It turns out, this isn't just a modern custom. Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, a fascinating early medieval Jewish text, touches upon this very tradition. It points to the verse in Proverbs (31:6): "Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto the bitter in soul." It suggests that offering sustenance—bread and wine specifically—is an age-old way to console those who are suffering.
But the text doesn't stop there. It transitions to a story of kindness and divine reward, focusing on the men of Jabesh-Gilead. Do you remember them? They risked everything to show respect to Saul and his sons after their tragic deaths.
What did they do? Well, after Saul and his sons were slain in battle, the Philistines hung their bodies on the city walls of Beth-shan. Learning of this, the valiant men of Jabesh-Gilead traveled all night to retrieve the bodies. They brought them back to Jabesh, cremated them, and buried their bones with honor. A truly brave and compassionate act.
And according to Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, God doesn't forget such acts of chesed—loving-kindness. God promises to reward them and their descendants in the future. And here's where it gets really interesting. The text connects this reward to the future ingathering of the exiles, a central theme in Jewish thought.
It says that when the Holy One, blessed be He, gathers Israel from the four corners of the world, the descendants of these compassionate people—specifically, the half-tribe of Manasseh who resided in Gilead—will be among the first to be brought back. The text draws on Psalm 60:7 to support this: "Gilead is mine, and Manasseh is mine."
And it doesn't end there. The text continues to paint a picture of this future redemption, outlining the order in which the tribes will be gathered. After Manasseh comes Ephraim, referred to as "the defense of my head" in the same verse from Psalms. Finally, Judah will be gathered, described as "my scepter."
Think about the implications of this. It's not just about physical return to the land. It's about divine recognition of acts of kindness and the restoration of order and purpose. The idea that even seemingly small acts of compassion can ripple through time and affect the course of history is powerful, isn't it?
It’s a beautiful reminder that our actions matter, that kindness has consequences, and that even in the darkest of times, hope for redemption remains. So, what kind of legacy are we building with our own acts of chesed?