The Politics of Giving

Parshat Naso 5765

It’s the longest chapter in the Bible. Frankly, it’s also the most boring. Twelve times over the course of twelve days the twelve princes of the twelve tribes of Israel each brought a series of offerings, or gifts, in honor of the dedication of the tabernacle. In a book that’s generally spare in its use of language, the Torah chooses to repeat the gifts that the princes brought to the Tabernacle: a silver bowl and a silver basin both with flour and oil, a ladle filled with incense, and several bulls, rams, goats, and lambs for a variety of offerings. Each prince’s gifts were placed in several carts and each cart was pulled by two oxen.

The only thing that distinguishes one passage from another in this parshah is the name of the prince and the day of the week on which it was offered: day one was Nahshon Ben Aminadav; day two was Netanel ben Zuar; day three was Eliav ben Helon, and so on. The sages wondered why the Torah didn’t list the sacrifices more simply. The Torah could have said each prince brought the same sacrifices as all the others. We could have cut at least ten minutes off today’s Torah reading!

Yet we know that politics is never simple. Everyone wants his own due. Each leader wanted his name to appear in the headlines and each wanted credit for his offerings. And so, even though each tribal prince brought the same offerings as all the others, each was greeted with the same amount of kavod, or respect, and the same honors and recognitions as his colleagues. In this way the people of Israel were assured that there would be peace and harmony in the community at least for a little while.

I guess we’re not so different from our ancestors. Congregations regularly list people who offer gifts and contributions according to the category of giving in their bulletin. Federations and other organizations spend money to include a list of donors in the local press. People should give out of the goodness of their hearts and because the cause is worthy but apparently we do like a little recognition. But our motivations aren’t so pure. It’s a little like the guy who stands up at the communal appeal and says, “I’ll give five thousand dollars, anonymously!”

I’d like to suggest this morning that there’s more going on in Parshat Naso than a simple list of offerings. There are at least two other lessons that we can learn from this Parshah about the politics of giving.

The first lesson has to do with the dignity of each individual. Although the sizes of the tribes varied greatly, the Torah goes out of its way to make sure that all the princes and leaders of Israel received the same amount of recognition. The tribe of Judah was larger and more influential than the tribe of Dan, but we see that the leaders of both tribes were honored in the same way. Each brought the same gifts; each was acknowledged with the same statement in the Torah.

One might compare this to our own American political system in which we try to balance size with political entity. States like New York and California could easily dominate the political equation because of the amount of resource and people that they have. That’s why we have both a senate and a house of representative. The Senate makes sure each state has an equal voice in representing the interests of the country while the House of Representatives acknowledges the relative strength of each state.

I’ve been thinking about this balance during the last week as I’ve considered the upcoming elections for mayor in New York City and for the governor in New Jersey. People like Bloomberg and Corzine do have an unfair advantage in the upcoming elections. While one might argue that a person who has the financial resources to conduct his own campaign should be allowed to do as he wishes, such influence weakens the entire political system. The fact that their voice becomes more influential and more dominant as a result of their wealth removes the assumption from our political system that anyone can represent the people. Money does make a difference and it changes the focus from issues to influence.

The Torah attempts to place the political issues facing the tribes of Israel on a level playing field. Every tribe receives the same honors. Each one is recognized for what he has to offer.

There’s another lesson that we can learn from Parshat Naso that is equally important, and has to do with the bringing of gifts. We might wonder why the twelve princes became leaders of the Israelites in the first place and why they were given this special honor.

According to a Midrash, the twelve princes were originally the foremen in Egypt who were placed over the children of Israel by Pharaoh. When Pharaoh decreed that the Israelites had to gather their own straw for the production of bricks, these men chose to protect the people by not reporting their delinquency in fulfilling Pharaoh’s demands. As a result they received the beatings from the Egyptian taskmasters that should have been given to the rank and file. God chose to honor these men by making them the princes and allowing them to bring the special gifts to the tabernacle when it was dedicated.

This is a lovely idea but there’s something wrong with it. After all, what kind of honor is being strapped with responsibility for one’s tribe and then having to bring all types of gifts for the dedication of the Mishkan, the tabernacle? It’s like the old saying: “No good deed goes unpunished.”

But that’s really the whole point of Parshat HaNisi’im, the Prince’s Portion. What we learn from today’s Torah reading is that the greatest gifts are not the ones that we get but the ones that we give to others. A person’s life can be measured not by their check book but by the receipts that they hold. The princes’ reward was the privilege of giving again.

Did you know that a Jewish burial shroud has no pockets? We like to say, “You can’t take it with you.” A person is not judged by what they have or what they had in life. Each of us is remembered for the gifts that we managed to give away and by what we give to others, not the resources we have managed to horde.

We never know where our gifts will end up. There is a lovely story told about a couple who escaped from Spain to settle the city of Safed in Israel. Jacobi and Esperanza were not very knowledgeable and Jacobi couldn’t pray very well, but he was a deeply religious man who wanted to find a way to serve God. One Shabbat as he sat in synagogue Jacobi listened to the rabbi talk about the shewbread, the special bread offerings that the priests brought to the Temple in ancient times. Jacobi came up with a brilliant idea.

“Esperanza,” he said, “Did you know that God loves Hallah? I know how delicious your hallah is. I think you should bake an extra twelve loaves of bread and I’ll put them in the ark for God!”

Sure enough the next Friday Jacobi went to the synagogue and without anyone seeing he put the twelve loaves of hallah in the ark.

No sooner did he leave the synagogue, Luis, the shamash came into the synagogue. He was feeling particularly blue that day. It seems the synagogue was finding it harder and harder to provide him with money to feed his family. Standing before the ark he prayed “Ribono shel olam – please, I hate to bother you but my children are hungry and I have no money for food. Couldn’t you perform a little miracle for me? Who knows maybe you already have? Maybe I’ll open the ark and there will be a miracle there waiting for me!

Can you imagine his surprise when Luiz opened the ark and found twelve warm loaves of Hallah? Luiz thanked God again and again and then ran home to with his hallot and told his family what happened. They now had enough hallah not only for Shabbat but for the whole week!

And you can imagine Jacobi’s surprise Shabbat morning when the congregation opened the ark and he saw that Esperanza’s Hallot were gone!

Sure enough the next week Jacobi rushed to the synagogue with his hallot once again and said “Senor Dios: I’ve got your bread. You must have loved it last week so I brought you more. I hope you enjoy it!”

Once again he left and Luiz came to the synagogue hoping that God would again bestow a wonderful miracle upon him…

For twenty years this went on. Jacobi would bring the Hallahs and Luiz would take them. Neither was the wiser for what was happening until one day Jacobi ran just a little late and Luiz came a little early…

“What are you doing with my Hallahs,” said Luiz.

“Your Hallahs? What do you mean your Hallahs?” said Jacobi, “These are pan de dios. I bring them each week and God enjoys them.”

“What do you mean you bring them,” said Luiz, “God leaves them for me. He has left them for me every week for twenty years.”

And at that moment the two men looked at one another and broke out into tears. All the wonder that they had felt came crushing down on them. At that moment the rabbi rushed into the synagogue to see what was happening. As he listened to each man tell his side of the story he became angrier and angrier.

“What do you mean you left bread in the ark? Don’t you realize that God does not need your bread? And foolish Shamash – There’s been no miracle here. You’ve been eating Esperanza’s bread for twenty years.” And with that the two men wept even more.

Until they heard the sound of laughter coming from the back corner of the synagogue. There stood Rabbi Isaac Luria, the great mystic. He turned to the rabbi and said: “Dear Rabbi: do not chastise these poor men. They are not fools or sinners. Just the opposite; they are pious and devout men. For twenty years they’ve delighted God; Jacobi by bringing bread each week and Luiz by accepting it as a gift from God. Each week God laughs with delight. Jacobi brings the bread and Luiz takes it and God gets all the credit.

”You must ask their forgiveness, dear rabbi,” said the Ari, And now Jacobi and Luiz you must do something even harder. Jacobi you must continue to bring bread to Luiz. And you must believe with perfect faith that God will be just as pleased and have just as much fun as if you left it for him.”

And so it was. Jacobi and Luiz learned that giving and receiving can be the greatest gifts of all. They became the best of friends.

Shabbat Shalom