Good news: Torah is not science! Ask about science, and you are told, "The language of science is complex, but what the average person needs to know is simple." Torah works the other way around: The language of Torah is simple, but what the average person needs to know is complex. With science, commentators dumb it down so that ordinary readers can be minimally educated. With Torah, commentators "smart it up" so that ordinary readers can be maximally responsible.

Take tzedaka, for example. Look how commentators to this week's sedra "smart it up."

The surface issue is the sabbatical year, which carries with it remission of debts. The obvious consequence would be a refusal to advance loans to the poor in the year prior, since the debt might go unpaid. So Moses cautions, "If there is a poor person…inside your gates, within your land" — we would say "country" — "don't be a tightwad; lend whatever he needs [dai mahsoro]…. Beware the voice of Bliya'al."

Who, first of all, is Bliya'al? Maimonides identifies the name symbolically as the urge to "avoid noticing the need to give charitably." The issue of "loaning," moreover, is generalized to charity in general — a loan to make someone independent is just the highest form of charity. So our first lesson is the recognition that given the proper excuse, we will "avoid noticing" our responsibility, not just to offer loans, but to support the poor altogether.

Commentators also wonder about the apparent redundancy of saying "inside your gates," and also "within your land [country]." Ancient cities had walls, so "within your gates" means "inside the city." Isn't the city obviously "within the land"? "Your land," says Or Hachaim, is "that part of the country where wealth is concentrated. Even there," he cautions, "you will find poverty." So, wealthy citizens of suburbs (for example), look around you. The poor are in your own backyard.

But given so many poor people, why does Torah stipulate, "If there is a [singular] poor person?" Why not "poor people [plural]"? Or Hachaim reminds us of Zechariah's prophecy (9:9) that the Messiah will arrive as "a poor person on a donkey." A donkey, not a horse. In the Book of Esther, Haman has to honor Mordechai by leading him around on the king's horse; Deuteronomy 17:16 forbids rulers from multiplying horses. Horses signified wealth; donkeys denoted lowliness.

Today's horses are SRVs, the "suburban recreational vehicles" that only the wealthy can afford; donkeys are SBSs, the suburban bus systems that only the poor must use. Look for the Messiah watching one SRV after another pass by while waiting for a bus to get to work. As the world awaits redemption, the Messiah is arriving late to work on a bus, for hourly work at minimum wages (and sometimes, less).

But what about the others, the one in eight Americans with no messianic potential who fall below the poverty line because they were born to be random victims of the social order? If you are reading this column, you are probably someone who, equally without merit, got born right. Sure, there are lots of people who fall into the middle: Jews, for example, who came here poor, but were blessed, as luck would have it, by being raised within a culture that values education and getting ahead. The people born into cultures with little hope of escaping poverty, says Or Hachaim, are especially in need of redemption. But redemption comes only when sin disappears, so the unfortunate many, who need it most, are punished for the tightfistedness of the fortunate few — who unwittingly lengthen the time until the Messiah arrives.

Now add in the Ramban, who reached the unsettling conclusion that given the ubiquitous voice of Bliya'al, the poor will always be with us.

Do you remember Sisyphus, the tragic hero of Greek mythology who was doomed to roll a rock uphill endlessly only to have it come crashing down just before it reached the top, so that he would have to try (and fail) again? We are a corporate Jewish Sisyphus, charged with supporting the poor only to have the poor return, in greater numbers than ever, every time we think we have the problem licked. No wonder we are tempted to give up. That very suspicion is Bliya'al telling us to look away from the poor who are afflicted because poverty, their affliction, is beyond repair.

Torah anticipates our despair. We are to give, remember, "whatever is needed" (dai mahsoro). Ramban reads this brilliantly: Dai mahsoro means "whatever the giver [not the receiver] needs." Only God can wipe out poverty as a whole. But in the meantime, it should be enough for us (dai mahsoro) just to help one person at a time.