During the early stages of the Covid pandemic, the BJBE clergy team wrote daily messages to comfort, strengthen, and inspire the congregation.

Since all of this craziness and unpleasantness began, we’ve been doing a weekly Zoom with our family. Like I keep hearing from our community members; we miss our families. We miss the simple interactions. We miss the hugs. We miss the laughter and the games. We miss the presence of family being normal. And so, each Friday at about 5:07pm, we get the grandparents, the aunts, the uncles, their significant others, and (perhaps most importantly to the toddler), their dogs on Zoom. It’s not perfect, but it’s something. And it has become such an important part of our week.

We light candles “together.” We put our hands on the boys’ heads and give them a blessing. We sing Shalom Aleichem “together.” We make Kiddush “together.” We have challah “together.” And then we spend a few minutes talking before I start my services-are-about-to-start scramble.

There’s one part that sometimes slips our minds. But the toddler always remembers. It’s our family’s practice to put a few coins in the tzedakah box before we light candles. Before we take that deep breath to walk into Shabbat, we try to make a moment of gratitude.

But sometimes even this gratitude ritual slips our minds. We are running around the house trying to find the Kiddush cup, defrosting the last challah scraps, making sure the toddler doesn’t light himself (or his baby brother) on fire.

But our two-year-old…he never forgets.

Sure. He likes getting to hold the coins. He revels in the exciting fine motor activity of twisting the coins just right to go through the slot. He delights at the satisfying clink they make when he drops them. And as for us? We are grateful that he reminds us of our gratitude practice.

During a crisis, there can be an overwhelming experience of scarcity. For some, scarcity is a mindset. Worry, anxiety, fear. For others, scarcity is a tangible reality without the resources to care for a family and keep them safe. And scarcity, whether it is mindset or concrete, can be dehumanizing. It strips us of the human capacity for hope. It steals our ability to be grateful for whatever gifts do in fact exist.

And so, in our house, to combat our experience of scarcity, the toddler puts coins in a box and we make whatever donations we can to charities and support services.

Our tradition has plenty to say about the obligation to give tzedakah. One of the most compelling teachings comes from the Talmud, famously reiterated by the 12th century sage Moses ben Maimonides:

“Even a poor person who is sustained from tzedakah must also perform tzedakah.” (Babylonian Talmud, Gittin 7b)

Everyone has to give according to this Talmudic system of obligations. No one is exempt, because everyone maintains responsibility for the community. Our tradition sees tzedakah, righteous giving, as a fundamentally humanizing act, affirming the worth of every individual. Even that person in a moment of personal crisis is worthy of taking responsibility of the community. Even those who receive are celebrated as part of those who sustain.

During a time of crisis, when it feels like we are perpetually plagued with scarcity, even in that moment, especially in that moment, our tradition insists that we give. We are reminded that we are part of a community. We may be focused internally, rightly worried about our own families and our own needs, tradition wants to remind us to look out. It is that looking out that can give us direction when we feel rudderless. Even those who receive support are given the honor of taking part in the sacred task of giving. To give is to stay connected. To be reminded that even though you may suffer, you have worth and your presence and your gifts are an essential part of the fabric that ties together our community.

If you need help, there is no shame in asking. In fact, in asking you give the community the gift of fulfilling the mitzvah of helping you. Ask. Receive. And when it is time, give what you can.

Take care of yourselves and take care of each other. 

L’shalom,
Rabbi Fenster