Money can be a very polarizing subject. Some see it as the root of all evil, while others see it as the key to happiness.

Judaism views wealth as neither fundamentally good nor evil; rather, like all neutral and powerful forces, it is ultimately defined by the way we use and relate to it.

Since money can be a force for good—for example, when used to help the less fortunate and support entities that better the world—Judaism does not discourage the accumulation of wealth. Instead, it provides guidelines for how to interact with it in ways that engender integrity, compassion, and righteousness.

There are numerous mitzvot in the Torah that demand the highest level of honesty and ethics in one’s business practices. Some examples include the prohibition against inaccurate measures and scales, verbal deception, misrepresentation of value or intention, and the fair treatment and prompt payment of one’s employees.

Furthermore, there are numerous mitzvot that directly address the alleviation of socio-economic imbalance in society. Communal directives such as pei’ah, leaving a portion of one’s field for the poor; yovel, the forgiveness of all debt during the Jubilee year; and maaser, committing ten percent of one’s annual earnings to tzedakah, all serve to instill a sense of social and moral responsibility within one’s relationship to property and ownership.1

In fact, Judaism considers one’s relationship with money and behavior in business so important that it is seen as the proving ground of one’s spiritual development and standing.

As we learn in the Talmud,2 when a person passes on and their soul ascends to heaven for its final reckoning, the first question the heavenly court asks is: “Were you honest in your business dealings?”

From this perspective, it becomes clear why, despite its positive potential, as discussed above, Judaism also contains numerous cautionary insights regarding the possible pitfalls associated with wealth accumulation.

Interestingly, such caveats are encoded within the various words used to refer to money in Biblical Hebrew. Kesef, for example, is etymologically related to the word nichsaf, which means yearning, alluding to the deep-seated and often insatiable drive to acquire and amass wealth.3

This psychological understanding of money is expressed consistently throughout Jewish literature in memorable quotes such as: “One who has one hundred wants two hundred”4 ; “One who loves money will not be satisfied with money”5 ; and ““No one leaves this world with half his desires fulfilled.”6

Shekel, a word used both in Biblical and modern Hebrew, is etymologically related to the word mishkal, which means weight. R. Bachya explains7 that this alludes to the moral weight we should give to all of our monetary dealings, and that, ideally, we should place equal weight on both our spiritual and material pursuits. Additionally, the word zuz, which in modern Hebrew means move, appears as a term for money (literally, coin) in the Talmud. This hints at a crucial lesson: Money does not stay with any one person for very long; rather, it moves from one pocket to the next. The Sages viewed wealth as something that is meant to be circulated and should thus be considered impermanent. All of these Hebrew terms for money reveal its complex inner nature and provide us with guidance as we pursue it.

From a mystical point of view, the very desire to attain wealth, expressed in the word kesef, is seen as sacred. For instance, the Baal Shem Tov taught8 that every material yearning (whether it be for money or food) has an underlying spiritual motivation within it. We are thus drawn towards various physical elements and material possessions by our soul’s energetic drive for positive impact. Our attraction and even craving is due to the fact that our soul senses a powerful spiritual force within an object or experience, and it yearns to utilize it for its true spiritual purpose. Thus, when we eat food or earn money and then utilize it to perform mitzvot, we transform physicality into a spiritual medium, through which Divine purpose is achieved.

Similarly, in Lurianic Kabbalah, it is taught that there is a holy spark hidden within each physical creation.9 Our body may desire food, but our soul craves the spark within it in order to elevate it. When we intentionally utilize a mundane object for spiritual purposes, we thereby redeem the sparks of holiness that were trapped within it and activate their latent potential that was waiting to be brought forth. Some mystical texts refer to this process as “redeeming the captives,”10 a metaphor all too familiar to Jews of the Middle Ages, who were regularly taken captive and held for ransom. In our context, this refers to the sparks of holiness that are concealed and “held captive” within the material realm until they are redeemed through conscious elevation.

In the Talmud,11 the Sages teach that the Jewish people were exiled and scattered throughout the world in order to “increase converts,” which Kabbalah12 interprets symbolically as referring to the scattered sparks of holiness strewn throughout the world. Read in this manner, the displacement and exile of the Jewish people was Divinely orchestrated in order for us to wander the world redeeming and “converting” fallen aspects of reality and returning them to their original luster in the light of the Divine. This can only be done if our actions are ethical; otherwise, we go from redeeming the fallen to becoming captives ourselves.

This is poignantly illustrated in the Book of Genesis,13 which tells how Jacob, in mid-flight from his enraged brother, risked his life by crossing back across the Jabbok River. In seeking to explain why Jacob returned to the other side of the Jabbok, R. Eliezer says: “He returned to collect some small jars he left behind.”

The obvious question is: Why would Jacob be willing to risk his life by crossing a dangerous river alone at night in order to retrieve a few insignificant belongings? The provocative answer provided by the Talmud14 is that “the righteous cherish their money more than their own lives!” Without any clarification, this statement might seem to reinforce a host of familiar antisemitic tropes and stereotypes. However, if we replace the word money with positive impact (the potential that money has to do incredible good in the world), we can understand its meaning on a deeper level—the righteous value their ability to positively impact the world above their own lives.

Therefore, in the hands of those committed to positively impacting the world and others beyond themselves, wealth becomes an instrument for redemptive change.

When seen in this light, our craving (nichsaf) for money (kesef) itself is a soul-prompt to acquire wealth for the express purpose of bringing more light, justice, peace, and G‑dliness into the world.

The Big Idea

Spiritually, the human aspiration for wealth stems from the soul’s desire to impact our world for the better; heed its call, and you have turned the pursuit of wealth into a noble act.

It Happened Once

Each year on Simchat Torah from 1954 until 1964, the Lubavitcher Rebbe taught a new Chasidic song. In addition to teaching the actual melody, the Rebbe would often explain its background and significance.

One year, the Rebbe taught a song called Anim Zmirot, based on the devotional words of a liturgical poem attributed to R. Yehudah the Nasi (compiler of the Mishnah), which is recited in some communities following the Musaf on Shabbat:

“I shall sing sweet songs, and poems I shall weave, because my soul longs for You.

My soul desires the shadow of your hand, to know every one of Your secrets.”

After teaching the song, the Rebbe shared the following story:

Once, on the day after Yom Kippur, the community of a certain shtetl arrived at the synagogue for Shacharit and were surprised to find one community member dancing around the podium, singing Anim Zemirot with great fervor. It turned out that the man had been so engrossed in the melody that he danced the entire night, not even noticing that the fast had ended and that he hadn’t eaten for a day and a half!

As the song became popular among the Chasidim, rumors began circulating that the pious individual in the story was actually the Rebbe himself.

When one of the Chasidim visited the Rebbe for a private audience, he decided to clarify the matter once and for all, and he asked the Rebbe if the rumors were true. The Rebbe replied that they weren’t and that the story took place before the times of the Baal Shem Tov.

The Rebbe then proceeded to recount the story in full:

“There once lived a rich man who made it his business to travel the region, locating and redeeming Jewish people who had been taken captive. One day, he was passing by the local jail when he heard heartrending cries. He went to the local baron to free the man in captivity, but he was told that the cost of the man’s freedom was an exorbitant sum. The rich man was hesitant.

“Returning home, his conscience didn’t let him rest. He proceeded to calculate the worth of his entire estate, which turned out to be precisely the amount it would take to free the Jewish man. He liquidated all of his assets and then returned to the baron and handed him the necessary sum.

“With a wicked gleam in his eye, the baron burst out laughing as he opened the cell, calling out: ‘Take your Jew, as promised.’ To the wealthy man’s shock and dismay, the poor man had already passed away.

“Feeling utterly dejected and devastated over selling his possessions to no avail, the now poor man fell into a deep depression. No matter how much his family tried, the man’s spirits could not be revived.

“One night, he fell into a deep sleep. As he slept, he had a dream, with a message from Above: ‘Your money was not wasted. On the contrary, your altruistic actions are worthy of reward.’ The man was given two choices. The first was to return to a life of extraordinary wealth. The second was to experience a taste of Gan Eden, heavenly bliss, while still in this world.

“The man chose the second option, and it was decided in heaven to bless and infuse him with spiritual rapture on Yom Kippur.

“It was then, while singing Anim Zmirot, that he experienced this sublime revelation, a taste of the World to Come. So caught up was he in ecstasy, that he danced through the night, oblivious to his bodily needs.”

The Rebbe concluded, “The man lived before the times of the Baal Shem Tov. For had he benefited from the teachings of Chasidut, he would have chosen the wealth! Do you know how many more lives he could have saved then?”

Simply put, greater than seeing an angel is becoming an angel for someone else.