Providing: Ligmol (לִגְמֹול)

Embedded within human nature is the inclination to help others in need. But what is the ultimate goal of such giving?

The urge to give can sometimes be self-serving, especially when it leaves the recipient in a state of interminable dependence. To give someone the gift of independence, however, is to set them free, allowing them to stand on their own two feet.

This subtle distinction is reflected in the Hebrew word for providing for others—ligmol, which is the same word used for weaning, when a mother stops nursing a child. The Torah1 tells us that Abraham held a great feast on the day that Isaac was weaned. Judaism sees weaning not just as a significant change in a child’s diet, but as a crucial developmental milestone worthy of celebration.

In child-rearing, it is tempting for a parent to want to keep providing for their child as much as possible, for as long as possible. In the words of the Talmud,2 “More than the calf wishes to suck, the cow wants to suckle.”

However, this parental impulse to constantly tend to a child’s every whim and want is not in the best interests of the child. The job of the parent is not to focus on what they want to give to their child, but on what their child truly needs in order to develop the necessary skills to succeed in life on their own. After all, we won’t always be around to care for them.

As mentioned in the previous chapter, a parent’s obligation to their child includes the following three criteria: 1) A Jewish education, to help provide them with a value system and moral compass with which to navigate the complexities of life; 2) a trade, so they can earn a livelihood; and 3) basic survival skills—such as how to swim, for example. In all of these parental obligations, the Sages are teaching us not only the criteria but the actual objectives of successful parenting—the raising of well-adjusted, independent human beings!3

In Judaism, it is understood that the epitome of what we can do for another person is not just to give them what we have or what they currently need, but to help them be able to support themselves. As the famous saying goes: “Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime.”

Maimonides4 famously lists eight ascending levels of being charitable, the highest of which is to help a person become self-reliant. In Maimonides’ words: “The loftiest degree, exceeded by none, is that of the person who assists someone by providing him with a loan or by accepting him into a business partnership or by helping him find employment in order to strengthen his hand so that he will not need to be dependent upon others.”

One might think that a gift is nobler than a loan; after all, a loan is returned, while a gift requires one to part with their money forever. This may be true from the perspective of the donor, but from the perspective of the receiver, a loan has a far greater impact because it keeps them on—rather than off—their feet in order to repay it.

Additionally, the greater benefit of a loan or a job, as opposed to a handout, is that it helps preserve the dignity and agency of the recipient as they work to achieve financial independence and stability.

Maimonides continues: “With reference to such aid, it is said, You shall strengthen him, whether he be a stranger or a settler (Leviticus 25:35), which means to strengthen him in such a manner that his falling into further want is prevented.”

In his commentary on this same verse, Rashi gives a similar explanation and then quotes a parable from the Midrash:

“Do not leave him alone so that he descends and falls, for it will be hard to raise him back up. Rather, support him from the time his hand slips. To what might this be compared? To a burden on a donkey. While it is still on the donkey, one person can hold it up and set it straight. But if it falls to the ground, even five people cannot put it back on.” Our responsibility to help others thus begins well before they are no longer able to help themselves.

Put differently: “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” This is the socio-economic version of “preventive medicine” rather than the “emergency room” approach practiced in many countries and communities.

Such an empowering approach to self-sufficiency also extends to education, another form of giving. In the Jewish understanding of education, the goal is not to convey information simply so that the student is able to repeat and regurgitate what they heard. Rather, the goal is to provide them with the critical skills that enable them to become independently proficient, empowering them to study and acquire knowledge on their own.

This applies spiritually as well. Our Sages teach5 that Aaron the High Priest was instructed to kindle the lights of the menorah in the Holy Temple “until the flames ascended and stayed lit on their own.” Chasidut6 explains that the same holds true when kindling the spiritual flame in others. It is not enough for those we seek to inspire to merely retain what we give them, passively reflecting another’s luminescence; they need to be empowered to acquire and generate their own insight and inspiration in order to independently shine their own unique light.

All of these insights underscore the same basic truth. Whether we are talking about someone’s financial, educational, or spiritual needs, the greatest gift one can give another is the resources and skills necessary for them to provide for themselves and take charge of their own destiny.

Late one night, two hours into an audience with the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Israeli diplomat Yehuda Avner asked, “Rebbe, what is it that you seek to accomplish?”

“Yehuda,” said the Rebbe, “look there, on the shelf. What do you see?”

“A candle,” he replied.

“No. It’s not a candle; it’s just a lump of wax with a string down the middle. When does this lump of wax become a candle? When you bring a flame to the wick.”

His voice rising, the Rebbe continued in a Talmudic singsong: “The wax is the body of the human being, the wick is the soul, and the flame is the fire of the Torah. When the soul is ignited by the flame of the Torah, that’s when the person becomes a candle, achieving the purpose for which he was created.

“This is what I try to do—to help every man and woman achieve the purpose for which they were created.”

An hour later, with the sun about to rise and the meeting drawing to a close, Avner asked, “So, has the Rebbe lit my candle?”

“No,” the Rebbe replied quietly. “I have given you the match. Only you can light your own candle.”

Judaism’s idea of helping others is to put them on their feet, not on your shoulders.