This commandment, from this week's Torah Portion, is to care for the poor: if you have a field, do not reap it completely. Leave a corner of it for the poor, so that they can come and take of it as much as they need. How does it apply to our days? Most of us do not own fields these days, and even if we did, poor people would most likely not go and reap sheaves of wheat there. They would rather go to the supermarket and buy a ready-made bread there.
There are so many ways in which we can implement this commandment today: whenever I go out of my apartment, I try to have a few shekel coins. Whenever someone is begging (they do it most often in the market or near the Western Wall), I take a coin or two and give it to them. I usually try to do it with a smile, because it is SO important to treat them with dignity and warmth, to give them a good feeling, even more than just giving them the money.
Another way of fulfilling this commandment, in my opinion, is to leave empty glass bottles that you finished drinking in a plastic bag near the recycling bins. The poor often walk around, gathering these bottles, and returning it to the supermarket. They get reimbursed for every bottle at the supermarket (this is how it works in Israel), and it becomes a source of livelihood for them. This is perhaps the closest you can get to not harvesting your field completely. Instead of returning these bottles yourself to the supermarket and get paid for it, you leave them out for the old and poor who need this money more than you do.
It is promised in the Torah that there will always be poor people in the world: "For there will never cease to be poor in the land. Therefore I command you, ‘You shall open wide your hand to your brother, to the needy and to the poor, in your land." (Deuteronomy 15:11). Our commentators say that the reason there will always be poor people in the world is to improve our own characters, to give us a chance to give to strangers, to open our hands and our hearts, to become better people by giving charity. By being better people, we also make the world a better place.
I remember my last trip to Norway. I spent a Shabbat in Oslo. On my way from my Air BNB room to the Jewish community in the morning, I saw a man sitting on the sidewalk near a park, leaning on a fence. His clothes were worn-out, his hair disheveled, his face reddened and with a hardened skin. He was a beggar. Because it was Shabbat, I didn't carry any money on me (actually, on Shabbat we cannot carry anything when outside of Israel, not even a key! I had to hide my key in a pot of plants near my accommodation!). I felt so sorry that I didn't have anything to give him! I so wished to do that, to give him a few coins, or more, and to start a small talk, to tell him I'm from Jerusalem, etc. Having nothing on me to give him, I just smiled at him - he smiled warmly back - and I apologized for having nothing on me, I also showed him that I don't carry anything in my pockets. He smiled, and I felt that even this little exchange was something I was able to give him. If I wasn't hurrying to get to shul (to the synagogue) for the reading of the Torah, I would have sat by him for a few minutes, and asked him about him, about his life, and what made him give up on life like that. I do hope to have a chance to do it in the future.
I also remember my trip to Japan a few years ago. The homeless people there are different than beggars anywhere else. I don't call them beggars, but rather homeless people, because they do not beg. They do not even expect to be given anything. I remember walking on a major street in Osaka, a big city, and seeing a homeless guy. Gently, I approached him with a few coins in my hand. He looked at me as if I fell from the sky, not understanding what I wanted from him, why I approached him. I showed him the coins. He didn't even reach out his hand. I had to motion with my hand that he can take the money, that it is OK. It took a few more moments, and then he hesitantly took the money, at last. He was very, very thankful and in a very respectful way. It touched my heart. This same scenario repeated itself again with every homeless person I saw there. They were all astonished that someone even notices them, not to mention gives them money or food. My dream, if I ever go back there again (not planning at all, but if I have to go), is to go to Osaka or Tokyo, take my tithes (10% of my income), buy a few take-away meals in restaurants, walk the main streets and give such a take-away box to every homeless person I see. And then sit and talk with them a little with my broken, insufficient Japanese. I want to see that expression on their faces again, the surprise that someone even notices you, that someone even cares. I do it in Israel, but here many, many people give, give, give, give, so the beggars are not surprised at all. They are happy and thankful, but they are not surprised. In Japan it is totally different, and I think that going on a "Giving Spree" to give food and some attention to these poor, destitute people, can add a lot of light to a corner in the world that needs more light.
There is a story in our Jewish Scriptures that once a non-Jewish person went to Old Hillel (a famous ancient Rabbi) and asked him to teach him the whole Torah in an instant ("while standing on one foot"). Hillel told him: "You shall love your fellow man as yourself - and all the rest is commentary, go and learn", meaning: the most important thing is to treat others right, and the whole Torah just teaches how to do that. Caring for the poor is just one manifestation of the commandment to love our fellow human being like ourselves. No one expects us to give all we have. 10% of our net income is enough. We would still have 90% of it for ourselves. I like to think of it as if 10% of my net income is not mine - it is G-d's money. He gave it to me so that I can distribute it wisely on His behalf, and do good in His world.
Thinking about my last post about how to make each day count, the Mitzvah (commandment) to give some coins ("the corner of our fields") to the poor is one way of making our days count, of making our existence in this world meaningful, by making the world a better place.
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