By Rabbi Dr. Michael Leo Samuel
Schnorrers have always played a starring role in Jewish history — and they’ve been at it for centuries. There’s the classic story of the schnorrer who proudly announced, “One day, I’ll be richer than Rothschild!” When asked how, he explained: “Simple. I’ll keep schnorring… and Rothschild will keep giving.”
I’ve always been struck by one delicious linguistic nuance in this week’s sedra.
The Hebrew language is gloriously rich in words for “poor person.” We’ve got dal, evyon, oni, rash — a whole thesaurus of poverty. Yet when the Torah lays down the laws about helping the poor, it refuses to use any of them. Instead, it keeps repeating one single word: achicha — “your brother.”
That’s not an accident. The Torah is making a point with all the subtlety of a hammer: the guy with his hand out isn’t “some poor soul,” “that beggar,” or “the unfortunate.” He’s your brother. Same Creator, same image of God, same family album.
So maybe put away the spare change and the polite smile-and-nod. He deserves respect along with the tzedakah. This point was driven home brilliantly by a remarkable obituary that appeared in the Jerusalem Post a while back. It’s about a man named Yoni — a beggar everyone in Jerusalem seemed to know.
Sam Orbaum wrote it with zero journalistic detachment and 100% raw grief: “He was just a beggar. When he died, he was just one less beggar on the streets of Jerusalem. Society shrugged. Who cares?”
Then comes the letter from Yoni’s father that wrecks you:
“Dear Yoni… I cannot tell you how proud I am of you, my firstborn and very loving son…”
Two hundred people showed up for his memorial in New York. Hundreds more buried him on the Mount of Olives. Shopkeepers — Jewish and Arab — still talk about him. Philip Roth even put him in a novel. The guy collected money for ten hours a day at the Central Bus Station… and gave every single shekel away.
He was schizophrenic, manic-depressive, and had a messianic complex the size of Mount Sinai. In short, clinically nuts. But he hugged strangers (Jews and Arabs), blessed people, made them laugh, and radiated a kind of wild, exhausting love that made everyone else look emotionally constipated by comparison.
As his father wrote: “You were mad about people. And we’re much more comfortable with hatred than with your kind of love.”
Yoni wasn’t just a beggar. He was a walking, schnorring reminder that sometimes the “crazy” ones are the sanest of all.
We forget that beggars have fathers too. And mothers. And stories. And, apparently, fan clubs. Yoni reminds me of Peretz’s classic Bontsche Shveig — the silent beggar who suffered his whole life, then, when he finally gets to Heaven and the angels offer him anything, he shyly asks for… a fresh butter roll. All the angels hung their heads in shame.
Moral of the story: You never know who that next beggar really is. Could be Elijah the Prophet in disguise, doing quality control on our middot.
So, greet every one of them warmly. Generously. Respectfully.
Just in case.
That tradition starts right here in this week’s Torah reading. The poor man has many names in Hebrew, but the Torah gives him only one that matters: achicha — your brother.
May we continue that tradition — in us, with us, and through us — until the day when no one needs to schnorr at all.
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Rabbi Dr. Michael Leo Samuel is spiritual leader of Temple Beth Shalom in Chula Vista, California