Four Types

There are four types of people.
The ignorant says “what’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine.”
The pious says “what’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is yours.”
The wicked says “what’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is mine.”
Then there are those who know how to count.

The wicked is wicked because he is a robber.
But the ignorant should also be a robber. One may not take another’s possession even with intention to replace it.
And the pious should be poor. Or foolish. We are not supposed to give away more than one fifth of our assets to others (barring certain situations probably not applicable to the pious).

Allow me to conclude therefore, that we are not discussing physical belongings. We are discussing the moral status of a favor.

The ground zero of favors is “what’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is yours.” If I did you a favor, it’s yours. Keep it. It is my gift to you. Don’t bother repaying it, because there is no such thing as “repaying a favor”. And if you do me a favor, don’t think you’re all hot, and you have one on me. I owe you nothing. It was a favor. From your heart.

In short: don’t expect favors. This is the foundation of the moral status of favors. He who knows this, is normal. But he who practices it shouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t make many friends. And you know, in Sodom there were no friends.

If someone thinks favors are exchanges (“I gave you money when you needed it, give me money when I need it! Where’s your hakoras hatov?!”), you know he is plain dumb. Hakoras hatov means I thanked you when you did me a favor. Now go away. You can’t make be beholden to you by being nice to me. It doesn’t work like that. Misnaged.

The wicked dude expects people to clean up after him. He thinks favors are obligatory, but only one way. His way. Believe it or not, many people are like this. Maybe even you. The guy who’s driving down the highway and misses his exit? Mind you, he’s not in a very good mood to begin with: he woke up late and is late to his appointment. Now he missed his exit. For the second time. But that’s half his problems when he realizes the next exit to U is in 25 miles. So now he’s super angry and having a tantrum all over the place.
But he’s expecting things to be good for him. “Give it to me, make it good, and give it now!” Nobody is obligated to give you a good time, buddy. Push though it.

Then there’s the chasid. He’s just doing favors for everybody, and not expecting to have a good life. Good guy. He’ll probably have a good life.

The bottom line is this.

Words

After all the words have been spent, all the stories told. There's nothing to say.
I will continue writing, but no more words.

Inspiration

We stumble through the circumstances of our day, groping, feeling for a ladder of life upon which we might ascend to the light beyond the grayness of this abyss. Yet, we constantly remain in our endless void, still groping and searching, hoping and dreaming, for the day we might revel in the glory of truth.

Through all our groping and dreaming however, we are occasionally granted to observe, a slight radiance in our darkness. And when that happens, we seize that beauty for all we’re worth, because it’s the only chance we’re going to get.

Most of the inmates I visit in jail are reluctant to talk about their crimes, and if they do, it’s to deny. But Jim told me to simply type his name onto Google’s search engine, and I’ll know more about him than I want. A hit man for the mafia, Jim was sitting for charges of racketeering, theft, drug possession, tax evasion and, oh yeah, a couple of murders. Born to a Hispanic father and a Jewish mother, Jim had strayed far from the ways of his maternal ancestry.

As a hit man, he would forcefully evict occupants of apartments due to large debts accumulated over months of unpaid rent. Usually those evictions were brutal; they didn’t use the mafia hit man for nothing.

On one such eviction assignment, Jim and a buddy stormed the apartment, loaded and engaged fire weapons drawn. They were prepared for anything.

Beyond the doorway however, stood a frightened young woman, tightly clutching a small child against her body. And on the wall behind her, Jim noticed, hung a Star of David.

The action came as swiftly as the decision. Jim aimed his pistol at his partner’s neck as he breathed, “Touch the woman, and you’ll never see the light of day again.”

So saying, he withdrew a couple thousand dollars in cash, and laid it out on the table. “Take this,” he said to the woman, “and do me a favor. Go the hell away, and don’t come back.”

With that, he left…


(Written by IF and Zalman. True story as told by Jewish Head Chaplain, State of Kansas.)