I had an experience last week that I haven’t been able to get out of my mind.

As I was walking down the street, I saw ahead of me two young people of color wearing bright blue shirts with a professional logo—obviously about to stop me to get me to sign/sign up for something, give money for some worthy cause—and I knew it was going to be something I didn’t want to do.

I was ready to say no, to keep walking, thank you and I’m sorry, with a smile, but they took me off guard: “You look like a friendly face!”

It was perfect, really, because I’m one of a few people who really, really minds the thought that I might be perceived as unfriendly, closed, cold-hearted, in a cold city. Lots of others walked by, no problem, as I stood there observing myself, totally paralyzed: “Juliet, just leave, just walk away. What are you doing? Why can’t you? You woos!”

As this young woman started showing me photos of children that were supposed to pull at my heartstrings and whose letters I would receive, I searched for ways to say no and walk away without losing face, and things started to unravel.

(You can analyze me all you want: I know it has to do with poor boundaries and the need for outside validation, but it was also so much more complicated and deeper than that.)

First she told to pick a country. (I didn’t want to pick a country!) I said there was enough poverty in the U.S. and that I believed in starting at home. She cheerfully said, no problem! We have children to sponsor here, too!

Then, “Oops. The U.S. is fully sponsored. Choose another country.” I shrugged, choosing Mexico. Honestly, it’s all the same to me. “Oops, fully sponsored, too.” Same for the next country.

“Fully sponsored? What does that mean?” I thought. I so wanted to sarcastically say; “Oh, so you’ve solved the problem of poverty and hunger for all the children in the U.S., Mexico and Guatemala? That’s amazing!”

I actually did finally walk away, canceling the whole process I’d almost finished, which really pissed off the young woman whose time I’d just wasted. I apologized, with real reasons she had no desire to hear. It didn’t matter that I’d had no income for a year, was way behind in my rent. She probably didn’t even believe me. Most likely, I’m just another rich, white lady to her.

“Don’t say you’re sorry to me,” she said calmly, snidely, yet a little like a robot. “Say you’re sorry to this poor child who won’t get to eat because of you. I really feel bad for her.” I wasn’t entirely convinced she felt so bad for the child.

As I walked away, I literally cursed her under my breath—over and over again. Of course, I was mostly angry at myself, but she’d pushed so many buttons, she had no idea.

You see, I wanted to save all the children (more boundary problems?), but this whole thing ran against two basic principals I’d been taught:

1. Make sure you know the organization before you donate, and…

2. Although there is a place for philanthropy, this is exactly what those with money and power need in order to keep the same system going and the money in their pockets—and it’s mostly women who participate in it. It’s a feel-good thing that allows people to walk away patting themselves on the back.

In this week’s Torah portion, Eikev, we’re almost there, about to cross over into the Promised Land. It’s a continuation of Moses’ recounting to the Jewish people all that has happened to them thus far. Moses is at a stage of letting go, giving his last bits of advice before saying goodbye.

He quotes God again and again, and reminds them of how difficult they’ve been, and that, though God has chosen them, they really should thank Moses himself for having saved their behinds over and over again.

Moses makes an incredible promise: “If you follow all God’s commandments, you will be blessed above all other people, and there will be no sterile males or females—ever—among your people or your livestock forevermore, God will ward off all illness and disease, and there will be an abundance of food and wine…

…Because, remember that during the forty years in the desert, you were never hungry, nor did your feet get tired, nor did your clothes wear out.”

Herein lie the famous verses: “For it is not by bread alone that you live, but because of God’s grace. It is not by the strength of your own hands, but by God’s power,” I paraphrase.

It is not by bread alone.

I thought of the hungry children I was supposed to feed.

Then on Sunday, I heard an interview of two spectacular women with Krista Tippett, Glennon Doyle and Abby Wambach, talking about courage. (Hmmm, which was I practicing: the courage to stay or to walk away? These things are never black and white.)

Within the context of courage, one of the things they talked about happened to also be the relationship between philanthropy and the system it maintains. While Glennon said that giving, even in tiny amounts, can take away a feeling of despair, she also maintains the importance of political action going hand in hand with charity, since charity conveniently alleviates without changing anything at all for the future.

Later in the Torah reading, a paragraph we recite after the central prayer in Judaism, the shema, also shows up here. It spells out in even more detail what Moses says above, both the positive and the negative; there will be total blessing for walking in God’s ways, or utter destruction and suffering for the earth and all its creatures—a total imbalance—if the people do not.

Was I participating in the evil of the world by not giving in order to alleviate the hunger of one child, walking away from the suffering of another?

In the podcast, Glennon later brings the word apocalypse in and the idea of total destruction, the world coming to an end, punishment for our evil ways (Glennon was making some sort of joke).

Then Krista jumps in and says she’d learned from some theologian that the word apocalypse does not mean actually mean destruction at all, as it is commonly used in society. In Greek, it actually means uncovering or revelation/revealing.

Glennon totally agrees and adds; harmful and destructive truths must be uncovered, then destroyed (i.e. racism, capitalism), and only then, will something new come about.

The word apocalypse, like the characters and stories of the Bible, and like the situation I found myself in, is complicated.

So is society.

Maybe the reality is, there is no perfect, happy ending. You don’t get heaven until you get to heaven. Humanity is messy. We all know how this story pans out; the Israelites do not walk in God’s ways.

And here we find ourselves today.

Maybe we need to remember this phrase: For it is not by bread alone that you live, but because of God’s grace. It is not by the strength of your own hands, but by God’s power.

May we keep trying to walk in “God’s” ways, as complicated as it seems sometimes, giving for the sake of giving while choosing wisely, and also acting to change a system where charity is a necessity.