Few things are as deeply rooted in Jewish culture as the act of feeding others. Food in Jewish tradition is rarely just food: it is hospitality, responsibility, blessing, memory, and community. From Abraham welcoming strangers with a meal to the biblical injunctions to care for the poor, the widow, the orphan, and the stranger, nourishment is repeatedly presented as a moral act. The shared table is one of the central spaces of Jewish life, a place where people gather, stories are passed on, and a sense of belonging is created.
To feed another person is to recognize their humanity and dignity, to say that their wellbeing matters and that they are not alone. This idea extends naturally into tikkun olam, the responsibility to participate in repairing and improving the world. Sometimes that repair is expressed through ideas and institutions. But it can also be profoundly practical: a meal prepared for someone who needs it, a table made larger, a bag of groceries delivered to a family. In these small acts, nourishment becomes a form of solidarity, and a more just society begins, quite literally, with ensuring that everyone has something to eat.
A Grassroots Response
This idea lies at the heart of Culture of Solidarity, a grassroots mutual-aid initiative that emerged in Tel Aviv at the beginning of the COVID-19 crisis. What began as a small, immediate response to the growing uncertainty around food and basic needs soon developed into a much wider network of people sharing resources and taking collective responsibility for one another. The initiative was built on a simple principle: mutual aid does not have to be delivered from above. It can be created within a community, through people offering whatever they can give — food, money, time, transportation, skills, or just a willingness to take part. As the crisis continued, what had started as an improvised act of mutual help grew into a sustained movement, turning the act of giving into a shared community practice.
The Food-Basket Network
One of its central projects is a food-basket network, which grew out of the urgent need for food security during the first lockdowns. Volunteers gather and rescue food, purchase essential dry goods through community donations, pack the baskets, and deliver them directly to the homes of people and families who need them. Some of the vegetables distributed through the project are rescued from the wholesale market in Tzrifin, while other food is purchased through donations. The project approaches food security not simply as having something to eat, but as having access to healthy, nourishing food in a consistent and dignified way. Whenever possible, the baskets are adapted to the needs of different communities, taking into account age, family situation, culture and dietary requirements.
Beit Romano: Where Food Meets Culture
In 2021, Culture of Solidarity opened its House of Solidarity at Beit Romano in Tel Aviv, creating a physical home for this activity. During the day, the space serves as a community hub and a base for preparing food baskets; in the evenings, it becomes a cultural space hosting performances, film screenings, workshops, talks, and educational activities. Events operate on a “pay what you can” model, with proceeds going directly toward the food-basket project. This combination of food and culture is central to the movement’s philosophy: food distribution is treated as one part of a broader culture of mutual responsibility, alongside food-rescue initiatives, hot-meal projects, and other forms of practical support.
There is also an important distinction in the language used here. The people receiving assistance are not “recipients,” and those providing it are not positioned as benefactors standing above them. The aim is a network in which resources circulate within a community, with the understanding that vulnerability is not a fixed identity — anyone can find themselves in need, just as anyone can have something to offer.
Expanding the Inner Circle
The food basket is therefore only the visible part of a much larger idea. It is a practical response to hunger, but also an exercise in building relationships and creating a community where care is a collective responsibility. What begins with vegetables, rice, oil and other basic groceries can become something larger: a way of imagining a society organized around care rather than scarcity, and around the conviction that no one should have to face hardship alone.
Perhaps this is where the idea of tikkun olam begins: in repairing the world around us, but also, and maybe even most, in repairing ourselves. To nourish another person is an act of care, but so is allowing ourselves to be nourished — eating food that is healthy and made with care is a way of recognizing that our own bodies and lives are worthy of attention. From there, the circle can expand outward. A person who is nourished has more capacity to care, to give, and to notice the needs of others. What begins as something intimate — a meal, a food basket, the simple act of making sure someone has enough — can become collective, moving outward from the individual to the family, from the family to the community, and from the community into society. Repairing ourselves and repairing the world are not separate; they are part of the same movement. And perhaps a healthier society begins precisely with the understanding that caring for one another is not an act of charity, but a way of making ourselves, and the world we share, a little more whole.
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