Learning From Wasted Lives
March 4, 2000

I read a disturbing article in the New York Times two Sundays ago. It was about affluent twenty and thirty-something privileged men and women in Manhattan who don't have a handle on what to do with their lives. "Raised with unlimited charge-card privileges and BMW's for their 16th birthdays, the Times columnist wrote, they knew, early on, that they would not have to work for a living. Their parents bought them apartments when they turned 21 and endowed trust funds to provide for cash flow. The post-debutantes thought nothing of flying to London for a party in a suite at Claridge's or drifting through India for a Merchant & Ivory month." As I read this article, I could picture these young people perfectly. They reminded me of Dickie Greenleef and his friends in Anthony Minghello's movie, The Talented Mr. Ripley.

Given their wealth and privilege, you would think that these young men and women would feel fortunate as one can be in life. But the interviews with a number of them, reveal a distressing hollowness. Without any real motivation to work, they lack the drive and discipline that those who of us who need a career to support ourselves are forced to develop. Noel Ashman, owner of a nightclub where many of his former private school buddies congregate, reflected on his privileged peers. "A lot of the kids I grew up with are still stuck doing the same things they were doing in high school: partying every night, not working terribly hard, traveling a lot. They really don't worry about waking up for work the next morning. Many of them have tried working, but when it gets difficult, they won't stick it out because they don't have to.

A parent of these jet-setters was also interviewed. Henry Buhl, a retired mutual fund manager, laments that all three of his children lack a work ethic. One son had three jobs in three years and lives to crew on sailboats. Mr. Buhl tried to force his children to take responsibility by refusing to finance their life style. This attempt at reform failed, however, because his children enjoy independent incomes from their wealthy grandparents.

One of the interviewees was self-critical. He realized that despite his exuberant life style, he was deeply unhappy with his inability to sustain career or even a long term relationship with a woman. He saw how the heavy use of alcohol and drugs among his set was an attempt to medicate feelings of emptiness. Fortunately, he managed to turn his admittedly decadent life around. Currently, at age 33, he is married and successfully runs one of his father's businesses.

Now, few if any of us here suffer from the indolence and lack of drive mentioned in this article. If anything we work too hard. That, however, is another sermon. But even if our work ethic and drive is intact, nonetheless, we do have to worry about how the affluence with which we are raising our children impacts upon them. I wonder: is it affecting our children's motivation, causing them to lose the edge that drove many of us to succeed? Let me cite what, at first, seems like strange evidence - that MIT a couple of years ago closed its Hillel organization. The cause for this action was not anti-Semitism. The reason is that this highly competitive and rigorously academic college no longer has enough Jewish students to warrant a Hillel. I know that as Jews we have always been proud when the Nobel Prizes were announced. In so many cases the winners of this esteemed prize bore identifiably Jewish names. I suspect that will soon be a thing of the past as other ethnic groups replace Jews as the leading innovative scholars and researchers in the world. It seems to me that I am hearing from both parents and children a lot more interest and pride in athletic prowess than in rigorous academic achievement. I suppose it is my bias showing, but I can't help but feel that the country club ethic with which many of us are raising our children has diminished the traditional Jewish respect for scholarship.

But, even more important than that, we must concern ourselves with the larger issue of where we - and our sons and daughters - find meaning for our lives. The wealthy young adults interviewed in the Times boldly illustrate that money in of itself does not bestow meaning upon life. For animals, survival is the sole goal. For humans, there needs to be a higher purpose. If we lack it, we get depressed, enervated and unsettled. The undeniable truth is that while wealth often makes life enjoyable, it does not make it significant. Only we can give our lives significance.

This morning's Torah reading gives Judaism's answer as to how to live a meaningful life. The Torah portion begins with the command to observe the Sabbath. Setting aside one day of the week as holy puts our materialism into perspective. It shows we are not slaves to our labors. The work week reaches its culmination in a day of rest, reflection, prayer, study of sacred texts and family celebration and togetherness. We put aside the struggle and dissonance of the work week so that we may nourish the seed of eternity planted in our souls.

After stating the laws of the Sabbath, the Torah moves on to another topic - charity. The Israelites are asked to be generous in giving silver and gold and precious materials to the sanctuary then under construction. Why is tzedakah such an important value in Judaism? I believe this is the reason. Charity teaches us that the way to lead a purposeful life is to stop putting ourselves in the center of the universe. There are causes that need our participation. There are people who need our help. And ironically, we feel best about ourselves when we are not focused solely on our own necessities and ambitions.

Sir Moses Montifiore was one of the richest Englishmen of the nineteenth century and one of its best known philanthropists. He was once approached by an individual who wanted to know how much the philanthropist was "worth." Without blinking, Montifiore answered "50,000 English pounds." "Only 50,000?" pounds?" the man repeated incredulously. "Why every one knows you have much more money than that!" "My good man, you misunderstood me," said Montifiore. "I do have more money than that, but I am 'worth' 50,000 pounds." That's how much I have given away to charity so far this year. It's the only money I consider important!" Moses Montifiore knew that the only true criterion of wealth is what we share with others.

There's a parable that's often told about the land of Israel. In Israel there are two seas. The first, the Sea of Galilee, is surrounded by green foliage with numerous species of birds flying above it. People love to relax on its shores. Its deep water, supplied by the Jordan River, is fresh and filled with fish. This sea is vibrant and full of life.

The second sea also gets its water from the Jordan River, but its shores are barren and few birds can be found near them. There are no fish in its thick, black, foul and poisonous waters. This sea sustains no life -- it's even called the Dead Sea.

So why, if the Jordan River empties its waters into both seas, is one a place of life and the other a place of death? The sea of Galilee is a place of life because for every drop of water received from the Jordan another drops flows out of it. The sea of Galilee gives and lives. But the other sea hoards every drop that comes into it. Nothing flows out. And so it is a Dead Sea.

This image came to mind as I read the New York Times article about the young people and their enormous wealth. What struck me immediately was that all their talk was about themselves. They spoke not one word about what they were doing for others. They described their shopping and their trips and their parties. Totally missing were words about charities they contribute to or causes to which they donate their time. No wonder they were suffering from spiritual drift and vanity. Like the Dead Sea, they take in but give nothing back.

The biblical book of Proverbs says, Tzedakah tatzil mimavet -- "charity save us from death." I don't take these word literally to mean tzedakah save us from physical death. We will all die some day. Rather it saves us from spiritual death. Giving generously to help others invests our lives with meaning. Do you know what the term "men and women of means" signifies? It signifies that we use our means - our wealth - l'takayn olam - to make our world better. The joy that rises up in us from knowing we have made a difference in people's lives and in our society, the satisfaction that derives from doing our share, serve as evidence that our lives are worthwhile and that we have fulfilled the purpose for which God has placed us here on earth.