There is a story about a young man whose father suddenly passed away, making him his family’s bread winner at age 20.
His father was a mohel—one who performs Jewish circumcisions. The young man was his apprentice and as you can imagine, not many were initially willing to place such a sensitive procedure in his hands.
It would take time for him to earn the confidence of his community, and at first it was difficult.
One day, an old family friend invited the young man to his home and handed him an envelope full of money.
“I appreciate the gesture,” responded the young man, “but my father taught me to always stand on my own feet. I’m not accepting charity.”
“This is not charity,” the elder replied. “This is a loan, and when things get better, you can return it.”
The young man eventually accepted the money, and when things improved, he returned to the family friend, intending to pay the sum back in full.
“I’m sorry,” said the elder, “but I can’t accept the money.”
“But you said this was a loan,” protested the young mohel. “I said I didn’t want to accept charity.”
“It was a loan,” the friend replied, “but I still cannot accept repayment.
“Let me explain. There was a time when I was in your shoes, and times were difficult. A friend offered me a loan and I accepted it.
“When I went to repay it, he refused. He told me I should repay the loan by giving money to someone else you may meet in similar circumstances in the years to come.”
And so it was.
The story of the young mohel and the family friend is an important one, not only because it speaks to the elder’s strong sense of charity and justice, but it also reveals the Jewish understanding that those within the House of Israel are linked together L’Dor Vador—from generation to generation.
We share a common path and a common destiny bound by the lessons of the Torah, which this week teaches us:
“If your kin, being in straits, come under your authority…do not extract from them advance or accrued interest… let them live by your side as your kinsmen.” (Leviticus 25:35)
The issue of loans, debts and repayment is a touchy one. Who among us is not owed something by someone? Or perhaps there is a person we are indebted to.
Let the Torah teaches that money should never be used as a weapon, enslaving or controlling another.
After seven years, if a debt has not been collected, chances are it never will. Rather than hold someone in financial or moral servitude, the Torah teaches this week, “Let it go.”
We live in an increasingly transactional society where, regrettably, too many hold on to their earnings and often point fingers at others as being lazy or inferior.
But the Torah instructs us to look around us and anticipate the need of our fellow human beings—in keeping with perhaps what some believe is the most important line in the entire Torah—“These are the generations of Adam.” (Genesis 5:1)
In other words, no one’s ancestry is nobler than another’s, and sometimes we all need a little help.
This week’s Torah portion provides us with many laws regarding maintaining the dignity of those in financial need.
It commands to “rest the land” every seven years. But it also tells us to release others of their financial liabilities, and—by extension—to forgive and let go of moral debts.
Admittedly, it is difficult to do. Forgiving often feels like a violation of our sense of justice. But perhaps it is more important—says our tradition—to restore a sense of balance and dignity in our relationships.
The Talmud teaches that if someone is used to wearing a fancy suit during times of prosperity, then, in times of poverty, buy them a suit of the same quality.
Because one of the hardest things for a person to deal with during times of financial challenge—while they seek to recover—is public humiliation and embarrassment.
My father told the story of how when he started in the hardware business, a new client came to him and placed a big order for hammers, levels, and screwdrivers on credit.
It depleted my father’s inventory, and I remember the initial joy in our family. But that euphoria was tempered a few days later when the established buyer, who purchased thousands of dollars’ worth of merchandise, declared bankruptcy.
I must have been six or seven years old, but I remember that day. My heart-broken father, face in his hands, asked my mother at the dinner table, “How will we survive?”
But in came our paternal grandparents. They owned a small grocery store and offered to provide food. They also agreed to cash any magazine coupons my parents could clip.
My maternal grandparents provided a down payment to buy a modest house in the suburbs, where we could get a fresh start.
My parents eventually recovered, rebuilt and flourished, and I believe that I am writing this today because of the chesed, the lovingkindness, of my grandparents.
To this day, my brother and I stand upon the foundation of our grandparents, who escaped the poverty and persecution of Eastern Europe to extend hope and lovingkindness to our parents—and, by extension, to the sons and daughters yet to be conceived.
The Torah teaches us this week to anticipate need before we are formally asked. While we can’t completely alleviate others’ challenges, we can provide a start upon a foundation of dignity.
Most importantly, adds the Torah, never use inequity to control others. No matter what kind of debt we are owed, after seven years, it’s time to not only rest the earth, but also to renourish our relationships.
For ultimately, money is only one resource to help us live a life of meaning.
The idea of the seventh year of rest—Sh’mita—has been central to Jewish life from biblical times to today. The next one will begin on Rosh Hashanah 2028.
But it is never too late to rest our moral and material debts.
So, let us never become so obsessed with what we are owed that we forget none of us have gotten where we are today, alone.
Let us recall those who have helped sustain us—to count our blessings and to retire those debts in our lives that have become stale.
For as the Torah reminds us, as common descendants of Adam and Eve, our fates are intertwined.
Therefore, let us never forget:
To give thanks, to forgive, and—like the story of the mohel and the elder—to pay it forward.
Shabbat shalom, v’kol tuv.
Rabbi Irwin Huberman