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.