These questions, believe it or not, were being debated intensely by the ancient Rabbis, particularly in relation to the book of Ecclesiastes, or Kohelet, as it's known in Hebrew.

Let's look at a passage from Vayikra Rabbah 28. It starts with a verse from Leviticus (23:10): “Speak to the children of Israel, and say to them: When you come to the land that I am giving to you, and you reap its harvest, you shall bring a sheaf of the first of your harvest to the priest.” This verse about bringing the omer, the first sheaf, to the Temple, is then connected to a rather pessimistic question posed in Ecclesiastes (1:3): “What advantage is there for man in all his toil that he toils under the sun?”

Now, you might be thinking, "Wait a minute, what's the connection?" Well, the Rabbis of the Talmud were grappling with some tough questions about the value of human effort. And Kohelet, with its sometimes seemingly cynical outlook, presented a real challenge.

In fact, Rabbi Binyamin ben Levi tells us that there was a real movement to suppress the book of Ecclesiastes altogether! Why? Because they found in it "matters that tend toward heresy." One example cited is Solomon's seemingly reckless advice in Ecclesiastes 11:9: “Rejoice, young man, in your youth. Let your heart cheer you in the days of your youth…Follow the ways of your heart and the sight of your eyes.”

Doesn't that sound a bit... permissive? Moses, after all, says "You shall not stray after your heart and after your eyes" (Numbers 15:39). Are we supposed to just indulge every whim? Is there no judgment, no higher power to consider?

The Rabbis wrestled with this. Then Solomon adds a crucial phrase: “But know that for all of these, God will bring you to judgment” (Ecclesiastes 11:9). Aha! That made all the difference. As Vayikra Rabbah puts it, "Solomon spoke well" once he included that vital caveat.

Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥmani adds another reason for wanting to suppress Kohelet: that nagging question, “What advantage is there for man in all his toil that he toils under the sun?” Does that mean even the toil of studying Torah is pointless?

The Rabbis then make a crucial distinction. It's not ALL toil that's ineffective, but rather "all his toil." It's your personal striving for selfish gain that's ultimately empty. But the toil of Torah, the effort we put into connecting with something larger than ourselves, that is different.

Rabbi Yudan takes it a step further: "Under the sun he does not have [advantage], but above the sun he does have." There's a realm beyond the material world, a spiritual dimension where our efforts truly matter.

Rabbi Levi and others offer beautiful metaphors. Rabbi Levi says that all the mitzvot (commandments) and good deeds are rewarded by God simply allowing the sun to shine. Another opinion is that God renews the faces of the righteous, making them shine like the sun (Judges 5:31).

Rabbi Yanai brings it all back to the omer. He points out how much effort we put into obtaining and preparing food. Yet, God provides the very basis of our sustenance—the winds, the clouds, the growing plants—with seemingly effortless ease. And all He asks in return is the omer, a small token of gratitude.

So, what's the takeaway? The book of Ecclesiastes challenges us to examine our motivations. Are we toiling only for fleeting, material rewards "under the sun?" Or are we striving for something more meaningful, something that connects us to the Divine? The omer reminds us to acknowledge the source of all blessings and to dedicate our efforts to a purpose greater than ourselves. Maybe, just maybe, that's where we find the real advantage.