The book of Ecclesiastes, or Kohelet as it's known in Hebrew, wrestles with these very questions. And Kohelet Rabbah, a rabbinic commentary on Ecclesiastes, dives even deeper. one particularly fascinating verse, Ecclesiastes 2:10: "Everything that my eyes sought I did not keep from them; I did not withhold my heart from any joy, as my heart was joyful from all my toil, and this was my portion from all my toil."
So, what’s going on here? Kohelet Rabbah breaks it down. “Everything that my eyes sought…I did not withhold my heart from any joy” – the commentary suggests, could be talking about the fleeting joy of wealth. It's that initial rush, the thrill of acquisition. But is that true, lasting happiness?
Then comes the next part of the verse: “As my heart was joyful from all my toil, and this was my portion from all my toil.” Now, this is where it gets interesting. The Rabbis in Kohelet Rabbah offer different interpretations. One suggests this refers to a simple plate, another to a belt. Wait, a plate and a belt? What's that all about?
Well, this connects to a story we find earlier in Kohelet Rabbah (section 2:3) about a time when King Solomon, the supposed author of Ecclesiastes, was banished from his throne. Stripped of his riches, he was reduced to a wandering beggar. All he had was a plate to collect food and a belt to keep his robes together as he traveled. The joy, then, wasn't in grand palaces or overflowing coffers, but in the simple sustenance and practicality represented by these humble items. Profound. But the commentary doesn't stop there. It offers another perspective: "Everything that my eyes sought," could also be referring to… women. "I did not withhold my heart from any joy" – meaning the joy derived from relationships. But again, the Rabbis probe deeper. "As my heart was joyful from all my toil…" What "toil" are they talking about in the context of relationships?
Here, too, we find two interpretations. One suggests it's the separation of ḥalla, the portion of dough traditionally given to the kohen (priest). The other suggests it's the separation of libations, the wine poured out as an offering. Both mitzvot, these sacred acts, involve a great deal of preparation and effort. It’s a reminder that even the joys of life are often intertwined with hard work and dedication. You can't have the wine without tending the vineyard. So, what does it all mean? What is the peshat (plain meaning) here? Maybe it's that true joy isn't about endlessly chasing after fleeting desires, whether they be wealth or pleasure. Instead, it's about finding contentment and meaning in the simpler things, in the act of creation and dedication, and in appreciating the fruits of our labor – both literal and metaphorical. Perhaps true happiness is found not in the having, but in the doing. And maybe, just maybe, the wandering king with his plate and belt had a deeper understanding of joy than he ever did on his throne.