The Generosity We Don’t Always See

by Jennifer Saber

In high school, I was not an athlete. I was an alternate in show choir (think the TV show Glee), and despite repeated attempts, I could never land a role in the school play. Not even Fiddler on the Roof! As one of the very few Jewish students at my school, I was convinced I was a shoo-in.

I wanted to get involved in something that would give me a sense of belonging. Somehow, I found my way to the school’s volunteer clubs, where no special skills were required, just a generous heart and a willingness to help. I rang bells and collected donations in a red kettle outside a grocery store. I ushered at the very school plays I couldn’t get cast in. I served pancakes at breakfasts for senior citizens. Whatever the task, volunteering helped me feel part of my school community as I gave my time alongside my peers, both on and off campus.

So when I became an adult and moved to a new community, I thought volunteering would be a wonderful way to meet people and connect with the Jewish community.

Boy, was I wrong.

I quickly discovered that volunteering with certain Jewish organizations came with a hefty price tag. In one organization, if you wanted to serve as president (a position I had worked my way up to), you had to write a $5,000 check. In another, if you wanted to hear the prominent speakers brought into the community or receive an invitation to the annual gala, you had to make an annual financial commitment that was significantly more than my yearly salary teaching Hebrew school. I was so disappointed, especially when I regularly saw photos on social media of smiling faces enjoying events I couldn’t attend.

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t mind making a donation, but I needed to do it on my own terms, factoring in Jewish preschool tuition, synagogue dues, children’s ballet lessons, and all the other expenses of raising a family with three kids.

All these years later, I continue to struggle with that feeling of being left out. Just recently, I had to pass up another gala featuring a prominent speaker I would have loved to hear.

Over the years, I’ve had this discussion with colleagues, friends, and students. Isn’t volunteering my time just as meaningful as making a large financial donation? Can’t volunteering my time, combined with a more modest donation, be enough to make me feel that my contributions are valued?

Recently, while preparing to teach a group of preschool teachers about N’divut, the Jewish middah (character trait) of generosity, I came across Jewish texts that spoke directly to the frustration I had been carrying for years.

The Hebrew word for generosity, n’divut (נדיבות), derives from the root n.d.v. (נ־ד־ב), which relates to willingness. In contemporary Hebrew, the word for a volunteer is mitnadev (מתנדב), from that same root. Unlike tzedakah, which is a Jewish obligation rooted in justice, n’divut emphasizes giving from an open and willing heart, going beyond what might be required of us.

One teaching particularly resonated with me:

“There are three kinds of generosity: generosity with money, generosity with one’s deeds, and generosity with one’s wisdom, and all three are found in Abraham.” — Rabbeinu Bachya, Kad HaKemach, Tzedakah

Yes! This was exactly what I had been trying to articulate for years. Generosity isn’t limited to the amount written on a check. It can also be expressed through the hours we volunteer, the skills we share, and the wisdom we offer others.

Of course, financial generosity is essential. Our Jewish organizations depend on donations to support their programs, pay their professionals, and serve their communities. I would never want to diminish the importance of those who generously contribute their financial resources. But shouldn’t we also recognize and celebrate those who contribute their time, energy, and expertise?

Another text from the Torah reinforces the importance of giving willingly:

“The Eternal spoke to Moses saying, ‘Speak to the children of Israel that they take for me an offering; from every person whose heart makes him willing (yidvenu ידבנו), you are to take my offering.’” — Exodus 25:1–2

What speaks to me in this passage is the emphasis on a willing heart. The Israelites were invited to contribute to the building of the Mishkan, the sacred dwelling place, according to what their hearts moved them to give. Their contributions helped build something larger than themselves, a sacred space for the entire community.

Their contributions helped build something larger than themselves, a sacred space for the entire community.

Isn’t that what we are trying to do in our Jewish communities today?

We need people who can write generous checks. We need people who can give generously of their time. And we need people who are willing to share their knowledge, experience, and wisdom. Each form of generosity contributes something valuable, and together they strengthen our communities.

Perhaps what I’ve been searching for all these years isn’t an invitation to a gala or a seat at a particular table. It’s the feeling that my contributions matter, that the time and energy I’ve devoted to Jewish communal life are recognized and appreciated, even when my financial contributions are more modest.

I believe we should each have the opportunity to define what generosity looks like in our own lives, considering both our means and our limitations. For some, that might mean making a substantial financial gift. For others, it might mean volunteering a few hours each week, mentoring someone, or sharing a lifetime of experience. And for many of us, it will be a combination of all three.

I challenge you to consider your own definition of generosity. What can you comfortably give from your pocketbook, your schedule, and your life experiences? How can you give with a willing heart?

And perhaps just as importantly, how can we ensure that the people who give so generously of themselves know that their contributions are valued?

After all, generosity isn’t just about what we give. It’s also about the communities we build together and the sense of belonging we create for one another.

To continue the conversation about the theme of Generosity/N’divut, join Chai Mitzvah’s virtual session on Monday, November 2 at 7:30pm Eastern Time for “Virtual Mussar – Topic: Generosity/N’divut.”  Register here. 

 

Jennifer Saber is the Manager of Community Engagement and Partnerships for Chai Mitzvah.