In the Jewish tradition, a form of kindness is regarded as the most genuine, defined by its selflessness and the fact that it will not be repaid.
Jacob is dying and asks Joseph for one request—not a blessing, not forgiveness—but a favor. He asks that Joseph take his body out of Egypt and bury him alongside his fathers. “V’asita imadi chesed v’emet,” he says, “treat me in chesed and emet” (Genesis 47:29). Rashi’s commentary eventually developed into a distinct category within Jewish law and language: chesed shel emet, meaning kindness done to a person who is dead, since the dead cannot thank you, cannot return the favor, nor can they even know that it has been done. With all other kinds of kindness, there is always the possibility of quid pro quo or at least a hint of reciprocity, such as the quiet satisfaction of having done something that was noticed. This kindness, however, has no such element; it is precisely this lack that gives it the quality of being emet, true.
At a graveside, I reflect on this. The ritual that makes the point is that we bury the person ourselves; mourners and friends fill in the hole by hand with a shovel, and the shovel is never passed directly from one person to another. After you have finished your portion, you put it back into the ground. The next person then picks up the shovel where it lies. In some communities, they go a step further by turning the shovel upside down before using it, making this common tool as intentionally awkward and difficult to use as possible. The mitzvah must be difficult. This is no accident; it is the whole point. It has to be made hard enough so that it can’t be mistaken for something done for the person carrying out the action’s own benefit. There is no one to thank you for it, merely the dirt and a shovel which someone has left standing there for you to pick up.
I don’t think our tradition was meant to stop there, though. It speaks to presence in general, the importance of staying with someone even when it gives you nothing in return.
I am reminded of the musicians on the Titanic and of Janusz Korczak, who refused opportunities to save himself and instead stayed with the children of his orphanage as they were taken onto the trains to Treblinka, remaining with them, as far as can be told, until the end. None of them received thanks from the people they cared for. Those people could not offer future loyalty, could not become worthwhile allies, and likely failed to remember to thank them, as most would be dead within an hour. Wallace Hartley’s band continued to play on a ship that was already lost. Korczak went toward a place with only one exit. Their act of kindness was not forced; it was a choice made by people who had an exit and chose not to take it, to help people who would never be able to open a door for them in return. In neither story is there any repayment of kindness.
This is especially important during these Yamim Noraim, or the Ten Days. During that time, we ask to be entered into a book, remembered, inscribed, and forgiven—despite the many failures and efforts that fell short this past year. There is nothing wrong with wanting your efforts to count for something. But Jacob’s request to Joseph goes in the opposite direction. He is not the one performing chesed shel emet; rather, he is stating in advance what kind of kindness his son will show him when Jacob is no longer in a position to give anything back. In the story of the dying man, it is not the dying man who is generous. It is the living one who is.
Most of us will not be Korczak. We won’t be asked to choose the train. But we will be asked to sit with someone who can’t thank us. A parent who no longer knows our name. A friend past the point of conversation. Someone on the street in need of food. The Torah portion Ha’azinu asks the living to give ear. Chesed shel emet asks something quieter: to keep giving ear to someone who, by the time we arrive, may no longer be able to hear us.
In the coming year, may we be the kind of kindness that was never waiting to be repaid.
G’mar chatima tova.
*I acknowledge AI’s assistance in writing this essay.