It's not just the giving, but the way we give, the intention behind it. And in the story of Abram and the King of Sodom, found in Bereshit Rabbah (Genesis Rabbah) 43, we see a masterclass in ethical leadership and selfless action.
After Abram's victorious battle, the King of Sodom offers him all the spoils, saying, "Give me the people, and take the property for yourself" (Genesis 14:21). A tempting offer, right? A chance to amass wealth and power. But Abram, in a moment of profound integrity, refuses. "I have raised my hand to the Lord, God Most High, master of heaven and earth," he declares (Genesis 14:22).
But what does it mean to "raise my hand"? The Rabbis, in their insightful way, unpack this phrase, offering different interpretations. Rabbi Yehuda suggests that Abram's gesture was akin to declaring the spoils as teruma, the portion separated from produce and given to the priest. It’s like saying, "This isn't mine to take; it's dedicated to something higher," just as Numbers 18:26 says: “You shall separate [vaharemotem] from it teruma for the Lord.” Rabbi Nechemya sees it as an oath, binding Abram to his word, like in Daniel 12:7, "He raised [vayarem] his right and his left to the heavens, and he took an oath by the One whose life is everlasting." And the Rabbis? They interpret it as a song of praise, an acknowledgment that the victory came from God, echoing Exodus 15:2: “This is my God and I will glorify Him; my father’s God and I will exalt Him [vaaromemenhu].”
Rabbi Berekhya, Rabbi Ḥelbo, and Rabbi Ami, citing Rabbi Elazar, beautifully connect this moment to Moses, saying that Moses used the same expression of praise as Abram: “Harimoti my hand to the Lord,” later becoming “My father’s God and I will exalt Him [vaaromemenhu].” Isn't it amazing how these threads connect across generations?
Abram continues, "Neither a thread nor a shoelace, I will not take of anything that is yours, that you will not say: I made Abram wealthy" (Genesis 14:23). He's not just refusing the spoils; he's refusing even the appearance of being indebted to the King of Sodom. He wants it crystal clear that his wealth and success come from God alone.
Rabbi Abba bar Mamal shares a beautiful midrash here. Because Abram refused even a thread, God promises the mitzva (commandment) of ritual fringes, the tzitzit. As Numbers 15:38 says, “They shall place on the fringe of the corner a petil of sky blue wool,” and in Aramaic, "a thread of sky blue wool." And because he refused a shoelace? He is rewarded with the mitzva of the levirate marriage, where the widow removes the brother's shoe, as in Deuteronomy 25:9. These small acts of refusal become the seeds of great commandments for his descendants.
Alternatively, “neither a thread” alludes to the Tabernacle, adorned with blue and purple threads, and “nor a shoelace” alludes to the tachash hides covering it. Some say the "thread" alludes to a red line, or hut, that circumscribed the altar, separating between the upper and lower parts, and the "shoelace" represents the footsteps of those traveling to the pilgrimage festivals, as it says in Song of Songs 7:2: “How fair are your steps in shoes.”
Abram makes one exception: "Nothing for me, only what the young men have eaten; and the portion of the men who went with me, Aner, Eshkol, and Mamre, they will take their portion" (Genesis 14:24). He ensures that his allies, those who fought alongside him, are justly rewarded.
This idea of equitable distribution echoes in the story of David in I Samuel 30:22-25. David insists that those who guarded the baggage should receive the same share of the spoils as those who fought on the front lines. "For like the share of the one who descends into battle, so is the share of the one who remains with the baggage; they shall share alike." Rabbi Yudan points out the unusual word used here, vamala, not the standard word for "onward," but something that suggests "beforehand," implying David learned this principle from his ancestor, Abram.
So, what can we take away from this story? It's a reminder that true generosity isn't just about giving; it's about the integrity with which we give. It's about refusing to be beholden to others, acknowledging the source of our blessings, and ensuring that everyone is treated fairly. It's a lesson passed down through generations, from Abram to David, and a lesson that resonates just as powerfully today. How can we apply this ancient wisdom to our own lives and create a more just and generous world?