Parashat Ki Tisa: Who is Rich and Who is Poor?

• Including a Lesson Plan and a Fascinating Discussion Proposal

This week’s parasha, Ki Tisa, introduces us to the first-ever tax: the machatzit ha’shekel, the half-shekel contribution required from every Israelite for the maintenance of the Mishkan. In many ways, this was the original public tax system. Unlike modern tax structures, which are often progressive—where the wealthy pay more—or regressive—where the burden falls disproportionately on the poor—this tax was completely equal. Every person, regardless of wealth, gave the same half-shekel.

This idea challenges many of our assumptions about economic fairness. In most societies, we assume that the rich wield greater influence over taxation and governance. Historically, the wealthy have found ways to receive exemptions, deductions, or legal loopholes to lessen their financial burden, while the poor often bear the brunt of economic hardships. The Torah, however, establishes a system where everyone is equal before God. This is a striking departure from the norm—there are no privileges for the wealthy, no exceptions for the powerful.

This principle aligns with another fundamental Torah value: justice must be blind. We often think of justice as favoring the poor because they are vulnerable. However, the Torah warns against this bias as well:

"You shall not show deference to a poor man in his dispute" (Exodus 23:3).

True justice does not favor the rich or the poor—it demands equality. The half-shekel tax enforces this equality in a tangible way. Every person contributes, every person is responsible, and every person is valued the same in the eyes of the law and of God.

It prompts an immediate and profound question: Who is truly rich? And who is truly poor?

In modern economic terms, we have various ways to measure wealth and poverty. There is relative poverty, where one’s income is compared to the average income in their society. By this measure, even someone with a smartphone and a car can be considered “poor” if their neighbors are significantly wealthier. Then there is absolute poverty, a measure of whether a person can afford life’s basic necessities. The UN today defines extreme poverty as living on less than $2 a day. By this standard, most of us are extravagantly rich.

But are these economic measures enough?

I once visited a beach in Africa where children ran barefoot, laughing and playing, without a care in the world. By our definitions, they were poor. But when I asked them, they insisted they lacked nothing. Contrast this with some of my friends in the financial markets, earning astronomical salaries yet constantly feeling like they don’t have enough. If wealth is about contentment, who is the real pauper?

The rabbis of the Mishnah also wrestled with this question, defining poverty not merely as a financial state but as a matter of dependency. They set a clear standard: one who has food for two meals should not take from the daily soup kitchen, and one who has food for fourteen meals should not take from the communal charity fund. They saw poverty as a condition of true need, not one of relative comparison.

But beyond material poverty, we must recognize the profound and invisible poverty that plagues our world today. There is poverty of wisdom, where people lack understanding and knowledge. There is poverty of love, where people feel isolated and alone. And in our current reality, amidst war and crisis, there is poverty of hope and joy—a spiritual and emotional deprivation that leaves people empty, even if their physical needs are met.

This unseen poverty is perhaps the most dangerous of all. It does not appear in economic statistics, but it is felt in the silence of loneliness, in the numbness of despair, in the breakdown of human connection. People can walk among us, looking whole on the outside but carrying profound lack within.

Parashat Ki Tisa challenges us to see wealth and poverty in a new way. The half-shekel reminds us that everyone has something to contribute. It is not about how much you have but about the shared responsibility to give. And it calls upon us to recognize the forms of poverty that money cannot fix.

This message is particularly relevant as we approach Purim. On Purim, we are commanded to give matanot la’evyonim—gifts to the poor. But what does it mean to give to the poor? The Rambam teaches that the highest level of giving is to provide someone with what they lack, in a way that restores their dignity. Today, people suffer from many forms of deprivation—not just financial, but emotional, spiritual, and communal. There are those who lack hope, those who lack joy, and those who lack a sense of belonging.

This Purim, let us remember that giving is not just about money. We can give a smile, a kind word, a listening ear. We can offer encouragement to someone struggling with despair. We can spread joy to those who feel lost in the darkness. The greatest wealth we can share is the wealth of our hearts.

So today, I ask: Are you rich or are you poor? And more importantly—how can you use whatever wealth you have, material or spiritual, to uplift those who are impoverished in ways that may not be visible to the eye?

True wealth, as the sages teach, is not about what we possess. It is about what we share, what we give, and how we lift others from their hidden poverty. May we all be givers, and in doing so, may we find our own true riches.

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