The Torah of Money
Sermon, Yom Kippur 5767
Rabbi Bruce Kadden

Everything you need to know about money in Judaism can be summed up by the rabbinic saying:  “Ein kemach, ein Torah; ein Torah ein kemach, If there is no flour, there is no torah; if there is no Torah there is no flour” (Pirkei Avot 3:17). 

In other words, without physical sustenance, without the resources to assure one’s survival, there can be no Torah study.  And without Torah study, without spiritual sustenance, there can be no physical sustenance.  It is as if there is a symbiotic relationship between physical and spiritual sustenance:  each depends upon the other for its ability to survive and thrive.

Certainly that is the case when it comes to a synagogue community:  without dues, donations and fundraising, without money, there can be no Torah, no learning and teaching of Judaism.  And without Torah, without Jewish learning to instill values and meaning in people’s lives, there can be no money, no financial support.

Not everyone is comfortable talking about money.  I had quite a few trepidations about this sermon as I pondered the topic.  I was tempted a number of times to change it, to find something else, something safer and less controversial. 

It is difficult to talk about money.  According to Laura Bouyea who wrote about money and social change, money “is more taboo than sex…laden with embarrassment, guilt, secret pleasure, and the fear of other people’s envy.”  While the saying “money is the root of all evil,” may be an exaggeration, it is not far from the truth. 

I know that there are some Jews who believe that we should never mention money in synagogue, especially not on Yom Kippur.  After all, our tradition mandates that we do not carry money or spend money on Shabbat and holidays.  That is why we have never passed the plate as part of our Shabbat worship services. 

Some do not like the idea of appealing for monetary support during the worship service, as we did on Rosh Hashanah.  However, many congregations do some type of High Holy Day appeal, either for themselves or for another organization, such as Israel Bonds.  And some congregations raise money by auctioning off aliyot on the holidays, often during the worship service. 

In Fiddler on the Roof, Tevye sings of a “seat by the Eastern Wall,” next to the aron hakodesh, the holy ark, because that is where the rich would sit because of their financial support of the synagogue.  Some synagogues still charge for High Holy Day seats, assigning them based on one’s contribution, a practice prohibited by our Temple’s Constitution.

So, although I was tempted to find another topic, I concluded that I could not introduce our congregational theme, k’hillah k’dosha, a holy community, without directly discussion Jewish values relating to money.  For, as Pirkei Avot teaches, without money, there can be no Torah.

Of course, there is another reason to be wary of talking about money.  As Lawrence Bush and Jeffrey Dekro write, in their book Jews, Money & Social Responsibility, “For Jews, anxieties about money are vastly heightened by our historic experience of persecution and displacement, particularly in Europe, against which Jewish wealth (bribery) and professionalism (indispensability) were often our only available, though far from infallible, defenses.”  In Christian communities, Jews often filled the much needed role of moneylenders, which church laws forbid Christians to do.  Jews often could not own property and were prohibited from practicing certain professions.  Even the most scrupulously honest persons could generate significant animosity when faced with the responsibility of collecting debts for the government.  And, of course, the Jewish moneylender made its way into fiction, most notably in Shakespeare’s Shylock in A Merchant of Venice, a character that unfortunately offers too many people their beliefs about Jews and money.  For this reason, too, Jews have been quite sensitive to dealing with money.  We don’t want to feed these stereotypes or confirm people’s anti-Semitic beliefs.

Furthermore, Jews have never really had a problem with money.  As Rabbi Zevit writes, “Wealth and the creation of wealth were not seen as sinful or against God’s will as long as the use and method of obtaining these resources were not exploitative”  It was not a Jewish thing to renounce worldly goods or to take a vow of poverty.  Judaism was much more concerned with what one did with the money, with the responsibility to help others for example, than how the money was acquired, as long as it was done in a just manner. 

The Jewish attitude toward money is best summed up by Tevye, who said, “It is no great shame to be poor, but it is no great honor either.”  Judaism did not automatically connect wealth and social standing with Divine favor and blessing. 

Therefore, with some trepidation, but much assurance from Jewish tradition, I have decided to speak about what Lawrence Bush and Jeffrey Dekro call a “Torah of Money.”

Rabbi Shaun Israel Zevit, in his book Offerings of the Heart:  Money & Values in Faith Communities, writes, “Ideally and historically, the Jewish people have been committed to looking at financial resources as tools for building sacred community.”  Rabbi Zevit speaks of synagogues as “for-prophet [p-r-o-p-h-e-t] enterprises,” communities that share “the ultimate goals of manifesting the sacred values, laws and cultural traditions” we embrace.

Throughout our history, Jews have recognized the importance of providing financial support and resources to sustain the central institutions of Jewish life. 

The first physical institution of Judaism was the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary which accompanied the Jews as they wandered in the wilderness and subsequently settled in the Promised Land.  The Mishkan provided a focal point for the community; the process of creating it helped the people become a community and the process of sustaining it assured that they would remain a community.

For the creation of the Mishkan, “the Israelites, all the men and women whose hearts moved them to bring anything for the work that God…had commanded to be done, brought a freewill offering to God” (Exodus 35:29).  The creation of this vital institution depends on the talents and generosity of the people. 

However, for the on-going support of the Mishkan every person from age 20 years and up was required to pay the exact same amount:  a half-shekel.  “The rich shall not pay more and the poor shall not pay less” the Torah states (Exodus 30:xx).

The Torah recognizes that it is important for every person to have a stake in the ongoing support of the Mishkan.  It is a community institution and every member of the community was expected to support it.  Now, a half-shekel was a minimal amount, but would have been a real sacrifice for the poorest of the poor.  Yet, such support was vital so that each person would have the same basic claim to the institution.  Each person was, if you will, a dues-paying member, this teaching establishing the responsibility of every Jew to the ongoing support of their religious institutions.

Historically, Jewish communities were often able to enforce this obligation on members of the community who might have been reluctant to offer their support.

Of course, we no longer live in such a community.  Support is entirely voluntary.  There is nothing that we can do, outside of perhaps guilt, to coerce those who are reluctant to become a member of the congregation.  For those who still feel a moral obligation to support the synagogue, who cannot imagine not supporting the congregation, it is sometimes difficult to understand those Jews who do not.

The key is recognizing the relationship between money and values.  As Rabbi Zevit observes, “money is an expression of the values we are actually committed to in our actions as well as the commitments we hold internally to do godly action in the world.”  To paraphrase a well-known saying:  “we put or money where our values are.”

We saw this phenomena demonstrated this past summer when, under the auspices of the Tacoma United Jewish Community Fund, we came together to raise more than $275,000 for Israel.  Our love for Israel, the primary value that Israel plays in our lives, caused us to respond with an outpouring of support in its time of need.  We could do nothing else. 

Similarly, for those who care about the future of Judaism, for those who recognize the importance of maintaining a strong, vibrant, engaging Jewish community in Tacoma, support for the synagogue is primary.  There are certainly many other worthwhile Jewish organizations that we should support, organizations like Hadassah and NCJW, which do vital work in our community and in Israel, organizations like the ADL, which fights discrimination, and many others.  All of these are important organizations, but only the synagogue is vital to the survival of Judaism and the Jewish people. 

The modern synagogue, because it nurtures the spiritual, emotional, and intellectual needs of the Jewish community and provides for the educational needs of adults and children, the modern synagogue is vital to the Jewish future.  We can imagine a Jewish future without other institutions, but not without the synagogue. 

Like many modern synagogues, Temple Beth El has developed a vision statement to define our purpose.  It reads:  “Temple Beth El is a caring community devoted to the ideals of Judaism.  As the primary focus of Jewish communal activities in Pierce County, Washington, our mission is to help Jews build and strengthen their Jewishness.  Through it all, we hope to create a warm, safe, comforting atmosphere at Temple Beth El, imbued by our love for one another.  Our primary tools for creating committed Jews are study, worship and Tikkun Olam.”

If this is a vision you endorse, if this is the type of community you would like to create, if realizing this vision is important to you, then there should be no question about your support for the synagogue.

Meir Tamari, who has written extensively about Jews and money, has pointed out that long before the modern welfare state, Judaism insisted upon the principle of collective responsibility for the needs of its members.  These “needs” included Jewish education, burial, the mikvah, synagogues, support for the poor, and when necessary redeeming captives.  For much of Jewish history, we Jews were inculcated to take care of our own, to make sure that the needs of the community were met.  After all, there was no one else to do so.  It was an embarrassment to the community if the deceased was not given a proper burial or a bride was not given a proper dowry and wedding celebration.  So communities often established funds to see to these specific purposes.  Although much has changed since then, there remains a strong sense of communal responsibility among enough Jews to assure that such needs are met.

When an indigent Jew dies, almost anywhere in the United States, or the world for that matter, there will be a chevra kaddisha or funeral home or cemetery association that will provide a proper burial.  The value that Judaism places in seeing to the proper burial of the deceased directs our efforts to raise and spend communal resources in this endeavor.  In many other areas of life, Judaism insisted that communal resources be used to assure that every member of the community was able to live a Jewish life, whether it was observing Shabbat or holidays or a life-cycle ritual. 

We continue to emphasize the importance of tzedakah, of sharing what we have with others.  From the youngest age, we collect keren ami in Religious School and allow the students to decide where the money should go.  We want to instill the habit of giving to others in need at an early age so that it becomes a life-long commitment. 

According to Rabbi Y’hoshua, “The poor person does more for the householder than the householder does for the poor person” (Leviticus Rabbah 34:8).  How is this possible?  Because the poor person enables the householder to gain life by participating in partnership with God in the ongoing act of creation.  The poor person allows us to do a mitzvah. 

Now, Judaism has a lot to say about our giving of tzedakah. First, “even a poor person who is supported by tzedakah must give from what he receives” (Yoreh De’ah 248:1).  Danny Siegel, tzedakah maven, suggests that “Economic struggle sucks out a person’s sense of Kedusha, the basic holiness of life” (Gym shoes and Irises, p. 76).  Thus, giving tzedakah, even if it is exchanging money with another poor person, is a way to affirm one’s humanity.

The Talmud teaches that “anyone who runs to do tzedakah will find the necessary funds and the proper recipients for the tzedakah.”  Our eagerness to perform this mitzvah is significant.  We should not give grudgingly, but enthusiastically, preferably before being asked.  Maimonides, the greatest Medieval Jewish thinker, developed a ladder of charity, ranking the types of ways we give.  The lowest level was to give begrudgingly, after being asked.  A step better is giving less than what one should, but doing so cheerfully.  Higher still is giving before being asked.  Better yet is giving, but not knowing who is receiving the money.  And when the recipient does not know the source of the gift it is even better.  Toward the top of Maimonides’ list is when neither the donor nor the recipient knows the other’s identity.  And the best form of tzedakah, according to Maimonides, is giving a gift that enables the recipient to become self-reliant.

Keep in mind that all of these manners of giving are acceptable and fulfill our obligation to give tzedakah.  But within the world of tzedakah, it is important to recognize that some ways of giving are better than others.  The important thing is that we instill the habit of tzedakah in our children and that we practice it ourselves.  That it becomes as important a part of our family budget as housing, clothing, and transportation. 

We Jews should not be afraid to talk about money.  For we are a generous people, reaching out to help our fellow Jews and our fellow human beings.  We put our money where are values are, affirming the teaching that without money there can be no Torah and without Torah there can be no money, but with both, we can become a k’hillah k’dosha and make the world a better place.

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