“And in the circle of our little village, we have always had our special types. 

Nahum, the beggar

[NAHUM, spoken]
Alms for the poor, alms for the poor

[LAZAR, spoken]
Here, Reb Nahum, is one kopek

[NAHUM, spoken]
One kopek? Last week you gave me two kopeks

[LAZAR, spoken]
I had a bad week

[NAHUM, spoken]
So, if you had a bad week, why should I suffer?” Fiddler on the Roof Lyrics, from the song, “Tradition.” 

This week we lost one of the favorites of Broadway, Chaim Topol, most famous for his portrayal of Tevye in the film version of Fiddler on the Roof. In the Forward, the obituary began with these words: “Fiddler on the Roof is a landmark piece of Jewish culture. It has shaped the way Jews are perceived by others, and how we understand ourselves.”  

However, the last time I saw it on Broadway, my cousin, who definitely is in family who can be described as one that has made it in America, was uncomfortable with how the movie portrays Judaism and Jews. “We’re not really like that any more. It’s not relevant. It will only increase anti-semitism.” And while I was uncomfortable with the conversation, she had or maybe better has some valid points. Maybe she was even prophetic.  

In this age of rising anti-semitism, we don’t necessarily want to see the bumbling, joking dairyman . But maybe, just maybe he is like struggling with how the world around him is changing. Maybe we are all a little bit a fiddler on a roof, just trying to eek out our existence, even here in America. 

Tevye, through Shalom Aleichem’s prose and the stage and screen adaptation, has much to teach us. He is still relevant, and he will live on in our ability to quote Topol and hear that resonant voice. I know I hear that voice, that cadence, even as I deliver this d’var Torah. 

The beggar, in our opening scene today, has much to teach Tevye, Topol and us about today’s Torah portion, which opens with a census. All men of 20 years and up must pay a half-shekel as a way of counting. Not more for the rich or less for the poor. A half-shekel. It is what keeps the mishkan, the sanctuary going.  

This is not tzedakah, not charity. This is everyone’s obligation. A half-shekel. Yet, Nahum the beggar, is teaching us about tzedakah. It is everyone’s obligation, whether you have had a bad week or not. No one should suffer. 

Maimonides, the Rambam in his work identified 8 levels of tzedakah. 8 levels of righteous giving. It is a kind of ladder. 

[1] The highest rung, is to support another, with a gift or a loan or giving him (or HER) a job. It is that old maxim. Give a man a fish and he’ll fish for a day. Teach a man to fish and he’ll fish for a lifetime.  

[2] A lower rung of tzedakah is to give to the poor without knowing to whom one gives, and without the recipient knowing from who he received. This is a mitzvah solely for the sake of Heaven. This is like the “anonymous fund” that was in the Holy Temple [in Jerusalem]. There the righteous gave in secret, and the good poor profited in secret. It is also like the rabbi’s discretionary fund. Where people give to the fund, then I distribute it based on needs.  

[3] Still lower is when one knows to whom one gives, but the recipient does not know his benefactor. The greatest sages used to walk about in secret and put coins in the doors of the poor. It is worthy and truly good to do this, if those who are responsible for distributing charity are not trustworthy.  

[4] Still lower is when one does not know to whom one gives, but the poor person does know his benefactor. The greatest sages used to tie coins into their robes and throw them behind their backs, and the poor would come up and pick the coins out of their robes, so that they would not be ashamed. 

[5] Still lower is when one gives to the poor person directly into his hand, but gives before being asked. 

[6] A lesser level is when one gives to the poor person after being asked. 

[7] A lesser level is when one gives less than one should, but gives gladly and with a smile. 

[8] The lowest rung on Rambam’s ladder is when one gives unwillingly. 

The story of Nahum the beggar reminds me of a story that Rabbi Larry Kushner tells. It could be set in Anatevka, or any small village where miracles might happen. Could it happen right here in Elgin? The richest man in town fell asleep during the rabbi’s rather boring sermon. Any of you ever fallen asleep during services? I have. All our rich man wanted to do was figure out how to make even more money. The rich man woke up, and thought that he heard G-d commanding him to bring 12 loaves of challah and put them in the ark. He was amazed. Is that all G-d wants? He would be sure to do it. And he did. 

Later the shul shamash arrived to clean the building. He was poor and hungry. He stood before the ark pleading with G-d for food to feed his family. “O G-d,” he prayed, “we are out of food and we will soon starve if You don’t help us.” And then he thought he smelled challah. He opened the ark to dust, and wow, right there were the 12 loaves of challah. He thanked G-d, and went right home incredious. The family ate six, sold four and gave two to tzedakah.  

The rich man was feeling a little foolish, went back to the shul to retrieve the bread. But when he opened the ark, miracle of miracles, it was gone. G-d had eaten the challah! He promised he would make twelve more and with raisins, too.  

This exchange went on for years. One day, the rabbi was so tired he fell asleep in the back pew. But he woke up just in time to see this routine. He (it’s always a he in these stories, right?) brought the two men together. The rich man said sadly, “I should have known that G-d doesn’t eat challah.” And the shamash said, “I should have known that G-d doesn’t bake challah,” even sadder. For them there was suddenly no miracle.  

The rabbi explained that they were correct. “G-d doesn’t eat challah or bake challah. Yet there is still a miracle. Look at your hands. Yours are the hands of G-d. Continue baking and continue taking. Yours are the hands of G-d.” 

There is another miracle. We may not have the half-shekel census any more. And Topol may never sing here on earth again, explaining “what the good book says,” but the Jewish people are still here. CKI has survived. For 130 years. Recently, CKI announced a match grant. It would be a miracle if we managed to turn $15,000 into $30,000. The message of today’s portion is that everyone counts. Everyone, even the beggar, even the shul shamash, can give tzedakah, is obligated to give tzedakah. You count. You make a difference.  Look at your hands. Yours are the hands of G-d.  

Many of you have asked how you can support the work that we do at CKI. Here’s your chance: https://www.ckielgin.org/