Our Children are Being Turned into Schnoorers! Rabbi Yaakov Bender Decries What Children Collecting For Tzedakos Has Become

 

Every year on Purim, the home of Rabbi Yaakov Bender, the legendary Rosh Yeshiva of Darchei Torah, is visited by countless children, their joyous energy filling the air as they collect for various causes. It is a tradition that has long been encouraged—an opportunity to instill in children the value of helping others.

“I am more than happy to give them $5 or $10 each, aside from some of the major campaigns,” Rabbi Bender writes in a post-Purim letter addressed to parents. “In years past, I have always encouraged the talmidim of our Yeshiva to feel the pain of others, urging them to find a way to alleviate the burdens of Yidden. One of those ways is to raise money for the indigent and poor. I felt honored to be part of a Yeshiva where hundreds of talmidim are out there every Purim helping others.”

It was a point of pride, something to celebrate. But this Purim, something felt different.

“Lo and behold, this year, more boys visited than ever, despite the short day. As always, I asked them for whom they were collecting. Many of the children answered with the names of an organization with which I was not familiar. I asked the children what the organization does; not a single child knew.”

The realization set in. These children weren’t collecting for an urgent cause, for a struggling family, for a vital community need. They were collecting—but for what?

“I let it go on Purim day,” Rabbi Bender continued. “But on Shabbos, when one of our children came for the seudah, they showed me glitzy booklets delivered with the weekly Jewish magazines. I was stunned.”

What he saw in those pages was nothing short of alarming.

“Basically, children were promised prizes worth nearly 45% of the amount collected, or even more!”

For years, incentive prizes have been a staple of fundraising efforts for children, a small token to recognize their efforts. But this was different. The prizes were not an afterthought; they were the entire motivation.

“This Purim, it seemed that these children were in essence collecting for themselves—e.g., if a child collected $650, he would receive a beautiful, expensive, electric scooter.”

A scooter. A drone. A robot. It was no longer about giving. It was about getting.

And if that wasn’t troubling enough, the booklet made another shocking promise.

“The organization has the chutzpah to advertise that ‘if you don’t see the item you want, call us; we will get it for you.’ Further chutzpah—that ‘if any other organization offers a better deal, we will match it.’”

This was not fundraising. This was not tzedakah. This was a business.

“What have we come to?” Rabbi Bender asked.

The essence of tzedakah—giving selflessly, thinking beyond oneself—is being eroded. Children are being trained to see tzedakah as a personal opportunity, not as a sacred responsibility.

“Our job as parents and mechanchim is to imbue middos tovos; not to teach our children to be greedy and busy with themselves,” Rabbi Bender warned.

Yes, incentives have always played a role in motivating children to participate in fundraising. But there was a time when they understood what they were collecting for.

“I remember, as a little child, being asked to collect for Chinuch Atzmai. Sure, we ultimately got a prize—but Chinuch Atzmai representatives went around to all the classes explaining what the organization did. We felt part of a sacred mission: to help Klal Yisroel build Torah in Eretz Yisroel.”

This, Rabbi Bender explained, is how tzedakah should be taught to children. Even today, in Darchei Torah’s annual Bike-a-thon campaign, incentives are offered—but the prizes are “a small fraction of the amount collected.” The purpose remains clear: to help others.

Contrast that with a system that encourages children to collect for the sole purpose of securing a personal prize.

“Here in our Yeshiva community, where we work, day and night, to inculcate middos, to care for others—to have these terrible types of collections happening? To me, such an organization seems fishy.”

But not all was lost this Purim.

“Parenthetically,” Rabbi Bender wrote, “our older bachurim gave away their Purim, once again, to raise over half a million dollars for total strangers, local families and individuals in real need—all without one penny of incentives. Ashreihem.”

These boys understood the true meaning of tzedakah. They raised money not for scooters, not for drones, not for prizes, but because they saw people in need.

That is the chinuch Rabbi Bender—and all those who care about the future of Klal Yisroel—wants to see.

“I understand that this started with an organization many years ago, but the prizes then were very limited,” Rabbi Bender acknowledged.

But today, the balance has shifted too far. And he is issuing a stark warning: “We must not allow this to happen in the coming years.”