What Does It Mean to Be Rich?

We tend to think we know what it means to be rich.

A person with a large house, a successful business, a substantial bank account, and the freedom to buy what they want is rich. A person struggling to pay their bills is poor. Wealth is generally understood as something that can be measured: the more resources you possess, the wealthier you are.

It is also natural to want more of it. Money provides security, expands our choices, and allows us to provide for ourselves and others. Given the choice between having greater financial resources and fewer, most of us would choose more.

But the Torah asks us to look at wealth from another perspective.

The Torah certainly recognizes material prosperity as a blessing. Yet it does not assume that possessing more necessarily leaves a person better off. Wealth brings possibilities, but it also brings spiritual dangers. The question is therefore not only how much a person has, but what having it does to them.

One of the dangers of wealth is the sense of self-sufficiency it can create. The Torah warns of the possibility that after a person has eaten well, built good houses, and accumulated possessions, they will say, “My strength and the power of my hand have made me this wealth” (Devarim 8:17). Prosperity can make a person forget where their blessings came from.

This danger is expressed explicitly in Mishlei. Agur asks Hashem:

“Give me neither poverty nor wealth; provide me with the food allotted to me. Lest I become satisfied and deny [You], and say, ‘Who is Hashem?’ And lest I become impoverished and steal, and profane the name of my God” (Mishlei 30:8–9).

Both poverty and wealth present a spiritual test, but the dangers described are very different. The poor person may be driven by their circumstances to steal. The wealthy person faces another danger: “Lest I become satisfied and deny [You], and say, ‘Who is Hashem?’”

We instinctively think of the person struggling financially as the one being tested, while the person who has everything they need has escaped the test. Mishlei presents a different picture. Abundance brings a test of its own. A person who has little may be painfully conscious of how much is outside their control, and may therefore find it easier to turn to Hashem for help. By contrast, when a person has enough money to solve most of their problems, it can become easy to see money as the solution and to feel increasingly self-sufficient. They may begin to feel that they do not really “need” Hashem, because they can take care of themselves.

A person can possess enormous amounts and still experience themselves as poor. Psychologists sometimes describe this pattern as the hedonic treadmill: as our circumstances improve, we adjust to them, and our expectations rise with them. A higher income or a larger house may initially feel satisfying, but over time it becomes the new normal. The person may have considerably more than they once did without feeling any richer, because the point at which they expect to feel satisfied keeps moving further away.

And from there, the distance to “Who is Hashem?” may be shorter than we imagine.

None of this means that wealth is inherently negative. Money can be used for important purposes, from supporting a family to giving tzedakah and helping others. But the amount a person possesses tells us only part of the story. Torah thought also asks us to consider the effect that wealth has on the person who possesses it.

A Different Definition of Wealth

This brings us to Chazal’s definition of wealth.

The Mishnah asks, “Eizehu ashir?”—“Who is wealthy?”

Its answer is not someone who possesses a great deal. It is “hasameach b’chelko”—“one who is happy with their portion” (Pirkei Avot 4:1).

At first glance, this can sound more like advice about happiness than a definition of wealth. Surely wealth is a measure of what someone owns. Why would Chazal define it in terms of contentment?

Rabbeinu Yonah explains that the wealthy person is someone who can say, “My portion is enough for me.” They have what they need to support themselves and their household and to devote themselves to Torah and mitzvot. Why, then, should acquiring more money become an end in itself?

By contrast, Rabbeinu Yonah describes the person who is never satisfied with what Hashem has given them as poor. He connects this with the verse, “One who loves money will never be satisfied with money” (Kohelet 5:9). Their poverty does not necessarily lie in their bank account. It lies in the fact that there is always something missing.

This turns our ordinary definition of wealth on its head. A person can possess enormous amounts and still experience themselves as poor. Psychologists sometimes describe this pattern as the hedonic treadmill: as our circumstances improve, we adjust to them, and our expectations rise with them. A higher income or a larger house may initially feel satisfying, but over time it becomes the new normal. The person may have considerably more than they once did without feeling any richer, because the point at which they expect to feel satisfied keeps moving further away.

If our definition of “enough” moves upward every time our circumstances improve, acquiring more can never finally make us feel rich.

Sameach b’chelko requires something different: the ability to look at what Hashem has given us and say, dai li — this is enough for me.

That does not mean Torah denies economic reality. Poverty is real. A person who cannot afford food, housing or other necessities cannot simply be told to change their perspective. Rabbeinu Yonah himself speaks about having enough to support oneself and one’s household, and Torah commands us to respond to genuine need with tzedakah precisely because material circumstances matter.

But material circumstances are not the whole story.

There is another kind of poverty that cannot be cured by increasing someone’s income: the inability ever to experience what we have as enough.

That distinction is particularly relevant in a world built around comparison. Someone else has a larger house, takes a more expensive holiday, earns a higher salary, or drives a newer car. No matter how much we acquire, there will always be someone who has more.

If being rich means having more than other people, there is no finish line.

Chazal offer a different measure of wealth. Sameach b’chelko allows a person to recognize what Hashem has given them, appreciate it as their portion, and experience it as enough, rather than continually looking to the next thing they could acquire.

This brings us back to Agur’s request in Mishlei. He does not ask for as much as possible, nor does he romanticize poverty. He asks Hashem to give him what he needs. He fears poverty because of what deprivation might drive him to do, but he also fears abundance because of what it might lead him to forget.

This may be one of the central challenges of wealth. When a person has little, their dependence on Hashem may be difficult to ignore. When they have plenty, it can become much easier to lose sight of it. The challenge is to have financial security without allowing that security to become a sense of self-sufficiency.

Agur fears reaching the point of “Who is Hashem?” Chazal give us a very different way to relate to what we possess: sameach b’chelko. A person can have abundance without forgetting its Source, appreciate what they have without constantly needing more, and recognize that however much they possess, they remain dependent on Hashem.