Small tidbits and Sparks of wisdom

One of the greatest spiritual dangers of wealth is not the money itself, but the illusion of control that money creates. When a person has financial resources, he can choose where to live, what to buy, where to travel, which doctor to see, what food to eat, and how to solve many of life’s problems. Over time, comfort becomes normal, and what was once considered a luxury begins to feel like a necessity.

I once heard Rabbi Ben Shlomo, shlita, explain that one reason wealthy people often find it difficult to give generously to charity is not necessarily greed. Rather, they fear that if they give away too much, they may never regain what they have lost. Beneath the reluctance to give lies a much deeper fear—the fear of losing the security, independence, and control that wealth appears to provide.

The poor person faces a very different test. He has fewer external choices, but he has the opportunity to develop something far greater: mastery over himself. He must control his desires, resist temptation, avoid dishonesty, learn patience, and often be satisfied with much less. His struggle is internal rather than external.

In this sense, wealth and poverty each test a different part of the human character. The wealthy person is tested to see whether he remains independent of his possessions. The poor person is tested to see whether he can remain content despite lacking possessions.

Most people do not seek extravagant luxury. They simply want a normal, comfortable life—a decent home, a comfortable bed, reliable transportation, and the ability to care for their family. There is nothing wrong with these desires. The danger begins when those comforts become part of a person’s identity. Then the fear is no longer simply losing money—it is losing the life to which one has become accustomed.

Money also creates the illusion of self-sufficiency. A wealthy person can often solve problems simply by spending more money. He can seek the finest medical care, purchase healthier food, hire experts, and enjoy conveniences unavailable to most people. If the weather is too hot, he flies somewhere cooler. If it is too cold, he travels somewhere warmer. If he dislikes the service at one hotel, he checks into another. The availability of money gives the impression that almost every inconvenience has a financial solution.

When money is no longer available, however, everything changes. A person is forced to rely on Hashem and, through Hashem, on other people. The poor person has far fewer choices. He may not be able to afford the best healthcare, the healthiest nutrition, or many comforts that others take for granted. His dependence is much more visible. Yet it is precisely this dependence that develops humility, patience, gratitude, and genuine trust in Hashem.

Many wealthy people sincerely say, “Everything comes from Hashem.” Certainly that is true. But the real test is not what we say when our bank account is full. The real test is whether we would still live with the same faith if our financial security disappeared.

Imagine living for thirty-six months on the budget of a poor family. Would we still experience the world with joy? Would we still feel secure? Would we still trust Hashem as completely? Or would we discover that our confidence had quietly shifted from the Creator to our financial resources?

The Torah teaches this lesson through the mitzvah of Shemittah. Every seventh year, the farmer must stop cultivating his fields and place his livelihood in Hashem’s hands. The land rests, but so does its owner. Shemittah is not merely an agricultural law; it is a spiritual exercise. It teaches that neither the land nor the wealth it produces truly belongs to us. Everything is entrusted to us by Hashem.

Perhaps generous charity serves the same purpose. Sometimes a wealthy person should give beyond what feels comfortable—not only because others need the money, but because he himself needs the spiritual exercise. Giving weakens the illusion that money is the source of security. It reminds a person that his identity, confidence, and peace of mind should never depend on his bank account.

In this sense, every significant act of charity becomes a personal Shemittah. By voluntarily releasing part of his wealth, a person frees himself from being controlled by it. Just as the land grows stronger after its year of rest, the soul grows stronger after learning to let go.

The highest achievement is neither wealth nor poverty. It is the ability to remain the same servant of Hashem in either condition. The truly wealthy person is not the one who possesses the most, but the one who would remain the same person even if everything were taken away.

The greatest control is not control over circumstances—it is control over oneself. When money no longer defines a person’s identity or dictates his sense of security, he becomes genuinely free. Then wealth becomes a blessing instead of a master, a tool instead of an idol, and a means of serving Hashem rather than a substitute for trusting Him.