Rav Nachman’s relationship with money was markedly different from the normative religious and traditional perspectives held in his society.
I once got a call from some academic institution asking for a shiur (a class). They called it “a lecture.” Then they asked if I was a rabbi.
“What does it matter?” I responded quietly.
They repeated the question. I insisted, louder this time, that they tell me the reason.
Finally, the caller yielded. “It’s just that we don’t pay rabbis.”
“In that case, I’m not a rabbi,” I shot back.
So here we are, approaching Parashat Trumah, and it’s a great opportunity for me to write about money. It’s not pleasant to write about money. It can be upsetting. So now is the time to write about it. And because it’s still offensive to just write about it outright, I’ll let Rav Nachman start the conversation.
Rav Nachman advocated against pursuing that traditional, hallowed profession of a “melamed,” a children’s Jewish Studies instructor. Though the job spreads love of Torah – and transmits that love to children – Rav Nachman opposed a career path that prevented its owner from making a profitable living. He preferred to see his students find success in business rather than take on teaching positions. He wrote about the possibilities of the Torah teaching role with irony:
“[He] said that he did not want any of us to become teachers, and he spoke of this several times…And when one does business, it is possible that in that hour he will earn much money because it will be his hour of good fortune. Then the Lord Blessed Be He will grant him success in his dealings, and he can profit greatly in that time. But when one is a teacher, if his fortunate hour comes - it is at that very point that the student brings him a nice baked quiche, or something similar…and then his hour – one of great potential success – passes in vain. But a different man could, in his own good hour, profit exceedingly at the same time.”
Chayei Moharan, Avodat Hashem, 460:22
Rav Nachman’s words are especially powerful when we consider that there was a Hassidic tradition claiming that his uncle, the Besht (Baal Shem Tov), was himself a “melamed” and encouraged students to take up that post. Yet the Besht’s own nephew, Rav Nachman, was not impressed by this story. Rav Nachman wrote:
…even if [the Besht] had said so – the tzaddik in every generation has the ability to define borders and lead the world according to that generation. And today, I say that it is better for one’s service of G-d to not be a melamed.
Sichot HaRan, 250)
Instead of complacently emulating his predecessor, Rav Nachman felt that the Besht was guiding him to continue on his own path, a path that soon revealed itself to be quite different.
Rav Nachman’s relationship with money was markedly different from the normative religious and traditional perspectives held in his society:
“The world says that the true tzaddik – one of the highest caliber – does not need much money, because what would he need money for? But I say: there is a level of understanding [Torah] that requires all the wealth of the world.”
Chayei Moharan, 25
Rav Nachman recognized that creativity and revelation of the Torah can be born from a relationship with money – albeit a relationship that is quite different from the traditional conception of money.
What does Rav Nachman see in money? Human intelligence and knowledge reign supreme in all but one area: money. Man sells his knowledge as labor – whether he’s a plumber or a philosopher. Money became the highest goal of any ambitious vision. This is not an illusion, but rather an identification of money as the closest encounter with something never-ending. Rav Nachman sees the desire for money as a desire for the divine:
“And this is because the soul emerges from a higher level, and money comes and descends from it. Certainly, the source of this level from which money descends has an aspect of holiness and an abundance of sacredness. And subsequently it materialises and takes form below, as happens during the development of this descent, and it becomes money. This is why the soul desires money: the soul and money are sourced from the same initial space.”
Likkutei Moharan 68
The endless quest for money is, at its core, the pursuit of the secret of existence: the pursuit of the soul and of G-d. We find this idea in the Talmud in understanding the “lands of life” in King David’s “I shall walk before the Lord in the lands of the living“ (Psalms 116:9). Where are these “lands”? Rabbi Yehuda interprets “lands” as referring to “the place of markets” (Babylonian Talmud 71a). We are talking about a will to know and walk with the Divine Presence specifically and especially in the ‘lands of life’: in the markets, in the hustling and bustling domain of finance.
In reality, of course, things are quite different. Man lusts after money and accumulates it obsessively, even when his local economy can sustain his basic (and not-so-basic) needs. He forgets the source of money. But the source is One.
What is the source? In our Torah learning we find several paths to reaching closer to the source – to walking with the Divine Presence – that require money. One such example: “All the prophets were wealthy” (Talmud Bavli Nedarim 38a). But Rav Nachman argues that regular wealth is not sufficient for reaching the particular path of Torah achieved by money: “He needs all the riches of the world for that kind of knowledge” (Likkutei Moharan 80a).
But what is the value of a man who owns all the money in the world, and what is the significance of this money when it is held in a single pair of hands?
Perhaps this exaggerated scenario reveals what is at the heart of Rav Nachman’s teaching: if man owns all the money in the world, and having reached this absolute limit, he nevertheless uses and directs the money toward the greater Infinite, he gains to access to “the paths of Torah that have the greatest knowledge.”
The Infinite is revealed through the most finite thing – money – and there is something magical about this process. Here is an aspect of Torah that can bridge the gap between the most finite and the maximally infinite, and it is revealed through the material means of money. Rav Nachman does not describe this Torah knowledge; most words do not ‘fit the bill,’ so to speak. Yet we find that this Torah is manifest in The Tales of Rav Nachman in which he reveals a magic that transcends time and space. Unlike later teachings about both the Written and Oral Torah – ones concerned with precise, specific matters – the most powerful stories deal first and foremost with the interactive, mundane world of men. Rav Nachman not only wishes to elevate this world to greater spiritual heights, but also to identify deep spiritual value itself within the most seemingly material substance.
“In truth, folk stories share hidden, deep ideas.” (Preface to Sippurei Maasiyot, Tales of Rav Nachman)
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How might Rav Nachman have reacted to the hedonistic capitalism of today that holds man in its clutches? Would he still be full of wonder upon observing capitalism’s spiritual and physical impact, its morals and market mentality? How would he respond to the Age of Technology, in which technology promises to overcome all human limits?
It’s hard to say.
Maybe he would react bitterly, sarcastically:
“He who is wealthy, only has insanity. Know that money makes one mad” (Likkutei Moharan Tanina, 64)
Or perhaps, facing the capitalist frenzy around him, he would only smile mysteriously and say: “On the contrary, G-d is doing a much better job of leading the world right now.”
