It had been a long time since he had spoken with his father. Too long. A few months back, they had gotten into a heated disagreement, and things hadn’t been the same since. It wasn’t always like this, of course. Growing up, his father had been his role model, his hero. He was an only child, and his father had been his teacher, his mentor, and in many ways, his best friend. Many of his greatest memories featured time spent bonding with his father. And now, he couldn’t help but wonder how they had gotten to this point. They never fought, ever. “That’s it,” he thought, “I’m going to call him; I’m going to set things straight and schedule a special breakfast for next week.” He was about to pick up the phone when he looked at his schedule. He was pretty booked for the next few days, so it made more sense to call to schedule for next week. He also had a meeting in 15 minutes, so their conversation would be curtailed if he called now. He phoned his secretary:
“Hi Sharon, can you please remind me to call my father next Monday morning?”
“Sure thing,” she said.
He smiled to himself, proud that he was being the bigger person, and went back to preparing for his meeting.
That Sunday he got the call. He almost dropped the phone. His father had been in an accident and had passed away on the spot. He burst out in tears – not only because he had lost his father, but because he never had the chance to tell him how much he loved him, how important he was to him, and how much he treasured their relationship. If only he had made that call, if only he had been more spontaneous. Now, it was too late. The opportunity was lost forever.
The Nesi’im
During the chanukas haMishkan, the inauguration of the Tabernacle, the Nesi’im (princes) of each shevet contributed spectacular gifts toward the Mishkan (Bamidbar, perek 7). Chazal explain that these donations were intended to be a tikkun (rectification) for their previous sin (See Rashi, Bamidbar 7:3; Sifri, Naso 1:150). Earlier in the Torah, the Nesi’im are criticized for their inappropriate approach regarding their donations toward the building of the Mishkan (Rashi, Shemos 35:27). They delayed in donating gifts for the Mishkan, and in the interim the Jewish People donated everything needed for the Mishkan, leaving the Nesi’im with nothing to give.
However, it is important to note that their intentions were pure. They intended to wait and see what was still needed in the Mishkan after the rest of Klal Yisrael had finished donating, and they would then donate whatever was still needed, filling in the rest. The Nesi’im assumed that if everybody donated simultaneously, there would be many overlapping gifts, while other essential things might be left out completely. The Nesi’im wanted to fill in the gaps, ensuring that the donation process was completed properly.
However, when the giving stopped and the dust settled, there was nothing left to give. Klal Yisrael had surpassed all expectations, donating every single required item and even exceeding the required quotas (Shemos 36:5). The Nesi’im, due to their delay, lost out on their chance to contribute toward the Mishkan.
The Nesi’im are criticized for their lack of alacrity in donating to the Mishkan, and it is apparent that they realized their mistake, as they tried to rectify it by contributing elaborate gifts during the chanukas haMishkan. However, we must ask what the Nesi’im did that was so improper. After all, their calculation seems sound, if not ideal. Why donate something that has already been given? Isn’t it worthwhile to ensure that your gift will be useful? Why then do we view their actions, or lack thereof, in such a negative light? Furthermore, how do the Nesi’im’s gifts in Parshas Naso rectify their mistake? In order to understand this episode, we must first understand the nature and meaning of chesed, loosely translated as kindness and giving.
Levels of Chesed
The spiritual concept of chesed is the ability to expand beyond one’s limited self and contribute toward others. As the pasuk in Tehillim says, “Olam chesed yibaneh – The world was built through chesed” (Tehillim 89:3). Hashem created this world as an act of expansion and pure kindness, with the goal of giving to each and every one of us. Thus, when we give to others, we emulate Hashem.
Within the basic character trait of chesed, there are varying levels and degrees. For example, if a person is in financial need, there are several different ways one can help him. The most obvious form of chesed is giving money, but this is far from ideal. Short-term monetary gifts do not usually solve a long-term struggle with poverty; the person will therefore remain dependent and poor. Being dependent on another is shameful, and we do not want recipients of charity to feel dependent and incapable of earning their own sustenance. A far better option is to extend a loan, as this enables a person to retain independence and dignity. However, the greatest level of chesed is helping a person get a job or develop a means of sustaining themselves, as this provides both sustenance and genuine independence. As the saying goes, “Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime.”
This principle is at the root of a phrase we read every day in Shemoneh Esrei. In the first beracha, we describe Hashem as “gomel chasadim – the One Who bestows kindness.” The Hebrew word “gomel” literally means to wean, as in when a mother stops breastfeeding her child. Rather than this seems like the antithesis of chesed, as it is the cessation of giving, it reflects the greatest level of chessed, to give someone independence, to wean them off of reliance and dependency. This is the chesed Hashem does for us: He gives us the independent ability to choose, and in doing so, He gives us the ability to earn our own reward. We are not given our reward for free; we earn it through our choices, our internal moral victories, and our constant existential struggle to grow.
This is often the biggest challenge of a parent: letting their child go, letting them blossom and flourish. Only once children are given independence can they finally learn to become themselves. This is also why the greatest teachers don’t create dependent students; they create independent thinkers, students who continue to grow and flourish long after they leave their teacher’s classroom. This is the deeper meaning behind the unusual language of the Mishna in Avos, which instructs us: “Haamidu talmidim harbeh,” which is usually understood to mean “teach many students” (Avos 1:2). However, it literally means “stand up” many students. In other words, a great teacher helps their students develop their own legs to stand on.
Next week, we will delve deeper into this fascinating topic of chesed and try to clarify the underlying mistake that the Nesi’im made.
