This week we read Parasht Behar, which comes towards the end of the Book of Leviticus/Vayikra. Laws about shmita (the 7th year of release) and the jubilee (the 50th year of release but more so) excite us and get our minds giddy about what it means to actually take care of the land. And then we get this line.
“But the land must not be sold beyond reclaim, for the land is Mine; you are but strangers resident with Me” (Leviticus 25:23).
All land be reclaimed, God says, because the land, ultimately, doesn't belong to anyone. It is shared. We are all guests on this Earth – visitors and strangers and passing through.
This verse got me thinking about how we conceive of private property in a Jewish imagination. What does it mean to “own” something at all? What is “mine?” What is “yours?”
To start, Hillel teaches “Do not separate yourself from the community” (Pirkei Avot 2:4) and “Rabbi Yose said: Let the property of your fellow be as precious unto you as your own” (Pirkei Avot 2:12).
First, we have to understand that “mine” is already any orientation we take for granted. Yes, privacy is essential for the dignity and health of an individual. But when we are talking about owning some physical thing, or even land, to separate our belongings from those belonging to the collective might be evidence of separating our very selves. Do not separate yourself from the community – do not make yourself unconnected. On the other hand, we could each have our own property but not value it in any different way than that of our neighbor. Individual property but communally cared for. What does this look like? Does this look like me cleaning up your yard or helping fix your mailbox not because you asked but because it was in need of repair?
This makes me think about the good ole wandering ox:
“When you encounter your enemy’s ox or donkey wandering, you must take it back to him” (Exodus 23:4).
In this case, this isn’t the neighborhood ox. It is your enemies (do people still have enemies?). And yet, you must care for his property enough to take time out of your busy day to return her ox. In other words, even when you don’t like the guy, it is not up to you to decide not to care for their property – their wealth. You actually have to go out of your way to do so.
Then of course we have the various agricultural laws designed to share your personal property with the poor and the stranger. Here is one example:
“When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap your field to its very border, neither shall you gather the gleanings after your harvest. And you shall not strip your vineyard bare, neither shall you gather the fallen grapes of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and for the stranger” (Leviticus 19:9-10).
And then back to the first paragraph of this piece, we find even more laws about remission of debts in Deuteronomy 15:1-2: “Every seventh year-a you shall practice remission of debts. This shall be the nature of the remission: every creditor shall remit the due that he claims from his fellow; he shall not solicit his fellow or kinsman, for the remission proclaimed is of God.”
Our things – our food, pieces of production, and even the debts we are owed, are in the end, not permanently ours. There is a sense that everything is borrowed. Just as we are merely passing through the deserts and forests and cities of this world, so too our personal objects and wealth pass through our grasp. In the instance of pe’ah, leaving the corners of your field intentionally unpicked for the poor and stranger, one has to ask, was it ever even ours to begin with?
The mechanics of gathering in your wealth and then giving it away is different than never collecting it in the first place. By never collecting it in the first place, we understand that our labor is, was, and never will be only for ourselves. “Do not separate yourself from the community.”
The Wisdom of our Fathers gets into the meat of “mine” and “yours” with the following:
“There are four types of character in human beings: One that says: ‘mine is mine, and yours is yours:’ this is a commonplace type; and some say this is a sodom-type of character. [One that says:] ‘mine is yours and yours is mine:’ is an unlearned person (am haaretz); [One that says:] ‘mine is yours and yours is yours’ is a pious person. [One that says:] ‘mine is mine, and yours is mine’ is a wicked person” (Pirkei Avot 5:10).
A pious person has blurred the boundary between what is theirs and their neighbors’. They see their own belongings as already available to others.
But let’s return to that ox. Because that ox does in fact belong to someone (your enemy, remember). It isn’t just anyone’s ox. It has a place it calls home. And of course, in a physical world, physical things need physical places to remain. It makes sense on a practical level to have things that belong near to you, if not only to you. Not to mention that some objects are deeply personal and have been passed down within families for generations – tallitot, kiddush cups, books. Is it really fair to say those things, too, belong to everyone?
So, with all of this in mind, is there an overarching way in which we can Jewishly think about private property? Here is my best attempt:
Private property, communally cared for, and loosely held. What’s mine is yours. And in the end, nothing is ours.