The essential Jewish values of tzedakah and mutual responsibility for fellow Jews were imbedded In American Jewish sensibilities from the very beginnings of Jewish settlement in the United States.

In 1654, Portugal had captured the city of Recife, in Brazil, from the Dutch after the later had ruled over the colony for two decades, allowing the Jews, during that period, to live without harassment. The small Jewish colony grew to almost 1,000 individuals, and became well off financially through the development of more efficient ways of refining sugar. A synagogue was built and the first rabbi to serve a congregation in the Western Hemisphere, Isaac Aboab de Fonseca, was brought over from Holland.

With the Portuguese re-conquest of Recife, the Jews were forced to leave. Some found refuge in nearby Dutch or English colonies, such as Curacao or Barbados. A group of Jews set sail to return to Holland, but were intercepted by pirates who robbed them of their possessions. Managing, in Cuba, to secure passage on the Ste. Catherine, twenty-three Jews reached the Dutch colony of New Amsterdam, where two individuals of the group were temporarily put into debtors' prison, when the sale of the group's furniture did not bring in enough funds to pay the captain for their passage.

Even more disturbing was the attitude of the governor of New Amsterdam, Peter Stuyvesant, who, in his letter to the Dutch West India Company seeking permission to deport the group, characterized the Jews as a 'deceitful race, hateful enemies and blasphemers'. However, on the Board of Directors of the Dutch West India Company were a number of Jews who undoubtedly were concerned about the fate of their brethren and who were able to influence the Company to compel Stuyvesant to allow the Jews to remain 'provided that the poor among them.... be supported by their nation'. And so it was - Jews across the ocean dedicated themselves to helping their fellow Jews in the New World and Jews in that world took responsibility for their own struggling community.

During the Revolutionary War, one of the main financial supporters of the American rebels was Hayyim Solomon, a Polish Jew who lived in Germany before coming to a land in which he immediately joined the side of the Patriots. He brokered bills for the Americans, sold bonds, and made funds available to James Madison for a period of several months. During the war, there is a story that during one of the winters, when George Washington had so little funds available at Valley Forge there was the possibility that his army would begin to desert. General Washington sent an urgent message to Hayyim Solomon who was in the synagogue because the day was Yom Kippur. Solomon, it is said, stopped the service and asked for financial help for the troops. Could this have been the first Yom Kippur appeal in American Jewish history!?

Perhaps the most outstanding model of tzedakah in the Colonial and post Colonial eras were the Touro brothers. Both made their fortunes in shipping in New Orleans. Abraham Touro returned to New England, where he continued to prosper. He was instrumental in providing the money, together with his brother, Judah, to complete a monument marking the site of the first battle of the Revolutionary War at Bunker Hill and in helping to erect the first synagogue in the United States that is still in use at its original site, the Touro synagogue, where their father had served as spiritual leader.

Judah Touro was even more outstanding. Remaining in New Orleans, he amassed a great fortune for his time. His giving included not only synagogues and Jewish institutions but civic and religious organizations as well. He also collaborated with Sir Moses Montefiore in establishing one of the first set of dwellings outside the walls around the Old City of Jerusalem, now known as Mishkenot Sha-a-nanim.

The Jews of colonial America, although not remarkable in numbers, did establish in this new country, the elements of tzedakah, responsibility and unity that have marked American Jewish life and American life for over the past 350 years.

Abraham J. Gittelson, is now the Senior Consultant for the Orloff Central Agency for Jewish Education of Broward County in South Florida, having served as Executive Director for over 20 years. He has been involved in almost every aspect of Jewish Education, with his present activities being focused on adult Jewish education in a variety of settings throughout the Eastern section of the United States and on Caribbean cruises.

When Naomi asked me to contribute an essay to the Good People Fund site, I thought long and hard about what I'd like to share. I began jotting down ideas about why the work of Tzedakah and Tikkun Olam is so important to me personally, and how it has shaped my thinking and my being. Slowly, this statement of intent began to take shape...


Some observations, interconnected, on doing Mitzvahs and learning from Good People:


1. America is not just the richest country in the world; it is the richest country the world has ever known.

1.1. However, these riches are not distributed in any equitable way. The chasm between those who have and those in need - in education, in access to services, in neighborhoods - is enormous, and growing.

1.12. This observation is daily becoming truer of life in Israel as well.

1.13. This is worth losing sleep over.

1.2. There is no discernible connection between being a wealthy person and being a generous person.

1.21. There are some rich people who are among the most generous people I've ever met.

1.22. There are some rich people of whom it is scandalous how little they give to and do for their neighbors.

1.3. Most people should give away more of their money to people who desperately need it.


2. Every person is endowed with unique skills and attributes.

2.1. Some people spend their entire lives trying to identify their special gifts.

2.11. It is indispensible to have a friend (a chaver) and a teacher (a rav) to teach us about the art of living and to coach us to uncover and develop these gifts.

2.2. Any of these special skills can be applied towards Tikkun Olam ("World Repair").

2.21. This is true from my experience as a Jewish teacher: Many, many people, when asked what the most spiritually rewarding moments of their lives have been, cite times when they are immersed in the work of world-repair.

2.3. Becoming aware of these gifts, and applying them towards Tikkun Olam, just might be the essence of what each of us is doing on this earth.

2.31. However, it is crucial to keep a sense of humor and there is no place in this model for arrogance. There is a big difference between being righteous and being self-righteous.


3. There are individuals ("Mitzvah Heroes", "Good People") in the world who do the work of Mitzvahs and Tikkun Olam in extraordinary ways.

3.1. We all could use a teacher or mentor in the art of world-repair.

3.2. They are everywhere, these teachers, sometimes in the public eye and sometimes incognito.

3.3. Seeking out Good People and spending time with them is: spiritually uplifting, inspiring, and eye-opening. Oh-and it's also incredibly fun.

3.4. Seeking out Good People and spending time with them is also an antidote for many contemporary pathologies, including: cynicism, boredom, lack of ambition, misplaced values, wasting time, and wondering what we're supposed to be doing with our lives.

3.41. This observation seems to hold true for people of all ages: children, teens, college students, young professionals, parents, empty-nesters, recent retirees, and elders.


4. There is a uniquely Jewish approach to doing the work of Tikkun Olam.

4.1. The essence of the Jewish approach is found in Jewish texts.

4.11. These texts also give us a uniquely Jewish vocabulary for world-repair, including: "Mitzvahs," "Tikkun Olam," "Tzedakah," "Gemilut Chasadim," and many specific names for specific Mitzvot.

4.111. The English translations of these names rarely capture the full flavor and nuance of the Hebrew or Yiddish. It serves us well to use the Jewish terminology.

4.2. This does not deny the validity of other faith-traditions' approaches to world-repair; it simply asserts that Judaism, too, has unique gifts to bring to the world.

4.21. For this reason, becoming immersed in the world of Mitzvahs and Tikkun Olam is often a key way that many Jews rediscover their Jewish soul and reconnect with their Jewish identity.

4.3. Therefore, we should continually be learning and relearning Jewish texts to refine our own personal Mitzvah-work.

4.4. Study is not complete until we get up from the table, transformed, and put our values into action.


5. Individuals have an incredible amount of Mitzvah-power in their hands. And yet, when like-minded people work together in a group or in communities, the synergy that is created expands exponentially.

5.1. I believe, as a matter of faith, that most any problem in the world can be solved by individuals or communities utilizing this Mitzvah-power for good.

5.11. However: often apathy, or conformity, or peer pressure, or more insidious forces in society prevent us from generating this power.


6. Speaking personally, being introduced to the world of Mitzvah Heroes and Good People changed my life, and for that I am constantly grateful.

Rabbi Neal Gold teaches and works at Temple Shir Tikva in Wayland, Massachusetts.

. . . You may wonder why I begin with three dots. It is a reminder and a sign for all of us that mitzvahs and deeds of loving kindness have a before, a beginning, a beginning that needs to be constantly renewed. For many, doing deeds of kindness are learned from our parents. Most likely, from a time which we can hardly even recall. These deeply instilled habits just seem natural when we are older. The grand example that comes to mind for me is the Rabbanit Kapach in Jerusalem. Just as kind is the child who asks his or her parents for some change for a street person who is someone's mother or father, brother or sister, son or daughter.

For others, the before is an Aha! moment, a problem presented and a solution found. It is a Clara Hammer who learned that one can never be too old to help feed others who are hungry. Or an Avshalom Beni, whose love of animals, drew him to rescue abused and abandoned pets who now assist him in providing life-saving therapy to families, children, adults, Survivors who in their own way are just as damaged. Or a Trevor Ferrell, who as an eleven year-old child saw homeless people on television and wanted to provide food and blankets to keep them warm. Because of his kindness, he brought the people of Philadelphia together in an effort to help solve this problem.



My before was the second intifadah. I wanted to help build communal support for Israel in a different way so that we would feel personally vested with the people in Israel who were enduring daily attacks. With the help and support of the Five Synagogues of White Plains, I began a Wedding Dress Project, collecting wedding dresses here and finding couriers to carry them to Jerusalem so that the dresses could be lent to poor brides who could not afford such magnificent gowns. In time, with the assistance of Ella Badin from White Plains who turned a then-pregnancy into a great gift to others, we began to collect new and gently worn baby clothes and found people to carry those, as well. The project took on a life of its own. The Westchester Jewish community collected and delivered wedding dresses, toiletries and candies for soldiers, clothing for babies and toddlers, clothes for Shabbat, school supplies and backpacks, watches, winter jackets and many other items which were distributed with care to people in need. We were fortunate enough to share this experiment with other Jewish communities in the United States and to teach them what we learned.

Though this project is on hiatus, through it I have learned great Jewish lessons about mitzvahs and deeds of loving kindness which I wish to share. There are so many good people who perform simple acts of kindness, too numerous to name. I have seen it in the generosity of donors and in the people who carried the bags, saying, "One more bag", over and over again. I have learned about the interdependence of people and how we are not alone when we engage our compassion and caring nature. People wish to come together to be a part of a community to serve some greater good. Mitzvahs and deeds of loving kindness are easy entry points into Judaism to learn more about Our Grand Tradition, about our obligations to each other and to the world as God's creatures being created in His image. In a world where rights take pride of place, we can also remind ourselves that we have the duty, the obligation, the responsibility to help others with kavod, dignity, and that it is a never-ending task as we help God fix the world of His making.

The great thing about this work is that you do not have to be a professional. I am far from it. Amateur standing is just as good; perhaps even better, since you haven't yet learned that the Work cannot be done. (There is even a benefit in making new mistakes.) Small deeds have as great an impact as large ones. Further, there is no greater reward than a Mitzvah high. There is no end to what we can do with the talent God has given us if we just use our imagination to help people who are lonely, hungry, broken, who need to be picked up after falling, who seek a kind word, who are captives to their poverty, to their addictions, who need to be reminded that they are a member of the family of man and woman.

This journey begins with a first step. Let's take it together on this open road of Mitzvah Work and deeds of loving kindness

George Greene lives in Chappaqua, New York with his wife of twenty-five years, Merrie, his two daughters Hannah Esther and Tova Leah and their cat Darcy. He would like to say that he is a member of the "Dairy Pranksters", but he is not. He views himself as an almost Good Person since there is always room for improvement. About every two to three months, he sends out via cyberspace a Chesed Newsletter which highlights deeds of loving kindness. To get on his mailing list, just write to Chesed4Israel@aol.com. This summer he hopes to master the art of making Japanese mud balls: http://dorodango.com">http://dorodango.com">http://dorodango.com.

. . . You may wonder why I begin with three dots. It is a reminder and a sign for all of us that mitzvahs and deeds of loving kindness have a before, a beginning, a beginning that needs to be constantly renewed. For many, doing deeds of kindness are learned from our parents. Most likely, from a time which we can hardly even recall. These deeply instilled habits just seem natural when we are older. The grand example that comes to mind for me is the Rabbanit Kapach in Jerusalem. Click "go" above to read the full entry.

I have always believed that each of us has the potential to affect real and lasting positive change in the world through acts of tzedakah and loving-kindness directed toward our fellow beings, our environment, and the animal kingdom. Who wouldn't? No matter how small an act of chesed we involve ourselves in, we may never really know the ultimate impact it can have on those we touch.

A little over two years ago, I had the opportunity to travel to Israel with Danny Siegel on his Jewish Educator's Mitzvah Heroes trip, a programme established through the Ziv Tzedakah Fund. My experience with Danny, his colleagues Naomi Eisenberger and Arnie Draiman, along with sixteen other Jewish educators from across North America, was transformational, to say the least, and one which I will never forget.

After twelve intensive days studying Torah and modern texts, meeting Danny's "Mitzvah Heroes," as well as participating in a variety of tzedakah projects, my life was inexorably changed. I believe that this trip affected each of us in a profound and powerful way. There was simply something magical about meeting and learning from each of these giants, from the Rabbanit Kapach, a tiny lady with an enormous heart, who has helped tens of thousands of people through her tzedakah work, to Barbara Silverman and her mission to provide packages of comfort to IDF soldiers,

As Jewish educators, we quickly came to realize that the lessons we learned from our shared and individual experiences we would surely bring home to our schools, our synagogue communities, and into our hearts. I am confident in saying that after the trip experience we all placed the ideals of tikkun olam higher up on our list of life's priorities.

It was only when I returned home to Vancouver that I came to realize just how profound the experience had been. I quickly began to develop programmes that would highlight and benefit the work of some of the people we met. I never imagined how successful my community would be when they committed to raising funds for Birthday Angels, a group begun by Ruthie Sobel Luttenberg which provides birthday parties for thousands of disadvantaged children of all backgrounds throughout Israel.

In addition to being moved by the stories and work of the amazing individuals we visited, perhaps the most important inspiration I gleaned from my fellow educators on this trip involved our discussions about tzedakah projects they had been involved in with their communities, a common one being a synagogue "Mitzvah Day." I was well aware of this concept, especially as our local Jewish high school had been running such an event for several years. Upon returning from our trip I decided to take this idea to my community, Congregation Har El in West Vancouver, where I work as Youth Director. However, I wanted this particular Mitzvah Day to be more than simply a Jewish event. For me, the idea of working to repair the world had to be more global in nature; the involvement of other faith communities working together toward a common goal was an essential component in the equation. I therefore took it upon myself to seek out other faith communities who might be willing to work with us on this event, to join us in "healing the world." To my delight, the United Church and the Bahá'í Community were as eager as I was in making this happen. We became a trio in harmony and that made all of the difference in our program.

For three months, the planning committee met almost weekly to prepare for our event, which we dubbed "Be the Change; Heal the World." The concept was simple: an interfaith, social action-based event that addressed the needs of the local community. We chose causes that addressed homelessness, hunger, the environment, seniors, women, children, and animal welfare. We came up with 14 separate action projects, ranging from letter-writing to prison inmates, renovating a bunny house at an animal shelter, giving manicures to women at a shelter, preparing an urban garden at a teen safe house, assembling care kits for women in crisis, preparing packed lunches for distribution to homeless people, performing in an interfaith choir to seniors, removing ivy in a park, and more.

As I had hoped, the event was an overwhelming success. Close to 200 people aged five to eighty-five from all three faiths arrived bright and early on a Sunday morning in May to make a difference in our world. We began with a ceremonial blowing of the shofar and the reciting of Bahá'í and Christian blessings, which gave meaning to our cause. Projects were carried out in groups and upon completion, we gathered to celebrate, to share, and to connect with one another at a vegetarian BBQ.

I have organized many events in my personal and professional life, but "Be the Change" was one of the most rewarding. There is something special in knowing that so many lives have been touched in such a positive way, either by those who gave that day, or by those who received. After already having received requests from other local faith communities to join us next year, I am positive that this is, indeed, the start of something big.

Andréa Woolfson Milman was born and raised in Dublin, Ireland. After making aliyah, she studied at the Hebrew University and served in the IDF (Nachal Brigade). In 1989, Andréa relocated to Canada with her husband Warren, where she continued her studies and earned further degrees.

As a resident of Vancouver, BC Andréa worked as an educator in the Jewish Day School system for twelve years before changing her focus to work with Jewish youth in the informal education setting. Currently, she holds the position of Youth Director at Congregation Har El, where she has established a local USY chapter. Andréa has remained committed to USY both at the chapter and regional level and she further serves Jewish youth as Summer Assistant Director at Camp Solomon Schechter in Washington.

Andréa and her husband are the parents of two teen-aged daughters.

"As soon as they began to work, the work taught them how to create...and the blessing of the Holy One inhabited their hands." (Zohar 1:74a)

Maimonides teaches that giving a person independence so that they won't require tzedakah is the highest form of tzedakah. Tzedakah is but one pillar of giving that engenders independence. In the current economy, it is good to remember that no matter how modest one's means may be at any time - whether we find ourselves on the giving or receiving end of charity - the decision to honor life and act in accordance with this covenant transforms personal and communal poverty and suffering into the wealth of well-being.

We each arrive with something important to contribute to the world that will come to express itself both tangibly and intangibly. This remains true until the end of our lives, regardless of gains and losses of health, faith, status, physical or cognitive ability. When it comes to creativity, each of us is a storehouse of immense richness, knowledge and possibility. Some may be less accustomed to, or less comfortable with, identifying or fully valuing such inner resources as their own. It is probably accurate to say that we all have gifts and strengths we underplay or fail to claim at times. So, how do we come to know what we actually have to give?

Fortunately, like the restoration of balance, the gathering of sparks, and the repair of the world, the emergence of self-awareness, self-esteem, and empowerment, along with a healthy humility, happens by degrees. As the Zohar teaches, all that is required to discover and reclaim our human gifts and to become active participants in a reciprocal process of blessing, is to begin the work and let it teach us. Thus, awareness, respect and generosity toward others grow, leading in turn to authentic and lasting independence for ourselves, and the individuals and communities we serve.

Whether in times of plenty or in times of scarcity the equation remains steady: All efforts count as we come to identify, develop and share the renewable resources that are our inherent gifts. In fact, recent scientific research confirms that adopting practices which support incremental mastery of a creative or practical task or skill boosts immune system response. A tangible furthering of health and well-being results from beginning the work and letting it teach us. In this way, the smallest act of generosity, perhaps even the impulse to give, can, when nurtured, support our appreciation of our own and others' resources and, significantly build our capacity for both receiving and giving with ever greater alacrity. In other words, generosity engenders renewal; resource sharing increases available good (and goods) for all. Or as the great songwriter Malvina Reynolds put it: "Love is something - if you give it away - you end up having more."



I started learning these lessons in my 20's when I was asked to begin writing songs with elders in an adult day care center in San Francisco. The invitation to put my musical skills to work in a new form of service was to be a "learning on the job" experience. I had not worked with elders in a group setting before; and being freshly out of college, with no prior training in gerontology or healthcare, I was being asked to embark upon what was really a journey of faith (though I couldn't have named it then) - faith in the power of music, in the human imagination, and in the ability - and the imperative - we all have to create.

The first elders I worked with were Americans and immigrants, of many languages, cultures and parts of the world. All attended the center to receive support for their physical, cognitive, or mental health. Most were low income. We sang together in a large room with sonic distractions, bright florescent lights, and the accompanying aches, pains, challenges, and fidgety-ness that punctuate the rhythm of a group of folks in their 60's, 70's and 80's, ranging from the very alert to those with evident dementia and the impacts of depression and medication. About 30% of the room at any time appeared to be bored or asleep. Most were willing to try anything musical though few initially grasped that we'd be writing an original song.

As we began the journey of musical discovery together, I was called to, however imperfectly, teach songwriting by example. In order to stand on solid ground it was essential that I be authentic to my own voice and process and that I include everyone. Listening deeply to each elder I sought to create the interpersonal conditions that might lead them to invite me into their process in turn. It worked. Within just fifty minutes on our first try they were fully underway composing a song honoring Martin Luther King Jr. The process, now called Songwriting Works™, has been going strong ever since.

I had no plan when starting this work nearly twenty years ago - only a heart for true-life stories and a sincere commitment to apply my musical skills in whatever form could be of service. My mentor, Robert Rice, a pioneer in healing arts, insisted that I use my job as artist-in-residence as an opportunity to find the place where my voice as an artist and my voice as a leader converged. In short, he offered me a path to my own independence by hiring me, encouraging me to find and eventually claim what I had to offer by giving to a community who rarely received parallel opportunities to find their own voices, speak their own truths, hear one another, and be affirmed and honored for their contributions to their community.

In many ways, the greatest gift Rice may have given me was the assignment to make sure that the work I undertook would also be of service to me and to my life as an artist. This, I can say in retrospect, was the magic ingredient that ensured sustainability for the project and allowed me to follow this experiment into the larger landscape of my life for the next two decades. I thank him to this day for calling forth my authenticity and my nascent leadership skills, showing me that what I had inside could become a valuable experiential gift for others.

Inclusive reciprocity is intrinsic generosity in action. Composing and sharing songs is a generative and therefore generous experience for both singer and audience. Likewise, tzedakah is a practice that generates life by giving life, as we find tangible and intangible ways to offer people a variety of keys to independence, to finding pathways back to themselves and to community.

There are so many "intangible assets" we can offer one another to improve quality of life on all sides of an exchange. When we share authentic moments - kindness, acceptance, inclusion, respect, knowledge, humor, imagination, invention, encouragement, patience, communion and the creative expression of our unique voices, thoughts, and gifts -- we exercise and increase our collective capacity to live well.

This is not only a spiritual and sociological reality - it is a neuro-biological fact. As with mastery, science confirms that meaningful social engagement also boosts immune system response. Cooperation is healing. This kind of medicine, which has no cost but our time, is a renewable resource - one we can create together and deliver as needed.

By the time we age, we each carry countless scars from disappointments and outright rejections of who we are and what we have to give. And yet, our inner creative gifts persist even if they've atrophied from lack of appropriate reception. As Dr. Gene Cohen's Creative Aging studies have shown, with age, and even with deterioration and illness, the human body, mind and spirit remain attuned to our inherent nature: to learn, to participate, to express, and to give. It aids our individual and collective health significantly when we activate these internal processes.

When we create opportunities for elders and others to collaborate, cooperate and contribute constructively to the greater community, we help them move from the margins of isolation into the center, from being a burden or a "non-person" to being recognized. We include and validate them as creative, vitally important members of community, collective history and heritage. We help them to become heroes and give them ways to leave a legacy to generations to come.

Vocalist, songwriter, author, producer, and cantorial soloist, Judith‑Kate Friedman performs and lectures internationally.

As founding director of the non-profit Songwriting Works™, she has composed nearly 300 songs with more than 2800 elders, families and health and arts professionals.

Recipient of the 2008 Blair Sadler International Healing Arts award, and a 2009 Creativity and Aging in America grant from the National Endowment for the Arts, Songwriting Works is currently training the first corps of professional musician-facilitators to replicate its programs nationally.

To learn more about Songwriting Works programs and trainings please see their website: http://www.songwritingworks.org

In the Torah portion Lech Lecha (Genesis 12 - 17), G‑d tells Abraham that his descendants will be "like the dust of the earth" (13:16), and two chapters later, like the stars (15:5).

Why is there a need for both metaphors? Does each one represent an idea that the other does not?

In his beautiful, insightful commentary, the renowned Torah scholar Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik (1820-1892), says there are, indeed, two different meanings.

When we look up at the sky, we see individual stars, symbolic of the uniqueness of every Jew.

When we look at the dust of the earth, we realize it is virtually impossible to pick up one infinitesimal piece of dust. It is only when millions of particles of dust are packed together that there is earth to walk on Even though every Jewish person is unique like each dazzling star, we are in some ways insignificant if we are not closely knit together as a Jewish people with a sense of responsibility for one another.

In addition to the Jewish focus of the above interpretation, there is also a universal aspect of the stars and the dust of the earth. The stars are beacons of light to all human beings, and the dust of the earth is the foundation that all people walk upon.

The metaphor comparing the Jewish people to stars may suggest we need to be a source of light - caring, wisdom, healing, and hope - that helps all people whose world is dark with loneliness, disease, poverty, and despair.

And perhaps the metaphor that compares us to the dust of the earth reminds us to do our share as G-d's partners to be the terra firma for all people who are too weak, too hungry, too ill, or too hurt by life's hardships to feel that they are on standing on solid ground. How? By providing them with food, clothing, shelter, and other necessary help.

By impressing on students that each of us, star-like, has a unique ray of sunshine that can brighten others` lives, and by emphasizing that we can most effectively help others when, dust-like, we work closely together and realize our responsibility for one another, Hillel professionals - and everyone involved in Jewish education - help ensure a future of Tikkun Olam enthusiasts.

As the Hillel rabbi at Hofstra, I have the joy and privilege of working with college students and being inspired by the profound impact their acts of chessed (lovingkindness) have on them.

From preparing 800 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that are donated to local soup kitchens to writing over 600 cards expressing appreciation to those at the University who rarely get thanked, from sharing their warmth during visits with senior citizens to planning bone marrow drives, students become more compassionate as they devote their time, energy and heart to making a difference.

Immersive experiences have an especially powerful, transformative impact. In January, 2007, I staffed a group of eleven Hofstra students on a week-long Alternative Winter Break to New Orleans to clean homes devastated by Hurricane Katrina. Here are just a few of the many inspiring reflections I received from students about their experience:

"This trip...has really helped put life into perspective. I have never appreciated my home or family as much as I do now. Throughout the trip, I have taken a lot of time to reflect on what so many people take for granted every day. Spending my spring break in New Orleans has changed my life and I wouldn't change one minute of it for anything. I will always remember this trip and know that I have changed the lives of people who had once lost hope, and there is no greater gift I could ever give than to help restore that spirit of hope in those who need it most." -Adi

"The trip had a great impact on my life. As I gutted each home, I was, ironically, rebuilding someone's life. To know that I was able to make a difference and brighten someone's life is simply amazing." - Nicole

"After spending one week doing relief work in New Orleans last winter [January, 2007], I realized...I would never be the same and knew I would not be satisfied until I could go back and help more. ... The spirit and hope that remains alive in the city is all the inspiration I needed to know in my heart I would find my way back again as soon as I possibly could. A spark was ignited in me during my time spent volunteering in 2007 and has not gone out since. I came back to New Orleans this past spring break..." - Shoshana

In To Heal a Fractured World, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Chief Rabbi of Great Britain, says, "As long as there is hunger, poverty, and treatable disease in the world, there is work for us to do. As long as nations fight, and men hate, and corruption stalks the corridors of power; as long as there is unemployment and homelessness, depression and despair, our task is not yet done, and we hear, if we listen carefully enough, the voice of G-d asking us, as he asked the first humans, 'Where are you?'"

May we all be able to answer that question with "Hineni - Here I am!"

This is an expanded version of an article originally written for the Young Israel of Great Neck.

Repairing the brokenness in our world and pursuing justice are central mandates within Judaism. In Deuteronomy 16:20, we are taught: tzedek, tzedek tirdof - "justice, justice shall you pursue so that you may live."'

But recently I was struck by what could be seen as mixed messages. Judaism stresses the importance of kavod  (respect) for the Tzedakah recipient. To that end, according to Maimonides, the highest form of tzedakah is giving and receiving anonymously. If this is so, how are we as Jews supposed to do this repair work and from whom are we supposed to learn it?'

Right before Rosh Hashanah, while helping lead tefila (prayers) in a second grade class at the Rashi School, I shared the well known story of If Not Higher by I.L. Peretz to seventeen eager students. I chose this particular story to illuminate the theme of tzedakah in our teaching about the High Holidays.'

The story If Not Higher focuses on a community and its rabbi at the High Holidays. The rabbi is nowhere to be found every morning as the holidays are drawing near. It is only when one of the rabbi's students decides to sneak into his house and hide under his bed does he see that his rabbi has been disguising himself as a woodsman and traveling into the forest to deliver wood to those who are homebound, ill and elderly. This rabbi's actions follow Maimonides' ladder of tzedakah that teaches that anonymity is one of the highest levels of giving and receiving tzedakah.'

Contrast this model to the story of the rabbi who willingly allows his students to watch his actions. His students understand that even in the mundane act of watching the rabbi tie his shoes there is something important to learn about how to be in the world.'

How can we expect others to know how to repair the world if they do not have direct access to the stories and to those people who are engaged in it every day? '

Our greatest teachers of tikkun olam (repair of the world) not only show us how to respond to the myriad needs in our world, but they also demonstrate how humility, empathy and kavod are at the core of their work. There is a wealth of teachable moments every time someone's story and good work can be shared with others. It should not take a student to hide under his/her teacher's bed to untangle the mysteries of how one can repair the world. Would this town have fared differently if the rabbi had publicly shared his personal passion to ensure that every elder had heat in his home and then described how he went about doing it? Or...if the rabbi's own story and mitzvah work set off deeper questions within his community and congregation as to how they could reach out and make a difference? It is for this reason that we at Rashi, employ the combination of exploring Jewish texts about tzedek and tikkun olam along with face to face encounters with "good people" who share their stories. The arrangement provides our students with not only the "why" we have this mandate but also the "how" to go about fulfilling it.'

Organizations such as the now-closed Ziv Tzedakah Fund and the new Good People Fund seek to spotlight the stories such as the one of the rabbi in Peretz's book. Both organizations have been at the forefront of teaching us that these good people should not be put on a pedestal and "far away" or hidden from us, but rather, they should be in our midst - be our teachers - be our role models...'

At the Rashi School, Boston's Reform Jewish Day School, an important aspect of our social justice curriculum is identifying "Tzedakah Heroes", spotlighting their good work, and creating opportunities for our students in grades K - 8 to meet face to face with some of these people. If you walk up the stairs to the second floor, you cannot help but be drawn to a huge wall covered with framed color photos of these good people whose work has impacted organizations, and programs that address a wide variety of concerns in the local community, the nation and the world. '

As our students encounter these different tzedakah heroes, they become a captive audience as each hero's powerful story addresses the questions: why this "problem" bothered me, what I thought I could do to respond to it, what was the most challenging part of making it happen, who did I get help from, and what made it successful? These are the very stories that inspire students to engage in their own acts of tikkun olam. On the first floor of the school, there is a similar Tzedakah Hero wall that displays photos of Rashi students and descriptions of the mitzvah work they are doing. It is exciting to watch the wall fill up with photos as the year progresses.'

Each time the work of a Tzedakah Hero is shared; each time we can meet face to face with these individuals and hear their stories; each time we can create opportunities for our students to expand their repertoire of ways to respond to the brokenness in our world and to those who are broken, the plethora of ways to engage in mitzvot is no longer a secret, it is illuminated in inspiring and creative ways.'

Let us not hide the good work we are doing in the name of anonymity, humility and kavod. Instead, as we share our stories, let them illuminate the kavod that is at the core of our thinking and our actions. Let us find every opportunity to have our students, our congregations, and our friends meet face to face with these people and find their passions in the stories that are shared.'

Trying to untangle the mystery of why there is so much suffering in the world can be daunting. Learning how to repair the world from people in our midst need not be.

The greatest act of Tzedakah I ever witnessed came during my third year in the pulpit rabbinate. I was serving a congregation in suburban D.C. when Operation Solomon began; the first organized large scale exodus of Jews from Ethiopia. The Jewish communities around the world had to raise millions of dollars to make it possible.

The D.C. Jewish community took a very pragmatic approach to their responsibility. They called a meeting of all the congregations and organizations and assigned a dollar amount to each one. Our congregation was told to raise $9,000. This figure was over $2,000 greater than our best High Holiday Appeal.

We began in the usual ways. Somehow though, this appeal was different. As the stories of the plight of Ethiopian Jewry filtered down to us, we realized that every delay cost the lives of our kin. For some it was the first time they were called to stand up for what they espoused. For many in the congregation it was their first chance to save the life of a fellow Jew.

David walked into my office. I had known him for two years. He was in his late twenties, worked at a menial government job and lived alone; a lost soul. David's story was not a happy one. He was abused as a child and afflicted with an emotional illness called "borderline personality." He barely made ends meet. In a good month he lived on soup and crackers the last week. In a bad month I gave him $20 for the soup and crackers.

David walked into my office and gave me five twenty dollar bills for Operation Solomon. I refused. I told him that he was not allowed to starve himself for this project. His response to me has stayed with me to this day. He told me that it was not right for me to refuse the money. "You told me this could save a life." He said, "You can't stop medoing this. I am finally thinking of someone else. I am finally able to help someone else who has even less than me."

I think David saved two lives that day; an Ethiopian Jew he will never know and himself.

There is a story of a great rabbi who asked Elijah where his place in the afterlife would be. Elijah showed him who would be standing with him - a man nobody knew or had ever heard of who one time ransomed captives and brought them to Israel.

David could have been that man.

I have seen people give hundreds of thousands of dollars for worthy causes, but how many times have they given up their food money to save a life?

David was and forever will be a Good Person.

The destruction of the Temple left the rabbis ever more devoted to the preservation and creation of a living, authentic, and relevant Judaism. In order to guard against discontinuity with the past, the rabbis progressively, creatively, and painstakingly re-created a religious order built upon the foundation stones of the Judaism they knew while making significant paradigmatic changes in light of the Temple's destruction. In place of sacrifices offered upon the Temple's altar, acts of loving kindness, among other substitutional responses became a pillar of Jewish life. In many ways, this re-working of Judaism was a response to acute loss. And among all the responses that the rabbis explored and espoused, some might argue that the performance of good deeds has the greatest power to heal and transcend the pain of loss.

In the Talmud, we read "Said Rabbi Eleazar, The one who gives tzedakah is greater than [one who offers] all the sacrifices, as it is said, To do righteousness(tzedakah) is more pleasing to God than sacrifices. (Proverbs 21:3) Said Rabbi Eleazar, acts of loving kindness are greater than tzedakah, as it is said, Sow righteousness (tzedakah) for yourselves, reap the fruits of loving kindness (Hosea 10:12). If a person seeds, perhaps he eats, perhaps he does not eat. If a person reaps, he certainly eats. [As a reaped crop can no longer be ruined by the elements, so the direct acts of loving kindness bring sure results.]" (Sukkah 49b) According to Rabbi Eleazar, acts of loving kindness are actually superior expressions of righteousness, piety, and devotion to God than the sacrifices. Acts of loving kindness are sure to bring meaningful and lasting results.

What I would like to suggest is that this creative adaptation signifies a will to embrace life and find healing and recovery in the aftermath of a tragic loss. This was relevant in the time after the Destruction of the Temple and it is still relevant to us today.

As we learn in Ecclesiastes and from contemporary psychological literature, there is certainly a time to cry and to grieve in the face of loss. But in time, the mourner is less obsessed with past loss, feels more comfortable with the present, and is hopeful in thinking about the future- - imagining a new way of living in the world. This can only come through a process of loss and mourning that allows one to relinquish the old and adopt the new. But in doing this holy work, a sort of "reconnection" with the world takes hold. Performing ma'asim tovim (acts of goodness), is a powerful way of confronting and recovering from loss. In reaching outside of oneself to strengthen others, one inevitably heals oneself and serves God. Serving others helps people to see the value and worth of their own lives. Acts of loving kindness also ensure that one who faces loss or any other stage of life will not be disconnected from community.

Rabbi Naomi Levy writes, "No matter what we have lost in our lives, there is always something that survives to start over with." The destruction of the Temple posed a crisis out of which Judaism, as we know it, emerged. In the face of loss, the rabbis responded with substitutes that eventually formed the foundation of a new Judaism while simultaneously retaining its roots in the past. The same is true for us today. At a certain point in the journey of grief, we understand that our lives are comprised of both continuity and change. Confronting loss is part of both our outer and inner reality, for it is about what happens to us in the world as well as how we interpret those events within ourselves. Ma'asim tovim, good acts, can serve as the offerings that connect us to God and the world around us we heal. When we face the inevitable losses that life deals humankind, will we throw our money and acts of goodness into the ground, or into the world?

Rabbi Jenny Solomon lives in Raleigh, North Carolina with her husband, Rabbi Eric Solomon, and her children: Meirav and Adi. Rabbi Solomon graduated with a B.A. from Brown University and received her ordination from Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in New York City. She is also a candidate for a Doctorate of Ministry in conjunction with her work in the field of pastoral counseling. Rabbi Solomon collaborates with her husband at Beth Meyer Synagogue in Raleigh doing adult education and leading prayer, and has worked as a pastoral counselor in the Raleigh-area. Jenny was a past-intern with Danny Siegel and the Ziv Tzedakah Fund and continues to pass on her love of tzedakah and ma'asim tovim with her children and community.

When it comes to prayer, the Talmud teaches that God wants our heart (Sanhedrin 106b). But when we do tzedakah, it seems that that God wants both our hands and our hearts working together to respond to people in need.

These parts of ourselves don't always cooperate. Sometimes we'll see an opportunity to make a difference, and we'll shut our hearts or keep our hands from reaching out. Sometimes the hands go to work, but our heart's not really in it.

Perhaps that is the reason that the Rabbis chose this verse from the Torah as the main source for the obligation to give tzedakah:

If there is a needy person among you, one of your kinsmen in any of your settlements in the land that Adonai your God is giving to you, do not harden your heart and shut your hand against your needy kinsman. Rather, you must open your hand and lend him sufficient for what he needs. [Deuteronomy 15:7-8]

This verse clearly gets our whole body into the act. When confronted with someone in need of tzedakah, we are warned not to harden our heart and shut our hand. Note well the allusion to Pharaoh in Egypt. When you ignore a person in need of tzedakah, you harden your heart to their situation. Well, the most famous hard-hearted person in the Torah also happens to be the number one oppressor of the Jewish people. Don't be like him!

Instead, we are commanded to keep our hearts open, which leads us to open our hands as well. Or if it's not a causal relationship the verse intends (open heart leads to open hands), then perhaps the point is that true tzedakah involves both our hearts and our hands – spirit and action together. As the rabbis put it: ayn tzedakah mishtalemet eleh l'fi ha-hesed sheh-bah: Tzedakah is perfected according to the compassion with which we give it (Sukkah 49b).

But if the heart and the hand are such equal partners in tzedakah, then why does the end of our passage focus just on the giving (you must open your hand…) – the heart seems to drop out altogether!

After all, how hard would it have been the verse to add three little words (one in Hebrew!) so it would read: Rather, you must open your hand and your heart and lend him sufficient for what he needs? Not only would this be good religious instruction, it would also make for a symmetric verse, something so common in biblical Hebrew style that it's noticeable when a verse is not symmetric.

And perhaps that's the point. We are supposed to notice that the open heart is there at the beginning, but gone at the end. It's as if the Torah is teaching us that tzedakah needs both our intention and our action, our love and our deeds, our hearts and our hands. But on days when our hearts are just not in it, the urgency of people's need is no less, so at the end of the day (and the end of the verse) we must still give, even if the emotion is missing.

The ideal we strive for is to be the kind of people who give our hearts, our time and our concern along with our tzedakah money. Of course, we're not ideal every day, and the Torah urges us to make sure that striving for our own ideals doesn't come at the expense of people in need.

The bottom line? We should keep giving, even on days when our hearts feel closed. The needs are simply too urgent for us to wait until we are in a compassionate mood. And who knows? Maybe the causal arrow works the other direction as well. Opening our hands for tzedakah and acting the way good people act, may just have the effect of opening our hearts.

Rabbi David Rosenn is the founder and Executive Director of AVODAH: The Jewish Service Corps, a year-long domestic Jewish Peace Corps program, with sites in New York, Chicago, New Orleans and Washington, DC. For more information and applications, visit www.avodah.net.