Specifically, they looked closely at the verse: "A feast is made for laughter, wine cheers the living, and money answers everything" (Ecclesiastes 10:18).
Now, on the surface, that sounds like a recipe for a pretty good Friday night, right? But let’s dig a little deeper, guided by the wisdom of Kohelet Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of Ecclesiastes.
The Rabbis saw multiple layers within this simple verse. "A feast is made for laughter"… but what kind of feast are we talking about? The Rabbis suggested that this refers to a feast made for idol worship. In that context, the "laughter" is artificial, a forced revelry.
And what about "wine cheers the living?" Here's where things get interesting. The Rabbis offered an alternative interpretation: this isn’t just about getting tipsy. Instead, the "wine" is actually the Torah! As it says in Psalms 19:9, "The precepts of the Lord are upright, cheering the heart." According to Rabbi David Luria, unlike the fleeting joy of idolatry that needs external stimulation to create happiness, Torah itself brings happiness without needing external stimuli. Torah brings true, lasting joy from within.
Think about that for a moment. It's a powerful idea. The fleeting pleasures of a party versus the enduring joy of wisdom and connection to something bigger than yourself.
And then there's the final piece: "Money answers everything." This one is particularly nuanced. Rabbi Yehoshua of Sikhnin, quoting Rabbi Levi, offers a critical caveat: sometimes money answers, and sometimes it doesn't. When you use money for righteous acts, for tzedakah, for making the world a better place, then it "answers." It speaks on your behalf, as it says in Genesis 30:33, "My righteousness will speak on my behalf."
But when you hoard it, or use it for selfish purposes, it becomes an indictment. It testifies against you, echoing the verse in Deuteronomy 19:16, "To give false testimony against him." In other words, the power of money isn't inherent; it's determined by how we use it.
The Talmud tells us a story about Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish that perfectly illustrates this point. He was called by a neighbor and saw people celebrating, dancing, and being given food and drink. Thinking this was a good thing, he joined in, hoping for some of the same. He stood, danced, and sang, and they gave him only a wineskin of aged wine. This reminds us of the verse: "A feast is made for laughter," where empty revelry doesn't necessarily bring true fulfillment or reward.
So, what’s the takeaway here? Is Ecclesiastes telling us to shun joy? Absolutely not! It’s inviting us to think critically about where we seek our happiness. Are we chasing fleeting pleasures, or are we investing in things that truly nourish the soul – wisdom, connection, and acts of righteousness? Are we using our resources – including our money – in ways that bring lasting good?
It's a question worth pondering, and one that resonates just as powerfully today as it did centuries ago.