Vayikra Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Leviticus, tackles this very question. And it does so with a story – a really compelling one.
It starts with a man, a father of two. One son, generous to a fault, constantly performs mitzvot – good deeds, particularly giving to charity. The other son? Not so much. The charitable son, so dedicated to giving, ends up selling everything he owns to support his mitzvah habit. He's practically penniless.
One Hoshanah Rabbah – the last day of Sukkot, the harvest festival – his wife manages to scrape together ten shekels. "Go," she tells him, "buy something for the children!" But on his way to the market, he encounters charity collectors. They spot him and exclaim, "Here comes the master of mitzvot!" They're collecting for a coat for an orphan girl, and they appeal to his generosity. He can't refuse. He gives them the ten shekels, leaving him ashamed to go home empty-handed.
Now what? He wanders to the synagogue, and there he sees discarded etrogim – citrons – used during the Hoshanah Rabbah prayers. As the Mishnah in Sukkah tells us, children often toss or even eat these after the service. He gathers the discarded citrons, fills a sack, and… takes a sea voyage!
Talk about a plot twist.
He sails to a distant kingdom. And wouldn't you know it, the king is deathly ill with an intestinal ailment. The royal doctors are stumped. Then, a dream! The king is told that his cure lies in eating citrons "with which the Jews pray on the day of Hoshanah."
The search begins. Ships are searched, provinces are scoured. Finally, they find our man, sitting on his sack of etrogim. At first, he claims he's just a poor man with nothing to sell. But the etrogim are discovered. He explains their significance – "from those with which the Jews pray on the day of the Hoshanah.” The king eats the citrons and is miraculously cured!
Overjoyed, the king rewards the man handsomely. The sack is filled with dinars, and the king asks, "What else do you desire?" The man requests his properties be restored and a grand welcome upon his return home. The king grants it all.
When he arrives home, a herald announces his return, and the whole community comes out to greet him. Tragically, his brother and nephew, while rushing to meet him, are swept away by a river current and perish. Here’s the kicker: because of this, the man inherits his brother's property. Thus, as Job 34:11 states, "For He repays a person for his actions, and according to the conduct of a man He will provide for him."
Pretty wild, right? It's a story about how generosity, even when it seems self-destructive, can be rewarded in unexpected ways.
But Vayikra Rabbah doesn't stop there. It connects this idea of reward for actions to Moses himself. The text references Exodus 2:11: "It was in those days, when Moses was grown up, that he went out to his brethren and he saw their burdens." What did Moses see, exactly? According to the Midrash, he saw the injustice of the Egyptians forcing inappropriate labor on the Israelites – men burdening women, adults burdening children, and so on.
Moses, acting with compassion, rearranged the burdens to be more equitable. And because of this act, God says to him, "You resolved the burdens of My children; as you live, you are destined to explain and clarify for My children their vows..." This leads directly into the beginning of Leviticus 27, dealing with the laws of vows, specifically concerning valuations of people.
The connection? Just as the charitable man was repaid for his generosity, Moses was chosen to lead and legislate because of his initial act of empathy and justice.
So, what does it all mean? Vayikra Rabbah, through these stories, suggests a profound connection between our actions and our destiny. It isn't always a straightforward cause and effect. It’s not necessarily a quid pro quo. But there’s a sense that the universe, or God, notices and responds to our choices, particularly those motivated by compassion and a desire to do good. And in ways we can't even begin to imagine. The Zohar tells us the paths of righteousness are revealed to those who walk them.
Does it mean that good things only happen to good people? Of course not. Life is messy and complicated. But perhaps it means that even in the midst of the mess, the seeds of our actions can blossom in unexpected and beautiful ways. Maybe, just maybe, the universe is keeping score.