Giving With Dignity: The Torah’s Powerful Lesson About Tzedakah

"Shmulik, why didn’t you answer a single question on the test?" the teacher asked.

"Oh, sorry," Shmulik apologized. "I thought the questions were rhetorical, like the ones you ask in class..."

Sometimes a question really is rhetorical. But when it comes to helping another person, the Torah teaches us that no opportunity for kindness should be treated that way.

Giving Without a Heavy Heart

"Beware lest there be an unworthy thought in your heart," the Torah warns in this week’s Parashat Re'eh, "saying: The seventh year, the year of Shemittah, is approaching, and you look resentfully upon your needy brother and do not give him."

Why is this warning especially important as the Shemittah year approaches? A lender may hesitate to give a poor person a loan, knowing that Shemittah is approaching and the debt may be canceled.

What should he do?

"You shall surely give to him," the Torah commands.

But then the Torah adds another warning: "And your heart shall not feel bad when you give to him."

If the lender is already willing to give the money, why does it matter how he feels about it? After all, the poor person cannot see what is happening inside the giver’s heart.

The following story offers a deeper way of understanding this commandment.

The walk back from the beautiful villa to his modest home was a painful one. Tzvi felt a burning tightness in his throat, and his eyes began to fill with tears.

He could not think of a single good word to say in defense of his childhood friend, now immensely wealthy, who had refused to help him. Tzvi had swallowed his pride, approached his old friend, and asked for a substantial loan so he could start a business and support his family with dignity.

His friend had refused.

When Tzvi entered his home, there was no need to explain what had happened. One look at his face told his wife everything. She realized that encouraging him to approach the wealthy man had only resulted in humiliation.

One day passed, then another.

Tzvi took whatever work he could find in the marketplace. Some days he worked as a porter. Other times, he filled in for a peddler for a few hours. He tried walking around with a box of small goods to sell and even worked as a tailor’s apprentice.

Still, he and his family lived from hand to mouth, and it seemed that bad luck followed him everywhere.

Then, one day, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Would you like to buy this?"

Tzvi looked up. Standing before him was a confident young boy holding a magnificent cloak embroidered with gold thread.

Tzvi asked how much he wanted for it. The boy named a price that was only a fraction of the cloak’s true value. He assured Tzvi that he had found it in the attic of his home and that it was certainly not stolen.

Tzvi did not have enough money. After pleading for a few minutes with a peddler at a nearby stall, the man took pity on him and lent him what he needed.

Tzvi bought the cloak.

That very evening, he sold it to an experienced merchant who recognized its true value and paid him an enormous profit.

Tzvi set aside a respectable portion of the money and used the rest to begin buying merchandise at the market and reselling it for a profit.

Three days after selling the cloak, Tzvi noticed a young man lingering nearby. He seemed to be searching for someone.

After several minutes, Tzvi finally asked what he wanted.

The young man moved closer, carefully checked that no one was watching, and pulled out a ring set with delicate, expensive diamonds.

"My mother is sick," he told Tzvi quietly, concerned about ayin hara. "I urgently need money to buy her medicine. Would you be willing to buy this ring from me for half its value, in cash?"

Tzvi reached into his pocket. Part of the money he had earned from the cloak was still there, and remarkably, it was exactly the amount the young man was requesting.

They completed the deal on the spot, and Tzvi slipped the ring into his pocket.

The next day, he brought the ring to a well-known jewelry store and received many times what he had paid for it.

By this point, Tzvi had enough money to rent a store in the marketplace. He filled it with merchandise, some purchased with cash and some on credit, and his business began to prosper.

The Truth Behind His Friend’s Refusal

One day, Tzvi decided to visit his wealthy childhood friend.

This time, he planned to rebuke him. He wanted to tell him how painful it had been to be turned away when he was poor and desperate for help.

But when Tzvi reached the gate of the beautiful villa, he suddenly stopped.

Standing in the courtyard were two familiar figures.

One was the boy who had sold him the cloak.

The other was the young man who had sold him the diamond ring.

Suddenly, Tzvi understood.

His wealthy friend had not ignored his suffering at all. He had found another way to help him, one that allowed Tzvi to build his livelihood without feeling that he was living on someone else’s charity.

In the book Birkat Avraham, the Torah’s warning, "And your heart shall not feel bad when you give to him," is interpreted homiletically to teach an important lesson: Do not use your feelings as an excuse to avoid helping someone by convincing yourself that receiving tzedakah from you would embarrass him.

Perhaps the person really would feel uncomfortable receiving direct assistance. But that does not mean you are free to walk away.

It means you may need to find another way to help.

No Opportunity for Kindness Is Rhetorical

This powerful idea is not limited to tzedakah.

Sometimes, "I don’t want to embarrass him" can become a convenient excuse for indifference or laziness. It can give us a way to avoid helping another Jew while convincing ourselves that we are actually being considerate.

But genuine sensitivity should not stop kindness. It should make us more creative about how we give it.

A rhetorical question is a question asked to convey a message rather than to receive an answer.

When another person needs our help, however, the question of what we can do for them should never be rhetorical.

If your heart truly will not allow you to help someone directly because you fear embarrassing them, find another way.

Send someone with a ring or a cloak.

Think outside the box. Make a little more effort. Find a way to help that protects the other person’s dignity.

Because no opportunity for kindness is rhetorical.