Vayikra: 27: 1-8

It was the morning after the school dinner, and Rabbi Rosencrantz was feeling buoyant. The Nachmanides Yeshiva Annual Dinner was always a feel-good event for the parents and faculty, where volunteers are honored for their contributions to the community and teachers are recognized for their excellence, but last night had been a big financial success as well. They had raised a record amount for the scholarship fund. As far as he could tell, everyone in the school looked happy this morning.

Well, almost everyone.

The knock on the rabbi’s office door came just after the first period bell sounded. In walked Alan Levinson, father of Shoshi Levinson (6th grade) and Malki Levinson (3rd grade), and he did not look well.

“Hi Alan. Are you OK?”

Alan Levinson said nothing. He appeared pale and unshaven, and he was wearing dark sunglasses. He slumped into the chair across from the rabbi’s desk and slid an envelope across its surface toward Rabbi Rosencrantz.

The rabbi opened the envelope, pulled out a check and let out a whistle.

“Wow, Alan. This is extremely generous.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“I don’t know how to thank you. This will really go a long way to help with the scholarship fund.”

“Mmmhmm.”

Silence reigned for what seemed like quite a long spell. It was getting a little uncomfortable.

“Alan, can I ask you a question?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Most people who give a big contribution to the school seem happy or proud when they present me with the check. A lot of people would make a big deal out of such exceptional magnanimity. And yet I can’t help but notice that you don’t exactly seem to fit that description. If anything, you seem to be in pain.”

Alan sat up in his chair.

“Yes, Rabbi Rosencrantz, that would seem to be the case. I have definitely had moments in my life where I have felt better than I do at present, significantly better.”

“Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“Please.”

The rabbi disappeared for a few minutes and then reappeared with two steaming cups of coffee in two Nachmanides Yeshiva mugs from last year’s Father’s Day fundraiser. Alan clutched his mug like a life preserver.

“Now, we’ve known each other for many years, Alan, and I mean you no disrespect, but is it possible that you had a bit of wine at the dinner last night?”

“I might have.”

“More than one glass, perhaps?”

“Perhaps. I really can’t recall.”

“And in the heat of the moment, when surrounded by friends and hearing rousing speeches about the school, did you perhaps make a pledge to give a very, very generous contribution to support our scholarship fund?”

“You are an excellent speaker, Rabbi. Very inspiring.”

“That’s very kind, Alan. But I would like to make a suggestion.”

“Oh?”

“As much as I appreciate your exceedingly generous contribution—some might even call it ginormous—maybe you want to reconsider this check.”

“And why would I want to do that?”

“Because I don’t want you to feel pressured to honor a pledge that you might not have made under different circumstances. Does your lovely wife Sandy even know about this?”

“Yes, she’s aware.”

“And how does she feel about your donation?”

“She has her reservations.”

“Maybe she has a point.”

Alan Levinson leaned over the rabbi’s desk, pulled off his sunglasses, and looked him dead in the eye.

“Rabbi, in my business your word is your bond.”

“Alan, you’re an accountant.”

“All the same, I always keep my promises. In this week’s parsha, Behukotai, the Torah discusses the concept of erchin, when you vow to donate your personal worth to the kohen for the sacred service. The Torah is very specific exactly how much a person is worth in silver shekalim according to his or her age and how much he or she needs to donate. The text is so exacting about the details of the donation because God takes these vows very seriously. The Torah emphasizes in other places as well than a man should not break his word.”

“As much as I appreciate your ability to quote the parsha, especially in your present physical condition, I’m not sure how that applies here.”

“The Sefer Hachinuch suggests that the point of this mitzvah is that when someone speaks he is a partner with God. And he has an obligation to fulfill his promises, especially when he makes a vow of charity. And that’s exactly what I did. So I’m here to make good on what I pledged last night. So I spoke and so it shall be.”

“Alan, I must say I’m very impressed with your resolve.”

“Thank you.”

“But I think I want to put the brakes on this donation.”

Rabbi Rosencrantz opened the center drawer of his desk, placed the Levinsons’ envelope inside, and slid the drawer closed.

“I’m going to leave the check in there for a month, and then we’ll talk again in late June. You’ll let me know how you feel about the donation then.”

“Fair enough, Rabbi, but nothing’s going to change.”

“That’s OK Still, you and I should savor this moment. It’s so rare that the principal of a Jewish day school looks a gift horse in the mouth.”

Alan smiled.

“Do you want a refill on the coffee?” Rabbi Rosencrantz asked.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Levinson said.

“No problem. And you can keep the mug. I’ve got a million of them.”

“Your generosity knows no bounds.”

“I would say the same.”

By Larry Stiefel

Larry Stiefel is a pediatrician at Tenafly Pediatrics.