Who started Giving Tuesday? What is true generosity anyway?

Giving Tuesday, celebrated annually on the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, is approaching, and I’ve been wondering how it got started in the first place.

So I did some research. Learning its origins put a broad smile on my face because, it turns out, Giving Tuesday was born and incubated at New York’s wonderful 92nd Street Y — at its Belfer Center for Innovation and Social Impact, to be specific.

As the Y’s website, www.92ny.org, explains, since its inception in 2013, the Belfer Center has “worked to build a world where thriving communities collaborate to create solutions to the problems we face.” Its reach is quite something: It has launched 20 initiatives “that collectively have reached 100+ million people.” Giving Tuesday, the Center’s largest initiative, “raised $3.1 billion in 2022 alone for organizations and individuals.”

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Giving Tuesday, now an independent nonprofit and global movement (styled on its website, www.givingtuesday.org, without the space in between the two words), proclaims that the day “inspires hundreds of millions of people to give, collaborate and celebrate generosity.”

So I ask myself, “How do we celebrate generosity? What does it mean to engage in generosity?” Many of us want to be generous and help out our fellow human beings, but how do we decide how much money is the magically right amount to donate? Mother Teresa advised, “Give but give until it hurts.”

Though I could understand that this advice might motivate some people to stretch a little to give more than they had planned, I prefer the advice of one of our past national Hadassah presidents, Ellen Hershkin, who spoke to my local chapter in Millburn many moons ago. “Give until it feels good,” she said. I imagine that in doing so, none of us would impoverish ourselves.

Generosity is relative, though. Isn’t the $100 gift from a person of modest means proportionately like a million-dollar gift from a billionaire? Yet often people of modest means don’t get the feel-good feedback they deserve from the leaders of a fundraising campaign or colleagues and friends. I think sometimes the small donor (as opposed to the big giver) forgets that she too helped to build that new hospital building or Jewish day school. Many decades ago, I attended a groundbreaking ceremony for a new school building and watched as each of the major donors was handed his gold shovel to take a turn at breaking ground. No one else was acknowledged. As I stood in the back, my shoes sinking into the lawn, I remember thinking, “I gave a gift too — a pretty large one considering my financial situation — but I don’t feel part of this milestone celebration. I feel like a bystander. And it will be my children’s school!”

It wasn’t right.

But enough about the money aspect of generosity for the moment. We all know that generosity is not limited to financial donations. The Giving Tuesday movement prides itself on promoting the concept of radical generosity, where “a better future is being built by all of us right now, in the billions of small actions we take each day. Acts of care, love and understanding extend outward, like the threads of a beautiful tapestry. Whether it’s offering a kind smile, a helping hand or an hour of your time — these acts have a way of rippling out, becoming part of something much greater. That is the power of radical generosity.”

And what does Judaism have to say about generosity? I’ve always loved that Judaism links generosity to justice through its use of the word tzedakah. Many people translate the word as charity, but really its true definition is righteousness or justice. Even Wikipedia says that tzedakah “refers to the religious obligation to do what is right and just.” What’s the difference? As I see it, Judaism doesn’t advocate that generosity should emanate from sympathy, empathy or kindness. It’s not that those are bad things. But I prefer Judaism’s tenet that generosity should come simply from an inner sense of justice, an inner pull to do the right thing.

In searching for less well-known sources pertaining to Judaism’s advice on giving, I came across a touching, simply stated description of tzedakah from the Jewish Museum of London:

“Tzedakah is an obligation Jewish people have with God to help bring fairness to the world. There are many different forms of tzedakah. The most common form of tzedakah is giving money to people who are less fortunate and to the communities that take care of them. One of the most important forms is showing kindness and respect towards others. Doing mitzvahs (good deeds) such as visiting the elderly, helping someone who is sick and volunteering are all forms of tzedakah.”

That sums it up nicely, I think.

I would be disingenuous, though, if I did not mention that Judaism also tells us that we can count on payback for our generosity. As Proverbs 11:25 says, “A generous person enjoys prosperity; he who satisfies others shall himself be sated.”

I never liked this notion of divine payback for being generous, but as the Jewish Virtual Library explains: “The doctrine of reward and punishment is central to Judaism throughout the ages; that man receives his just reward for his good deeds and just retribution for his transgressions is the very basis of the conception of both human and divine justice…. It is regarded as axiomatic that God rewards the righteous by granting them prosperity and well-being and punishes the wicked with destruction.”

A wise rabbi, however, once told me that I need to think metaphorically. In other words, it’s not that a generous person will be paid back with more material wealth, but that he will be psychologically and spiritually satisfied, wealthy in spiritual well-being. That idea sits better with me.

Whatever our interpretation of the Bible or Proverbs, whatever motivates us toward generosity, I think the bottom line may be that though life is not fair and equity for all is an unrealistic goal, we can do our part to even out the playing field a bit.

Wishing you — and all the causes you love — a meaningful Giving Tuesday, overflowing with generosity.

Lonye Debra Rasch of Short Hills is a past president of the Northern New Jersey region of Hadassah and a member of Hadassah’s national assembly and the Hadassah Writers Circle. Married to an international attorney and the mother of two daughters and grandmother of three small children, she is a big advocate of yoga, book clubs, and time with family and friends.