“He who loves money will never be satisfied with money” (Koheles 5:10)
There’s an old story about a community that wanted to buy their beloved rabbi a new hat. He hadn’t gotten one since his bar mitzvah, and they figured it was time. And so, they approached him one day.
“Rabbi, we want to take you shopping for a new hat and get you something nice. Come look with us.” The rabbi smiled warmly. “I appreciate it... but I should warn you, it’s going to be a very expensive hat.” “Expensive?” they asked, confused. “What, you want a Borsalino? Maybe a special Italian felt hat?” “No, no” said the rabbi, shaking his head. “This hat is going to cost you one million dollars.”
They stare at him, stunned. “A million dollars? For a hat?” “You see, I’ll come home with this beautiful, stylish new hat and look in the mirror and say, ‘This hat is too elegant for this old suit.’ So now I’ll need a new suit.” They nodded, trying to keep up. “Okay... so we’ll buy you a suit.” The rabbi continued. “Well, now that I have a new suit and a stunning hat, how can I wear them with these scuffed shoes? I’ll need new shoes. And a tie, of course.” “Fine, Rabbi, we’ll get you the whole outfit.” “But what about my Rebbetzin? I’m walking around in brand-new clothing, and she’s in her old wardrobe. It’s only fair to her if she gets a new sheitel. And once she gets a new sheitel, she’ll need a new wardrobe to match.” “Okay, okay,” they say. “We’ll get your wife a wardrobe too.” “But what about the kids?” the rabbi said. “You expect us to walk into shul, all dressed up, while the kids are in old hand-me-downs? They’ll need clothing too.” The congregants were now starting to sweat.
“And when we walk home,” the rabbi continued, “we’ll sit down at our old, scratched-up table. That won’t do. We’ll need a new table, new chairs, a new couch, new curtains, new kitchen, new bedrooms... We’ll need to redo the entire house. And by the time we’re finished, well... that hat is going to cost about a million dollars.”
The committee looked at each other, then back at the rabbi. “Okay, Rabbi,” they said. “Keep the hat.”
One thing is for sure. Desire has no ceiling.
Shlomo HaMelech writes in Koheles, which is read over Sukkos: “He who loves money will never be satisfied with money” (Koheles 5:10). The Pasuk doesn’t say that he who has money will never be satisfied. It talks about someone who loves money. The Torah doesn’t critique wealth; it critiques attachment. If you love it, chase it, need it, it’ll never be enough.
As the Midrash (Koheles Rabbah 3:13) puts it, “One who has 100, wants 200. If he has 200, he wants 400. And so on...” But the Midrash doesn’t leave it at that. It concludes with something haunting. “A person will not leave this world with even half his desires fulfilled.”
There’s one odd part about this statement, notes Rav Eliyahu Lopian zt”l. If a person has 100 and wants 200, then at least he has half? How can the Midrash say that he will not have half his desires fulfilled?
His answer is brilliant. When a person chases the next thing, the thing he already has becomes worthless in his eyes. The moment he sets his sights on the next desire, the current one loses meaning. Even the half he does have, he doesn’t truly enjoy.
And then comes Sukkos and tells us: Enough.
We leave our secure homes, our lavish furniture, our climate-controlled walls, and we sit under flimsy schach, exposed to the wind, the noise, the world. And we say, “Baruch Hashem. Thank You, G-d, I have what I need.” Sukkos reminds us that joy comes not from accumulation, but from appreciation. It’s not about the hat or the house or the harvest. It’s about living with gratitude.
The Dubno Maggid put it this way in his inimitable mashal.
There once was a simple, poor wagon driver who stopped at an inn for the night. Almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, he began drifting off into a dream. In the dream, he walked outside, dug into the earth behind the inn, and discovered a chest of gold. That was enough to jolt him. He woke up, heart pounding.
Could it be? Running outside, he began to dig. And to his amazement, he hit something hard: gold coins! He was ecstatic. But not wanting anyone else to find out, especially the innkeeper, he quietly went to the owner and said, “I want to buy your inn.” “It’s not for sale,” the innkeeper replied. “Name your price,” the man insisted. “Any price.” Eventually, the owner gave in. The man raced home, sold everything he had—his cart, his furniture, even his family’s beds—and returned to purchase the inn.
The next night, his family joined him. They grabbed shovels and began to dig frantically, searching for the treasure...
But nothing ever turned out.
All night they dug. Nothing. They then dug some more, all throughout the day, and still... nothing. Finally, the man stood back, breathing heavily. “I forgot to mention something...” he suddenly said. “What?” they all shouted. He lowered his eyes. “It was a dream.”
They stared at him in shock. “We gave up everything for a dream?!”
The Dubno Maggid concluded. So many people give up their entire lives chasing a dream that was never real to begin with. A fantasy of wealth, prestige, power... and at the end, it’s all hevel havalim, vanity and illusion.
Sukkos tells us to live awake and to realize what truly matters. We are reminded to build our homes not with bricks and stone, but with love, faith, family and Torah. Sukkos tells us with utmost clarity that the most important things in life aren’t bought in stores or measured in dollars.
They’re sung in the Sukkah. They’re danced with our children. They’re whispered in prayer. They’re lived in moments of clarity and simplicity.
So as we enter Sukkos, let’s put the million-dollar hat aside, and step into the joy of knowing the truth of truths... “I have what I need.”
