One night a few weeks ago I had to run to the drug store. It was early spring where I live near Chicago, and, besides baseball and Passover, springtime for me means antihistamines. We were out. So, the drug store.
There’s a Walgreens around the corner from our house. As I walked up to the entrance, I saw a man holding a sign in Spanish, but headlined with “Please help.” He had three young children with him, the oldest appearing to be no more than 7 or 8.
For 9 o’clock at night, the drug store was surprisingly busy. (Maybe a lot of us were running low on antihistamines?) But as a result, I saw a few people walk by the family—which is hard to do, of course. You couldn’t not register that there were three little kids and their dad standing right by the entrance holding up a cardboard sign at 9 o’clock at night.
I’ve walked past my share of people asking for money on the streets, and I know that feeling: averting the gaze, hands in the pockets, tightness in the chest because I feel momentarily torn up inside.
But then I saw one neighbor, a Jewish man, who walked up to the family and smiled. “Buenos noches,” he said. “What do you need?” “Food for the baby,” the eldest daughter said. “Ok, I’ll be right back.”
I followed him into the store and observed. Turned out he was, indeed, there for some antihistamines. But then he stopped by the gift card rack and picked up a gift card for Walgreens. On his way out, he gave it to the family.
Inspired by his example, I decided to do the same thing.
As I gave the card to the father, several things flashed through my mind at once. I wondered what led this family to be in this situation, begging outside a Walgreen’s after 9 pm. I wondered where they would sleep that night. I wondered about their legal status and how the government’s policies and actions were affecting them. And I wondered whether, in aiding this family, my neighbor and I might be sticking our own necks out a bit.
But what also went through my mind was Pope Francis, who died recently. (We’re ecumenical here on Soulful Jewish Living: if there’s good Torah to be learned, we’ll take it—even if it comes from the Pope!) Like plenty of other people, I find my mind often comes up with reasons not to give when I see someone asking for money on the street. I imagine they might spend it on something unwholesome, or that I’m being conned. But the late pope once taught that if someone is asking, we should make it a habit to err on the side of giving. Simply put, he said, giving to someone in need “is always right.”
This is the fourth episode in our miniseries on ethical mitzvot. And, as you have no doubt figured out by now, our topic for today is tzedakah.
While tzedakah is often translated as charity, that’s actually not quite accurate. The Hebrew word tzedakah stems from the word tzedek, justice. So tzedakah isn’t just about taking care of someone else, it’s about acknowledging that there’s something that’s wrong that requires fixing, that we have a responsibility to share what we have. We don’t just give tzedakah when the spirit moves us. We give tzedakah because it’s a sacred duty.
As with any mitzvah, there are technical questions: Does paying your taxes count as tzedakah? (Answer: it’s complicated.) Does tzedakah have to go only to Jewish causes? (Answer: not exclusively—the poor are the poor; but it’s also important to support Jewish causes and organizations.) How much are we required to give? (Answer: Traditionally, at least 10 percent of one’s income, but you don’t need to overdo it. Note: most nonprofit leaders have not found it to be a common problem that people want to give too much. That would be a pretty wonderful problem to have.)
But, as is our jam here on Soulful Jewish Living, I’m a little less interested in focusing on the rules, and more interested in the experience. What’s going on in our minds and hearts when we have an opportunity to give?
For now, I’m going to limit my response to a direct encounter like my story outside Walgreen’s. We’ll come back to indirect giving—sitting at your kitchen table and making charitable contributions—in our next episode.
In that immediate interpersonal encounter there’s so much going on. If we’re a normal, healthy person with a garden variety level of compassion, our heart strings are tugged when we see someone in need. We want to help—it’s a very basic instinct, something you can see if you watch toddlers playing and one is crying. Others will come over to comfort them. But somewhere along the way, we learn how to suppress that instinct, avert our gaze, and walk into and out of the store. And our heart breaks a little when we do.
Science can explain this as an evolutionary trait we developed along the way, but I would suggest that we might think of it like this: There is a wellspring of hesed, divine loving connection, that’s flowing inside of you and me and all of us. That hesed is what gives life to the world. Olam hesed yibaneh: the world is and will be built through loving connection, as it says in the Book of Psalms. And that spring is constantly bubbling, ready to flow. But as we grow up, we put barriers around that spring. Hopefully those barriers are channels so that the hesed is put to good and healthy use. But if we’re not mindful, they can also become barriers that stop up the flow and drive it underground. That’s the heartbreak we feel when we walk past. It’s why we try not to look.
There are plenty of reasons why we may not be able to give money. We may be short ourselves and just not in a position to contribute very much. In my case, there are plenty of times when I’ve passed someone in need on Shabbat, which is not a time I carry a wallet or a phone or other things like food that I contribute materially. But even then, one of the most important things we can give is just recognition: Stopping to say hello, to look someone in the eye, to ask their name, to have a conversation, to treat them as a human being, to remind them that they, too, are images of God. While that interaction can’t feed the belly, it can unstop the spring of hesed—the one inside them, and the one inside you.
So this week, I want to invite you into this practice:
As usual, take a few good deep breaths to settle your body and settle your mind.
And now imagine yourself seeing someone in a public place who’s asking for money. It’s a safe place—there are lots of people around. You’re not worried about your physical safety.
What sensations do you notice? Concern. Care. Awkwardness. Shame. Something else? Perhaps a number of conflicting feelings.
Now see if you can set down those emotions for a moment.
Perhaps bring your hands to your heart. And just say, Hesed. Hesed. See if you can touch into that bubbling spring of loving connection that’s deep inside.
Hesed. Hesed.
Notice what that might feel like. Maybe it buoys you a little. Maybe you feel a little less conflicted, a little more aligned. Maybe you feel ready to open up the channel of hesed within you and awaken the hesed in the heart of that image of God who is asking for care.
See if you can take that feeling with you. See what happens the next time you’re in a position to give tzedakah. And let me know how it goes.
Blessings for the journey. Know that I’m on it with you.