are for the sake of man.  Judaism asks for more than works, for more than opus operatum.  The goal is not that a ceremony be performed; the goal is that man be transformed; to worship the Holy in order to by holy.  The purpose of the mitzvoth is to sanctify man (Heschel). 

The mitzvoth do indeed have the power to transform us.  During a conversation about food at work, a co-worker asked me last week: “What do Jews have to look forward to?”  I initially thought she meant, “it sucks that you can’t eat so many things,” but she clarified: “We Catholics have Jesus Christ, our savior, and look forward to the second coming.  What do Jews have to look forward to?”  I responded with an explanation of the Jewish concept of the messianic era, of Olam Haba (the world to come), and the purpose of man to perfect the world.  But in reality, while that is something I look forward to, Judaism is a way of life that provides so much more than a picturesque vision of the distant future.  For the “Torah is not a legal system that concerns itself solely with the heavenly, to the complete exclusion of the day-to-day survival” (Rav Elon).  As a Jew, I do not merely keep Shabbat; I take time to focus on what is really important in life, to spend time with friends and family, and myself.  I do not merely eat kosher; I teach myself to have self control and that even a physical act can be done with spirituality.  I do not merely pray; I become a better person by understanding the words of our tefillot.  I do not merely avoid eating chametz on Passover; I attempt to purge myself of spiritual filth, I remember to treat others the way I want to be treated.  I do not merely give tzedakah, I make time to help those who are less fortunate.  I don’t merely say Modeh Ani (Thank you to God) every morning; I try to make my life really have meaning.  I don’t merely say “I hereby forgive anyone who has angered or provoked me or sinned against me” before bed every night; I truly try to remove any trace of jealousy, hatred, or anger from my heart.  I don’t merely avoid being rude to people; I try to make people’s day a little brighter.  And weaving it all together is my desire to become closer to God and, yes, God’s desire for me to become closer to Him.  

For a long time I was confused by some verses in Hallel, but no longer.  In Ma-ashiv, we say: “Truly, Lord, I am your servant.  I am your servant, son of your maidservant.  You set me free from my chains.”  We are God’s servant, but He has set us free.  Yet still, “to You I shall bring a thanksgiving-offering and call on the Lord by name.  I will fulfill my vows to the Lord in the presence of all His people, in the courts of the House of the Lord, in your midst Jerusalem.  Halleluya!”  Why is it that as a free man, I return to You, my God?

It is our very freedom that gives us ability to be God’s servant.  God set us free in the world, he gave us free choice; we are the ones that can bring God in to the world, into our lives, and make ourselves subservient to His will.  Because after all, by doing God this ‘favor’ we are able to realize the truth: that “The Lord is my strength and my song; He has become my salvation.”  The mitzvoth dictated in this week’s parsha are the building blocks to a life full of meaning and happiness, a life for which we will sing out: “You are my God and I will thank You” with my own free will.  “You are my God, I will exalt You” because following in your ways has given me more joy and meaning than I knew I could have.