“Renew Your Support Today.” “I’m Personally Asking, Claire.” “There’s Still Time to Give!”
My email inbox is perpetually cluttered with fundraising emails from nonprofits and political groups, each competing with the next, trying to strike the perfect balance of urgency and approachability that will grab my attention and coax me to donate to their efforts. Sometimes, the desperation in these emails turns to deception: subject lines intended to sound like the emails are individualized or come from friends, rather than the mass fundraising efforts they are.
While inbox clutter can be frustrating, even when coming from organizations we support, it is also understandable. Each of us has limited financial capital – and an even more limited tzedakah budget – and donating to one cause may preclude us from doing the same for another. Even in trying to build a better world, scarcity reigns, and causes we care about are forced to compete with one another for our limited resources. It is so easy, in this world, to feel that there will never be enough.
This week’s twin parshiyot, Vayakhel and Pekudei, offer us a vision of another world.
Find more resources on Vayakhel.
Moses asks all Israelites whose hearts are moved to bring gifts for God that the community can use to build the Mishkan, God’s home on Earth and the temporary center for worship as the Israelites wander through the desert. The Israelites comply, and Moses collects luxuries including precious metals and gemstones, sumptuous and sturdy fabrics, decadent oils and spices, and more. But the Israelites don’t stop there.
The Torah tells us that “everyone who excelled in ability and everyone whose spirit was moved” made offerings of both materials and service, men and women alike (Ex. 35:21-22). One chapter later, the Israelites continue to bring gifts, day after day, without ever needing to be asked again. Eventually, master craftsmen Bezalel and Oholiab end up having to dispatch Moses to beg the Israelites: please stop making contributions! Their efforts have been more than enough. The overflowing generosity has done its job.
Rarely in my life have I been fortunate enough to experience this type of generosity, one so complete, so rooted in abundance that it is completely unnecessary to make an ask for support, let alone ask people to stand down.
In fact, the only time I have seen inspiring generosity in this manner was this past January, when I was privileged to represent T’ruah as a member of the MARCH clergy delegation to Minneapolis, where I joined a group of six hundred spiritual leaders from across the United States to answer a call for witness, for learning, and for connection.
Upon arriving in Minneapolis, I was confronted with temperatures well below freezing and a grim reality on the ground, but also a type of activism I had never seen before. There are countless organizations on the ground in Minneapolis working to protect vulnerable neighbors – food pantries, houses of worship, free clinics, legal aid, and more. What makes the Minnesotan resistance so remarkable is the decentralized, non-hierarchical ways in which ordinary people have shown up for each other day in and day out. There is no leader telling them what to do; rather, individuals seek out ways they can be useful through social networks and in their neighborhoods, and simply show up to do what they can.
I had the privilege of meeting activists who spent every free moment between work and meals and school and childcare delivering groceries to vulnerable people, walking kids to school when their parents couldn’t do so safely, or following ICE vehicles to track their paths and alert people to their presence.
I left Minneapolis inspired in many ways, most of all feeling called to approach immigration with an abundance mindset. We can choose to believe that there are enough resources to go around. There is enough housing for us all, enough food to share, and enough time in each of our schedules to volunteer. We can give of ourselves in whatever way we want generously, abundantly, without worrying that we are going to run out. This is how we change the world: by refusing to be guided in our work by a mindset of scarcity.
The Israelites who contributed gold and silver and bronze, fine linen and skins, and gemstones to the construction of the Mishkan did not know whether they would ever recoup those valuable materials. As they wandered through the desert to an unknown land, they did not know whether they might find themselves in need of currency upon arriving at their as-yet-unknown land. And yet, they gave. May we, too, give so freely.
Claire Davidson Bruder is a rabbinical student at JTS and member of T’ruah’s board.