Over a decade ago, Marie Kondo's book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing, was first published, catapulting her into the pop-culture stratosphere. Her status as a household name was further cemented in 2019 with the debut of her Netflix show. A central tenet of the philosophy she outlines in the book and demonstrates on television is decluttering one's home by discarding items that don't “spark joy.” The core principle is that if an item is neither useful nor brings happiness, it's time to part ways with it. What, then, should you do with these unwanted possessions? Kondo advocates thanking each item for its service before disposal, encouraging responsible practices such as donating usable items to charity, selling items in good condition, and recycling textiles wherever feasible.
I'm one of those people who find it really difficult to let go of their possessions. When I'm clearing out my wardrobe, instead of asking “Have I used this item in the past twelve months?”, I tend to frame the question the other way around: “Can I possibly imagine a situation in the next 12 months in which I might use this item?”—and whenever the answer is "yes" (which is almost always the case, even if I'd need to lose 15kg before being able to wear it!), I keep it. For this reason, Kondo's method has never really resonated with me.
But there was an aspect of her approach (and I confess I consulted ChatGPT to get a better understanding of it) that caught my attention: the suggestion to donate items that don’t spark joy, or sell those in good condition. This highlights an issue with our donation culture that has often bothered me. We often donate things that are no longer fashionable, or clothes that are ripped or stained. If items are still in good condition, the prevailing advice is to sell them as second-hand goods and make a bit of profit.
The Hebrew word for “charity", tzedakah, comes from the same root as tzedek, "justice." This recognises that in a as world full of inequalities as ours, sharing one's wealth isn't merely an act of kindness, but a matter of bringing justice into the world. Seen as a question of justice, our donations should bring dignity to those who receive them. I once volunteered with an organisation whose motto was, “If you wouldn't give this to your nephew, don't give it to anyone.” Returning to Marie Kondo’s method, it's the items in the best condition that should be directed to charity; let the torn and stained items be sold at second-hand shops!
This week’s parashah, T’rumah, exemplifies this kind of behaviour. God asks for donations for the construction of the Mishkan, the portable Sanctuary that the Israelites would use whilst wandering in the desert. Remember that this was a people who, until recently, had lived as slaves and left Egypt in haste, without being able to carry much. For them, any donation would mean parting with something they valued, something that genuinely "sparked joy." And yet... the volume of donations was so significant that Moshe had to ask the people to stop giving.
We live in confusing times. A decade or so ago, it was common for billionaires to be generous with their fortunes, creating foundations that helped communities and countries in need. The wealthiest nations also provided aid, recognising their responsibility in a world in which so many lacked basic necessities. Unfortunately, we are experiencing the opposite trend in recent years, with the ultra-rich accumulating even more wealth, but not being generous in the least, and with countries suspending their foreign aid programmes, convinced that their own people must come first.
May our sense of justice move us to see the dignity in every human being and adjust our generosity accordingly.
Shabbat Shalom!
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