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 […]