One of the most iconic lines in all of Torah isn’t just something we read—it’s something we live. You’ll find it in Deuteronomy, and if you’re someone who prays traditionally, you’ll say it multiple times a day. It’s the opening line of the V’ahavta:
וְאָהַבְתָּ אֵת ה׳ אֱלֹהֶיךָ בְּכׇל לְבָבְךָ וּבְכׇל נַפְשְׁךָ וּבְכׇל מְאֹדֶךָ
“You shall love Adonai your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your meodecha.”
Heart? That’s easy to understand. Soul? Sure, that’s deep—but familiar. But meodecha? That’s where things get interesting.
The word meod in Hebrew usually means very—as in tov meod, “very good.” It’s typically an adverb, not a noun. But here, in one of the most theologically profound verses of Torah, meodecha is used as if it were a tangible thing. So what does it mean to love God with your very?
Rashi, the great medieval commentator, interprets meodecha to mean “with all your wealth.” That’s one lens—after all, when we give our financial resources, we’re giving something of ourselves. But I’d like to propose a different angle. What if meodecha means something even more personal, even more intimate?
What if meodecha means “your veryness”—the essence of who you are?
In this week’s Torah portion, we see this concept come to life. The Israelites are asked to contribute to the construction of the Mishkan, God’s dwelling place in the wilderness. But it isn’t just about money. The Torah repeatedly emphasizes that the gifts must come nadiv libo—voluntarily, from the heart.
Yes, there was gold. Yes, there was silver. But what set this act of giving apart was its sincerity. The Israelites were giving not out of obligation or social pressure—they were giving of themselves. In fact, they gave so much that Moses had to tell them to stop. Imagine that—a problem of over-generosity. Every nonprofit’s dream.
But here’s the key: it wasn’t about the amount they gave—it was about the spirit in which they gave it.
This week, I want to distinguish between two beautiful Jewish values: tzedakah and nedivut.
Tzedakah is charity—most often associated with financial giving. It’s a mitzvah, a moral obligation. But nedivut, which comes from the same root as nadiv libo, means generosity of the heart. And that’s where meodecha lives—not just in your bank account, but in your time, your energy, your love, and your attention.
Here’s the difference. If you’re walking down the street and someone asks for help, and you drop a dollar in their cup as you keep moving, that’s tzedakah. It’s a good thing—it’s even your responsibility. But if you stop, look them in the eye, ask their name, have a conversation, and make them feel seen—that’s nedivut. That’s giving from your veryness.
Several years ago, I led a group of teens on a Midnight Run in New York City. We loaded up vans with toiletries, food, clothing, and set out to distribute them to those experiencing homelessness. But before we left, I gave the teens one directive: Don’t just hand things out—talk. Listen. Be in relationship.
The next day, as we rushed through the city trying to make a museum reservation, I noticed a group of students lagging behind. I was frustrated—trying to wrangle fifty teens in Manhattan is no easy task. But when I doubled back, I found them deep in conversation with a man on the street.
“We didn’t have anything to give him,” they said. “We just wanted to make sure he felt like a normal human being.”
That’s meodecha. That’s generosity of spirit. That’s what it means to give from your veryness.
And truthfully, that’s the kind of giving that builds community. Not just with money—but with presence. With heart. With soul. And yes—with your very.
At the Jewish Center of the Hamptons, we’re working to cultivate a culture of volunteerism. We’re building a place where giving isn’t just about writing a check—it’s about showing up. Whether it’s preparing meals for Maureen’s Haven, volunteering with The Retreat, or simply lending your time and energy to help our community flourish, there are so many ways to give from your meodecha.
In Hebrew, the verb “to volunteer” is l’hitnadev—from the same root as nedivut. Embedded in our language is the idea that generosity and volunteering come from the same spiritual source: the heart.
So here’s your Shabbat challenge: Find a way to give that won’t show up on your tax return. Give from your essence. Give from your heart. Give from your veryness. Your meodecha.
And in doing so, you just might discover that the act of giving not only transforms someone else’s life—it transforms your own.