Kohelet Rabbah, the commentary on Ecclesiastes, gets it. It starts with the line "all matters are wearying." But it doesn't stop there with the doom and gloom. It actually dives into what kind of weariness we're talking about.
The Rabbis suggest it's "professional matters" that wear us down – specifically, when we study them in an "obsessive fashion." Sound familiar? It’s that feeling of being consumed by something, losing yourself in the details until you can’t see the forest for the trees.
To illustrate, Kohelet Rabbah shares a fascinating story. Rabbi Elazar, quoting Rabbi Hanina son of Rabbi Abbahu, tells of a woman who brought her son to a baker in Caesarea. “Teach my son a craft,” she pleaded.
The baker, quite confidently, replied, “Let him stay with me for five years, and I will teach him five hundred species of wheat!” Now, that’s a specific curriculum! The idea was that the boy would learn to distinguish between them and know the best use for each.
He stayed those five years, absorbing all that wheaty wisdom. The baker then upped the ante: "Another five years, and I'll teach him one thousand species!" Wait a minute...one THOUSAND species of wheat? Is that even possible?
The text acknowledges the absurdity. The Rabbis chime in, saying, “Wheat of Minit, there are numerous types of wheat.” Minit was a high-quality wheat mentioned in Ezekiel (27:17). Rabbi Aḥa even claimed there were five hundred species just of that type – a clever connection to the numerical value of the Hebrew letters in the word Minit! (Mem – 40, nun – 50, yod – 10, tav – 400). But then, Rabbi Hanina and Rabbi Yonatan did some calculating and landed on a more modest, yet still impressive, sixty.
And the stories don't end there! Rabbi Elazar, this time quoting Rabbi Yosei, offers another tale: A woman seeks to apprentice her son to a chef. The chef promises to teach him one hundred species of eggs in four years, and then another hundred in the following four.
Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, upon hearing this, exclaimed, "We have never seen such goodness!" Was he impressed by the sheer variety? Or maybe the chef’s ambition? Or perhaps, the ridiculousness of it all?
So, what’s the point of these somewhat outlandish stories? It seems Kohelet Rabbah is using hyperbole to make a point. It isn't necessarily about the literal number of wheat species or egg varieties. It's about the potential for any pursuit, any profession, to become overwhelming if pursued with an unhealthy obsession. It's about the weariness that comes from getting lost in the minutiae, from losing sight of the bigger picture.
What does this mean for us today? Maybe it's a call to step back, to avoid getting bogged down in the endless details. To remember that sometimes, less is more. That true mastery isn’t about knowing everything, but about knowing what truly matters. Maybe it's a reminder to find joy and wonder even in the most mundane tasks, without letting them consume us entirely.
What do you think? Are there "five hundred species of wheat" in your own life? And how can we find a healthier, more balanced approach to our passions and professions?