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Whenever I looked at the dashboard of his car, I could only contemplate what made such an educated historian, musician, poet, and devoted man of God contribute to humanity in this way.  One day, we went to have lunch in a restaurant in Qaratepe.  When the bill came, Hilal insisted on paying; he paid the bill, but the waiter came back and returned one of the Mammad-Amins, stating that it was too old and torn.  Hilal got up from his chair and in utmost humility apologized to the restaurant owner and exchanged the bill. 

Later, when we sat in the car, I noticed that he placed the same torn bill on his dashboard, stating that he had been trying to get rid of that bill for a while and no one would accept it.  He explained that under the Soviet regime, he could exchange the torn bills, but since the Nagorno-Karabakh War and the fall of the Soviet Union, this was difficult.  I asked him, “If no one accepted the bill why are you offering it to God?  Do you believe He is going to accept?”  Hilal calmed me down and said he had a plan.  He said he would drop it in the nezir box near Yevlaq—the one that did not work.  That day I recognized how people looked at the nezir boxes in today’s world.  They are for the collection of bills people no longer need.  But in this new era of maturity, contribution in the path of God must be more than that.

Deep in my heart, I truly believe that learning about true generosity, sacrifice, and service to humankind—as opposed to ritualistic giving—has the power to transform an individual, as sincere and God-loving as Hilal, to a spiritual giant.  For me, Hilal’s story is a prime example of our stage in history—the old world order is rolling up and the New World Order of Bahá’u’lláh is being unfolded.  There are vestiges of antiquated traditions, but they are gradually being replaced.  We must work hard to welcome the new skills, mindsets, and disciplines needed to bestow our time, energy, and wealth for the prosperity of mankind. 

Hilal worked hard and had everything, but he was continuously worried about his own life.  One day, he fell ill with an ulcer and was rushed to Baku.  I never saw him again.  Perhaps if he had had a better means of nurturing his generous spirit, he could have been healthier and more joyous.  At least that is what Christian Smith and Hilary Davidson’s new research entitled, “The Paradox of Generosity:  Giving We Receive, Grasping We Lose,” suggests: “Generosity often triggers chemical systems in the brain and body that increase pleasure and experiences of reward, reduce stress, and suppress pain, which tend to lead to greater happiness and health.”

Understanding the fate of old traditions like the nezir box helps us grasp the importance of divulging our identity on envelopes to the Spiritual Assembly. All of these measures are carefully designed by Bahá’u’lláh’s Revelation for this age of human adolescence.  Today one may not be able to enjoy a stack of US$100 bills wrapped in Khalq newspaper and stored in the freezer unless he develops a spirit of generosity with a new set of tools. 

The main question is this:  If Hilal were to place his contributions in an envelope with his name written on it, would he ever consider contributing one torn Mammad-Amin to God?  From what I saw in Hilal, I would say:  “Never!”  Fear of God was ingrained in him.  He just did not have a good channel for it; instead, he had the nezir box on the side of a lonely and windy highway.  Indeed, fear of God was given to all of us as a gift by our Lord in order to guard us against our own selves and unworthy and unseemly actions.

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