Use What Moves You to Move Others
Use What Moves You to Move Others By Rabbi Ari Ballaban
Writing about the meaning of Jewish symbols, Erwin Goodenough (an important historian who helped to uncover the significant role of art in Jewish history) once explained that a symbol is an “image or design with a significance, to the one who uses it, quite beyond its manifest content.” He went on to add that a symbol “operates on men, and causes effect in them, beyond mere recognition of what is literally presented in the given form” of the image or symbol itself. It turns out that, though a nuanced understanding of symbols may appear largely pedantic, the myriad existence of symbols in Judaism makes such knowledge anything but.
We have a perfect example of this reality just on the horizon: Hanukkah will begin on the evening of December 12, and at that time Jews around the world will begin an eight-night ritual of lighting a special, symbolic lamp- the menorah. The menorah is, of course, “just” a lamp. Its — to use Goodenough’s phrase — “manifest content” is merely to hold candles which can be burned to produce light.
If we think about it, the lighting of such candles could comprise a perfectly benign, non-religious action, especially during the short and cold days of November or December. To this effect: If we were to imagine a person completely unfamiliar with Judaism seeing a menorah in use, there is no reason to expect that they would recognize that its purpose was anything except light production. However—in light of our knowledge about the menorah (pun definitely intended!)—we know that this is a woefully incomplete view of this symbolic object and its ritual purpose. In fact, the light which the menorah produces is something that Judaism specifically forbids us to use for any purpose other than ornamentation (that is, Jewish law forbids us to use the use of light from a menorah for anything practical, such as for illuminating a book to read). Instead, the light from this special lamp is meant to be purely symbolic.
Up to here, I don’t think I have suggested anything particularly radical. However, the second part of Goodenough’s definition is something I find striking: Symbols are meant to “operate” and “cause effect” on us in a way completely unrelated to their literal form. How should we interpret this? I think that what Goodenough is suggesting is that for an object properly to be called a symbol, it must move us. If the light from the menorah is something we appreciate only as pretty light, then it has not accomplished its purpose and it is not truly a symbol.
For the lights of Hanukkah, the question becomes: What are the lights on the menorah moving you to do? How have they inspired you to act differently? To make the lights from Hanukkah meaningful, we must make ourselves remain continuously aware of their deeper meaning: They are meant to remind us of an historic event during which our people triumphed over forces powerful and numerous enough that victory, to the Jews, seemed impossible. They are, additionally, meant to be symbolic of the ways that Jews, Jewish history, and the unique Jewish approach to moral issues can make the world a brighter place.
To paraphrase the words of one American rabbi who sought to explain the political significance of the menorah in today’s trying times, this is a holiday which is meant to inspire us to show hope in the face of fear and light in the face of darkness. It is meant to remind us that, even as a small religious minority in the United States, we have a voice and must speak out in fights essential to maintaining our religious moral standing. Perhaps most importantly, too, the menorah and its lights—which we are supposed to put into a window, shining as a reminder to all, Jewish and non-Jewish, of the miracle of Hanukkah—are a symbol which remind us that Judaism’s charge is for us to engage in the world and to engage with it. We aren’t just supposed to personally be moved by this particular symbol, but, instead, we are meant to use it to move others.
Wishing everyone a chag urim sameach,
Rabbi Ari Ballaban
Tzedakah: Not Just Charity, But Duty
January 1, 2018 by tbo5275 • Rabbi Ballaban's Column • Tags: Charity, Giving, Rabbi Ari Ballaban •
Tzedakah: Not Just Charity But Duty By Rabbi Ari Ballaban
If you’ve looked in the lobby outside the sanctuary lately, you may have noticed the addition of a large structure on one of the walls. This is our beautiful new tzedakah box, built by Scott Segalewitz, designed to be used by the whole community; whenever you come to the synagogue, I invite you to visit and use it. Eventually, once the box is filled, the children in Makor will help us choose a worthy cause for all the donations.
Though it might seem like tzedakah is one of the simplest ideas in Judaism—so basic that any explanation would be unnecessary—it still is worth taking this moment as an opportunity to refresh our understanding of what this word truly means and to remind ourselves of its importance. The term itself is liable to be confusing. Though people often translate it as charity—and though there is some overlap in meaning—tzedakah invokes an ideal far more expansive than the English “charity” might suggest.
This difference in significance comes from the two terms’ respective etymologies. “Charity” derives from the Latin caritas and Old French charité, and it implies a model of giving which is prompted by a donor’s philanthropic affection or mercy. Our Jewish notion of tzedakah is markedly different. It comes from the Biblical Hebrew root tzadi-dalet-kuf, which, in the grammatical form tzedakah, conveys the idea of providing assistance to others due only to the just underpinnings of the act itself. While the charity model of giving certainly has its own merit, there is something I find especially compelling about the Jewish idea of tzedakah. The fact that tzedakah is something a person gives not just if they feel generous (or impelled by a sense of mercy for the needy), but instead which they are called always to give because it is what is right can change the way we think about giving.
In fact, to this effect, there are a pair of rabbis in the Babylonian Talmud (Bava Bathra 9a) who debate what to do when someone asks you for a donation, but you aren’t sure whether or not they truly are in need (i.e., Is the person telling the truth or just trying to take advantage of your generosity?). The central question the rabbis try to answer is this: May one verify that the ostensibly needy person actually is poor before donating to him?
The first of the two rabbis, Rabbi Huna, says: “One checks into such people when they ask for food but not when they seek clothing.” His reason for this is the following: A person who needs clothing is exposed to the contempt of others for his nakedness, while someone needing food is not. The other rabbi, Rabbi Judah, says the opposite: “One checks into such people when they ask for clothing but not when they seek food.” His reason was that a person who is hungry experiences visceral suffering (and thus shouldn’t be made to wait before getting a donation) while someone in tattered clothes does not.
Over the course of Jewish history, there was much debate about how we ought to determine which of these two rabbis is correct. However, I think trying to make that determination utterly misses the point that the Talmud actually strives to convey. The real purpose of this text, I would argue, is to re-emphasize the imperative element of tzedakah and to make us wonder the following: In what case shouldn’t we believe that the just thing to do (literally, the act of tzedakah) is to help the poor as soon as possible? This text is meant to uproot something all-too-familiar in our capitalist, 21st century American society: The acceptance of human suffering in exchange for our own comfort and thus a quasi-commoditization of tzedakah, of justice.
On that note, each time you see our new tzedakah box (and hopefully contribute to it!), it is worth taking a moment to ensure that you don’t overlook how radical a concept this box ought to represent. If properly understood, it can teach us to do something which might go against our instincts. It can help us to live in unconditional, nonreciprocal solidarity with all humankind, and it can help us remember that, as Jews, our moral duty is to spend at least as much energy worrying about whether others are safe, healthy, and taken care of as we do with ourselves. In addition, perhaps most importantly, the ideals embedded within the concept of tzedakah can also help us to remember that we are called to care for others in such an incredibly expansive way for one reason alone: because it is right.
Rabbi Ari Ballaban