That's Not Fair

Rabbi Melanie Aron

May 15, 2004

One of the young lawyers in our monthly Talmud class agonized last year over where to put his daughter for pre-school. After going back and forth several times they chose South Peninsula Hebrew Day School in the hopes that being in pre-school with lots of Israeli kids their daughter would learn some Hebrew. We were talking in class last week and I asked how it was going. “Well, pretty good”, he said, “she does have a favorite Hebrew expression. She now walks around the house saying: “ze lo fair”.”

We shouldn’t really be surprised that “It’s not fair” is her first Hebrew phrase. After all fairness is a big concern for people of all ages and especially for kids. I know students often come to me with complaints about fairness from teachers in class, and from other kids in the games played during recess. Especially as kids get to middle school, making sure things are fair becomes very important.

Our Torah portion this week, a double portion because this year has no additional leap month, is about fairness. In the first portion the fairness it is concerned about is economic and in the second, in life itself.

As the ancient Israelites made the transition from being desert nomads to becoming settled farmers, gaps began to develop between rich and poor. While early in our history the difference between the wealthiest member of society and the poorest was insignificant, later, as Israelite society became more developed, this gap grew. The laws of the Torah responded to this reality, the rich were getting richer and the poor were getting poorer, and something had to be done. The sabbatical and jubilee years were a way of stopping that process and reducing inequality by leveling the playing field and giving everyone another chance.

Issues of unfairness and inequality continue in our world today. Within the United States itself it is estimated that 20% of the population possesses 83% of the wealth. Many of the kids have played the chair game, where ten chairs indicate the world’s wealth, and one person lounges on seven of the chairs, while the other 9 people squeeze into the three remaining seats. Worldwide the differences between rich and poor countries are great. Over the past five years some have looked to the jubilee year as a way of addressing that inequality. One of the factors in making it hard for poor countries to flourish and provide for their citizens is the enormous debt that shackles their efforts. If there were an international jubilee these third world countries would have a chance to overcome the legacy of centuries.

Fairness, and the responsibility of the entire society to care for its poor, are basic Jewish values. As Maimonides writes: “These laws were inspired by compassion for mankind, especially compassion for the slaves and the poor. They were designed to redress the inequalities of income and economy.” When talking about the worst sins a person could commit, along with the big three, murder, rape and public apostasy that leads others astray, the rabbis also list ignoring the sabbatical and jubilee years with their important social implications.

But what about the second portion- Bechukottai-it’s focus is on reward and punishment, blessing and curse. What does that have to do with fairness? One of the commentaries I read tied this portion to fairness in an interesting way. We see unfairness in the world, not only in economic disparities, in people living on the street, or not having enough money to buy food because it has all gone to pay for their medicines, but also in the other bad things that happen to people who don’t seem to deserve them- fires and car accidents, cancer, ms and heart attacks. The commentary reads this weeks Torah portion as saying that, in the Messianic age, in the fulfillment of history there will be fairness in all these things as well. Now it rains on the worthy and the unworthy, but in the perfection of the world each will receive only what they truly deserve.

One of my teachers who understands the Torah in this way had a special custom that seemed very meaningful to me. In the Bircat Hamazon, the Grace after Meals, in the full version and not camp style as we usually sing it at Shir Hadash, there is a verse towards the end: Naar hayiti vegam zakanti, velo raiti, zadik neezav vezaro mevakesh lachem. Literally it means, “I have been a youth and now grown old, and never did I see a righteous person abandoned with his children forced to seek bread.” My teacher said, “I can’t say that sentence truthfully”, and so his custom and that of many people is to whisper this verse, at least until the Messiah comes, and he can honestly say its true.

Zeh lo fair are pretty profound words for a three year old. They are also important words to remind each of us of our Jewishly mandated responsibilities.