What Makes Charity Tzedaka Barbara Dobkin When I was a little girl, being Jewish meant having two new years to celebrate. Rosh Hashana found our extended family dining together in the warm glow of the yom tov (holiday) candles, gussied up in our new clothes, before going to shul (synagogue). On the secular new year I was upstairs for a sleepover with my Bubbe (grandmother), watching Guy Lombardo while sucking on those raspberry candies that every Bubbe had - the sour, little round ones with the hard outside and chewy inside. The older I got, however, the more I dreaded both holidays. The Jewish New Year required decorum, sitting through insufferably long services and beating my chest for sins I either didn't understand or knew I hadn't committed. As for Guy Lombardo, well I was still watching with my Bubbe when I should have had a date. I still dislike the secular celebration - all those resolutions made and broken. However, in the last decade Rosh Hashana has taken on greater personal meaning. We Jews are held accountable in the liturgy (for all those sins I now understand and, yes, commit), but we are also given the opportunity to redeem ourselves. The beauty of Judaism is that this personal redemption is not a simple matter of confessing our misdeeds to God and asking for forgiveness. We are taught that teshuva (repentance), tefilla (prayer), and tzedaka (charity; giving as justice) will extend our days: we must confront the people in our lives we have hurt and ask them to forgive us, and we must confront and praise God and ask for pardon. What about tzedaka? Does dropping some change in the cup of a homeless person count? How about a contribution to a Jewish organization? Some Jews have become accustomed to explaining that tzedaka is not charity, it is righteousness. (The Hebrew letters which form the root of the word tzedaka mean justice.) Just what does that mean? For me, tzedaka encompases both charity and righteousness. I imagine that all of us are in some way charitable. We give to the poor, provide shelter and sustenance. Some of us may even do this on a grand scale. We build wings on hospitals and equip them. We give time to deliver meals on wheels, to visit the frail elderly. We run and ride for breast cancer, AIDS, and other assorted diseases. All of this is important; these mitzvot (commandments) are prescribed. However this is charity, not righteousness. These acts are performed everyday by people in this country of all religions and income levels. There is nothing particularly Jewish about it. (The poorest people in the United States give a larger percentage of their incomes to philanthropy than do the wealthy.) So what makes charity tzedaka? I believe that we act righteously when we empower people - and in order to empower them, we must allow them to define their needs rather than deciding for them. And I believe that while most charity alleviates suffering, it does not change the status quo. I encounter the most glaring example of this difference every time I visit Israel. Shas, the powerful religious party, takes care of its people in all-encompassing ways. Food, housing, medical care, schooling - all are provided to the needy. But the needy are not empowered; they are certainly indebted. As we near the end of 5761, Jewish women who have historically taken the lead in defining the needs of our community should think about how we might use our power - yes, we are powerful - to make change in the Jewish and secular worlds. While we continue to "help" those in need, how can we redirect our money and use our influence to really make a difference, to transform our communities. This is tzedaka. Barbara Dobkin is the founder and chair of Ma'yan: The Jewish Women's Project. She consults with organizations and individuals on a variety of issues, namely, Jewish women in leadership and strategic philanthropy.
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