Conjure up this scene in your imagination. The steering committee
of a prestigious charitable organization convenes a meeting of its main
benefactors. A new building is needed desperately, the chairman
reports, and the projected cost will run high into the millions. “Ladies
and gentlemen,” he declares, “your generous support has enabled us to
serve the community so effectively in the past, and only your continued
support will help us erect this building so that we can continue to serve
the community well for many years to come.”
The chairman begins to call on the assembled benefactors one by
one. The contributions flow. One hundred thousand dollars. Fifty
thousand. One hundred and eighty thousand. And so on.
Presently, the chairman calls the name of a famous philanthropist.
The room falls instantly silent as everyone strains to hear what he will
Slowly, he rises to his feet and clears his throat. “Mr. Chairman, I
will pass right now. But I will tell you this. Let everyone give what his
heart moves him to give. Total up what you have raised and calculate
the shortfall. I personally pledge to cover the deficit, no matter how
it is. Before we walk out of here today, you will have your building.”
What do you think the reaction would be to such a magnanimous
offer? Most probably, a standing ovation. After all, what could be better
than a guarantee to cover the deficit? It is an executive director’s
And yet, in this week’s Torah reading we find an altogether
opposite view. When the Tabernacle donation of the tribal princes is
mentioned, the Hebrew word for princes, nesiim, is spelled in a
truncated form, omitting the letter yod. Our Sages explain that this is an
indication of the Torah’s displeasure with the princes.
But what did they do wrong? Surely their offer, to cover the entire
deficit, was the most magnanimous of all. They actually guaranteed that
there would be no shortfall in the collection. What could be better?
The commentators explain that the error of the princes was in their
skewed perspective. Covering the deficit is a wonderful offer if one is
concerned about the recipient. But in the case of the Tabernacle, the
recipient was the Creator of the Universe. He did not need the
assistance of the princes or anyone else. The commandment to donate
to the Tabernacle was a singular privilege granted to the Jewish people
for their own benefit. Their gifts were meant to accomplish their own
spiritual enrichment, not the Almighty’s material enrichment. had the
princes truly appreciated the essence of this commandment, they would
have rushed to donate as much as they could rather than sit back and
offer to cover the shortfall.
In reproof, therefore, the Torah deleted the letter yod from the word
nesiim, princes. The mystical teachers explain that the letter yod
represents Hashem’s immanence in all of creation. Had the princes
been truly sensitive to Hashem pervasive presence, it would never have
crossed their minds that He needed them to cover His deficits.
Two neighbors came to a king with similar requests. The king
granted the request of the one but rejected the request of the other.
“Your majesty, if I may be so bold as to ask,” said the disappointed
supplicant, “why was my request rejected while my neighbor’s was not?
For your birthday, I gave your majesty a beautiful jewel-encrusted oneof-
a-kind coach, while my neighbor only gave you a simple quilt?”
“I will explain it to you,” said the king. “When your neighbor brought
me his gift, I asked him, ‘Why do I need another quilt?’ And he replied,
‘Your majesty needs nothing from me. It is I who need to give a gift to
your majesty.’ You, my friend, come to me as my benefactor. He comes
to me as my subject. My obligation is to him.”
In our own lives, we sometimes fall into the trap of thinking that our
religious observances are our gift to Hashem. We’ve spent so much
time in the synagogue, we might tell ourselves, we’ve prayed, we’ve
studied and we’ve performed so many different commandments. What
more can Hashem want from us? Haven’t we given Him enough? But
the truth is that Hashem doesn’t really need anything from us. After all,
who gained from all these things we’ve done, we or Hashem? It is we
who are enriched by living according top the Torah values and ideals. It
is we who are the recipients of the greatest gift of all.