Leaving the corners

Many of us think of Torah as a collection of traditions, rituals and rules to follow for reasons of faith, cleanliness and community. But if we look deeper, sometimes we get a glimpse of the type of people God wants us to be.

It was my husband who helped shift that perspective. Through his lens, I began to see Judaism not just as something we inherit, but something we actively live; something that asks more of us than observance alone. It asks for intention.

Recently, we were discussing how much of the Torah is framed as instruction — what to do, what not to do. But within those laws are deeper invitations, moments where the “rules” reveal a vision for the kind of people we are meant to become.

Get The Jewish Chronicle Weekly Edition by email and never miss our top stories Free Sign Up

One particular commandment has resonated with me — not because it is complex, but because it is profoundly human and one that I carry out in both my professional and personal life.

In Leviticus 19, in Parshat Kedoshim, we are instructed: When harvesting a field, do not reap all the way to the corners, and do not collect what falls behind. Leave it for the poor and the stranger.

At first glance, it is an agricultural law, rooted in an ancient economy. But look more closely and it becomes something far more enduring. It is not just about farming; it is about generosity, dignity and responsibility to one another. It is about building a society where care for the vulnerable is not an afterthought, but a built-in expectation.

What strikes me most is how this mitzvah is structured. It does not say who the recipient should be. It does not require recognition or gratitude. It does not even define the size of the “corner.” Instead, it creates space, literal and figurative, for everyone to act with intention.Some may leave a small corner, others a larger one. The Torah trusts us to understand the spirit of the law: Take what you need, but always leave enough for someone else. It is a mitzvah that preserves the dignity of the recipient and ensures the gift is given without ego. While public acts of giving are praised and inspire others to give, anonymous giving is celebrated as the purest form of tzedakah (charity) in Jewish tradition. We do not know if the corners of the field were labeled or monitored; if they were simply left behind, quietly, for someone else to find, there is humility in that model, and profound respect.

This precept challenges the persistent and harmful stereotype that Jews are insular, that we take care of our own and little else. In truth, generosity is not optional in Judaism; it is commanded. Giving is not simply charity; it is obligation. And not just giving when it is convenient but giving as part of who we are.

Living in Pittsburgh, I see this value come to life every day. It is reflected in the strength and compassion of our Jewish community and in the work I am privileged to do at the Jewish Community Center of Greater Pittsburgh. From infants to seniors, from those seeking connection to those in need of support, the JCC exists to ensure that no one is left out of the “harvest.” Our philanthropic partners help achieve this commandment.

This is what development work truly means to me. It is often described in technical terms: fundraising, campaigns, balance sheets. But at its core, it is about sustaining the ability to leave those corners. It is about ensuring that our community has the resources not only to meet today’s needs, but to grow, to innovate, and to care for the next generation.

In the nonprofit world, development is sometimes seen as a function. I see it as a responsibility and, even more, a privilege. It is the mechanism through which generosity becomes action, where values are translated into impact.

As we budget for the next fiscal year, there is, of course, a practical hope that the numbers will reflect stability, or even surplus. But beyond that is a deeper aspiration: that we have done our part to uphold this ancient teaching. That we have gathered what we need and intentionally left enough — enough access, enough care for those who rely on us and enough opportunity.

The JCC would not exist without its philanthropic partners, just as those partners would not be inspired without the life and energy of our staff and community. It is a full circle, much like the fields described in the Torah — sustained by those who cultivate, and those who are sustained in return.

Metaphorically, each of us determines whether our fields are perfectly squared or intentionally rounded, and how thoroughly we gather our harvest. In the modern world of business, where hard work and thoroughness are rewarded, let us not forget to leave the corners of our harvest for those less fortunate in our community. PJC

Fara Marcus is the chief development and marketing officer of the Jewish Community Center of Greater Pittsburgh. She offers thanks to the JCCA, Martin Pear Fellowship Program and the JCC of Greater Pittsburgh for continued inspiration and education.