Jewish ideas about poverty are derived in large part from an injunction found in this week’s Torah portion: “When you reap the harvest in your field and overlook a sheaf in the field, do not turn back to get it; it shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow — in order that the Lord your God may bless you in all of your undertakings.” (Deuteronomy 24:19) This commandment to leave the corners of the field for the poor is known in Jewish law as peah (or corner). As it happens, the Jewish legal tradition has invested a lot of energy in determining how to ensure that this redistribution of resources occurs in a fair and equitable manner.
When we read this injunction in the Bible, we think that the rule itself makes sense: It seems reasonably clear that we need to be leaving a certain percentage of our harvest for the poor. But when you start thinking about it, questions arise. For example: Do we have to leave peah for every field we own? Or can we leave a large amount in one field and harvest all the others? Can the poor come whenever they want to gather the peah, or do we have the right to define when and where they might gather? Are the poor allowed to pool their resources, so that the most able-bodied do the collecting, or does each person have to gather it themselves? Can you eat what someone else has gathered?
Find more resources on Ki Tetze.
The ancient sages, who convened in the town of Yavneh on the banks of the Kinneret in the first and second centuries of our common era and worked on answers to these questions, created the document known as the Mishnah. Yes, you must leave peah for every field you own. Yes, you may restrict access to the field to set times and seasons and to specific public access points. Yes, the poor may pool their resources. Yes, a person may eat what someone else has gathered. Note the abiding concern for giving the poor a predictable form of access to foodstuffs, but it is done in such a way as to allow the landowner some control over how and when.
But the Mishnah does not address every question. What if, for example, the poor individuals want to sell the harvested goods, rather than eat it themselves? The rabbinic discussion continues for the next 300 years, through about the year 500 on our secular calendar. This rabbinic discussion is known as the Gemara, which in turn forms the basis of the Talmud. The poor may sell their goods and buy other goods with it. You don’t have to eat the grain if you don’t like or don’t need the grain. And so on.
In the medieval period, the rabbinic sages wrote legal codes to summarize these questions of Jewish law, and to adapt it to a more urban setting. One of the first to do so was Moses Maimonides (1138-1204), who wrote the “Mishneh Torah” to summarize the state of Jewish law (and in some cases, to create his own precedents). Maimonides, for example, set the maximum amount you should give to the poor at 3%, unless, of course, you are independently wealthy. Then you may indeed give more — and probably should.
Find more resources on economic inequality and charity.
What evolved out of these medieval codes was a series of practices relating to feeding the poor: Every medieval Jewish community was expected to set up two things: a tamchui (charity plate) for feeding all comers week-to-week, no questions asked, and a kupah (welfare fund) to support the resident poor. The charity plate normally would be collected on Fridays and would be offered to anyone who was hungry, regardless of origin. The welfare fund, on the other hand, would be restricted specifically to residents of the city, and it would involve an investigation into the resident’s circumstances. Those supported by the welfare fund would receive a monthly set stipend, plus extra for the celebration of holidays (the rabbis were clear that the poor should be able to buy wine as part of the celebration, if they so choose). The community thus had the right to assess a tax on all residents to provide for the welfare fund. Additionally, a larger community might create a burial fund and a poor brides’ fund out of these taxes. These experiences form the basis of Jewish ideas of what we owe to the poor: We take it as an obligation to feed them and provide for their basic needs. We’re not at liberty to turn away.
Interestingly, even those residents who were supported by the welfare fund were expected to pay a (reduced) tax into the community funds. It was an expression of dignity: No one is so poor as to be completely unable to give to others. Anyone who has worked on alleviating poverty knows that this statement is also sociologically true: The poor are often the first to give, and that impulse should be honored, as a matter of dignity. In this regard, an abiding concern for human rights, and for upholding the inherent dignity of even the poorest among us, has been a key feature of the Jewish tradition, originating with this Torah verse and carrying into the present day.
Kari Tuling received rabbinic ordination in 2004 and earned her Ph.D. in Jewish Thought in 2013, both from the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in Cincinnati, and a Master’s degree in Jewish Professional Studies from Spertus Institute in 2022. She has served as a congregational rabbi in Connecticut, Indiana, New York, Ohio, and Washington, D.C., and has taught Jewish Studies courses at Hebrew Union College, the Louisville Seminary, the University of Cincinnati, and the State University of New York. A prolific writer and speaker, her book, “Thinking About God: Jewish Views,” was published in 2020 by JPS/University of Nebraska Press. She currently serves as an interim rabbi on Long Island, where she lives with her husband and a cat.