Last fall, my daughter fell off the monkey bars at school and landed flat on her back. When the paramedics came, they placed her on a board, put her head in a soft helmet and rushed to Children’s Hospital.
The school nurse tried to keep me calm as we spoke by phone. (She spoke, I hyperventilated.) She was sure that Lia was fine but wanted to be cautious.
It turned out that Lia was healthy and whole. We sat in the hospital, chuckling, as I picked wood chips off of my second grader’s clothes.
Then the calls began. There were two while we were waiting to be discharged, a few more on the answering machine before we got home and several more that night. Each caller asked about Lia, offered help, expressed concern.
One of those calls was from my father in Florida, who received a message from someone who worked next door and had been told that the girl in the ambulance was mine. My unshakable dad was shaken. Another was from my cousin, whose child goes to a different school but had heard through the grapevine.
That night, with my husband out of town and my children OK, I felt a shift of paradigm. I realized that my family is surrounded by a circle of people who were willing to prop us up, if necessary. Perhaps for the first time, our lives were inextricably interconnected with those of so many others.
Previously our lives had intersected daily with other Jews and Jewish families. But that day, I was struck with the realization that we indeed are part of a community.
Text messages
Since biblical times, Jews have seen themselves as responsible — arevim — for each other. And if they somehow didn’t get the message, Jewish texts made it clear:
• “Kol Yisrael Arevim Ze BaZe.” (“All Jews are responsible one for another.”) — Babylonian Talmud, Shevuot 39a
• “Whoever can stop … the people of his city from sinning, but does not … is held responsible for the sins of the people of his city. If he can stop the whole world from sinning and he does not, he is held responsible for the sins of the whole world.” — Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 54b
• “Do not separate yourself from the community.” — Ethics of the Fathers 2:4
• “When the community is in trouble, a person should not say, ‘I will go to my house and I will eat and drink and be at peace with myself.’” — Babylonian Talmud, Ta’anit 11a
As the 2008 Annual Campaign of the Milwaukee Jewish Federation nears its end, that principle seems particularly important: We are responsible for each other; we take care of each other.
Charitable giving has changed in recent years. In the past, many American Jews automatically gave to the local umbrella organization that divvied up the funds between local interests and national/international Jewish needs.
Now, many Jews choose their interests precisely by donating to particular organizations and setting up philanthropic funds. Across the nation, community members are choosing from a seemingly endless menu of causes — poverty, hunger, education, art, aliyah, Jewish college life, anti-Semitism, outreach, interfaith relations….
This “boutique giving” is wonderful in the effect that one gift can make.
A philanthropist gains the satisfaction of knowing the power of her dollars. But there’s a downside to such pinpointed giving.
It has compromised annual campaigns throughout the nation and Milwaukee is no exception. Raising almost $8 million, our local campaign is certainly impressive, but has remained steady in recent years rather than rising naturally with the times.
And it leaves a gap here at home.
What about the quiet people in need? What about the ones without organizations or marketing campaigns? What about the causes that aren’t sexy or trendy but are vitally important for a community?
What about supporting Jewish education for children with special needs? Or kosher meals delivered to the ill and infirm? Or social services and housing for low-income seniors? What about housing, programming and counseling for the developmentally disabled?
Giving to the annual campaign supports Jewish life near and far. Our gifts help organizations that care for Jews around the globe; locally, they touch almost all of us.
One needn’t strain to see the effects of annual allocations: If you have children or aging parents; if your child has visited Israel; if you are a Holocaust survivor or the child of one; if you have taken a class or attended anything at the Harry & Rose Samson Family Jewish Community Center — you are the beneficiary of collective local giving.
I knew this before Lia fell. I’ve seen the community rally around families in real crisis. But that moment last fall when my friends and neighbors would not leave me alone, I realized something that our sages understood. As Midrash Tanhuma states: “Separate reeds are weak and easily broken; but bound together they are strong and hard to tear apart.”
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