GIVING TZEDAKAH (Donating to charity)

The idea of buying multiple gifts with unbridled abandon for everyone you know (it seems) during the holiday season has made the season a reason for joy....for business owners who hope you won't catch on to the profusion and confusion of deals which may or may not be justifiable when you are faced with the resulting bills later on.

It seems to me a better way to deal with gift-giving (which shouldn't be the main activity of the holidays, but is) would be to use the time, money and energy to giving where it will do the most good, namely giving to those who are less fortunate than we are.

There are hundreds of ways and places to donate money, goods, or your time.   And there are honorable ways to make the donations.  I wince at those who donate but encompass the surrounding publicity.

And so I offer, by way of my nephew Stew, the following:

 

The 12th century Jewish "sage" Maimonedes published a guidleline called the "Eight Levels of Tzedakah", the higher the level the holier the act.

The eight levels are (in ascending order of "holiness"):

8. When donations are given grudgingly.

7. When one gives less than he/she should, but does so cheerfully.
...
6. When one gives directly to the poor upon being asked.

5. When one gives directly to the poor without being asked.

4. When the recipient is aware of the donor's identity, but the donor does not know the identity of the recipient.

3. When the donor is aware of the recipient's identity, but the recipient is unaware of the source.

2. When the donor and recipient are unknown to each other.

1. The highest form of charity is to help sustain a person before they become impoverished by offering a substantial gift in a dignified manner, or by extending a suitable loan, or by helping them find employment or establish themselves in business so as to make it unnecessary for them to become dependent on others.

Think about it as you give to those less fortunate this year.

AN EXAMPLE OF "TIKKUN OLAM"

My mother, of blessed memory, was one of those people who "made do" with very little. But she was incredibly intelligent and imbued with a deep sense of "Tikkun Olam," healing the world.

For as long as I can remember, she was always involved with organizations which helped people. When I was a child, I remember our doorbell ringing, some men in black coats and hats standing downstairs and mom going down to talk to them. Subsequently, she was on the phone for what seemed like hours, making many calls and finally, after the last call, hanging up with a satisfied look on her face. When I asked what that was all about, she merely shrugged and said that she was able to "get something for someone." This happened many, many times.

As the years went by, I noticed that she would be on the telephone asking about furniture, groceries, monetary help, rental apartments, jobs, etc. and where she could acquire such items. What I didn't know and learned about or figured out many years later was that my mother was a one-woman resettlement agent for refugees from the Holocaust. And she did this on her own, utilizing the connections she had made through her volunteer work. No one could say "no" to Fannie. It was years later that it dawned on me that neighbors who had lived downstairs from us were survivors. She and they never said a word.

As a teenager (yes, before cell phones) I could not talk on the phone at night because she was always on it, listening for hours to tales of woe from her friends. And she would dispense advice much like the Dear Abby columns of today. And it wasn't always advice. Sometimes she would be able to find money or groceries for them to tide them over when things were tough. So many times she would say to me, with that twinkle in her eye, "If I hung out a shingle I could make a lot of money doing this."

All these things she did for others were, for the most part, done anonymously. She vigorously guarded her privacy and would not allow her name to be used in connection with any of these "good works." However, one day a certificate of appreciation came in the mail from a prominent Boston Jewish organization with her name emblazoned on it, along with a wonderful letter praising her. As she read the letter, I saw my mother gasp and her face blushed into a deep red. She was totally embarrassed by the recognition. She had been invited to the luncheon where these were given out and she had elected not to go and be publicly acknowledged.

While doing all these things, she worked full time as an Executive Secretary at our local Jewish Community Center, a non-profit offering no benefits (except that the building was right next door to our house) and not a lot of money. She was friends with everyone who walked through those doors, adults and children alike.

My mother never talked to me about the work she did. I just observed her actions and only really understood the enormity of her wonderful work long after I left the house. She is an inspiration to me and is the exemplar of the spirit of Maimonides' eighth degree of tzedakah.