We often use the phrase 'better half' to describe a spouse. It suggests something beautiful, that none of us is meant to stand alone. That we are each only part of something larger.
There is a once-a-year Mitzvah we read about this Shabbat: the giving of the half-shekel coin that supported the services in the Temple. What is striking is that the Torah requires precisely half a shekel, not more and not less. The Mitzvah is intentionally about being half.
Yet at the same time, the gift had to be given all at once. There were no installments, no partial payments. One could not give a quarter now and a quarter later. It had to be a complete act, in one motion, in one commitment.
Which feels almost counterintuitive. We give only half, yet we must give it entirely at once. Why?
Because the purpose of this contribution was not merely to raise funds. It was to cultivate our awareness that we are only half the story. We are not self-contained beings. We are dependent on something greater, on G-d, our Creator, who is, in the deepest sense, our 'better half.'
The half-shekel teaches humility: I am not whole on my own. But the manner of giving taught something equally powerful: even if what I bring is only half, it must be given wholly. The coin itself was small. It was not meant to impress. What mattered was that it was given completely.
In reflecting further on my mother’s life, I realize how remarkably she embodied this idea. Many of us are incredibly devoted to our loved ones, to our community, or to our Judaism, but we still reserve a small corner for ourselves. Some time off. A little 'me time,' where we step away from all of the above.
But not my mother. She gave her coin completely. She was devoted to my father, to her children, and to G-d, fully and unconditionally. There was no part of her that she held back.
May I learn from her example to give my half that same way, as a Jew, as a husband, as a father, and as a rabbi - all in.