We find ourselves pondering this very question in Vayikra Rabbah 22, a section of the ancient Midrash. It begins with a seemingly simple verse from Leviticus (17:3): "Any man from the house of Israel who will slaughter a bull, or a sheep, or a goat, in the camp, or who slaughters it outside the camp." But from this, the Rabbis launch into a fascinating discussion about the inherent value of the land, and how that relates to all aspects of life, including Torah study.

The verse from Leviticus reminds us of our connections to the earth and the animals that sustain us. But what does that have to do with anything else? Well, the Rabbis connect it to a verse in Ecclesiastes (5:8): "The advantage of land is in every way."

Rabbi Yehuda, in conversation with Rabbi Neḥemya, takes this idea and runs with it. He argues that even things we might consider superfluous are, in fact, beneficial to the world. : palm fiber can be used to make rope; a thorn bush can protect a garden. Everything has a purpose. "A king is subservient to a field," the verse continues. Even the most powerful ruler depends on the land's bounty for their success.

And if someone loves money, but has no land? According to Rabbi Yishmael ben Rabbi Tanhum and Rabbi Hanin son of Rabbi, quoting Rabbi Yirmeya, they have nothing. It’s like a ship sinking at sea: if you have land on the shore, you can recover. But without it, you're lost. This echoes in Ezekiel (27:29): "They will disembark from their ships…they will stand on the ground." The Rabbis ask, do we not know they would stand on the ground? The verse emphasizes that having land to stand on is a source of stability.

Rabbi Neḥemya takes this concept even further. He suggests that "The advantage of land is in every way" includes even the seemingly small details of Jewish law – the halakhot of tzitzit (ritual fringes), tefillin (phylacteries), and mezuza (the parchment scroll affixed to doorposts). These, too, are part of the grand design of Torah.

How can this be? He points to verses like Deuteronomy 9:10, "The Lord gave me the two tablets of stone inscribed with the finger of God and on them were all the matters [kekhol hadevarim]," and Deuteronomy 8:1, "All the mitzvah [hamitzvah] that I command you this day you shall take care to perform." The extra prefixes – ke-, ha- – are amplifications, indicating that everything, even the minutiae, was given to Moses at Sinai.

The Rabbis then list various aspects of Torah study: Bible, Mishna, halakha (Jewish law), Talmud, addenda, aggadot (stories), and even what a student will eventually say before their teacher. All of it, they say, was given to Moses at Sinai. "There is a matter regarding which one would say: See, this is new" (Ecclesiastes 1:10), but its counterpart responds, "It has already been, in the ages that were before us."

The discussion returns to the verse, "A king is subservient to a field." Rabbi Yehuda interprets "king" as an expert in Talmud, and "field" as an expert in Mishna, because the latter arranges the halakha. Rabbi Neḥemya reverses the roles, but the point remains: both are necessary.

Finally, the passage drives home the connection between land and Torah. "One who loves silver will not be satisfied with silver," meaning one who loves Torah will not be satisfied with Torah alone. "Nor one who loves abundance, with produce" – if you avidly pursue Torah but lack Talmud, what good is it? Rabbi Elazar, quoting Rabbi Aḥa, concludes that there is no greater futility than studying but not teaching.

So, what can we take away from all of this? Perhaps it's a reminder that true wealth isn't just about accumulating possessions or knowledge. It's about finding a balance, grounding ourselves in something real, and sharing what we learn with others. It’s about recognizing that everything, from the land beneath our feet to the words of Torah, has inherent value and contributes to the richness of life. And it's about understanding that, in the end, we are all connected, all dependent on each other, and all part of something much larger than ourselves.

What does "land" mean to you in this context? Is it literal? Figurative? Where do you find your grounding?