Jewish tradition is full of stories exploring this very idea. Today, we're diving into a fascinating passage from Vayikra Rabbah, a Midrash on the book of Leviticus, that unpacks the profound impact of both giving and withholding kindness.
The passage opens with a statement by Rabbi Simon in the name of Rabbi Elazar, offering four different perspectives on this theme. The first example? None other than Abraham. We all know Abraham as a pillar of generosity, right? But this passage specifically calls out his hospitality towards the three ministering angels in Genesis 18:8: "He stood over them beneath the tree, and they ate."
But…did they really eat? Rabbi Yudan chimes in with an interesting point: they only appeared to be eating and drinking. Each course vanished as soon as it was served. So, why is this considered such a monumental act of kindness? Because Abraham offered hospitality even when it wasn't strictly needed. He extended himself regardless.
And how was Abraham's kindness rewarded? According to this Midrash, God showered his descendants with blessings in the desert: manna from heaven, a miraculous spring, quail for sustenance, protective clouds of glory, and a guiding pillar of cloud. It's a powerful a fortiori argument: If Abraham was rewarded for kindness to those who didn't need it, imagine the reward for kindness to those who do!
Now, let's flip the script. What happens when kindness is withheld? Rabbi Simon, again quoting Rabbi Elazar, points to the Ammonites and Moabites. Remember them? Deuteronomy 23:5 tells us they "did not greet you with bread and with water" when the Israelites were wandering in the desert.
Hold on a second. Were the Israelites actually lacking bread and water? Not exactly. As the Midrash points out, they had manna, the miraculous well, quail, and all the divine provisions. But common courtesy dictates that travelers should be offered food and drink. The Ammonites and Moabites failed to extend this basic human decency.
And their punishment? "An Ammonite or a Moabite shall not enter into the assembly of the Lord" (Deuteronomy 23:4). Again, the a fortiori argument rings clear: If withholding kindness from those who weren't truly in need resulted in such a harsh decree, how much more severe is the consequence of withholding kindness from someone who genuinely needs it?
The passage then shifts to Yitro, Moses' father-in-law. Yitro invites Moses to eat bread (Exodus 2:20). Rabbi Simon suggests Yitro was simply paying Moses for his work drawing water for his daughters' flocks (Exodus 2:19). We then get a mini-debate between Rabbi Yehuda, Rabbi Nehemya, and the Rabbis about who exactly Moses was helping. Was it just Yitro's daughters? Their ancestors too? The shepherds? Or was Moses acting for the sake of peace?
Regardless of the exact recipient, the Midrash asks: When was Yitro's kindness repaid? Rabbi Yoḥanan, citing Rabbi Yosei HaGelili, says it was in the days of Saul. Remember when Saul tells the Kenites to "Go, withdraw and descend from the midst of the Amalekites, lest I destroy you with them, and you acted with kindness with all the children of Israel when they came up from Egypt" (I Samuel 15:6)?
Wait a minute… Did the Kenites really show kindness to all of Israel? The Midrash explains that kindness shown to a prominent leader, like Moses, is considered kindness to the entire nation. The a fortiori argument continues to build: If Yitro was rewarded for kindness to someone he was beholden to, imagine the reward for kindness shown freely, without obligation!
Finally, the passage lands on the story of Boaz and Ruth. This is perhaps the most heartwarming example. Boaz shows Ruth kindness by inviting her to eat with him and the reapers (Ruth 2:14). He offers her bread, vinegar to dip it in (a common practice for fieldworkers), and toasted grain.
But get this: the Midrash zooms in on the seemingly insignificant detail of Boaz handing Ruth "a pinch of toasted grain." It sounds so small, doesn't it? Yet, Ruth eats, is satisfied, and even has leftovers! Rabbi Yitzḥak offers two explanations: either Boaz's hand was blessed, or Ruth's innards were blessed. The Midrash leans towards the latter, emphasizing Ruth's own righteousness.
Rabbi Yitzḥak then shares a profound insight: "The Torah teaches you etiquette. When a person performs a mitzva, a good deed, he should do so with a joyous heart." Imagine, the Midrash suggests, if Reuben knew he'd be remembered for saving Joseph, he would have carried him home himself! And if Boaz knew he'd be remembered for offering Ruth a pinch of grain, he would have given her the finest delicacies.
Rabbi Kohen and Rabbi Yehoshua ben Rabbi Simon, quoting Rabbi Levi, add another layer: In the past, prophets recorded good deeds. Now, it's Elijah and the Messiah, with God Himself signing off on their record. This highlights the enduring significance of even the smallest acts of kindness.
The passage concludes with a powerful observation: Ruth tells Naomi, "The name of the man for whom I acted today is Boaz" (Ruth 2:19). The Midrash points out that Ruth doesn't say "for whom I worked," but "for whom I acted." By accepting Boaz's kindness, Ruth gave him the opportunity to perform a mitzva. In other words, the recipient of kindness also does a kindness for the giver!
So, what’s the takeaway from all this? It’s a potent reminder that kindness, in all its forms, creates ripples that extend far beyond the immediate moment. Whether it's offering hospitality to strangers, extending courtesy even when it's not strictly required, or performing a simple act with a joyous heart, every gesture matters. And sometimes, the smallest pinch of kindness can lead to the greatest blessings. What kind of ripples will we choose to create today?