Rashi translates the phrase, al ha’nashim, on the women, as with the women. Targum Onkelos, however, translates it as al neshaya, on the women. This implies that the men brought the donations on the women, suggesting that the men accompanied their wives to the collection center, after which the women removed their jewelry and contributed it to the Mishkan. Why did they follow this procedure? Could the men not just have brought the jewelry on their own?
Horav Moshe Feinstein, zl, derives an important insight from here. The women wanted to show that they were wearing the jewelry, that it had great value to them. They were not taking jewelry from a box that no one was using, about which no one cared. On the contrary, the gold and silver jewelry which they gave was quite dear to them. The Mishkan, however, was more precious. Therefore, they were removing their jewelry and readily contributing it to the Mishkan. They showed that, as much as they cared for their jewelry, the Mishkan had greater significance. It gave them greater pleasure to give to the Mishkan than to wear the jewelry.
The Rosh Yeshivah adds that this is the manner in which one should give tzedakah, charity; indeed, this is how he should perform all mitzvos, especially limud ha’Torah, Torah study. Despite the fact that one may have other things to do, other opportunities for easing his life; nonetheless, Torah and mitzvah performance take precedence.
As I am writing this, I am reminded of a story I wrote a while back, which underscores this idea.
It was Yom Kippur night, and a huge crowd had assembled in the Berditchever Shul where the saintly Horav Levi Yitzchak, zl was preparing to usher in the holiest day of the Jewish calendar year. The Berditchever motioned to the chazzan to wait a while; he was not quite ready to begin the Kol Nidre prayer. The minutes passed by as the packed congregation began to whisper silently, “What could be holding up the Rebbe?” Soon, Rav Levi Yitzchak turned to his shammes, attendant, and asked, “Is Reb Mottel from Zhitomia here?” The shammes looked around and, after noticing Reb Mottel, he told the Rebbe that he was in attendance. “Please ask him to come here,” said Rav Levi Yitzchak.
When Mottel came over, Rav Levi Yitzchak began to question him. “Tell me, do you not live on land owned by a certain gentile landowner?” “Yes,” responded the surprised Mottel. “Does he not own a dog?” asked the Rebbe. “Yes, Rebbe, he owns a very fine dog,” answered Mottel, not having any idea why Rav Levi Yitzchak would be asking such questions prior to Kol Nidre. “Do you know how much he paid for the dog?” the Rebbe asked. “I surely do,” answered Mottel proudly. “He said it was a special dog with a distinguished pedigree and that he had paid four hundred rubles for it.” This was a huge sum to pay for anything in those days, let alone for a dog. Hearing the amount, Rav Levi Yitzchak was thrilled, exclaiming, “Four hundred rubles! That is fantastic!” He quickly summoned the chazzan to begin the Kol Nidre prayer to usher in Yom Kippur.
It was not surprising that everyone who was privy to this entire episode was bewildered. First, why would the saintly Rebbe care about a gentile’s dog? And what difference did it make how much the dog had cost? After Maariv, a close group of the Rebbe’s disciples gathered around him and worked up the courage to ask him to explain to them what had occurred.
The Rebbe related to them the following incident: “A melamed, tutor, came to our town this past year to earn enough money tutoring to repay the many debts that he had accumulated in his hometown. After a while, he had earned enough money to repay his debts and still have sufficient funds to support his family for the coming year. On his way home, he stopped overnight at an inn. You can imagine what happened. He was careless with his money bag, and it was stolen. He woke up the next morning to discover the terrible thing that had occurred, and he became hysterical. He screamed and cried. He was crushed: months and months of his work were lost, gone forever.
“Mottel’s gentile landowner was staying at the same inn. Upon hearing the melamed’s wailing, he inquired about the commotion. He listened to the melamed broken-heartedly relate the entire story: how he had worked hard for months to pay off his debts and support his family, and now it was all gone. The landowner was moved by the story. After hearing how much the melamed had lost, he took out four hundred rubles – the amount that had been stolen – and gave it to the melamed.”
The Rebbe continued, “As we were about to begin Kol Nidre, I became concerned about the episode and its far-reaching effect on us as we stand in judgment before Hashem. Do we deserve that Hashem should look at us favorably? Let us ask ourselves: ‘Are we deserving of His favor? Did any of us do an unusual act of chesed, kindness, that would stand in our behalf?’ If a gentile could perform such an exemplary act of kindness, Hashem’s nation should do no less. Can we say that we did?
“I then remembered the dog – the dog for which the gentile had spent so much money. When I discovered that he had spent four hundred rubles for a dog, an ordinary pet, it indicated to me that this gentile does not place a premium on his money. Thus, while the act of giving the melamed four hundred rubles was clearly a remarkable act of chesed, it surely did not represent an act of sacrifice on the gentile’s part. A man who can spend so much money on a dog does not truly appreciate the value of money.”
Many of us give tzedakah with an open hand, responding to a multitude of charities both private and communal. Are we aware of the theory of “relativity,” whereby our tzedakah’s value is “relative” to how much we actually spend on ourselves? Spending money for mitzvah performance is wonderful and the appropriate manner of observance, but when the funds that we spend are a far cry from what we spend on our personal lives, the merit is diminished. Our spiritual dimension should maintain center stage in our lives.
