Dedicated to the memory of my mentor, Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, whose 10th yahrzeit is today. Although I cannot be sure he would agree with everything I have written here, the article is largely inspired by the palpable love of humanity that he radiated and with which he inspired me.
Francis Nataf
The highly developed ethic of mutual aid within the Jewish community deservedly serves as a source of pride. In an often hostile world, Jews have historically shown a great deal of discipline and self-sacrifice to help other Jews in need. For most of history, whatever additional aid Jews gave outside of their community was largely unexpected and, from that perspective, lifnim mi-shurat ha-din. With the increasing malleability of communal boundaries, however, the continued focus of the Jewish community overwhelmingly upon itself[1] needs reexamination.
This article will seek such a reexamination from the perspective of halakhah and its underlying ethics. I will argue that the halakhot of charity to non-Jews represent a case in which today’s circumstances are radically different from when Jewish law was formulated, such that it requires major review and revision.[2] Moreover, though it only provides a backdrop to this discussion, it seems to me that we cannot ethically proceed without also keeping in mind that absolute poverty[3] today exists almost exclusively outside of the Jewish community.
Given our ambitious agenda, we will content ourselves with presenting an introduction to this topic and leaving room for others to further explore some of the general directions to which this article points.
Changes in the Rabbinic Approach to Non-Jews
How is the Jew supposed to relate to non-Jews? I am not interested here in challenging a Jewish particularism that asserts that one’s first responsibility is to those that are closest, but this should not mean that one only has to take care of his relatives and no one else. The question that needs to be addressed is how far one’s responsibility extends beyond family. In the current of this article, that question becomes whether – for either practical or ideological reasons – a Jew’s responsibility only truly extends to the Jewish nation and no further.[4]
The thoughtful reader will certainly ask whether one can ask such a broad question. In particular, should there not be a distinction between idolaters and non-idolaters? Though the distinction was historically often only theoretical, there is no question that our evaluation of how Jews must treat gentiles depends greatly upon this distinction.[5] That is to say that even if halakhah demands that Jews extend some level of kindness to all people, including idolaters, Judaism’s highly negative evaluation of such people complicates our evaluation of how Jews are meant to treat non-Jews more generally.
Part of the challenge in decoupling Jewish law towards idolaters and gentiles more generally comes from the fact that the default has historically been that almost all of the world’s inhabitants were, in fact, idolaters, such that gentiles and idolaters were conflated into one class. This is so much the case that the word akum, an abbreviation for a worshiper of stars and constellations, is often used interchangeably with the word nokhri (foreigner), the more correct term for a gentile. While traditional Jewish law also discussed the clearly defined category of geir toshav – the non-idolatrous resident alien who is treated much better than idolaters – this too cannot serve as a paradigm for non-idolatrous peoples in general. That is because the positive treatment may come from reasons specific to gentiles living in a Jewish state, such as the responsibility of a host community towards minorities living within it. As a result, teasing out the distinction between idolatrous and non-idolatrous gentiles in classical sources is nearly impossible. But that does not mean that such a distinction does not exist.
Once the distinction was no longer only theoretical, both Jewish practice and thought had to be updated. Indeed, much of this work was already done by R. Menachem Meiri (1249-1315) and the various authorities who subsequently followed his lead. Though he was not the first to recognize that the Jews’ Christian and especially Muslim neighbors were different from the Jews’ idolatrous neighbors of the past, he was the first to categorically posit that the Talmud’s negative treatment of gentiles was specifically aimed at those idolaters and should be dispensed with when it came to almost all the nations among whom Jews were then living.[6]
The popularization of Meiri’s position, however, was greatly slowed down by the Jews’ suffering many more centuries of often inhuman treatment from their gentile neighbors, whether idolatrous or not. That would only change with the beginning of the Modern period, at which time more rabbis would be inspired to engage more robustly with Meiri’s project. As emancipation of the Jews spread throughout Europe in the 19th and 20th centuries, one sees important rabbis in just about all major communities responding to emancipation in this fashion.[7] Even so, the liberalization of most countries moved by fits and starts, and hence provided mixed signals to both Jews and gentiles alike as to what they could expect the legal and social position of the Jews to be in the future. While this slowed down the adoption of Meiri’s approach, it was not until the cataclysmic events that led to – and obviously included – the Holocaust, that this shift in rabbinic thinking was essentially stopped in its tracks. Indeed, even the memory of the Holocaust discouraged many rabbis from advancing a more positive status for non-Jews in the years that followed. It is therefore only more recently that mainstream Orthodox rabbis have returned to this project in any robust fashion.[8]
That means that in order to fully endorse Meiri’s approach in our own time, it is necessary to recognize the Holocaust for the historical aberration that it was. One can argue about the continuation – and sometimes growth – of antisemitism and antisemitic violence throughout much of the world today. Yet this argument must be put into perspective, such that the eventuality of what could seriously be described as pogroms or expulsions in just about any corner of the world is almost non-existent.[9] Instead, the trend of tolerance towards Jews that began long before the Holocaust would return to most of the world almost immediately after it.[10] As such, rabbis and other thought leaders who are engaged with the Jewish tradition can now be expected to return in ever larger numbers to the project begun by Meiri and continued by many of the most prominent rabbis of the 19th and early 20th centuries.
While the natural trajectory brought about by the continuation of generally improving relations between the Jewish people and other religious groups gives us good reason to expect Jewish leaders to move more forthrightly in this direction, there are several factors that should make us urge its prioritization, even above and beyond what is likely to continue developing. Among the most important are the following:
- Though Jewish exceptionalism and self-prioritization (and the concept of a chosen people) have long been a source of friction with other nations, the resentment such a perspective engendered in the past was often rather hypocritical in the sense that all nations and religions prioritized their group to the exclusion of others. However, once the modern concept of citizenship was established, and multicultural states became the norm rather than the exception, this self-prioritization was to become less and less the case among the nations. For Jews to reap the benefits of equal rights in such a context, but for they themselves not to treat others equally, creates ill will, to say the least.
- Instant global communication (via both traditional and new media) mitigates against the possibility of a merely local incident. Jews discriminating against gentiles in an obvious and visible way can, and often will, be widely disseminated. Our concern here is not so much about the practical negative impact engendered by the response to such scenes. Rather, it is the bad name that it gives to Judaism as a whole. Granted, not serving another nation’s idols was once seen as offensive and uncivilized, and Jews could not be expected to do so just to get a good name among the nations. But here, we are not dealing with absolute and essential prohibitions of this nature at all. Hence, gentile response is a variable that must be (and quite often has been) taken into account as we formulate Jewish policy (both legal and extra-legal) and its theoretical underpinnings.
- With the constantly increasing internationalization of trade and social interaction, there will be increasing interaction between Jews and non-Jews. Except for the most isolated and sheltered communities, most Jewish (including a large sector of Israeli) adults will regularly interact with non-Jews. Given the regularity of these interactions, more attention has to be paid to how Jews can properly express Godly Jewish values in such circumstances.
- Especially (but not only) with the rise of the State of Israel and its growing success and power, the Jewish people have perhaps never had such prominence. And, like it or not, this prominence showcases Jews and Judaism. This should presumably be a welcome opportunity to display the light of the Torah. But it can easily turn into a liability if it is not used in a careful and thought-out manner.
The Ethics of Tzedakah
The relationship of the above to the Jewish imperative of tzedakah is not automatic and clearly depends on the latter’s own structure and telos, something we will now address.
The ethics of tzedakah have two driving forces. The first is the improvement of the self. By actively seeking to help those who could benefit from such help, I improve my character by becoming more generous, sensitive, and kind. The second force is the responsibility that people have towards one another as members of a community,[11] such that they should try to make sure that all members of their community have their basic needs provided.[12] While it should not automatically be assumed that tzedakah’s primary reason is communal responsibility, such that its ethics only revolve around maximizing its utility to others,[13] character development does not seem to be the central variable the Rabbis considered when deciding what causes should be prioritized.
Before we discuss what their decisions were, in fact, based upon, it should be noted that the ethics of prioritization are grounded upon real-world scarcities. The driving assumption of just about any theory of general philanthropy is that the community as a whole does not have the disposable resources to take care of all possible needs.[14] In the case of the Rabbis, halakhah famously defines those needs very broadly, such that anytime someone truly feels a lack, it is considered a need that the community has a responsibility to ensure in an idealized world of unlimited wealth.[15] As in other realms, however, since our capabilities are not infinite, we have to make priorities. Once this need for the triage of available resources is recognized as a reality, a community must decide upon a hierarchy of needs to actually be filled.
There are three main factors in the prioritization of tzedakah expenditures.[16] They are (in no particular order): interpersonal relationships (usually familial ties), geographic proximity, and relative need (how dire the result would be if that person would not be helped).
The reason for the third factor is obvious. In the most extreme case, it would be hard to justify buying a horse (or a limousine) for a wealthy person whose circumstances have forced him to sell his own horse, as opposed to buying medicine for someone else whose life is at stake.
But the above is in a vacuum. What happens when the wealthy man is your son? While one could hope that no father would be so callous as to say that their son having a horse is more important than the life of another human being whom they don’t know, human experience shows that many fathers would nevertheless prioritize the son’s horse.[17] The justification that could be offered for such behavior would be that the responsibility of helping the poor man buy his medicine only rests upon this father in the same general way as it rests on everyone else, whereas he has an unsurpassed personal responsibility towards his son. It may still be that he should buy the medicine, but a relationship nevertheless creates an obligation that cannot be summarily dismissed.
The above is not simply a question of emotion – that one loves and is more concerned about the happiness of one’s relatives.[18] Proximity of kin creates an expectation, both from the one in need as well as from others, that his family will help. Not only are others naturally less inclined to help, but that disinclination is further reinforced by the very expectation that the family will indeed step up and thereby alleviate the more general responsibility of the community at large.[19]
Geographic proximity works in a similar fashion. As is the case with families, responsibility and expectation go hand in hand. Those from other towns will assume that they would only be addressed by the poor of a different community when resources of those poor’s own communities have already been exhausted. For them to be told otherwise would likely lead to their feeling less, if any, obligation.
When geographic proximity conflicts with relational proximity, it is disputed which has priority.[20] Obviously, this question has important ramifications regarding whether to prioritize giving to needy gentiles in one’s town before Jews in another town, for the obligation Jews have towards one another is ultimately relational. As with brothers who have never met, Jews’ common identity creates responsibility. (That said, this is not to say that the relationship between two Jews always trumps other considerations, any more than we would say that about two brothers.)[21]
Returning to the place of relative need in comparison with the other two variables just discussed, Hatam Sofer (Moshe Sofer 1762-1839) wrote what may, to many, sound quite obvious: The requirement to give to the poor of one’s city before one gives to the poor of another city is only in effect when we are dealing with the same level of poverty. However, when the poor in one’s city are only dealing with relative deprivation while the poor in another city lack minimal food and shelter to stay alive, the latter is the first priority.[22]
Utilitarian philosopher Peter Singer says much the same thing. The main point of both his book, The Life You Can Save, as well as the movement based upon it, is that giving to save lives trumps any other giving. In Singer’s words, “If family and friends really need the money, in anything remotely like the way those living in extreme poverty need it, it would be going too much against the grain of human nature to object to giving to them before giving to strangers. Fortunately, most middle-class people in rich nations don’t have to make this choice.”[23]
Yet, while Singer would see the principle as universal, Hatam Sofer may well not have (though since he does not say as much, it is only my supposition)[24]. There are many reasons he may have limited the principle of absolute need only to Jews. Among the most important is how to understand the concept of darkhei shalom (literally, the ways of peace), the driving principle behind the obligation of Jews to concern themselves with the needs of non-Jews. It is this principle that ultimately creates a shared community of Jews and gentiles from a Jewish legal perspective. Hence, any doctrine of Jewish responsibility towards non-Jews has to begin from a proper understanding of this subtle concept.
Fortunately, this concept has already been discussed by Mikey Lebrett, who reasonably concludes that there are essentially two major positions staked out. The first, spearheaded by Rashi,[25] sees darkhei shalom as a pragmatic and limited principle, whereas the second, following Rambam,[26] views it as a fundamental and intrinsic component of imitatio Dei.[27]
Theoretically, how we understand darkhei shalom could largely be based on the important distinction we mentioned at the beginning of Section I between idolaters specifically and gentiles more broadly. If we say that the principle of darkhei shalom is only referring to gentiles who are not idolaters, it becomes easier to understand it as an intrinsic value, such that shalom would be a state of harmony that God desires above and beyond whatever practical benefits accrue specifically to the Jews. However, if we say that the principle relates [even] to idolaters, it is certainly easy to conceive of this teaching as a functional, self-interested tool to protect ourselves from the animosity which refusing to help gentiles might create. It would then be hard to define darkhei shalom as a fundamental principle, since it is quite clear that the Jewish tradition views idolaters with great suspicion, verging on outright hatred. It would accordingly make more sense to see darkhei shalom as a pragmatic concession which is not in line with the general approach towards idolaters.
In light of this logic, it is somewhat surprising that the intuitive linkage just suggested is not what we actually see. Rambam – like most authorities[28] – makes no such distinction, but rather understands the concept as applying to all gentiles.[29]
As to why God (and, by extension, God’s followers) should care for idolaters, R. Naftali Tzvi Yehudah Berlin (Netziv) addresses this in speaking about how the forefathers treated idolaters with love on the one hand, but simultaneously viewed their beliefs and practices with hatred on the other:
Our forefathers nevertheless extended love [to the local idolaters] and concern for their welfare, as this fortifies [God’s] creation. [To illustrate,] we see how our forefather Avraham exerted himself greatly in prayer for the welfare of Sodom. He desired their survival, even though he totally detested them and their king due to their evil ways (emphasis added).[30]
He explains how this is possible by – like Rambam – implicitly comparing the forefathers’ correct attitude to that of God, writing further:
[Avraham] literally was like the father of a multitude of nations. For even when one’s son is not walking in righteousness, [the father still] seeks out his well-being and benefit.
Regardless of how the two approaches to darkhei shalom do or do not map out onto different types of gentiles, Lebrett is correct to state that Rashi’s approach “remains the mainstream approach in much of the Orthodox world.”[31] However, in light of the ethical preferability of Rambam’s approach, perhaps we should advocate for more to adopt it. To be clear, there is no obvious way of showing that this is a more correct reading of the Sages’ doctrine. However, once it has been shown that this second approach is a viable reading, strongly rooted in the mainstream Jewish tradition, that should be sufficient grounds upon which to appeal to the moral intuition of the community to adopt it.
Contemporary Communities
Even if we are convinced that Jews have an absolute and intrinsic responsibility to help with the needs of gentiles, this responsibility may only be relevant if the gentiles live in the same community. As with tzedakah, where preference is given to closer neighbors, the practical application of the global ethic has always been local. At first glance, this caveat could mean that, while darkhei shalom expands our theoretical tzedakah horizons and actually has important practical ramifications for the many Jews living in mixed communities, there is a large and growing number of Jews, especially – but not only – in Israel, to whom the principle will largely not apply. However, this exclusion depends on a static understanding of what constitutes community, an understanding that is far from obvious. The most important question that needs to be raised here is whether today’s communities are still primarily defined by geographic proximity.
Many residents of large cities will certainly attest that living side by side with other people does not automatically create a community. The question that flows from there is what happens when technology allows us to communicate – in almost every sense of the word[32] – far more with people with common interests halfway across the world than neighbors across the street. It is no accident that such groupings of people are known as virtual communities.
Moreover, since membership in a community has never been an exclusivist commitment, but rather a concentric one (i.e., I belong to several communities that encompass one another, such as family, town, country, etc.), do my ties to others far away connect me to their geographic communities as well? In other words, is the proverbial global village only just proverbial, or does it actually bring about some level of associational proximity that could be understood as a community in which its members carry a certain responsibility for one another?
There are other important factors that militate towards a more expansive understanding of community. As alluded to earlier, a community can be defined by its effectiveness in meeting all of the urgent needs within it. On some level, that ability – when actualized – is also the most constitutive variable in the formation of a community. Since such a community is the aggregate of people who can and do help me and vice versa, a strong bond is established between those bound in such a way. While a municipality may be the most obvious form of community, it is not at all clear that municipalities continue to be the most effective locus for the collecting and distributing of mutual aid that is so constitutive of community.
Two major and interrelated changes have radically altered the way we constitute community in regard to how we disburse charity.
The first is political. With the expansion of the role of the modern nation-state, most charity is actually collected and distributed by national governments rather than local ones. The tremendous reach and effectiveness of the modern state gives it the ability to not only gather much greater resources, but also to locate the most urgent needs and effectively transfer the needed funds, services, and goods. Indeed, R. Shlomo Levi[33] – among other contemporary decisors – discusses the possibility of considering some of one’s taxes to the state as a fulfillment of the obligation to give charity. Though most religious Jews are not even aware of this possibility, it seems clear to me that R. Levi is absolutely correct in his conclusion that some of our tax payments should count as formal tzedakah.
The second change is technological, involving communication, transportation, and finance. We often forget how recently such innovations came into the world. A game changer like the telephone, for example, was only invented in 1876, and only became a household item after World War II. Likewise, the internet was only invented in 1983 and popularized in the next decade. Along with parallel – if not quite so radical and transformative – innovations in transportation, these changes have profoundly restructured how we live our lives. They have also made it much easier to manage charitable organizations on a national, or even international, level.
Besides the economies of scale facilitated by national collection and distribution of funds (something that is obviously generally true of the move from community councils to national governments as well), the ability to move funds easily on a national scale impacts strongly on Hatam Sofer’s (and Peter Singer’s) observation that resources should ideally be forwarded to the communities with the greatest need and not hoarded locally. In the past, such an ethical imperative was highly limited by the ability to effectively transfer resources beyond a rather small geographic area. Today, that is simply not the case.[34]
While the ease of transferring funds is not fully replicated when it comes to moving goods and services, there is no question that these, too, are far more mobile than in the past. Indeed, most major disasters today bring about an outpouring of effective charitable physical – and human – resources from all over the world.
Even though one may counter that it is still more cost-effective to disburse aid funds to those who need it locally before sending it halfway across the world, we should note that Hatam Sofer’s principle of absolute need may well override such a claim. On the other hand, the notion of global responsibility also complicates this principle as well: What happens, for example, when there is an emergency (a war, a large earthquake, or some other disaster) in which many communities are faced with dire poverty? An outside community in a position to help will usually have no way of supplying the needs of all who need it urgently. In that case, such help could be seen as largely symbolic, in which case it becomes less clear that dire need always trumps local causes, especially if there are others in the global community likely to respond to the urgent needs, as is often the case with disaster relief.
Regardless, it should now be clear that the contours of community have shifted, necessarily impacting on how and to whom charity is to be given. It should accordingly be pointed out that Jewish charity has already moved in this direction, and many Jewish charity organizations are no longer local in scope. A corollary of this globalization is that the principle of darkhei shalom – which is applied to non-Jews with whom the Jewish community interacts – should also largely be globalized.
There is, however, one very important possible obstacle towards redefining community with regard to the laws of tzedakah. In order to legitimate the adjustment of these laws to contemporary circumstances, one must first address whether the Rabbis’ rulings on prioritizing citizens of one’s city were meant to maintain their form even when the conditions in which they were determined no longer held sway. That is to say, critical to the success of our project and its broader application is the determination of whether the Rabbis’ focus on local association is something that was meant to be fixed for all times, or whether it was simply based on contemporary realia – realia that, in this regard, would not change considerably until recently.
Anyone familiar with the history and contours of halakhah knows that there are many broadly accepted instances in which great decisors understood various laws of the Talmud as independent of their circumstances, and other instances where the laws were considered circumstance-dependent. In the case at hand – in which the central idea of the law is so closely connected to its impact – I find it difficult to imagine that the Rabbis would have wanted the law’s contours to remain firm even at the cost of its effectiveness. Accordingly, when and if the ethics these laws were meant to express would no longer be maximized by them, there is very good reason to think that the relevant laws would have to be accordingly adjusted.
It seems very likely that the organization and disbursement of tzedakah funds have traditionally been organized around a specific village or town only because it reflected the political and technological realia of the times.[35] That this has been the case for so many centuries should not be understood as an indication that it is a permanent feature of the Jewish tradition. Rather, it is merely an indication that the conditions that made it appropriate held sway for so many years.
National or International Giving?
There is one more issue that I think is important to raise in our discussion of how modern realia has changed the way welfare and other tzedakah funding is distributed, and that is the adverse effects of national borders on tzedakah. On the one hand, we have emphasized the role played by the modern nation-state, and have even pointed out how it can do a much better job of getting proper funding to the people who need it the most. From that perspective, the state provides a very useful function in improving the execution of mutual assistance. On the other hand, substituting the nation-state for the community does not completely alleviate the problem of getting resources to the people who need them the most. While it allows for broader distribution, that distribution mostly ends – seemingly artificially from an ethical perspective – at national borders. If our responsibility is no longer primarily based on proximity (and an American living on the Mexican border would, in any event, live closer to objectively poor Mexicans than to the relatively poor in faraway New York City), individual nations’ insistence on taking care of their own citizens first – almost completely regardless of relative need – can be as much of an impediment to the proper disbursement of tzedakah as it can be a helpful conduit beyond our local communities (as well as within them).
What this means is that despite the greater facility with which charity can be distributed on a national level, we must ask ourselves whether it is actually most effectively in line with the Jewish ethic, as understood by Hatam Sofer. Facing this question honestly, it seems abundantly clear that the answer is no. That is to say, national governments routinely, and as a matter of principle, prioritize their own communities, almost completely regardless of the dire needs that may exist in other countries, simply because those needs are located elsewhere.
Perhaps this is a weakness inherent in the nation-state system, and something which we cannot realistically expect to change. In that case, we must resign ourselves to working within the parameters set up by this reality. Accordingly, relative need would primarily be a realistic determinant in the prioritization of funds within a given country.
Yet, even if that is so, surely more can be done to address the overwhelming inequity created by this system. Indeed, perhaps this remains an important role for non-governmental tzedakah to play: in a system in which national governments provide a much more effective framework for the giving of charity within a nation, private giving can retain tremendous relevance simply by being in a better place to help those over the nation’s borders, in nations that lack the resources to take care of their own.
But none of this takes away from the need for awareness of what is still not ideal and the desire to do better. For while it is emotionally healthy to learn to work with what is realistic in the conditions within which we live, we should not prematurely conclude that it is impossible to arrive at an international or even global consciousness of giving. Hence, I see no reason that we cannot demand of the nation-state what Hatam Sofer demanded of the community. Granted, no state, unfortunately not even Israel, is bound by the Jewish ethic. Yet, given that Jews understand this not only to be a question of law, but also of ethics, should Jews not do more to nevertheless try to advance it at least partially?[36]
Conclusion
We have argued that the Jewish ethics of mutual aid force us to re-examine our obligations to non-Jews within and, perhaps even more importantly, outside of, our communities. Giving to non-Jews is normative halakhah; the only question is how expansive this giving should be and whether, and how, it is impacted by the marker of absolute need.
Without even noting the potential for hillul Hashem involved in minimizing our obligations outside of the Jewish community,[37] we have taken the position that the imperative to share our resources with non-Jews in need is intrinsic to the Jewish ethic of mutual aid. At that point, two questions come into play.
The first is whether communities that set up a natural and halakhic priority in terms of giving should still be defined by geographic proximity. All we have to do to see that this is not the case is to examine both our own interactions with others and whom we see as our community. While in some cases, it still revolves around a village or neighborhood, more and more people associate with others via long-distance communication, creating communities at least as solid as those based on proximity. It seems, then, that there is a need to redefine what creates a community. We have accordingly noted the possibility that the proverbial global village constitutes the truest – and therefore the most relevant – community today. At that point, the notion that ‘the people of one’s town come first’ would lose all relevance, and darkhei shalom would apply to everyone on the globe.
Yet, even if we do not make this move, the principle of absolute need should at least open up the possibility that even when darkhei shalom does not technically apply, there may still be a need to put limits on how much we can prioritize Jews over others when the needs of the latter are so much more pressing.
In terms of policy, this would certainly mean prioritizing the poorest, whether or not they are Jewish, wherever they may live. The fact that national borders make it more difficult only reinforces that need, thereby creating a need for a commensurate workaround. In fact, so long as the nation-state system functions as it does – prioritizing those within the borders – there is an additional reason that private tzedakah needs to focus on the absolute poor, who are almost exclusively located beyond the borders of the countries in which the vast majority of Jews live.
Finally, in line with the need to most effectively disburse mutual aid, Jews have a responsibility to work to push states to think more globally about mutual aid, so that the principle of absolute need can be fully incorporated.
[1] There are obvious and notable exceptions to this, such as, but not limited to, the American Jewish World Service and Israeli governmental aid to developing countries and disaster relief. It should perhaps, however, also be added that these exceptions are even more rare in the Orthodox sector.
[2] I write this as someone completely loyal to the traditional halakhic system. The notion that the rigidity of halakhah is dependent upon the circumstances to which they apply and that actual laws may, accordingly, no longer apply when circumstance radically shifts, is part and parcel of normative halakhah. See below at the end of Section IV, and also see Francis Nataf, “Criteria and Parameters of Halachic Change,” Parts II and III (2009) .
[3] The United Nations’ definition is that “absolute poverty is a condition characterized by severe deprivation of basic human needs, including food, safe drinking water, sanitation facilities, health, shelter, education, and information.” The World Bank quantifies extreme poverty as applying to those living on less than $1.90 a day.
[4] Lest it sound outrageous that Jews should only help their own, all nation states of which I am aware implicitly base their welfare policies on a similar distinction (something we will discuss in the final section of this article). While charity and limited aid travel beyond national borders to the citizens of other countries, welfare payments generally do not. In fact, even residents of a country are often not given these payments if they are not viewed as part of the nation, based upon citizenship (and of course, the reverse is admittedly also true, that citizens receive such payments even when not residing in the home country).
[5] While I would make the case that the the rules of how Jews should treat atheists should be even stricter than the rules for how to treat idolaters (since they may present a greater threat to the Jewish mission of ‘repairing the world as the kingdom of God,’ presumably because it is harder to adopt a religious belief system for the first time than it is to go from one system to another), classical halakhah does not reflect such a position. It may be that atheism was not much of an issue in earlier times, such that there was no reason to legislate about it. Alternatively, it could be that to get monotheism onto the stage of history, the fight with idolatry was simply unavoidable, whereas atheism’s later rise means that it was not in a position to block monotheism, but only to challenge it – something which Rav Kook interestingly argued would ultimately only serve to cleanse monotheism from accumulated dross. See, for example, ”Pangs of Cleansing,” in Orot (Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 2005), 124-129.
[6] See, for example, Beit Ha-Behirah on Avodah Zarah 26a and on Bava Kamma 37b. This is not the place for a full exposition of his thesis. Suffice it to say, however, that since the Talmud makes no such explicit distinction, the default among other authorities was simply to apply discriminatory Talmudic laws towards all gentiles.
[7] See, for example, R. Zvi Hirsch Chajes, Tiferet Le-Yisrael, in Kol Kitvei Maharitz Chajes, 489-490; R. Moshe Kalfon HaKohen (Tunisia 1874-1950) Sho’eil Ve-Nish’al, part 2, Hoshen Mishpat, paragraph 13; R. Kook, Igrot Ha-Ra’ayah, no. 89, v. 1; R. Baruch Ha-Levi Epstein, Torah Temimah on Exodus 21:35, Deuteronomy 22:3. This is not to suggest that these rabbis were unopposed in their more positive views about non-Jews. Such opposition is to be expected and unexceptional. Rather, it is the return to the Meiri and similar earlier voices by leading rabbis that is the novelty of note here.
[8] Though not explicit, this can certainly be seen as the subtext of “Between Jerusalem and Rome: Reflections on 50 Years of Nostra Aetatem,” a statement of reconciliation towards the Catholic church, issued by the Rabbinical Council of America, the Chief Rabbinate of Israel, and the Conference of European Rabbis on Aug. 31, 2017.
[9] It is a sad note that the only pogroms in recent history have occurred in Israel, with the events of October 7, 2023, standing out as a shocking reminder of the pockets of virulent anti-semitism that still exist in the world today.
[10] While this is a simplification, it is one that a bird’s eye view would certainly confirm.
[11] Although there are many different ways to define a community – and almost all people belong to several communities at once – for our purposes, we will define its outer limit as those people one is, in a very general sense, aware of, and to whom the available technology makes it feasible to help. To take just one very concrete example, how far I can ship potatoes would depend upon transportation, communication, finance, and preservation. I would have no responsibility to ship potatoes to a group of people if I have no way to do so, or at least no way to do so without the potatoes becoming rancid by the time they reach their destination. For more on how to define modern communities, see the section “Contemporary Communities” below.
[12] From a religious perspective, this can be rooted in the value given to man as being in the image of God. But many other reasons, both religious and secular, can be given for such a responsibility.
[13] See, for example, Bava Batra 10a. There, both Rabbi Meir and Rabbi Akiva answer interlocutors that the reason God tolerates poverty in the world is “so that through the [poor and the charity we give them] we will be saved from the judgment of Gehenna.”
[14] This would be true even in a completely socialist society, where all resources would be allocated centrally. All the more so is it the case when – as has historically almost always been the case – the community (or state) must respect the rights of individuals to amass wealth and dispose of the lion’s share as they desire.
[15] Shulhan Arukh, Yoreh Dei’ah 250:1, based on Ketuvot 67b.
[16] See, however, R. Aharon Lichtenstein’s “Jewish Philanthropy – Wither,” Tradition, Winter 2009 (42:4), 23-4, who identifies five criteria: personal identity of the recipient, such as that of a Torah scholar; relationship; utility and worth of the need involved; other interposing values such as honoring parents; and temporal circumstances (which he somewhat equates with “first come, first served”). R. Lichtenstein also points out the implicit flexibility of prioritization (29-30). It should accordingly be noted that the individual is allowed a large degree of personal discretion in the actual implementation of priorities. Finally, one should not lose sight of the mandate to diversify tzedakah expenditures, such that, even when more rigidly enacted, prioritization is rarely meant to be absolute. Also see Eiruvin 63a and Shulhan Arukh, Yoreh Dei’ah 257:9.
[17] See, in this regard, some relevant considerations raised by Bernard Williams’ “Persons, Character and Morality,” in Moral Luck (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), 1-19.
[18] See Isaiah 58:7 and the commentaries of Rashi and Ibn Ezra there.
[19] See Shulhan Arukh, Yoreh Dei’ah 251:4 and Arukh Ha-Shulhan, Yoreh Dei’ah 251:9.
[20] Yoreh Dei’ah 251:3 (see also Responsa Givat Pinhas 64) prioritizes family, whereas Meiri on Ketuvot 85b prioritizes geographical relationship. Yet, as we will soon see, this is likely only an issue in the rare instance when we are dealing with equivalent needs.
[21] This should be intuitive. Otherwise, why would the halakhah speak about anything besides the top priorities, which would normally exhaust all available funds? See also note 16 above.
[22] See, however, Responsa Avnei Yoshpeh IV, 100, who claims that even in such circumstances, family still has precedence.
[23] The Life You Can Save (London: Picador, 2009), 40.
[24] It is true that in his commentary on Gittin 61a, Hatam Sofer puts limits on altruistic charity to gentiles, since it will result in less charity being available for fellow Jews. Nevertheless, since he is not addressing relative need there, we cannot be completely certain that he would maintain this principle even when the concern is gentile starvation as opposed to less urgent Jewish needs.
[25] Rashi on Gittin 61a, s.v. im metei Yisrael.
[26] Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Melakhim 10:12.
[27] Lebrett, “Extra-Communal Philanthropy – Forbidden, Permitted or Mandated,” Lehrhaus, Dec. 2, 2024.
[28] See, for example, Tosafot, Avodah Zarah 26b, s.v. ve-eilu moridin.
[29] SeeTzafnat Panei’ah, Hilkhot Matenot Aniyim 7:7, who reasonably shows that this is Rambam’s position as well.
[30] Ha’ameik Davar, Introduction to Bereishit.
[31] Lebrett, “Extra-Communal Philanthropy.”
[32] Though it is true that living in the same place requires a minimal level of cooperation to ensure the smooth functioning of local infrastructure and services required by those who live there, we are at least as likely to concern ourselves (certainly with greater enthusiasm) with projects meant to benefit those who share our interests, be they political causes, commercial interests, scholarship, hobbies, or anything else.
[33] “Taxes as Tzekekah and Ma’aser Kesafim,” Tehumin 32 (2012), 90-102. The idea is actually much older, and can be traced to Meiri in Beit Ha-Behirah on Bava Batra 9a.
[34] Granted, the concept of a global village is still not fully realized. There are still places that remain very difficult to access due to topographical, political, or technical impediments.
[35] This section follows our earlier premise that giving was focused on the community because of its practical efficiency. As mentioned there, it is not the only way to think about the Rabbis’ prioritization of the community. I am aware that tangible presence – along the lines of one understanding of Levinas’ contention that the face of the person across from me is what obligates me – can also be seen as the critical factor prioritizing people living around one. While that would weaken our position, it would not necessarily defeat it. In this regard, is not seeing someone else’s face on Zoom essentially the same as seeing them live? Whether Levinas would agree or not, the essence of responsibility created by the face of another would seemingly have everything to do with awareness of that other and interaction with them, and very little to do with their physical presence.
[36] Granted, this question relates to the larger question of to what extent Jews should try to influence non-Jewish states in which they reside, in order to improve their ethical conduct in line with the Torah’s teachings. I am aware that much has been written about this in both directions. Yet, in spite of the arguments to the contrary, I am convinced that there is almost nothing more central to the Jewish mission than to do just that.
[37] See R. Lichtenstein, “Jewish Philanthropy – Wither,” 30.
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