Rav Yisroel Salanter, the 19th century ethicist, noted that it takes much more moral strength to be a businessman with integrity than to be a rabbi. The moral challenges presented by the rough and tumble of the business environment far outweigh those faced by your typical rabbi, who may be shielded from the realities of the “real” world. While the businessman faces temptation on a daily basis, it is the rare shul where, for example, davening mincha poses an ethical challenge. Rav Yisroel Salanter then added that those who actually possess such moral strength should enter the rabbinate, thereby greatly enriching the Jewish community.
That businesspeople who meet this test are few and far between is evident on a daily basis. Tragically, the moral lessons of a single crisis—if ever learned at all—are quickly forgotten. Even before our current recession is over, JP Morgan has announced that they will be increasing risk-taking, as they want to be able to compete with the likes of Goldman Sachs. It’s as if the near-collapse of the financial system, and their own near-demise due to excessive risk taking, never happened.
The desire for more, more, and more is perhaps part of human nature. Due to our unprecedented wealth and the intertwining of the world economy, dealing with the fallout of this insatiable thirst for wealth has taken on greater urgency. The moral failing of someone on Wall Street or Bay Street has a huge impact on people from Main Street.
Ironically and tragically, the constant need for growth in earnings (irrespective of the actual amount earned) will never bring us the desired wealth. “Whomever has 100, wants 200,” our Sages perceptively teach. We have made the tragic mistake of equating monetary wealth with happiness. If wealth is defined by the ability to purchase what we want, then the greater our desires, the poorer we truly are.
I write these words as the Shloshim for my father Rabbi Joseph Kelman, z”l comes to an end. The tremendous good he was able to accomplish derives in no small measure from one of his favorite teachings, one he practiced daily. Ben Zoma, a second-century Sage, defines—from a Jewish perspective, at least—the meaning of wisdom, strength, wealth and honour. “Who is rich?” he famously asks. The brilliant answer of haSameach b’chelko, he who is happy with his lot, was a model we observed in our home. It was spiritual pursuits that were primary. My father, z”l, would often say that the word asheer (wealth) can be read as an acronym for einayim, shinayim, yadayim, raglayim; eyes, teeth, hands and feet. If our body functions properly, then we have all that money can buy, and then some.
Being sameach b’chelko (happy with one’s lot) is so very difficult for so many. My father would often explain that the word chelko can actually mean “his lot”, with “his” referring to someone else, the other. Who is truly rich? The one who can be happy with what his neighbour has; who feels joy when others do well, even if he is not as fortunate. One who can attain satisfaction in the success of others will always be a happy and truly wealthy person. For a religiously sensitive Jew, there is no inherent value in making money; it is simply an important means to achieve important ends.
As I reflect on the tremendous legacy my father, z”l, left for us to emulate, I—along with my sister and brother—feel fortunate to have had for our father someone who lived his life as a sameach b’chelko, as one who had joy when he could bring joy (or when need be, comfort) to others. May his memory be a blessing for us all.
