The Path to Generosity: Why the Torah Says to Start Small

He bought a bright red apple for one shekel, washed it, polished it, and sold it for two.

"Rothschild is a natural businessman," he thought to himself. He was going to become a millionaire without anyone else’s help. All on his own.

With his two shekels, young Rothschild bought two more apples. He polished them and sold each one for two shekels. With four shekels, he bought four apples, turning four into eight, and eight into sixteen.

Then his father died and left him several million...

Sometimes we like to imagine that transformation happens through one dramatic breakthrough. In reality, meaningful change often begins with something much smaller: one apple, one piece of butter, one act of generosity at a time.

Can the Torah Command Us How to Feel?

"Be careful lest there be a wicked thought in your heart," the Torah warns in this week’s Parashat Re'eh, "saying, ‘The seventh year, the year of Shemittah, is near,’ and you look begrudgingly upon your needy brother."

"You shall surely give to him," the Torah continues, "and your heart shall not feel bad when you give to him. For because of this matter, Hashem your God will bless you."

At first glance, we can understand how the Torah can command a person to give. Giving is an action. A person can take money out of his pocket and hand it to someone in need, even if he does not particularly want to.

But how can the Torah command, "Your heart shall not feel bad when you give to him"?

What if giving really does hurt? What if a person has not yet developed enough trust in Hashem to part willingly with his money? He may force himself to give, but how can he force his heart to feel differently?

A fascinating story about Rabbi Wolf of Strikov helps answer this question.

The butter dish sat untouched before the Rebbe, a clear sign that he had not tasted from it.

The incident took place during one of Rabbi Wolf of Strikov’s journeys, when he spent the night at the home of one of his followers. The table was filled with an abundance of dairy foods, and the host eagerly waited for the opportunity to serve his Rebbe.

The Rebbe washed his hands and tasted a little of each dish.

But he did not touch the butter.

"If it is not given to me willingly," the Rebbe said, declining it, "I do not take it."

The follower was horrified. He would have happily given everything he owned if only his Rebbe would accept it. Realizing that something unusual must have happened, he hurried into the kitchen and asked his wife whether, Heaven forbid, there was some problem with the butter.

"Why are you asking specifically about the butter?" she asked, immediately realizing that something had happened.

Her husband repeated the Rebbe’s words.

"Actual ruach hakodesh!" she exclaimed in embarrassment.

"When I prepared the butter, I cut off a piece. Then I decided that perhaps it was too small and I should add another piece in honor of the Rebbe. So I placed the knife on the block again and cut another piece. But then I thought that perhaps this piece was also not enough and I should add still more. The Rebbe must have sensed this through his ruach hakodesh, and that is why he refused to eat it."

The follower returned to the Rebbe and apologized. He then excitedly told those around him that the Rebbe had demonstrated ruach hakodesh.

"This is not ruach hakodesh at all," the Rebbe of Strikov replied with a smile.

He pointed toward the plate, where several small pieces of butter lay beside one another.

"When I saw that one whole piece had not been cut from the butter, but rather several small pieces, and since no one had touched the plate before it was served to me, I understood that there must have been an inner struggle: ‘How much should I give? How much should I cut?’

"And if it is not given to me willingly," the Rebbe repeated, "I do not take it."

Generosity Can Be Learned

In the book Kli Chemdah, Rabbi Shmuel Laniado of Aleppo explains the wording of the Torah’s commandment in a remarkable way.

When a person struggles with stinginess, finding it difficult to open both his heart and his hand to another person, the Torah offers practical advice: Start small.

"You shall surely give."

Give the poor person something, even if it is only a small amount. It may be difficult, but with that first act, a small measure of stinginess is released from your heart.

Then comes the next stage: "You shall give to him."

Give a little more.

And then another little bit.

The more a person practices giving, the more he begins to change. Slowly, the stinginess weakens, and in its place, a generous heart begins to develop.

"And your heart shall not feel bad when you give to him."

The Torah is showing us what the end of this process can look like. What once felt painful can eventually become natural. The person who once struggled to open his hand can reach a point where he gives willingly and wholeheartedly.

And then comes the promise: "For because of this matter, Hashem your God will bless you."

Giving will not ultimately leave you with less. Hashem promises that blessing will rest upon the work of your hands.

One Small Change at a Time

The next time you host someone for a dairy meal, you will know exactly how to cut the butter.

But the story is also a useful measure for understanding ourselves.

Change is a process. It takes time.

Each time, you cut another piece.

And then another.

At first, it may be difficult. It may require real effort. But eventually, you look down and discover that there is an entire plate filled with pieces of butter.

This is true not only of tzedakah and generosity. It applies to every area of our lives that we want to change.

After the Bein Hazmanim period of Av comes Elul, the month dedicated to reflection, repentance, and spiritual growth. It is the perfect time to begin building our own spiritual "equity," one small investment at a time.

It matters less whether you are "selling apples" or "cutting butter."

What matters is understanding that real change can begin with one small effort. Fix one thing. Then another. Take one step, followed by one more.

And ultimately, after we have made our small investments, we may receive an "inheritance" far greater than anything we could have created ourselves: siyata d’Shmaya, help from Heaven.

May we merit to arrive at Rosh Hashanah having taken those small steps toward becoming the people we want to be, with the Torah’s blessing fulfilled within us:

"And your heart shall not feel bad when you give to him."