The verse in question, from Deuteronomy 14:27, commands us: "And the Levite who is in your gate, you shall not forsake him." Sounds straightforward enough. But the rabbis of the Talmud, masters of unpacking layers of meaning, weren't content with a simple reading. They dove deep, asking: what does it really mean to "not forsake" someone?
The Sifrei Devarim 108 takes this verse and stretches it, pushing the boundaries of our responsibility to the Levite – the member of the tribe of Levi who, historically, didn't receive land but was supported by the community. It paints a picture of relentless obligation.
It starts with the expected: "Wherever you find this Levite, give him of his portion (first-tithe)." The first tithe, or ma'aser rishon, was a portion of the harvest set aside specifically for the Levites. Makes sense. But what if the Levite isn't entitled to that?
Here's where it gets interesting. According to Sifrei Devarim, if the Levite isn't entitled to the first tithe, you give him the second tithe, or ma'aser sheni. Now, the second tithe was traditionally brought to Jerusalem and eaten there, or redeemed for money that was then used to purchase food in Jerusalem. So, giving it to a Levite instead is already a significant deviation.
But the obligation doesn't end there! What if the Levite isn't entitled to the second tithe either? Well, then you give him the poor-tithe, or ma'aser ani, which, as the name suggests, was designated for the poor. And if even that's not available?
Here's where the passage really ramps up: you give him peace-offerings! Shalmei simcha, peace offerings, were usually personal sacrifices, a way to express gratitude or celebrate a joyous occasion. Giving your own personal offering to support a Levite? That's a pretty significant ask.
And finally, if none of those are available – if you have no tithes, no offerings – what then? "He feeds him from charity," the text concludes, "it being written (26) 'you… (27) and the Levite.'" Even if it means dipping into your own resources, the obligation to care for the Levite, and by extension, anyone in need, remains.
It’s important to note that some understand this passage not as a literal progression of giving, but as a rhetorical device. It's not necessarily saying you have to give all these things sequentially. Rather, it’s emphasizing the extent of the obligation. You should give whatever you can give, from whatever source is available, to ensure the Levite's needs are met.
What's the takeaway? It's not just about following a checklist of obligations. It’s about a fundamental commitment to ensuring the well-being of others. It's about recognizing the inherent dignity of every human being and acting with compassion. It's about understanding that "you shall not forsake him" isn't just a commandment, but a call to radical empathy and action.
So, next time you encounter someone in need, remember the Levite in your gate. Remember the relentless obligation to care. And ask yourself: what can I give? What can I do? How can I truly "not forsake" this person? Because, ultimately, that's the question that echoes through the ages, challenging us to live up to the highest ideals of our tradition.