What's the Deal with Chesed?

One of the things I've never understood about the Jewish concept of chesed or "loving kindness" as it's often translated is that in modern Judaism we treat the act of doing chesed as notches on a belt or ticks on our wall of proper, ethical living. 

Bar and bat mitzvah kids usually have to do a chesed project leading up to their big day, and many do great things like fundraising for wildfire victims or those suffering from the damages caused by hurricanes and flooding the world over. The concept of chesed is great, it's beautiful, and we learn from Pirkei Avot -- the Ethics of the Fathers -- that it is one of the three things that the world stands on.

Shimon the Righteous was among the last surviving members of the Great assembly. He would say: The world stands on three things: Torah, the service of G-d, and deeds of kindness. (Pirkei Avot 1:2)

What we learn from this is that beyond the obvious necessity of living a Torah life, there are two things we need: service of G-d and chesed, which relates to our fellow man. This is what separated Judaism from other Near Eastern Religions. Judaism was the first "religion to focus on ethical monotheism -- the monotheistic part related to G-d and the ethical part related to man. 

So what's my beef? My gripe is that the way we connect with HaShem matters, but it only matters between us and HaShem. The way we connect with fellow man works the same way. We shouldn't do things publicly or keep lists so everyone knows how awesomely kind and giving we are. Yes, we live in a world where billionaires throw money around at causes and get lots of mad props for it, but is it right? Is that what chesed looks like?

I've been reading, weekly, a little book that Mr. T nabbed for me at Pomeranz booksellers called A Portion of Kindness by Rosally Saltsman, which has weekly mini-assessments of verses from the parshah (portion) and how we can connect it to chesed. I really like her quick and witty take on the weekly portion, and she offers a lot of great tips on how to do chesed. This past week, for Va'yeshev, Saltsman commented on how there were so many good intentions in the parsha, but that most of the time the good intentions didn't really come to fruition (like the brothers who wanted to come back, rescue Yosef and return him to his father). She discussed how there's a concept in Judaism where if the intention is there and the follow-through falls through, the intention is what counts. So often we do something with the proper intention, and it doesn't always go according to plan (at least not our plan), and that's fine. HaShem knows where our intention is. 

Although I like her approach to taking away a lesson on chesed from the weekly portion, I have to gripe that Saltsman lays out a plan to keep a chesed chart, so you can keep tabs on all of the awesomely wonderful things you've done for your fellow man. It goes back to my issue with anonymity and doing something for the sake of it being good and kind rather than for the attention and spotlight on what a great person you are. There's no weekly or monthly or yearly accounting in synagogue of all of the various chesed you've done, is there? So why keep track of it? Feel good about doing it, and move on with your life. It isn't a competition. (For a conversation about the difference between tzedakah or charity and chesed, see this article, which discusses how chesed is "higher" than tzedakah.)

What do you think about chesed? If you're not Jewish, I'm curious if there is a similar ethical responsibility that is encouraged in Christianity or Islam or Buddhism and whether keeping tabs is encouraged or if it's about doing good, feeling good, and being good. 

Note: The book reviews I'm doing for Pomeranz are honest, as all of my product and book reviews are, but the books are being given to me at no cost for review.

Parshat Terumah: Giving & Taking

This week's parshah begins with something very near and dear to the heart of the Jewish community: contribution. HaShem says to the Israelites, “Take for Me (vayikchu-li) an offering from every person whose heart inspires him to generosity" in preparation for the construction of the mishkan, the tabernacle that will be carried throughout the desert and eventually will lead to the building of the Beit haMikdash, the holy Temple.

It's a particular word spin, and I hope it makes you pause. The Big Man speaks, saying we should take from ourselves -- but only if we're inspired! The verb that's used does not mean give, it means quite literally to take, which also is peculiar because how does one take of himself or from himself? How does one provide a contribution on command and guarantee that it's genuinely inspired?

Very little of giving today happens on demand. HaShem doesn't call us on Super Sunday and say we have to give to our local federations or that the local Jewish retirement facility needs funds so we must give. And even if that did happen, would we? What compels us to give? Is it the action of taking of ourselves rather than giving of ourselves? It becomes a two-way street when you take something from your own life, from your own lot, and provide it for others. When you give, it's less so.

I want to start using more folktales on the blog (and really, who doesn't), so let's start with this one, a Yiddish one, that offers perspective on the difference between "giving" and "taking."

"Yankel the Cheapskate" would not give money to anyone, for any reason. It didn't matter how important the cause. No one could crack him. He just wouldn't contribute. One day, Yankel was crossing the river in a small boat. Suddenly, a huge storm breaks out, and his boat capsizes. Luckily, another boat approached. The sailor calls out to him: "Give me your hand. Give me your hand."

Yankel can barely hear him over the strong winds and the roaring waves. He hears only one word, over and over: "Give, Give..."

And good old Yankel can't help himself. He yells back: "No. I don't give. I don't give."

Again: "Yankel, give me your hand! Give me your hand." And again Yankel screams: "Never. I don't give."

Finally, in desperation, the rescuer yells: "Yankel, take my hand." And Yankel says: "Oh, take? Sure."

I think that this week's parshah offers a spin on what we considering taking. To take something from someone else benefits the self, so perhaps HaShem knew that asking the Israelites to take of themselves would give them a chance to feel a part of the building of the mishkan. No matter how poor or rich, old or young, everyone provided for the construction. Everyone took of themselves to put into the construction of a dwelling place for the shechinah (the divine presence of HaShem). 

An old adage says that "A fool gives, a wise person takes." Be the wise person and whenever you offer a contribution or gift, make sure that you're taking of yourself and not just giving. Okay? Okay. 

That's your public service announcement for Shabbat. If you want more on the awesome goodness that is tzedakah, I suggest you check out Maimonides Eight Levels of Charity, which is fascinating.