Here's my second post on Megilas Rus. When I set out to write this post I was fairly certain of the veracity of the theory I planned on writing about. But as I set up the problem, I realized that this needed more work. Thankfully, I was able to incorporate my uncertainty into the post and fully express the idea while leaving the question open. Let me know if you find a good answer!
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| Artwork: Pious Evangel // Wayward Disciple (My image of Elimelech when he was living in Eretz Yisrael before the famine, and after the famine, when he fled to Moav.) |
Megilas Rus: A Different Kind of Stinginess
Megilas Rus begins with the flight of Elimelech and his family, and the tragedy that followed:
And it happened in the days when the judges judged, that there was a famine in the land, and a man went from Beis-Lechem in Yehuda to sojourn in the fields of Moav - he, his wife, and his two sons. The name of the man was Elimelech, the name of his wife Naomi, and the name of his two sons Machlon and Chilyon, Ephrathites of Beis-Lechem in Yehuda. They came to the field of Moav and there they remained. Elimelech, Naomi's husband, died; and she was left with her two sons. They married Moabite women; the name of the one was Orpah, and the name of the second was Rus, and they lived there for about ten years. The two of them, Machlon and Chilyon, also died; and the woman was left of her two children and of her husband.
In this post we will focus on two basic questions: (1) Why did Elimelech leave Eretz Yisrael? (2) Why did he die?
Rashi answers both questions in one shot:
a man went - [Elimelech] was a very wealthy man, and was a leader of his generation. [However,] he left Eretz Yisrael for Chutza la'Aretz because of his stinginess (tzarus ha'ayin); he was stingy when the poor people came to pressure him [to give money,] and this is why he was punished.A cursory reading of Rashi might lead one to conclude that Elimelech was guilty of your "run-of-the-mill stinginess," just like any other person who is unwilling to give money to the poor. The Malbim helps us to appreciate the complexity of Elimelech's cheit by painting a more complete picture of the circumstances:
During the days of famine, the multitude of the poor would converge on the wealthy and compel them to provide bread and grain - and if not, they would take it by force, since there was no king to instill fear in them. This is what caused "[the] man to depart from Beis Lechem Yehuda to sojourn in the fields of Moav." Since he was a wealthy man, he was afraid that the poor people would seize upon him and loot everything that he had.The Malbim almost does too good of a job explaining Elimelech's rationale for leaving. He makes it seem like Elimelech had a legitimate cause for concern, and that he wasn't necessarily wrong in leaving. But if we read further, we realize that this wasn't the case:
But even though this was a time of misfortune and despair, only [this] one man left [the country]; the other wealthy people did not join him in leaving Eretz Yisrael to outside of the land. Even the members of Elimelech's household didn't leave by their own volition, for they didn't want to abandon their beloved land; only his wife and his two sons, who were subordinate to him, were compelled to follow after him.If Elimelech's decision to leave Eretz Yisrael stemmed from a real concern, why was he the only one who left? Wouldn't the other rich people have taken similar precautions to protect their wealth? Furthermore, wouldn't the other members of Elimelech's family be on board with this decision if it were really in their best interests? Rather, it would seem that Elimelech's rationale for leaving was merely a pretext for stinginess.
Lastly, we turn to the midrash in Rus Rabbah, which adds one more layer of complexity to our analysis of Elimelech's cheit:
Why was Elimelech punished? Because he struck despair into the hearts of Israel. He was like a prominent man who dwelt in a certain country, and the people of that country depended upon him and said that if the years of drought came, he could supply the whole country with food for ten years. When the drought came, however, his maidservant went out and stood in the market place with her basket in her hand. And the people of the country said, "This is the man upon whom we depended that if a drought should come he would sustain us for ten years, and yet, here his maidservant stands in the marketplace with her basket in her hand!" So with Elimelech: he was one of the prominent members of his place and one of the leaders of his generation, but when the famine came he said, "Now all Israel will come knocking at my door, each one with his basket." He therefore arose and fled from them. This is the meaning of the verse, "And a certain man of Beis Lechem went."
According to the midrash, it would seem that Elimelech's stinginess differed from the norm. A regular stingy person never gives to charity. In contrast, Elimelech had built up such a reputation for generosity that the people of his generation felt they would be able to depend on him to sustain them if the need ever arose. It was only when the famine struck that Elimelech's stinginess kicked in, even to the point where his maidservant would be begging on the street.
So what was the nature of Elimelech's stinginess? Why was he willing to use his money for tzedakah before the famine, but not after?
Honestly, I can't say for sure. My chavrusas and I discussed a number of possibilities, but they were too speculative and/or problematic for us to be satisfied with our conclusions. However, I would like to present an idea about stinginess that we came up with in thinking about the question. Whether or not this idea has anything to do with Elimelech is an open question.
Honestly, I can't say for sure. My chavrusas and I discussed a number of possibilities, but they were too speculative and/or problematic for us to be satisfied with our conclusions. However, I would like to present an idea about stinginess that we came up with in thinking about the question. Whether or not this idea has anything to do with Elimelech is an open question.
In the final chapter of the Moreh ha'Nevuchim the Rambam writes about the four kinds of perfection that man can acquire:
The first kind, the lowest, which most people spend most of their days trying to acquire, is perfection of material possessions: the possession of money, garments, furniture, servants, land, and the like; the possession of the title of a great king also belongs to this class. There is no real connection between this possession and its possessor at all; it is a totally circumstantial relationship, and most of the pleasure derived from it is totally imaginary. By that I am referring to when a person says, “This is my house! This is my servant! This is my money! And these are my hosts and armies!” For when he examines himself he will find that all these things are external, and their qualities are entirely independent of the possessor. When, therefore, that relation ceases, he who has been a great king may one morning find that there is no difference between him and the lowest person, and yet no change has taken place in the things which were ascribed to him. The philosophers have shown that he whose sole aim in all his exertions and endeavors is the possession of this kind of perfection, only seeks perfectly imaginary and transient things; and even if these remain his property all his lifetime, they do not give him any perfection.
The wealthy individual can easily fall into the trap of regarding his wealth as a quality of himself, rather than a feature of his circumstances. People say "I am rich" when they really mean "I have wealth." In truth, the connection between themselves and their wealth is purely imaginary.
We need not elaborate on how destructive this mentality can be. Not only does it inflate the wealthy person's ego and sense of entitlement, but it renders him even more vulnerable to the fallacy of "kochi v'otzem yadi," and all of its consequences.
At the same time, this distorted view of wealth can serve as a beneficial lo lishmah (ulterior motive) for mtizvos and maasim tovim (good deeds). There are many philanthropists out there who get an ego-boost from giving tzedakah, and whose charity is fueled by the feeling that they - not Hashem - are the sustainers of the poor. When they give, they think to themselves, whether consciously or unconsciously, "Look at how I am benefiting the poor!" "See how dependent they are on me!" Sure, these aren't the most noble motives, but like any lo lishmah, they're good insofar as they get the mitzvah done.
Now, imagine a wealthy person who is operating under this type of lo lishmah. So long as the poor people continue to look favorably upon him and enable him to feel good about his generosity, then his lo lishmah will remain intact, and he will continue to give.
But when famine strikes and the people become desperate, things change. When our hypothetical philanthropist hears the mob threatening to break down his door, and when he sees the hunger and need in their eyes, then the truth stated by the Rambam becomes undeniably apparent: "there is no real connection between this possession and its possessor at all." He realizes: "These people don't need me; they need my money ... and if push comes to shove, they'll be willing to cast me aside in order to take what they need by force."
This realization totally shatters the lo lishmah. No longer can the philanthropist derive ego-gratification from thinking about how he is needed by so many people. Once he realizes that he is nothing but an obstacle between the mob outside of his door and the money in his vaults, his motivation for giving tzedakah completely dissolves.
This, I believe, is a plausible explanation for how a person might be exceedingly charitable when times are good, but become tightfisted when the tides turn.
Did Elimelech, himself, succumb to this trap? Is this why he was so willing to give of his money under normal circumstances, but panicked and became overly protective of his money the famine struck? Is this the type of cheit that would be worthy of death, as the midrashim seem to imply? I cannot say. A lot of this depends on how high of a level one assumes that Elimelech was on, and how the hashgachah relates to people in his position.
But even if we haven't explained the cheit of Elimelech, at least we have come away with an insight into this peculiar type of foul-weather stinginess.
We need not elaborate on how destructive this mentality can be. Not only does it inflate the wealthy person's ego and sense of entitlement, but it renders him even more vulnerable to the fallacy of "kochi v'otzem yadi," and all of its consequences.
At the same time, this distorted view of wealth can serve as a beneficial lo lishmah (ulterior motive) for mtizvos and maasim tovim (good deeds). There are many philanthropists out there who get an ego-boost from giving tzedakah, and whose charity is fueled by the feeling that they - not Hashem - are the sustainers of the poor. When they give, they think to themselves, whether consciously or unconsciously, "Look at how I am benefiting the poor!" "See how dependent they are on me!" Sure, these aren't the most noble motives, but like any lo lishmah, they're good insofar as they get the mitzvah done.
Now, imagine a wealthy person who is operating under this type of lo lishmah. So long as the poor people continue to look favorably upon him and enable him to feel good about his generosity, then his lo lishmah will remain intact, and he will continue to give.
But when famine strikes and the people become desperate, things change. When our hypothetical philanthropist hears the mob threatening to break down his door, and when he sees the hunger and need in their eyes, then the truth stated by the Rambam becomes undeniably apparent: "there is no real connection between this possession and its possessor at all." He realizes: "These people don't need me; they need my money ... and if push comes to shove, they'll be willing to cast me aside in order to take what they need by force."
This realization totally shatters the lo lishmah. No longer can the philanthropist derive ego-gratification from thinking about how he is needed by so many people. Once he realizes that he is nothing but an obstacle between the mob outside of his door and the money in his vaults, his motivation for giving tzedakah completely dissolves.
This, I believe, is a plausible explanation for how a person might be exceedingly charitable when times are good, but become tightfisted when the tides turn.
Did Elimelech, himself, succumb to this trap? Is this why he was so willing to give of his money under normal circumstances, but panicked and became overly protective of his money the famine struck? Is this the type of cheit that would be worthy of death, as the midrashim seem to imply? I cannot say. A lot of this depends on how high of a level one assumes that Elimelech was on, and how the hashgachah relates to people in his position.
But even if we haven't explained the cheit of Elimelech, at least we have come away with an insight into this peculiar type of foul-weather stinginess.
