A memory: The dining room in the yeshivah. Dinner is just beginning. As the students enter, their eyes alight upon the pot of goulash.
“Ugh! Dead rats!”
“Do we eat it, or bury it?”
“I think that I know where the cat went.”
“Why can't they serve us decent food?”
“We deserve better than this. It's like prison food!”
Another memory: The savanna of Tsavo in East Africa. The Masai tribesman shifts his spear into his other hand and stares at me; I am not too scared, since he is only about six years old. Flies buzz around wounds on his face. His hair is discolored, a sure sign of protein deficiency. He is pathetically thin, except for his distended stomach. I look at his house: a hut constructed from dried cow dung. No electricity, no water, no anything for miles around; just the scorched savanna, punctuated by the occasional termite hill.
“It's all very well for you not to complain,” pointed out my friend in the dining room when I told him about the Masai. “You've seen the starving children in Africa. But I haven't. I've only seen Nathan's Deli and Bonker's Bagels. Compared to my experiences, this food is disgusting.”
That silenced me. It looked as though he had a point there. Not that I believed him to be justified in complaining about the food. But my absence of complaints did not reflect any moral high ground; it was simply that I had different experiences to which I could compare it.
For a while afterwards, I therefore considered that the matter was simply one of perspective. There are those who look at the man who has more, and are unhappy, and there are those who look at the man who has less, and are satisfied. The goal, I figured, was to work on one's perspective. Compare yourself to the have-nots rather than to the haves. But then it occurred to me that this wasn't quite the right approach either, although it may well be a good step to getting there. For I thought again about the Masai tribesmen. They were genuinely happy people. When the young Masai's friends appeared with a ball constructed from the discarded plastic bags of tourists tied together with grass, they happily began to kick it around. They didn't have shoes on their feet, and they didn't even have enough toes on their feet, but they nevertheless enjoyed themselves.
The Africans were the happiest, most content people that I have ever seen. Their catchphrase is hakuna matata – “No worries!” Despite being horrifically poor, they were perpetually smiling and singing. This is not only my own impression. I recently heard about someone who was working to modernize Africa by hooking it up to the Internet. Visiting various villages, however, he had doubts about the value of his venture. The people seemed so happy and content; why transform them into Americans – neurotic, depressed, and undergoing therapy?
And why are the Africans so happy? They haven't got anyone to compare themselves to and say, Well, at least we're doing better than them. They are in the absolute worst situation, and they're still happy and content. So it can't be a matter of comparing yourself to others who are worse off; it must come down to an internal quality, a certain outlook on life.
Parashas Vayishlach relates a fascinating dialogue which expresses this point. When Yaakov meets Eisav and offers him gifts, Eisav at first politely refuses and says “I have lots.” Yaakov presses him, responding that “I have everything” – whereupon Eisav accepts the presents, after all.
Eisav, a wealthy man, considers himself to have lots and lots – but not everything. Yaakov, on the other hand, considers himself to lack nothing. This isn't because he presently happened to possess a considerable degree of wealth. It reflected his outlook on life which was consistent regardless of his personal situation.
In the previous parashah, when Yaakov speaks of his covenant with Hashem, his request is that Hashem gives him “bread to eat and clothing to wear” (Bereishis 28:20). Now, let us remember that he is cutting a deal with the all-powerful Creator of the entire universe. Forget bread and clothing; he could ask for steak (with fries, just like Nathan's do it), a mansion (just like the ones in Beverly Hills) and an expensive Italian designer suit. After all, it isn't exactly more of a strain on Hashem to provide these things. Indeed, when Moshe protests that it will be difficult to feed the Jewish people with steak, Hashem responds, “Is the hand of Hashem short?” (Bemidbar 11:23). So why doesn't Yaakov ask for the works?
Rabbeinu Bachya explains that it is the way of a tzaddik to request only the essentials. This isn't a form of self-infliction or abstention; those are features of non-Jewish theologies. The tzaddik simply isn't interested in any of the extras. This doesn't necessarily need to stem from pious motives. It can come from a realization that happiness isn't to be found in pursuing extra luxuries.
Those who consider that happiness is to be found in material acquisition spend their lives pursuing it, but they never catch it. For they are looking to find it outside of themselves. They are looking to acquire that which they do not have; as soon as they acquire something, it becomes that which they do have, and it therefore no longer satisfies them.
“Who is wealthy? He that is satisfied with his lot” (Pirkei Avos 4:1). Yaakov only wanted that which he needed. He trusted that Hashem would provide these needs for him. Thus, no matter what he ended up having, he always realized that this was what Hashem wanted him to have; he could honestly always say that he had everything that he needed and lacked nothing.
A trendy hypothesis in science posits that Earth is to be considered as a single life-form that takes good care of its sub-organisms. Animals do not evolve to suit the Earth's conditions; rather, the super-organism provides the conditions needed by the animals. For example, a lethal buildup of carbon dioxide is prevented by trees, which in turn produce oxygen, the main requirement for life. The theory titles this super-organism Gaia, after the Greek term for the goddess Earth. Its opponents point out that the theory is over anthropomorphic; Earth cannot be considered to be consciously looking after itself.
Rabbeinu Bachya posits a similar (lehavdil) explanation, but instead of crediting the care to Gaia, he credits it to G-d. We need food, so it does indeed grow on trees, as well as out of the ground; we need water even more, so there's plenty of it; we cannot survive without air, so it's everywhere. Conversely, gold and silver, which are not life's essentials, are extremely rare.
Don't worry about improving your lot in life. Don't waste your energy and lose your happiness by striving to attain extras. Rest assured in the knowledge that Hashem gives us what we need. That is the path to true contentment.
Next time that we feel discontent with our material situation, we should try to internalize this perspective. Failing that, we can always think about the little thin Masai boy, living in his dung hut in the scorched savanna.
• Sources:
Rabbeinu Bachya, Bereishis 28:20.
J.E. Lovelock, Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth (Oxford: Oxford University Press 1979).