Before us is the continuation of King Solomon's examination of human toil and wealth. After establishing the virtue of simple, honest labor, he turns to consider the question: Is wealth truly the blessing a person imagines it to be? We will proceed through the verses in order and examine the explanations of Rashi, the Midrash, the Pesikta Zutarta, Rav Saadiah Gaon, Sforno, and the author of Imrei Shefer.
מְתוּקָה שְׁנַת הָעֹבֵד אִם מְעַט וְאִם הַרְבֵּה יֹאכֵל וְהַשָּׂבָע לֶעָשִׁיר אֵינֶנּוּ מַנִּיחַ לוֹ לִישׁוֹן׃ (יא) - Sweet is the sleep of the laborer, whether he eats little or much, but the surfeit of the rich will not allow him to sleep.
"One who increases possessions increases worry," says the Midrash, and this is the meaning of "but the surfeit of the rich will not allow him to sleep." The Midrash also homiletically applies the verse to Torah study: Who is the "worker" (oved)? This is one who learns in depth (b'iyun), who toils and exerts himself, and therefore his sleep is sweet to him. By contrast, the Pesikta Zutarta states: "The surfeit of the rich will not allow him to sleep" - this refers to someone who has acquired a vast breadth of text (girsa), who studies widely (b'bekius), and constantly worries that he might forget. He wakes up at night thinking: Wait, I think I forgot one detail, and another matter! But one who does not immerse himself in breadth but in deep, analytical study toils intensely in Torah, and when he reaches his bed he simply collapses. Thus, sweet is the sleep of the laborer who pours his energy into the depth of Torah study.
Rashi explains the verse according to its plain meaning (peshat): "Sweet is the sleep of the laborer" - the laborer of the soil. He sleeps and his sleep is pleasant to him, "whether he eats little or much" - whether he has eaten little or much, because he is accustomed to it. Even if you give him only a little, his stomach will not grumble, for he is used to having little to eat at times. But he has one great advantage: he worked hard, and that is simply the reality - when a person works hard physically, he sleeps soundly and without a care.
"But the surfeit of the rich" - what is this surfeit? The abundance of possessions, says Rashi: a merchant with extensive enterprises cannot sleep, for all night long he is preoccupied with them. What is happening with the stock market in Tokyo? What is happening on Wall Street in New York? What about the mines in Africa? He is constantly under pressure, receiving an endless stream of messages: Should I sell? Should I hold? Wait for the market to rise? Now is a golden opportunity to buy! Is there ever a moment when he is calm? Is there ever a moment of peace? This abundance does not allow him to sleep; all night long he ruminates over his assets, finding neither tranquility nor rest.
Another explanation, says Rashi: "Sweet is the sleep (shenat) of the servant" - the servant of God. The word shenat is related here to shenotav, his years: whether his years on earth were few or many, he will enjoy his reward - one who does much and one who does little, provided one's heart is directed toward Heaven. The holy Ari lived only thirty-eight years, while others have lived to a hundred and ten - yet what did they accomplish with their years? In his thirty-eight years, look at how much the holy Ari achieved and completed, such that generations continue to draw from his Torah. A servant of Hashem, whether his years be few or many, will receive his full reward.
The Midrash brings a proof: Moses led and sustained Israel for forty years, while the prophet Samuel led them for ten years, yet Scripture weighs them equally. Samuel led them for a quarter of the time Moses did, and nevertheless Scripture equated them: "Moses and Aaron among His priests, and Samuel among those who call upon His name."
"And the surfeit of the rich" - according to this approach, one who is a master of traditions, rich in Torah knowledge, "will not allow him to sleep." Notice how Rashi explains this: it does not let him sleep even in the grave! As it is stated, "causing the lips of those who are asleep to move" - whenever a Torah teaching is cited in the name of a Talmid Chacham, his lips murmur in the grave. One who is saturated with words of Torah is never left to sleep throughout his eternal life in the World to Come: one student cites a teaching in his name, another cites his novel insight, another analyzes his words. How wondrous that his lips are continually moving; he is considered alive, and this brings him immense satisfaction and delight.
The Midrash relates: An incident occurred with Rebbi (Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi), who came out of the bathhouse and immediately began attending to community affairs. He returned from the bathhouse, and crowds of people arrived for reception hours. His servant poured him a cup of drink, but Rebbi did not even have the time to accept it - he did not even have a moment to glance at the cup, given the rush of people coming and going. The servant stood and waited, then sat and waited, and eventually dozed off and fell sound asleep. When Rebbi had a brief respite, he glanced toward his servant to let him know he could now serve the cup, and saw him fast asleep. Rebbi remarked: How aptly did Solomon say, "Sweet is the sleep of the laborer, whether he eats little or much" - here is the servant, his sleep is sweet; whether he eats little or much, he sleeps soundly! "But the surfeit of the rich will not allow him to sleep" - we, who are occupied with the needs of the community, are not even allowed to sleep. Here, "rich" does not necessarily mean rich in money, but a great leader to whom many turn and who is needed by many, and they never leave him time to sleep.
The Midrash also interprets this in light of what we saw earlier: regarding the animal burnt-offering, the bird burnt-offering, and the meal-offering, Scripture states of all of them, "a fire-offering of pleasing fragrance." This is the meaning of "Sweet is the sleep of a laborer, whether he eats little or much": whether little or much is consumed, whether one brings a little - fine flour or a young bird - or an ox, which entails abundant consumption, it is sweet. Before Heaven, if the intention was sincere, it is sweet and beloved before Him, Blessed be He.
The author of Imrei Shefer asks: Shlomo previously recommended working the land as the ideal path. A person might protest: Why choose such an occupation for me? Tilling the field is backbreaking and grueling, and the profit is modest. Would it not be far better to engage in commerce, which enriches its practitioner, allowing a person to sit at home while his assets work for him? To this he replies: The counsel offered is advantageous in two respects. First - "Sweet is the sleep of a laborer": the laborer toils only by day, and at night, once his work is done, his sleep is pleasant. In contrast, with the wealthy man, his satiety does not let him sleep, for he is plagued constantly by fears and worries - lest he lose his assets, lest he be robbed, lest someone harm him through schemes and intrigues - and he knows no peace day or night. The second aspect will be addressed later in the chapter.
Homiletically, it is explained with a touch of wit: "Sweet is the sleep of a laborer" - whether he eats little or much, his sleep is sweet. Where does the problem begin? "While the abundance of the rich man does not let him sleep" - does not let whom sleep? The laborer, the poor man! When he gazes upon his wealthy neighbor in his abundance, envy takes hold, and that is what deprives him of sleep.
יֵשׁ רָעָה חוֹלָה רָאִיתִי תַּחַת הַשָּׁמֶשׁ עֹשֶׁר שָׁמוּר לִבְעָלָיו לְרָעָתוֹ׃ (יב) - There is a sickening evil I have seen under the sun: wealth kept by its owner to his harm.
The Midrash asks: Can an evil be "sick," as if there were such a thing as a "healthy" evil? Rather, what is a sickening evil? One who is poor, frail, naked, and hungry. There is ordinary trouble, and then there is "premium" trouble - a misfortune that brings a host of other afflictions in its wake.
Rav Saadia Gaon explains: A "sickening evil" refers to a wealthy man who lost his fortune, whose plight is far worse than that of someone who was poor from the outset. A lifelong pauper has already grown accustomed to his state; it is his default reality. But a wealthy person who fell from his fortune suffers immensely. We see this in the episode concerning Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi: a once-wealthy man who had lost his fortune was accustomed to dining lavishly on fattened fowl; when Rebbi offered to share with him a simple dish of lentils, the man ate it and died. This illustrates that descending from wealth into poverty is far more agonizing than having been poor from the beginning, for he carries both the acute grief over what he lost and a total lack of habituation to a life of deprivation.
A memorable article once profiled lottery winners, illustrating how sudden fortune brought ruin upon each of them: for one it destroyed his home and family, for another it collapsed his other businesses, another ended up divorced with children who refuse to speak to him - each recounted the misery that his supposed wealth had wrought. One striking headline read: "All I have left from winning the lottery is the habit of smoking Marlboros." The man had been accustomed to smoking cheap cigarettes; upon winning the lottery, he began buying Marlboros, and after losing all his money, the expensive habit remained. If you tell him now to smoke something cheaper, he cannot bring himself to do it. Sometimes the great affluence of the past becomes the very source of today's ruin.
The Sforno offers a novel interpretation: cholah ("sickening") here does not derive from illness, but rather from the concept of descending upon - an evil that falls upon a person in a single moment, a calamity that overtakes him suddenly.
The Pesikta Zutrata interprets "a sickening evil" as an abnormal, unnatural misfortune: a person amasses great wealth, and ultimately he is killed because of his riches. Such tragedies are hardly rare. In places like South Africa, for instance, wealthy individuals live under constant threat and perpetual armed guard. A father cannot send his child to kindergarten without security, lest the child be kidnapped for a fifty-million-dollar ransom - and who would not pay to save their child? Yet there are those who refuse, Heaven forbid, or attempt to outsmart the kidnappers, and every so often one hears of a child murdered by lawless criminals. In such a reality, wealth is truly kept to its owner's detriment. Years ago, there was a prominent Israeli developer, Avraham Gindi, who built all across the country and whose name is still visible on buildings today. When tax authorities launched an investigation against him, the unfortunate man took his own life; later, his son also committed suicide following a police investigation, may Hashem protect us. Do not assume that for the wealthy everything is rosy and serene; sometimes all of a person's ruin stems solely from his wealth.
Chazal cite: "Like the wealth of Korach, through which he became arrogant and descended into She'ol." What gave Korach the confidence that he was worthy of leadership? His wealth. He had acquired one of the three treasures that Yosef had hidden away, and that vast fortune led him to be certain he was master of the world, wondering how he could possibly have been bypassed in the round of appointments. He arose and contested Moshe and Aharon - and to this very day, he cries out from within the earth: "Moshe is true, and his Torah is true."
Rashi cites: Rabban Gamliel ben Rabbi Chanina asked Rabbi Muna: What is the meaning of the verse, "There is wealth kept by its owner to his detriment"? He answered him: The whole essence of wealth attracts government confiscation and fines; when a decree of the kingdom falls upon him, he must surrender everything he possesses just to save his life.
Rabbi Yehoshua says: This refers to Korach. Rabbi Shmuel says: This is Navot the Yizreelite - you possessed magnificent wealth, a vineyard coveted by many, and what was your end? You lost your life over it; they took his life in order to seize the vineyard and give it to Achav. Rabbi Yehudah says: This is Haman - whose estate was given to Mordechai after he was hanged. Rabbi Yitzchak says: These are the children of Gad and the children of Reuven, who possessed vast herds of livestock, far more than all the other tribes, and chose the eastern bank of the Jordan - and they were the first to go into exile, and we have not had them back to this day. And the Rabbis say: This is Iyov, who was wealthy, became impoverished, and then grew wealthy again; on account of his wealth, the Satan was incited against him, leading to his poverty and subsequent return to fortune - how many harrowing trials and bitter afflictions he endured because of his wealth!
וְאָבַד הָעֹשֶׁר הַהוּא בְּעִנְיַן רָע וְהוֹלִיד בֵּן וְאֵין בְּיָדוֹ מְאוּמָה׃ (יג) - And that wealth perishes in an evil venture; and he fathers a son, and there is nothing in his hand. (13)
This is the second aspect mentioned in Imrei Shefer: if you ask why one should spend his days working the field rather than becoming a wealthy magnate, one answer is that the surfeit of the rich does not allow him to sleep, and the second is "wealth kept by its owner to his detriment." The rich man lives in perpetual fear - lest robbers come, or lest he stumble in a business deal that sends all his wealth down the drain - leaving him without rest or peace of mind. Isn't it far better to be a field worker in peace and tranquility, eating whether little or much, and at least enjoying sweet sleep - than to endure all the pressures that envelop the rich?
The Pesikta Zutreta comments: "'And that wealth perishes in an evil venture' - such as the wealth of Korach and the wealth of Haman, and likewise with many wicked people. 'And he fathers a son, and there is nothing in his hand' - Haman's sons went begging from door to door for bread; and Korach's sons, though they repented, no longer possessed any property, as the earth swallowed everything." Even if he fathers a son, nothing of the father's wealth will remain for him.
The Midrash offers an extraordinary homily: Rabbi Yitzchak says, do not read "be'inyan ra" [in an evil venture], but "be'oneh ra" - by the harsh answer he gave. A poor man comes to the wealthy man asking for charity, and the wealthy man scans him from head to toe, like an ultrasound, saying to him: "Look at your calves, look at your legs, how stout and sturdy they are! Bli ayin hara, you lack nothing. Isn't it better to labor and eat? Go exert yourself in honest work and eat, instead of knocking on my door." The Holy One, Blessed is He, says: "Is it not enough that you gave him nothing of your own, but you must also cast an evil eye on what I gave him? I gave him those legs, and you not only withheld your own money, but you also spoke words that wound the heart." Therefore - "and he fathers a son, and there is nothing in his hand," meaning he will leave nothing behind for his son. This is "and that wealth perishes" - in an evil venture: through that cruel reply, his wealth will be lost. Therefore, a person must be exceedingly careful never to utter a harsh word to the poor and destitute. If you wish to give - give; if you do not wish to give, or if you suspect him - do not give; but do not speak words that crush his spirit.
A story is told of an impoverished man who was in dire financial straits, and on Erev Yom Kippur did not even have food to eat. He arrived at the synagogue and saw a wealthy man, well-fed and satisfied after a feast fit for four. He approached him and asked: "Could I have a pinch of snuff?" The wealthy man retorted: "Tell me, is that what concerns you on Erev Yom Kippur? On the eve of the holy day, a pinch of snuff?!" That poor soul, who had nothing to eat and was facing turmoil at home, received such a scolding from the rich man that he sank into deep despair. In Heaven, this sparked a tremendous outcry, and it was decreed that year that the rich man's fortune would pass to the poor man, reversing their fortunes. Indeed, over the course of that year, the poor man rose higher and higher while the rich man sank lower and lower. The impoverished former magnate turned to one of the great Torah leaders of the generation and related what had occurred. The sage told him: "Such was decreed in Heaven." He asked: "What can be done?" The sage replied: "You must create a situation where he does to you what you did to him, and then your fortune may return." He waited for an opportune moment. When the wedding of the newly-rich man's daughter arrived, right at the moment the ring was being given under the chuppah, he approached him and asked: "Could I have a pinch of snuff?" The man replied: "Yes, of course!" He reached into his pocket, took it out, and said: "Take it, and keep the whole snuffbox for yourself!" The ruined man collapsed and fainted right in the middle of the chuppah. People could not understand what had happened until the whole story came to light. They brought the matter before the Rav, and ultimately the Rav mediated an agreement that the new magnate would give half his wealth to the former rich man, since he had grown rich on his account, thereby restoring peace between them - and so it was done. The great wonder is that the new magnate agreed; it takes immense faith in the Sages to do that. And what have we learned? "And that wealth perishes in an evil venture" - you answered harshly, you wounded the poor man with words, which is a dreadful thing. You chose not to give? Fine, do not give - but why humiliate him?
There is another story of someone who entered a wealthy man's house to ask for tzedakah, and the rich man began shouting at him: "Why are you tracking mud into the house? Look how you dirtied the salon!" After the host finished this verbal barrage, the poor man said to him: "You have fulfilled the first part of the blessing; now fulfill the second part." The host asked: "What riddles are these?" The poor man answered: "You have fulfilled 'Blessed is He Who has mercy upon the earth' - now fulfill 'Blessed is He Who has mercy upon the creatures' - and give tzedakah!" So relates the Ben Ish Chai.
כַּאֲשֶׁר יָצָא מִבֶּטֶן אִמּוֹ עָרוֹם יָשׁוּב לָלֶכֶת כְּשֶׁבָּא וּמְאוּמָה לֹא יִשָּׂא בַעֲמָלוֹ שֶׁיֹּלֵךְ בְּיָדוֹ׃ (יד) - As he came out of his mother's womb, naked shall he return to go as he came, and he shall take nothing for his toil that he may carry in his hand.
The Midrash here cites the famous parable: A fox found a vineyard that was fenced in on all sides and could not enter. At last he found a small hole; he tried to enter through it, but was unable. He fasted for three days until he became emaciated, and then slipped through that hole. He ate, was filled, grew sleek and fat, and then wanted to exit through that same opening - but with his new dimensions, it was impossible. He fasted again for three days until he became emaciated once more, and when he finally exited the vineyard, he said: "Vineyard, vineyard, how beautiful are your fruits! Yet what benefit is there in you? Just as one enters you, so does he leave you." Geniva said: Such is the way of this world. A person enters here naked from his mother's womb, and naked shall he return to go as he came - having taken nothing from here. That is why when a person passes away, his hands are open, whereas when he is born, his fists are clenched: the newborn infant clenches his fists as if to say, "I will swallow up the whole world," while the deceased lies with open hands as if to say: Look, I took nothing.
There were a few rare Gedolim of whom it was said that they passed away with clenched fists. The meaning of this is that such a person truly took all the treasures of the world and departed with them - that is, anyone who saw his home and the ascetic simplicity of his life had no need for him to say "I took nothing," for in his lifetime one could see that he possessed nothing of this world, only spirituality. Such a person can clench his fists and say: I took everything - whatever can possibly be taken from here to the life of the World to Come, I took it all in my hands.
The Midrash says: Just as a person enters the world, so shall he leave it. He arrives with sound and departs with sound - when he arrives, there are shouts of "Mazal tov, Mazal tov!", and he himself cries out, his weeping heard from afar; and when he departs, it is sometimes amid pain and crying out, sometimes the sound of the public outcry, and in our times, literally through the loudspeaker vehicle driving around announcing the levayah. He arrives with weeping and departs with weeping - the infant arrives crying, and a person weeps at leaving this world. He arrives with affection and departs with affection - when he enters the world, everyone welcomes him with warmth and love, and when he departs, they eulogize him, escort him, and speak praise of him. He arrives with a sigh and departs with a sigh - the laboring mother sighs, and the relatives sigh.
He arrives without understanding and departs without understanding. Man is the only creature born without intellectual awareness (Da'at), whereas all other animals are born with the same awareness they will possess in adulthood: even a day-old kitten knows to be careful not to fall off a roof, whereas a three- or four-year-old child does not know and only gradually acquires understanding. And at the end as well: often, when a person reaches the point of passing, he is no longer in full possession of his faculties; and for some, this happens years earlier through Alzheimer's and similar illnesses, may Hashem spare us. Even if not, in his final moments he is devoid of clarity. For this reason, there is a special prayer and declaration (mesirat moda'ah) for one's final moments, as sacred books record that the Satan comes to a person in his last moments, standing ready with his knife, and says to him: "Deny Hashem and I will prolong your days," and sometimes, without clear thought, a person might be enticed. A person therefore makes a formal declaration that if he should say anything at the end that implies heresy, he declares in advance that it was spoken without clear mind, and that now, in full clarity, his true will is that he has no intention of denying Hashem.
The author of Imrei Shefer notes a precise detail: "As he came out of his mother's womb, naked shall he return to go as he came" - specifically from his mother's womb, not from the Upper World. For regarding the Upper World, one cannot say he returns as he came; rather, he returns with a severe deficit. When he came, he had perfection - his soul came from beneath the Throne of Glory, unstained by any sin - but when he departs, he is blemished and soiled. And "he shall take nothing for his toil" - the Holy One, blessed be He, as it were, comes and asks: What have you brought from this world? What gift do you have for the King of Glory when you arise for judgment? Nothing. He brought with him neither Torah nor good deeds.
וְגַם זֹה רָעָה חוֹלָה כׇּל עֻמַּת שֶׁבָּא כֵּן יֵלֵךְ וּמַה יִּתְרוֹן לוֹ שֶׁיַּעֲמֹל לָרוּחַ׃ (טו) - And this too is a grievous evil: just as he came, so shall he go; and what profit does he have who toils for the wind?
Pesikta Zutreta states: A person enters with closed hands, as if to say, "I will gather the entire world into my hands," and so he departs - extending his open hands and going away, possessing nothing from here. If so, what should be the purpose of his toil? That he should not toil for the wind: let him toil in Torah, let him toil in mitzvot, let him toil in enduring things. But all other worldly toil - Shlomo tells us - is toil for the wind.
And the Midrash expounds "wind" quite literally: The Holy One, blessed be He, said to man: You plowed, sowed, reaped, bound sheaves, threshed, and turned it into grain and a heap - yet if I do not bring forth a wind for you to winnow, from where would you live? All the other agricultural labors a person can perform by his own strength, but there is one labor where he depends on a Higher power: winnowing. How did they produce flour from wheat? In the first stage, they would thresh: a heavy threshing sledge with sharp teeth was pulled by an ox or another animal over the wheat spread on the ground. The ridges of the heavy sledge rubbed the wheat against the ground and separated the coarse husk from the grain, just as one rubs a peanut to remove its red skin. Afterwards, the chaff and the wheat kernels were mixed together and needed to be separated: the farmer takes a winnowing shovel (rachat), a kind of broad, lighter shovel, lifts the wheat, and tosses it into the air; the wind carries off the light chaff, while the heavy grain falls straight down. He repeats this many times until he sees nothing more blowing away - a sign that all the chaff has been removed and only the clean wheat remains. The Holy One, blessed be He, says: You can do everything yourself, but if there is no wind - you try to winnow and there is no breeze - everything falls back down just as it was, and all the wheat remains filled with chaff. What could he do, inspect grain by grain like sorting rice? This is the meaning of "what profit has he that he toils for the wind" - what is the benefit of all his toil if in the end he does not have the wind assisting him? Therefore, when the Omer offering is brought, "the Omer is brought only as compensation for that wind": a person brings from the new crop and gives thanks - for the wind that the Holy One, blessed be He, provided for us. And as for all the rest - for the land, the wheat, the ability to sow, and for life and health - we have not even begun to count our blessings.
The Imrei Shefer continues along this line of thought: Why occupy yourself with worldly pursuits and toil to become wealthy? It is better to choose the labor of the field, for although it is grueling, once you finish your work you can go and immerse yourself in Torah study. And see what becomes of the rich man's wealth: "And that wealth was lost through a bad venture, and he fathered a son and there is nothing in his hand" - at times, he does not even have the consolation of having someone inherit from him.
A person might come and argue: How can you extrapolate from an isolated case to all wealthy people? Are there really no rich people who are happy with their wealth? Those you enumerated are an insignificant minority; even if you bring examples of failures where riches brought harm and suffering, one can counter with many people for whom wealth brought blessing and a good life. If so, why do you dismiss my aspiration for wealth? To this, Shlomo comes and says: I answer you regarding this, "And this too is a grievous evil." Even if he does not lose his wealth in an unfortunate venture, the reality itself is a grievous evil: "In all points as he came, so shall he go." Even if he amassed great fortune, what did he gain from it for the ultimate purpose, for eternal life and the World to Come? "And what profit has he that he toils for the wind?" He enjoyed himself here, he made a fortune, but this is called toiling for the wind.
The Imrei Shefer cites an adage used by merchants: Toil in business without profit is considered a loss. When someone labors in commerce and makes no profit, do not think that he merely failed to gain; it is considered an outright loss. During that time he could have been earning, but instead he tied up his capital for nothing, whereas he could have invested it elsewhere and produced more money. Here too, his money was tied up for a year and accomplished nothing - that itself is the loss.
There was once a bakery owner who loved to complain: "Believe me, I only lose money here; I have nothing but expenses." People asked him: "If so, why is it worth keeping the bakery open, and what do you live on?" He replied: "Believe me, I only survive off the week of Pesach when the bakery is closed! Had it been open then too, I would be bankrupt." And this is what Shlomo is saying: What does it truly mean to "succeed"? What will remain of it for him? "What profit has he that he toils for the wind" - it is all for the wind, and man will go to his eternal home only to see that from all the wealth he amassed here, nothing remains with him.
King Shlomo presents two portraits here: the sweet sleep of the laborer, who toils during the day and sleeps peacefully at night, and the restless sleep of the rich man, whose abundance will not allow him to sleep. And by way of derash - the sweet sleep of one who toils in analytical Torah study (iyun), compared to the anxiety of one who merely accumulates wide-ranging breadth (girsa) lest he forget, and the lips of a Torah scholar that murmur in the grave. From there he moves to demonstrate that wealth itself can be a "grievous evil": Korach, Navot, Haman, the children of Gad and Reuven, and Iyov - all are witnesses that riches kept for their owner can be to his harm; and one who gives an evil answer to the poor will lose his wealth through an evil venture. Finally, we are given the true perspective: "As he came forth from his mother's womb, naked shall he return to go" - like the parable of the fox in the vineyard, who leaves just as thin and empty as he entered. If so, let a person not toil for the wind, but rather in Torah, mitzvot, and eternal matters, which alone accompany him.