In every end, there is a beginning. Each level of reality contains within it yet another level, hitherto unperceived. That idea is reflected in the re-commencement of the Torah readings from Genesis each year at this time, right after Sukkot, on Simchat Torah. We conclude the annual cycle of readings now, and begin anew with the hope of attaining a deeper understanding of what we read and what we see around us. This cycle of ever-increasing wonder at the depth of Torah is symbolized by the hakafot, the joyous circling of the bimah on Simchat Torah.
What I have been seeing around me this year—or rather, noticing more than in past years—is the flow of chesed (acts of kindness) throughout the Jewish community. It brings to mind the statement of the Sages that the Torah begins with chesed and it ends with chesed. In the beginning, G-d clothed Adam and Eve. At the end of the Torah, G-d buried Moses. Thus we learn the mitzvah of clothing the naked and burying the dead. But more than that. From these signatory acts we learn that chesed is not just one of the many mitzvot incumbent upon us, it is a central feature of the Torah and therefore of Jewish life in general.
This is also one of the reasons for reading the story of Ruth on Shavuot. Shavuot is the festival marking the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai. Ruth is a story of chesed—of Ruth’s compassion for her widowed mother-in-law, Naomi, and of the kindness of the leader of the generation, Boaz, toward the convert. The story is read aloud in the synagogue on Shavuot to teach us that chesed is essential to a proper acceptance of Torah.
With the advent of the festival this year, I looked around and was reminded over and over again of the Sages’ statement. If it were not for the chesed of our family, friends and neighbors, our celebration of Sukkot would have been a far poorer affair, in every sense of the word. There were words of love and encouragement from family in America; financial assistance from sources expected and unexpected; a table borrowed from one friend; hedge clippers from another; a tall, wiry student who lent us his climbing and branch-cutting skills; the next door neighbors’ graciously allowing us to use their washing machine after ours broke down.
Some acts of kindness are, in a sense, routine, mandated as they are by the halacha, which requires that everyone give to the poor prior to the festivals to enable them to enjoy these days along with everyone else. Much of it, though, is the result of private inspiration and the love of chesed which generates every manner of reaching out to others. And this is something that goes on all year long. The routinization of altruism is one of the glories of halachic Judaism, transforming the closed-fistedness of a grubbing existence into matter-of-fact, open-handed giving.
In my own little town in the north of Israel alone, the volume of chesed year-round is simply amazing. A large part of the neighborhood phone directory consists of gemachim (free loan organizations). But it’s not just money which is being loaned, there are many other things, as well. A partial listing: folding tables and tablecloths for special occasions; second-hand clothing; Purim costumes; an Elijah’s Chair and wimple (that’s the fancy pillow on which the baby is carried out on to the brit milah); free emergency taxi service; household help for women recovering from giving birth; Shabbat candles; electrical supplies; tefilin and mezuzot; and a gazillion cuter-than-there-are-words-for little baby things for little baby persons. There are also things that are not loaned but given away—like food.
Giving comes in many forms, of course, and not all of it can be bagged or canned. Almost everybody has guests on Shabbat and festivals, and whenever the need arises. Just recently, a family here with a large house took in another family of eight for almost three weeks in an emergency.
I know a number of professionals who tithe their time, offering expert advice at little or no cost. Among them is a surgeon, a naturopath, a social worker, a construction consultant, an interior decorator.
And, of course, there are the various local rabbis who give freely of their Torah wisdom to all comers, answering questions on every conceivable topic, from the role of the Jewish people in 9/11 and why the righteous suffer while the wicked prosper, to the proper blessing on apple pie and the function of pye in the calculations of sukkah construction.
Virtually half the people I know are volunteers in the regional hatzalah (emergency rescue) units. Typically, they arrive at road accidents and terrorist attacks even before the Magen Dovid Adom ambulances. Their level of professionalism and caring has earned them an enviable reputation.
I realize that my itemization of the good deeds of the fellows I travel with may sound propagandistic. Look how great we are. But we are so used to living in a world of hypocrisy and lies, the experience of seeing people actually practice what they preach is something that belongs on the seven o’clock news. And since it doesn’t seem to find it’s way there, I thought that I should say something about it. Perhaps it will lead to a new beginning, a new depth to the understanding of what Torah is all about. If that’s propaganda, so be it.
Reprinted with permission from www.e-geress.org.