Moses is described as attains greatness in this week's Torah reading,: "And it came to pass in those days, and Moses grew" (Ex. 2:11). The word for growth, vayigdal, is the same word used for greatness, gedulah. However, there seems to be too much greatness here: the preceding verse uses the same word, "vayigdal hayeled, and the lad grew" (2:10). Rashi, quoting a midrash, offers that the second usage describes his growth in status in the home of Pharaoh. Yet it seems that there is a more significant "greatness" being described here.

This greatness is indicated by what immediately follows in the same verse: "and he went out to his brothers, and looked (va-ya'ar) on to their suffering." What is the significance of this "looking"? Rashi, again from a midrash, explains: "he set his eyes and mind to share in their distress."

The Birth of Empathy

This language evokes what is now known as "active empathy." The word "empathy" itself is a relatively recent term, dating back only to the early 20th century (1909), derived from the German "Einfühlung," or "feeling into." Before that, it was known as "sympathy," and was discussed by Scottish philosophers David Hume in A Treatise of Human Nature (1739) and Adam Smith in The Theory of Moral Sentiments (1759).

However, there is a difference in how they related to it. Hume wrote of mirroring, an automatic and natural process. Smith, by contrast, saw it as a product of the imagination—whether imagining what the other is feeling, or placing the observer in the shoes of the other.

R. David Zvi Hoffman noted that there is another word repeated in the biblical text: va-ya'ar appears twice in the space of three words. First, Moses looks upon the suffering of the Jewish slaves; then, he sees an Egyptian taskmaster beating a Jewish slave, his "brother." The second "seeing," R. Hoffman suggests, is with the extra compassion Moses developed through the first; he had grown as a person. R. Zalman Sorotzkin, in his Oznayim LaTorah, writes similarly that the second usage builds on the first, and that va-ya'arshould actually be translated in the sense of "understanding" (as in Ecclesiastes 1:16). This understanding comes "not only because of mere seeing, but because of complete joining in their anguish, and not only in crying and sighing over their situation, but through actions and self-sacrifice."

Beyond Personal Distress

Empathic identification, crucially, means more than just suffering because someone in front of you is suffering. Dr. C. Daniel Batson, an expert on empathy who has advocated the "empathy-altruism hypothesis," argues that empathic concern is what motivates altruism. He has performed tests involving people exposed to suffering and unsettled by it, who had before them two options: to leave and avoid seeing it, or to work to help—the more difficult option. If they were just feeling distress, he found, they would run away, but if they felt empathy they would help. The difference between empathy and personal distress, research indicates, is not just quantitative, but can be distinguished at a neurological level.

The tribe of Levi, from which Moses came, was not part of the slavery. R. Yonasan Eibschutz explained that Pharaoh's fortune tellers told him they foresaw that the savior of the Jewish people would come from the tribe of Levi, so they advised excluding them from the enslavement, calculating that they would not care about it. They underestimated the power of empathy that Moses possessed—that even though he was not part of that experience, he was able to put himself in their shoes and identify through this active process with their suffering, to feel that empathy, and to decide he was going to do something about it.

The Divine Model

Further, this is one of the attributes of God that is described when God tells Moses, "I will be... I will be with them during this time of suffering and I will be with them in their future suffering." This is evidently one of the attributes of God, and we are told to imitate His attributes. This is true specifically in the context of the mitzvah of tzedakah. We find that the Torah commands us not only to "open our hands" and give to those who are poor, but surrounds that commandment with verses of prohibition: we are not allowed to "clench our fist" or to "harden our hearts" when we are approached. There is a range of interpretations, but Maimonides understands this to mean that there is a specific commandment relating to our compassion and empathy; we may not turn off our emotional connection to those who are suffering and those who are in need. Separate from the obligation to give, we also have to feel empathy for their situation of need.

The Ketav Sofer notes that the commandment to loan money, which is connected to the commandment to give charity, is phrased in an unusual way, as if it were optional, even though it is actually obligatory. He suggests that it is meant to convey that we are supposed to specifically connect and empathize, to join in the suffering of those who are in need so that we feel motivated to give because we want to—as if it were a voluntary act even though it is actually a commandment. The Torah phrases it this way to send the message that it is supposed to come from this internal feeling of connection.

Empathy as an End

Not only is empathy presented as a motivation, but it is also an end in itself. One who goes to the doctor does not only want the doctor to cure his problems, but also wants to see that he cares, to feel the empathy. We find this also in the Talmud, which tells us that part of the mitzvah that God modeled when He visited Abraham is to be there to experience the problem together with the patient. That is an end in and of itself. The Talmud teaches that the visitor takes away a part of the illness of the patient.

Apparently, not everyone can do this, but specifically a visitor who is a "ben gilo"—according to some interpretations, simply someone with a commonality. If there is some kind of common base between the visitor and the patient—such as being in the same age group or of the same temperament—that allows them to create a bond that has an actual effect, and the patient will recover more quickly, or will be alleviated to some degree, because of that bond.

Thus, we find that empathy is certainly present in halakhic and hashkafic sources, both as a motivational force, as part of the mitzvah of tzedakah, and as an end in and of itself. Some studies have shown that one can enhance empathy through virtual reality experiences, with lasting effects that actually improve empathic capacity.

The Case Against Empathy

Yet at the same time, there has been some degree of pushback against empathy. In fact, there is a book with that title, Against Empathy, written by Yale professor Paul Bloom, subtitled The Case for Rational Compassion. Bloom argues that empathy can actually do harm. Even more striking, Rutger Bregman's Humankind, subtitled A Hopeful History, includes a chapter called "How Empathy Blinds Us," essentially arguing that empathy is the cause of many of the world's problems, stating that "one thing is certain: a better world does not start with empathy."

What would be the problem with empathy? One problem is that empathy is limited. Our emotional capacity is not infinite. Economist Thomas Schelling referred to the "identifiable victim effect"—we are only able to care about those whom we can point to and identify; when it becomes a hundred thousand, when it becomes a million, then we lose our ability to care. Philosopher Jesse Prinz talked about the "cuteness effect"—we tend to empathize with those that we find attractive or appealing, rather than with those who are less so.

Even advocates of empathy, such as Martin Hoffman, acknowledge the "here and now effect" and the "availability effect"—we are able to care more about those who are here, whom we see, but not those who are distant. More seriously, empathy can sometimes cause us to take the wrong side and work against justice and fairness. Even Daniel Batson has noted through his studies that "high empathy individuals often tend to favor the targets of their empathy at the expense of others."

The Torah's Limits on Empathy

The Torah, in the context of justice, forbids us from empathizing at times. In the context specifically of tzedakah, we have rules which push us away from purely empathetic concerns.

First, we have an obligation to ensure recipients are legitimate and deserving. Those managing public funds have a responsibility to verify that recipients are worthy. If guided only by empathy, they will make serious mistakes.

Second, there is a list of priorities with serious halakhic weight. The principle of aniyei irkha kodmim mandates that attention must be paid first to those who are closest to you, whether geographically or familially, and that sometimes must override pulls of emotion or empathy.

Third, there is a limit on generosity: a person of average income is only permitted to give a fifth of their assets to tzedakah. Otherwise, they themselves may become dependent on charitable sustenance. Even though their emotional pull may say, "I want to give away everything," the halakhah prohibits it.

The "effective altruism" movement is recognized in halakhah to some extent as well. R. Yaakov Emden held that one should prioritize the impact when making tzedakah decisions, and that even if one is looking to affect one's personality (a priority expressed by Maimonides, who advocated emphasizing multiple acts of giving), this will be better accomplished by making a donation with a bigger impact.

Balancing Heart and Mind

Of course, it is still a balance, and the prohibitions regarding tzedakah—not to harden our heart or clench our fists—loom large. There is a discussion in the halakhic authorities about how exactly one navigates declining a donation request without violating two Torah prohibitions. Some suggest that the Torah is being literal when it uses that language; it all depends on the attitude. If one responds, "I would love to give you, and my heart is breaking for you, but there is only so much I can give and I have priorities and responsibilities," perhaps one is not in violation. However, if one declines with the attitude of, "You are not my problem, I do not care," then one would be in violation.

Apparently, the Torah is telling us that we have to balance maintaining the concern and empathy with rationality at the same time. Yet, we also have to recognize that intellectualism can only take us so far. One of Daniel Batson's widely cited studies was conducted at the Princeton Theological Seminary, where he tested seminarians and told them they had to run to give a sermon on the other side of campus because they were late. He placed actors along the way pretending to be in obvious distress. Many did not stop. What was the topic of the lecture? Stopping to take care of people in need. Apparently, intellectualism can only take one so far, and the emotional component is needed, and that is part of the balance that is always necessary.

R. Chaim Hirschenson discussed this balance in his work on the tractate Horiyot. He noted that the Talmud teaches there is a policy of "your needs come first"—if your property is lost and somebody else's property is lost, yours takes priority. However, the Talmud also says that whoever is too exacting in that rule will ultimately forget about the whole idea of chesed, and consequently will end up needing to be the recipient of others' charity. Logic dictates that we must have rational rules; however, if we totally become disconnected from the emotional empathetic side, we may forget about chesed and tzedakah completely.

He commented as well on the oft-cited passage later in Bava Metzia, containing the debate between Ben Petura and R. Akiva regarding someone traveling in the desert with only one bottle of water, where only he or his traveling partner can survive. Ben Petura ruled that better they should split it so that this one should not have to see his fellow die, even though this means they will both die. R. Akiva argued: your life takes precedence. Despite being the one who said the key principle in life is "love your neighbor as yourself," still there has to be a logical system that surrounds all of that.

At the same time, Ben Petura was reflecting the emotional need that has to be there, and they balance each other out. Both views are included in our Talmud. Even if ultimately there has to be a system that regulates how we behave, we recognize that empathy and emotion will always be part of how we think and analyze.

Means and Ends

Ultimately what does this mean in practice? When we talk about money, we often say that the problem is we see money as the end, when really it should be the means to an end. When we talk about empathy, maybe it should be said the other way around: we use empathy sometimes as a means to an end, as a way to make decisions, while really, it is actually an end in itself, with inherent value.

However, as a way to make decisions, empathy is flawed and unreliable. We need sometimes to have more rationally based decisions, and to recognize that we make decisions because we are following God's path. Empathy is a part of decision-making; we cannot reject the whole concept, because it is a key part of what makes us human and what connects us to God's path. Nonetheless, it is not a perfect way to fully assess a situation. It is more of an end than a means, while it remains an essential part of our system.

It may be comparable to the relationship between ahavat Hashem, love of God, and yirat Hashem, reverence for Him. Reverence for God is a crucial part of how we serve Him, but ultimately we look to love as the more positive overall motivational force. Both are necessary and crucial, but ultimately love becomes the overarching, guiding theme.

Chesed and Rachmanut

Whenever there is a leap year in the Jewish calendar, we add an extra month to ensure that Pesach is always in the springtime. Why is this so important? The Midrash relates that God declared: Look at the chesed that I did for you, I took you out of Egypt at a time that was not too hot and not too cold, at the perfect time, in the springtime. This priority is hard to understand. Would we have turned down the Exodus if it had been in winter or summer?

R. Chaim Yaakov Goldvicht explained by noting that there is a concept of chesed, and there is also a concept of rachmanut; they are two separate qualities. The descendants of Abraham are identified both as being rachmanim and gomlei chasadim. It is one thing to feel compassion when another is collapsing in front of you, when someone is starving and obviously needs relief, and they are crying and you cannot turn away. That is rachmanut. It is a whole other quality to be able to say that even when there is no shrieking, when no one is calling out, when there is no blatant undeniable need in front of me, I still want to know: how can I make things better? How can I be giving even when there is no outcry?

That is what it means to be a descendant of Abraham. At the very origin of the Jewish people, God made sure that we remembered that we are not only rachmanim, as crucial and vital as that is, to be responsive to the cry of those who are suffering. We are also by our very nature giving and providing for those who are not so obviously in need, because giving by itself is an attribute of God, and is goodness by its very nature, and that must also direct our decisions. We will be there for those who are suffering, and we will also be giving, because that is the essence of God, and both of those must be there together.

When reciting selichot, the thirteen attributes of rachmanut are invoked, as we are told to do when we look for God's forgiveness. Some understand that statement to mean not only that we should say them, but that we should seek to live them. We understand that there are thirteen attributes, that rachmanut is nuanced and complex and more than we can understand; that it is not one thing and is made up of so many different components. In order to emulate God, there is much that we have to try to understand and incorporate into what it means to be a giving person, to truly emulate everything that God has modeled for us and asked us to be. If we are successful in doing so, if we are able to truly give empathy its proper place, to give rachmanut its context together with everything it should mean, then we should be privileged and blessed that the greatest challenge we have is figuring out how to allocate and share all the blessings that God bestows upon us.