We live in a world that often encourages us to focus on ourselves. We are told to pursue our own success, prioritize our own happiness and look out for our own interests. And while there is nothing wrong with taking care of ourselves, Judaism teaches us that a meaningful life is measured not only by what we achieve for ourselves, but by what we do for others.
Let me relate a personal experience.
Several years ago, when the POLIN Museum of Polish Jewish History was just completed in Warsaw but not yet open to the public, I had the occasion to tour it. I arrived in Warsaw early in the morning, had an experienced guide pick me up from the airport, give me a personal tour of Warsaw and the museum, and bring me back to the airport for the flight home. In the middle of the day, we stopped for coffee.
By then, I was comfortable with her and recognized her expertise in Polish-Jewish relations. I asked her to explain the nexus of antisemitism—not factoring in accusations of deicide, but of common, everyday interpersonal relationships.
She pondered for a few seconds: Imagine a man arriving on a horse to a small Jewish shtetl on a Friday morning. It’s snowing heavily and cold, and he notices that a button has fallen off of his overcoat. He enters the first shop he sees and asks the shopkeeper to refer him to a tailor.
“A tailor? No problem. Go around the corner, the second shop on the right, ask for Mendel and tell him that Beryl sent you. He’ll take very good care of you. Oh, and by the way, where will you be for Shabbos? Do you have your meals arranged? Can we invite you as our guest?”
My guide continued. “This is a Jewish trait. Jews care for one another. Jews get pleasure when a referral or an advice they give to someone is heeded and benefits the recipient. This is not a Polish trait. A Polish person would feel: Why should I share some information with a stranger? And the Poles resent the way Jews go out of their way to help another Jew.”
Perhaps a little more contemporaneously, nearly half of the entire Israeli adult population engaged in immediate volunteer efforts following the Hamas-led terrorist attacks in southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, with thousands of frontline civil and medical volunteers deploying directly into the Gaza Envelope. Reservists who weren’t even called to duty showed up, and many, beyond the age of military responsibility, got into their cars and headed to an area they knew was overrun with terrorists.
They didn’t ask, “What’s in it for me?” They asked, “Where am I needed?”
That is the definition of selflessness. It means recognizing that we are part of something bigger than ourselves.
One of the most famous teachings in Pirkei Avot (“The Ethics of Our Fathers”) states: “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? But if I am only for myself, what am I?” Rabbi Hillel, when asked to teach the whole Torah while standing on one foot, taught that the distillate of the Torah was treating others as we would want to be treated.
In Judaism, this idea is reflected in the concept of chesed, or “lovingkindness.” It’s not simply about giving charity or helping someone when it is convenient. It’s about developing a mindset in which we genuinely care about the needs of others.
It can mean visiting someone who is lonely, visiting the sick, helping a friend who is struggling, giving up our time to support someone or noticing when a person needs help without waiting for them to ask.
Sometimes, the greatest acts of selflessness are not the dramatic ones that everyone sees. They are the small, quiet acts that no one applauds. They are the moments when we choose to listen instead of speak, to give instead of take and to help instead of walk away.
And perhaps, most importantly, Judaism teaches that we don’t need to have a lot in order to give. We can give our time, attention, patience, encouragement and compassion. These things may cost us little, but they can mean something great to someone else.
We often think that to make a difference, we need to do something extraordinary. But Judaism challenges us to understand that extraordinary change can begin with ordinary people making thoughtful choices every single day.
Every act of kindness has the potential to change someone’s world.
We may never fully know the impact of our actions. A few kind words might give someone the strength to get through a difficult day. A small gesture might make someone feel seen when they feel invisible. A little of our time might remind someone that they are not alone. Complimenting an employee for routine work can brighten their whole day.
At the same time, selflessness does not mean neglecting ourselves or believing that our own needs do not matter. Rather, it means finding the courage to look beyond ourselves. It means understanding that our time, talents and opportunities are not just things to enjoy, but gifts we can use to make the world better.
Certainly, helping others has its limitations: We’ve all experienced “no good deed goes unpunished” and “the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” But those are the exceptions, not the rule.
When we look back on our lives, the difference we made in the lives of others makes the most impact.
Ultimately, Judaism teaches us that a life of purpose and selflessness is not built solely on what we receive, but on what we contribute.
And it does not require us to change the entire world in one day. It asks us to change the world of one person, one moment and one act of kindness at a time.
