The Power of an Open Heart: A Jewish Lesson About Giving

"How can I help with the holiday preparations?" the husband asked.

Knowing just how unhandy her husband was, his wife replied, "Go study Torah. That is the best help you can offer. Any other help will only get in the way."

The husband left the house. Half an hour later, he returned.

His wife looked at him in surprise. "You’re back already?"

"Yes," the husband shrugged. "How much can one possibly help?!"

Sometimes, the greatest help we can offer is simply not to get in the way. Surprisingly, this humorous idea contains a profound lesson about tzedakah, Torah study, and our natural desire to fulfill Hashem’s will.

Why Does the Torah Tell Us What Not to Do First?

"You shall not harden your heart or close your hand against your needy brother," the Torah commands in this week’s parashah. But the very next verse gives another instruction: "Rather, you shall surely open your hand to him... enough for whatever he lacks."

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch draws attention to the order of these verses. At first glance, shouldn't the instructions be reversed? First, the Torah should command us to open our hands and give. Only if someone refuses should the warning follow: Do not harden your heart or close your hand.

Why, then, does the Torah begin by telling us what not to do?

To understand the answer, consider the following story.

"Would you like to buy my old donkey?" an elderly farmer offered young Zalman.

The asking price was 500 shekels. Zalman agreed and gave him a 400 shekel down payment. They arranged that the following day, Zalman would bring the remaining money and receive the donkey.

The next day, the old farmer arrived with his head lowered.

"I’m sorry," he said. "The donkey died last night."

Zalman was willing to compromise. "Just return my down payment. It’s no big deal."

But the old man lowered his head again. "I spent all the money, and I have nothing to give back."

"Then bring me the donkey," Zalman replied, surprising him. "Or rather, bring me its carcass."

The old man tried to stammer something about the donkey being dead, but Zalman was firm.

"If you don’t have the money to repay me, at least don’t get in my way. Bring me the donkey’s body, and we’ll call it even."

A month later, the farmer and Zalman met again.

"What did you do with the donkey?" the old man asked curiously.

"I held a raffle," Zalman replied.

The old man raised an eyebrow. "A raffle for a dead donkey?!"

Zalman laughed. "I sold 500 raffle tickets for the donkey. Each ticket cost two shekels, so I collected 1,000 shekels. On the specified date, I held the raffle and announced the lucky winner."

"And no one was angry with you?" the farmer asked in astonishment.

"Actually, yes," Zalman shrugged. "One person. The man who won the donkey was upset when he discovered that it was dead, so I gave him back his two shekels."

Don't Get in the Way of Your Natural Goodness

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch explains a profound principle of Jewish life.

"Hashem made man upright," says King Solomon in Kohelet (7:29). By nature, a person is created ready and capable of fulfilling the Creator’s will. A Jew, in particular, is naturally prepared to carry out Hashem’s will with both body and soul.

But when a person corrupts his actions and fails to preserve the nature Hashem gave him, he must repair what has been distorted. He must work to return to the point where observing the mitzvot and studying Torah once again become second nature.

This explains why, when the Torah commands us to give tzedakah, its first request is essentially: Don't destroy what is already there. Don't get in the way.

"Do not harden your heart" means not preventing yourself from feeling compassion for someone in need. "Do not close your hand" means not suppressing the natural desire to give.

If a person has not allowed negative influences and forbidden actions to corrupt that natural instinct, then following Hashem’s ways begins with something very simple: Do not harden your heart, and do not close your hand.

But once a person has already been negatively influenced and has learned to suppress that natural compassion, something more is required. He must actively repair what has been damaged by opening his hand and providing the poor person with what he needs.

Making the Heart a Vessel for Torah

The same principle applies to Torah study.

Rabbi Tzadok HaKohen of Lublin (Tzidkat HaTzadik, section 215) teaches that a person’s ability to preserve Torah in his heart depends on his awe of Heaven. He concludes: "According to how clean the heart is of every kind of waste, so it is a more receptive vessel for goodness and blessing."

The Midrash (Shir HaShirim Rabbah 10:21) illustrates this idea with a striking image:

"If you hold a cup full of oil and a drop of water falls into it, a drop of oil comes out. So too, if a matter of Torah enters the heart, a matter of frivolity leaves in its place; if a matter of frivolity enters the heart, a matter of Torah leaves in its place."

Our hearts have limited space. What we allow inside affects what can remain there. The more a person protects his heart from influences that pull him away from Torah, the more naturally it becomes a vessel for Torah, goodness, and blessing.

Hashem does not demand from a person something he is incapable of doing. But when a person has been given the ability to do what is right, he is asked, at the very least, not to get in the way.

And someone who has already gotten in the way and caused damage cannot simply shrug and say, "How much can one possibly help?"

He must repair what was damaged and restore it to the way it was meant to be.