As Esther and I prepare to bring our daughter, Mushka, to the Chupah next week, we are feeling endless gratitude coupled with an overwhelming sensation of pressure. Good pressure. The pressure that drives you to stay up way past your bedtime because something amazing needs to happen. The pressure that drives you to forget to eat lunch because you are simply too focused on the matter at hand.
Oh, did I mention that we will be holding the first Chassidic and certified kosher wedding in the history of Idaho? There’s a lot that goes into this. But, it’s a labor of absolute love for our daughter and future son-in-law.
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The Talmud records a debate between the Roman governor Turnusrufus and the great Sage Rabbi Akiva:
Turnusrufus asked Rabbi Akiva: "If your G-d loves the poor, why doesn't He feed them?"
Said Rabbi Akiva to him: "So that we should be saved from purgatory (in the merit of the charity we give)."
Said he to him: "On the contrary: for this you deserve to be punished. I'll give you an analogy. This is analogous to a king who got angry at his slave and locked him away in a dungeon, and commanded that he not be given to eat or to drink; and a person came along and gave him to eat and to drink. When the king hears of this, is he not angry at that person...?"
Said Rabbi Akiva to him: "I'll give you an analogy. This is analogous to a king who got angry at his child and locked him away in a dungeon, and commanded that he not be given to eat or to drink; and a person came along and gave him to eat and to drink. When the king hears of this, does he not reward that person...?
Now, taken at face value, it’s cute that Rabbi Akiva has a rejoinder to Turnusrufus. But, how has he proven his point? If the choice is still available between the two analogies, neither is necessarily better than the other.
In fact, as the Talmudic passage goes on to demonstrate, Turnusrufus makes this very argument. He cites a verse in the Torah that describes the Jews as G-d’s servants, while Rabbi cites a verse (in this week’s parsha Re’ei) that describes the Jews as children of Hashem. (Rabbi Akiva ultimately quotes another verse to prove his point).
So the question remains, why did Rabbi Akiva respond with the analogy of children if it isn’t an intrinsically superior model?
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The great Chassidic Master, Rabbi Elimelech of Lizensk was once away from home for a long period of time in seek of spiritual refinement. When he finally arrived back to his hometown – as he entered the village – he heard someone remark that the boy Eliezer is very ill and the doctors don’t know what to do. The news tore at his heart, and he started rushing home to see what had happened to his son Eliezer.
As he came closer to his home he learned that his son Eliezer was perfectly fine. It was a neighboring boy named Eliezer that was terribly sick. He slowed down his pace with a sigh of relief.
A moment later he stopped in his tracks, declaring: I have spent so much time wandering in search of attachment to the Almighty. Yet after all that, I still felt more for my own child than for another man’s child. Indeed, I have not yet come close to G-d.
This story aptly demonstrates the two side of the coin of our relationship with our children. Our natural instincts are to love our own children more than any others. And this nature itself is a gift from G-d. Yet, the ideal is to love every child the same way we treasure our own.
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When helping those in need – as mandated in this week’s parsha – there are two approaches. The ‘servant’ approach dictates that the person in need is in some way deserving of their predicament, be it by their own actions or by Divine design. Nonetheless, we are generous and we assist. In this paradigm, we exist outside of their troubles.
The ‘child’ approach, in contrast, does not allow for justification of the circumstance. If it’s our own daughter who is in need, nothing will justify her plight. Subsequently, we will leave no stone unturned in our efforts to alleviate her situation. Because really it’s our situation.
The difference in attitude translates into a stark divergence in practice. When assisting our own, we are not parting with our resources, time or energy. We are investing in it.
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Rabbi Akiva’s insistence on the child model was not designed merely to teach Turnusrufus that we ought to give tzedakah. Rather, Rabbi Akiva was countering that since we are all G-d’s children, we must give tzedaka in the manner that a parent cares for a child. When we operate in the child model, we do not seek answers – because the question simply does not exist.
When we look at people as others, we must arouse a sense of sympathy to inspire our assistance. When we look at everyone as family, we are drawn to do what we already sense as an obligation – no questions asked.