Talk about pessimists! The Rabbis in the Talmud were arguing back and forth as to whether or not human beings should have been created. Do you know what they finally decided? It would have been better if we hadn't been! Fortunately, that wasn't the end of the discussion. That came when they said that even though we shouldn't have been created, as long as we have been, while we're here, we should do the best we can.

What do we do when we do our best? Our tradition calls it gemilut chasadim, acts of lovingkindness. So important is it that,

Our Rabbis held that the Torah begins with chesed, with loving kindness, and ends with chesed as well. Taught Rabbi Simlai: The beginning of Torah is gemilut chasadim, kind deeds, as it is written: "And the Eternal God made for Adam and his wife clothes of skin, and clothed them (after they discovered they were naked in the Garden of Eden.)" The Torah also ends with a deed of kindness, when after the death of Moshe on the mountain looking over into the promised land of Israel, God buried Moses, as it is written, "And God buried Moses in the valley." [Barton Lee, The American Rabbi, Winter 1999, pg. 144.]

Our highest virtue is giving to others. When people hear this, they tend to think of giving money. It's true giving tzedakah is a great mitzvah in Judaism. But deeds of lovingkindness constitute an even higher one:

The Talmud records (Sukkah 49b) that our ancient Rabbis held gemilut chasadim, acts of kindness, to be superior to tzedakah, charity, in three ways: Charity can be done only with one's money, but gemilut chasadim can be done with one's person or one's money. Tzedakah can be given only to the poor, but deeds of kindness can be done for rich or poor… Finally, tzedakah can be given only to the living, chesed, through attending to burial, going to a funeral, and comforting the mourners, can be done for the living and the dead. [Ibid., pg. 145.]

Astounding amounts of good can be produced by even the littlest kindnesses. I have to tell you, when I was recovering from prostate cancer surgery in June - and thank God I'm considered cured and everything so far is fine - the kindness of this Congregation helped me heal in ways you can't even imagine. The stacks of cards, the food baskets whose contents were far too tempting not to eat, the constant inquiries and well-wishes by phone, the visits, the questions about me that you asked every member of my family whenever you ran into them, and the love and support of my family - these helped me heal better than the finest doctors and the best medicines. My recovery was much smoother, faster, and less painful than I thought it was going to be due to your constant acts of chesed, your deeds of lovingkindness. My family and I are eternally grateful.

I'm sure you won't be insulted, though, if I tell you that the most curative acts were those of the children. No matter how rotten I might have been feeling, the giggles of my grandchildren, their hugs, their questions and declarations - "Gampa, are you feeling a widdle bit bedder yet? We be vewy gentle wif Gampa." - always made me feel better. And our nursery school director and teachers, God bless them, got those children involved, too. They apparently told the kids that they could cheer me up by telling me the things they liked about me:

I like listening to the Rabbi's stories. Every Friday he comes in and reads us really good books.

I love the Rabbi because he likes to pretend. One day he pretended he was reading a book but really he wasn't.

I love the Rabbi because he reads us really good books. Also I like the clothes he wears.

I love the Rabbi because he reads really good stories and he hugs us.

I love the Rabbi because he makes me laugh and he makes me feel happy.

I like the Rabbi because I like his hat and I like to hug that guy.

I love Rabbi Fass 'cause he loves us.

I like when we read a story and Rabbi Fass tickles us on the head.

I love the Rabbi because he acts silly. I like when he makes sounds to go along with the story. I liked when he made car sounds.

I like the Rabbi because he has a red car and it is cool.

I like the Rabbi because I like his car. It is not too good because it doesn't have a top and can get wet when it rains.

I like the Rabbi because he is related to God and he does some things like God does.

You know what? That last one is absolutely true - but not just of me. It's true of all of us. We're all God's relatives. We're all God's creatures, and when we do chesed we do Godly acts, we do some of the things God does. What monumental efforts do we have to undertake to perform these God-like acts? Almost none. They are almost effortless. All we need to do is be there, cross the line, and take the time.

Just be there. That's what I say to people when they tell me they don't know what to do at a Shivah house. Just go. Say hello. Stand there. The mourners will let you know whether they want to talk or keep silent. They'll indicate whether they want to talk about the loved one who just died, or about anything but. Take you cues from them. Just be there:

A little girl was sent to the store with explicit instructions to come right home so her mother wouldn't worry. Two hours passed and the mother was beside herself. When the child finally came in the mother jumped at her and scolded, "Where were you so long?" "I'm sorry, Mommy, but Jane broke her doll and I had to stop and help her fix it." "And how could you help her fix the broken doll?" Responded the child, "I really couldn't, but I sat down with her and helped her cry." [Pulpit Resource, #2, 1987]

Just be there. It may not be everything, but it will be enough.

Cross the line. We're all locked away inside ourselves. We don't read minds. We don't ever fully know what someone else is thinking, even if they tell us. But even so we can cross the line, cross over to the other side, the other person. We can try and see the world through their eyes, and try and give them what they need. When we're right, the results can be astounding. Even when we're not, the attempt is usually appreciated. There is

…a true story told of a Mrs. Klein, a Baltimore school teacher. One Thanksgiving week, she asked her class of poor, underprivileged children to draw pictures of the things they wanted most for the holiday and for which they would be most thankful. Some drew pictures of turkeys, dressed with all the trimmings. Others drew pumpkins; others sketched toys, articles of clothing, pets. One poor, sad-eyed little boy named Douglas drew a picture of a hand.

Mrs. Klein was puzzled; she asked the pupils what they thought the hand symbolized. Some suggested that it was God's hand; others thought it might be the hand of the farmer who provided the food for the holiday. Several children speculated that it might be the hand of the corner policeman.

Finally, Mrs. Klein asked Douglas to explain whose hand he had drawn. "It's your hand, teacher," said sad-eyed Douglas. And then Mrs. Klein understood.

It seems that from time to time she had affectionately held Douglas's hand. She had done so for the other children as well, but to Douglas who had been deprived of such little kindnesses, it meant so very, very much. [Simon L. Eckstein, The American Rabbi, Winter, 1999, pg. 140.]

Cross the line and take the hand of someone who needs our help - which is just about everybody:

One of the most touching stories of chesed, of sensitivity and kindness, is told by a clerk in a fashionable Dallas bridal store. She reported that a woman would pick up one piece of material after another, and pace up and down with the cloth held to her side. Never once did she look into the mirror. "It's not the look of my bridal gown that bothers me at all," she finally explained. I want to know what it will sound like. My husband-to-be lost his eyesight in Korea, and I want him to hear me at his side." [Lee, op.cit., pg. 146.]

Cross the line. See things from the other person's side, even when they can't.

Lastly, take the time. Take a moment out of the rush to the market or the next meeting or the next car pool to make a quick call to a sick friend. Take a moment to send a card. Stop long enough to ask someone you know how they're feeling. I've noticed that whenever I've taken the time to send flowers to anyone for any reason, their happiness is out of all proportion to the time and effort it took me. Do the little things. Take the time to do at least these ten things:

1. Take time to Work - It is the price of success.

2. Take time to Think - It is the source of power.

3. Take time to Play - It is the secret of youth.

4. Take time to Read - It is the foundation of knowledge.

5. Take time to Worship - It is the highway of reverence and washes the dust of earth from our eyes.

6. Take time to Help and Enjoy Friends - It is the source of happiness.

7. Take time to Love - It is the one sacrament of life.

8. Take time to Dream - It hitches the soul to the stars.

9. Take time to Laugh - It is the singing that helps with life's loads.

10. Take time to Plan - It is the secret of being able to have time to take time for the first 9 things. [Joke du Jour Inspirational]

If you think we are often miserly about our money, we are far more-so about our time:

One group of 300 seventh and eighth grade boys kept accurate records for a two-week period. The average time the father and son had alone together for an entire week was seven and one half minutes. [King Duncan, Pastor's Professional Research Service, Seven Worlds Corp. (Knoxville, Tenn., April/ May/ June 1989),"Father's Day".]

At the same time, we act as if we have all the time in the world. We're like the little girl who…

… was once fascinated by her mother's egg timer, a small hourglass with sand in it. Her mother explained that it took the sand exactly three minutes to empty, then you just turn it over and it does the same thing all over again. That afternoon the little girl brought a friend into the kitchen. "See?" she said, "you run it through like this, then you just turn it upside down and you get your three minutes back."

If only it were that easy, but of course it isn't. We have far too short a time at our disposal, far too short a time to do whatever good, whatever chesed we can. We never know when some event, some accident, some unexpected medical report, will interrupt however we were planning to spend our time, sometimes just for a while, sometimes forever.

Take the time to do whatever chesed you can. I have a suggestion. How about if each of us takes as much time each day as this sermon is taking just to do deeds of lovingkindness.

At another service, not ours, of course,

The sermon was proving to be a long one. The stranger in the back row leaned closer to the white-haired man seated just ahead of him. "How long has he been preaching?" he whispered.

The older man hesitated. "About 25 or 30 years, I think."

"Then I'll stay," said the stranger. "He must be about through." [AHA!!!, Oct. 31, 1993, P. 39]

I've been preaching for about the same length of time, and I'm about through also, at least for tonight. I just want to remind you of the incredible magnitude of little kindnesses, that chesed is the highest expression of our humanity. I want to remind you to just be there, to cross the line to the other person's side, and to take the time to do the good that all of us are capable of. I want to remind you that:

To pity distress is human; to relieve it is more like God.

For as the purse is emptied, the heart is filled.

There is more power in the open hand than in the clenched fist.

And life has taught us, through the ages,

That the one who has much may be rich,

But the one who gives much is richer.

Blessed are those who can give without remembering

Take without forgetting…[Excerpted from 'Tzedakah," in Contemporary Prayers and Readings for the High Holidays, Sabbaths and Special Occasions, The Prayer Book Press of Media Judaica by Marcus Burstein, The American Rabbi, Spring/Summer 2000, pg. 234.]

Through what we get we make a living. Through what we give we make a life. So do as much chesed as you can, but also allow yourself to receive the chesed of others. There is not a single one of us who does not need it. Give without remembering, without keeping score. Keep score only of the kindnesses you receive. Repay them with the only coin that really enriches us and work at the only thing that will truly change our world: the business of lovingkindness.

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