Parshas Yisro 5786
If you’ve ever been involved in fundraising, you know how critical it is to maintain good relationships. For all the successes and impact of the organization in question, donors often give not out of alignment with the cause, but out of connection with the people who work there, particularly the one making the solicitation.
And in a certain sense, it’s unfortunate. Because it means—or at least feels—like every interaction is mildly tainted. Why am I speaking with him? Why am I asking about his family? Is this just a pleasant exchange, or am I buttering him up?
We need not feel so slimy. Yisro was also a man of impressive means, spiritual ones. And in determining where to spend those resources, he also needed convincing, from none other than Hashem Himself. So if He can, why can’t we?
Yisro reunites with Moshe Rabbeinu, appearing on the scene as the Torah proclaims, “וישמע יתרו—And Yisro heard,” begging the obvious question, what precisely did he hear? What was the specific report that crossed his desk that compelled him to come and join the Jewish People?
Rashi answers that it was two items, the splitting of the Yam Suf, and the war with Amalek. Two instances in which the Jewish People had their backs to the wall, fully exposed to the oncoming attacks of their enemies, only to be saved by Hashem in miraculous fashion.
All reasonable enough, except that it seems that Yisro was actually motivated by other interests entirely. Just a few pesukim later, the Torah emphasizes that it was the Midbar—the barren wilderness—that served as the rendezvous point for Yisro and his son-in-law, Moshe. Rashi comments that the Torah underscores this point in praise of Yisro, that he was willing to suffer the harsh physical conditions in order to come and hear words of Torah.
So which is it? Was Yisro a truth seeker, thirsty for the word of Hashem as revealed through the Torah? Or was he more calculating than that? Possessing a desire to be on the winning team, the nation for whom Hashem would perform miracles in the interest of sparing them from all harm?
The answer, of course, is yes.
Yisro certainly joined the Jewish People in order to learn Torah from Moshe, to hear and understand Hashem’s instruction, His guidance for how those closest to Him should live their daily lives. Yet the miracles were important in framing the nature of that instruction. That the Torah was not given as a means of subjugating a people according to the Divine will as nothing more than a power trip. It came from a place of love, concern, and protection. The same G-d that shielded His people from harm was the G-d Who would also tell them to abide by 613 commandments.
Through the lens of Yisro’s experience, we might come to describe the miracles of Krias Yam Suf and Milchemes Amalek as—to use modern terminology—deposits in the emotional bank account. Hashem was displaying profound love and affection for His People before then turning around and making “withdrawals”, asking for their committed lifelong service to His Torah.
What is the nature of those deposits and withdrawals? In genuine, caring relationships, the deposits are not there simply to offset the withdrawals. Simply to develop enough good will between you and the person you’re ultimately attempting to exploit so that they’ll be sufficiently beguiled into performing your bidding. The deposits permit the other person to understand that the withdrawal is also an act of love, also in their own best interest, albeit with more effort expected of them to fulfill what is being asked.
If you care for the cause, if you truly believe that a sizable donation is not only in the best interest of the organization, but of the donor himself, then investing in the relationship is not a slimy act of buttering him up for the big ask, the relationship and the solicitation are all part of the same package, all acts of care and concern. The pleasantries we exchange and gifts we provide may well be done with the knowledge that we will one day solicit, but ultimately it is to help provide backdrop against which to accurately interpret that ask. It is out of care and kindness.
When we ask our children to do their homework or clean their room, we have their own interests in mind. But they won’t necessarily feel that way, unless we’ve spent the time expressing our love and our affection many, many times before. And so it is with asking a spouse to run an errand so you can jointly keep the ship you call a family afloat, and with asking an employee to make a deadline or to work harder so they produce at the highest level and become the most competent version of themselves possible. The asks, the demands, the withdrawals may well be acts of love. But they are taken as such only when we’ve doted, gifted, and complimented many times over in advance.
The contemporary terminology we use to describe the back and forth of relationships—deposits in the emotional bank account and withdrawals from that account—can make those acts sound and feel purely transactional. But we should not think of them that way. Miracles are not what Hashem provides so that He can demand obedience later. At least in the case of Yisro, it was those acts of supernatural care that simply proved what the Torah was really about. We can act similarly. Making deposits not so that we can one day make withdrawals. But so that the ones we care for understand that not much difference exists between the two in the first place.