This week is Parshat Ki Tavo. Moshe instructs the Jews: When you enter Israel, bring the first of your ripened fruit as a recognition of gratitude to Hashem.

Our Parshah also includes the laws of the tithes given to the Levites and to the poor.  Moshe reminds the people that they are G‑d’s chosen people, and that they, in turn, have chosen G‑d.

The latter part of Ki Tavo consists of the rebuke.  After listing the blessings with which G‑d will reward the people when they follow the laws of the Torah, Moshe gives a long, harsh account of the bad things—illness, famine, poverty and exile—that shall befall them if they abandon the Torah.

"Chai Elul" — the 18th day of the Hebrew month of Elul — is a most significant date on the Chassidic calendar. The founder of Chassidism, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov, was born on this date, in 1698. It is also the day, 36 years later, on which the Baal Shem Tov began to publicly disseminate his teachings, after many years as a member of the society of "hidden tzaddikim" during which he lived disguised as a simple innkeeper and clay-digger, his greatness known only to a very small circle of fellow mystics and disciples.

Elul 18 is also the birthday — in 1745 — of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, who often referred to himself as the Baal Shem Tov's "spiritual grandson".  After gaining fame as a child prodigy and young Talmudic genius, Rabbi Schneur Zalman journeyed to Mezeritch to study under the tutelage of the Baal Shem Tov's successor and was soon accepted into the intimate circle of Rabbi DovBer's leading disciples. Rabbi Schneur Zalman established the "Chabad" branch of Chassidism, which emphasizes in-depth study and intense contemplation as the key to vitalizing the entire person, from sublime mind to practical deed.

Our desire for novelty is an intrinsic component of our humanity. Moshe therefore told the Jewish people that they become G‑d’s people anew every single day. The covenant between G‑d and the Jewish people was made only once, with the Giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai. But G‑d renews it with each one of us daily. We should therefore view the daily personal renewal of our relationship with G‑d with as much interest and enthusiasm as if it were the first time – for indeed, it is!

When Moshiach comes, the main challenge will no longer be choosing between good and evil. Instead, we will focus on constantly growing in holiness, with all our energy devoted to gaining a deeper knowledge of Hashem.

Charity is not just about giving; it is also about empathy.

Every beggar has a story, and I wanted to know the story of the beggar I met every week in my small Israeli town.

You cannot miss him sitting outside the delicatessen. He sits there every Friday on a plastic chair. Blind in one eye, his gaze from the other is penetrating as he displays a note from his local rabbi recommending giving him charity.

I used to wonder when he began his “career” as a beggar. For some reason, I felt certain that he was not born into a family of beggars.

When I ask him for an interview, he responds, “Why not? But while you’re at it, I need a ride to the train station.”

As we drive to the train station, the beggar begins to tell his story. His first statement shocks me with its expression of deep pain: “My entire life was hell! I didn’t have a single good day,” he says.

Menashe Fadal was born in a small Yemenite village, one of seven brothers. “We had a very difficult childhood. Our father was a shoemaker, and we herded sheep, goats, donkeys and horses. We worked extremely hard but remained excruciatingly poor.”

Menashe immigrated to Israel with his parents in 1949. “I never had an education,” he sighed. “In Israel I worked in gardens and in construction, and then I joined the army. When I finished my service, I married but divorced a year later.”

“My second marriage wasn’t much better, but it lasted longer. She died five years ago. You see, I have no luck.”

Then, despite his run of bad luck, Menashe won the lottery—one and a half million shekels. “Nothing is left of it,” he explains. “I split the money with the family and gave some to charity. The rest of the money was sucked out of me without pity. Soon I was left with nothing.”

“My entire life was hell! I didn’t have a single good day,” he says.

Four years after his short-lived stint as a rich man, Menashe began to ask people for money. “I fell ill and had no money to live on, to pay for food, for medicine.”

He became blind in one eye and suffered a loss of vision in his other eye. “Every week I am in the hospital. I have no money for anything, not even to pay my rent. I have no choice but to beg for money.”

Menashe lives in a rented room in Ashdod, where the rabbi of the Belz Chassidic community gave him a written recommendation.

“I go wherever my feet take me,” he tells me, “but I do have a few places I go regularly: Ashdod, Tel Aviv, Shuk Hakarmel, Shekhunat Hatikvah, and once a week I come to Kfar Chabad”.

“I come here every Thursday afternoon and meet people at the synagogue. I have my regulars who give me a steady amount. One gives 50 shekels, another 100 shekels, and the like. At night I go to sleep at the home of a good person who kindly hosts me. And in the morning, I come here to the delicatessen.”

When I ask Menashe if he has any good memories, he answers sadly, “I haven’t had one good moment in my life. At first, I worked very hard and then I got sick. Recently I spent three days in the hospital. I couldn’t move and didn’t eat much. The door to my room was open, but no one came to visit. My entire life has been one long hell.”

When I push him a little more, he says, “Maybe the day of my second marriage, but even that was only so-so.”

I glance at the man sitting next to me. Will Menashe be a beggar for the rest of his life? What does the future hold for him?

“I do own a house,” he says, “but because of a feud, the house is not in my hands. Maybe one day we will make peace, and I will sell the house. From that I will have enough money to live off for the rest of my life. Who knows?”

The train to Ashdod is entering the station. We bid each other farewell.

As the train pulls out, I think to myself: Menashe may look like a beggar, but he has feelings and a working mind just like anyone else. Charity, I realize, is not only about money; it is also about the way we look at and judge one another.