Tzedakah and Humble Pie

Yesterday I was served a face full of humble-pie and I’m still trying to figure out what I did to deserve it.

I was strolling through the supermarket doing my thing: piling mounds of fresh, Israeli produce into my cart, fantasizing about all the yummy Shabbat soups and dips it would become. Abuzz with anticipation, I rolled my hunger-induced shopping spree into the checkout line and awaited my bill. A man was standing behind me with an armload of fresh-baked rolls. The atmosphere was cheerful, and the checkout clerk was chatty and friendly. I was nearing the end of my purchase when the cashier said to both me and the fresh-roll-man behind me, “You know, those rolls will only cost you (him) 5 shekel with a purchase of over 150 shekel. Why don’t you join this (my) purchase and pay this woman (me) the 5 shekel directly?”

The other shopper and I were pleased with the idea, but as he fished around in his pocket for the money, he realized that he didn’t have exact change, so he said with total sincerity, “No. It’s fine. I’ll pay full price.” Emboldened by the jovial atmosphere and the heaps of fresh, lush produce I was purchasing, I asked the checker to put his purchase through anyway. “So what if you don’t have exact change,” I said to him in an “I-got-this-one” voice. “Five shekel for fresh-baked bread is a bargain. I’d like to buy you a gift.”

Suddenly the good-humored atmosphere of Jewish giving came to a screeching halt … “Do I look like I need your charity? I can buy them myself thank you very much.” Ouch.

Since that humbling experience, I’ve thought a lot about where I went wrong. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far. For starters, thinking that this man was in need of my gift never occurred to me. I was not judging his financial holdings—I was just trying to be nice and practice what I always preach by performing a random act of kindness. But somehow my gesture was blown entirely out of proportion.

My first conclusion was that I cannot control the responses or actions of others. I can try to anticipate reactions or imagine myself in another’s place, but at the end of the day, the only things under my jurisdiction are my choices. Second, the fact that this man couldn’t receive the gift I offered is not my issue. But did I do the right thing by offering to pay for his groceries? Not in this instance. I embarrassed him, which means that the way I chose to give him a gift was not as pure as it should have been. Giving in its purest form is about the receiver, not the giver. It would have made me feel good to buy him a gift, but it didn’t make him feel good to receive it.

No matter how kind or altruistic a random act of kindness may be, if it could cramp someone else’s style, I need to check myself by going back to my starting point and making sure I’m shooting from an ego-free space. We have a commandment to give what is called tzedakah.  Tzedakah is generally translated to mean “charity,” but that is not its full meaning. Tzedakah literally means “justice” or “righteousness.” In other words, giving tzedakah is about doing the right thing.  If a hungry person crosses my path, my job is to feed him. My kindness and generosity are irrelevant; feeding a hungry person is simply the right thing to do.

Had I brushed up on Maimonides’ eight levels of giving, I could have spared myself the embarrassment of embarrassing the other shopper. Maimonides (also known as the Rambam) writes that the highest level of giving is providing a person with the means to make a living. The second best way to give is anonymously so that the giver doesn’t know to whom he is giving and the receiver has no idea who he’s receiving from.

I missed both of those steps in the checkout line yesterday. Not only did I make my giving a public event, but worse, by offering that man a gift, I implied that he was beholden to me, somehow dependent upon my generosity to get a good deal. Although I was altogether well intentioned, I let the generous spirit of the supermarket cloud my judgment about how that gift would translate to him. Honestly, I’m not sure I could have received that kind of gift from a stranger if the tables had been turned. I’m pretty sure I would have politely declined the kind offer.

At the end of the day, what I offered had more of “me” in it than it should have. Kindness is meant to transcend self – not become saturated within self. That was one grocery cart full of food for thought.

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