When Enough Doesn’t Feel Like Enough Who feeds you manna in the wilderness, which your forefathers did not know, in order to afflict you and in order to test you; to do good for you in your end. (Deuteronomy 8:16) Why does the Torah describe the manna as an affliction and a test? After all, manna was heavenly food. According to the Gemora, it produced no waste and could taste like whatever the person eating it desired. The Jewish people were miraculously fed with it throughout their forty years in the desert. As such, how can it be called an affliction? The Gemora answers, you cannot compare one who has bread in his basket with one who has none. There is comfort in knowing that tomorrow’s meal is already waiting. The manna, however, fell each morning, and the Jewish people were not able to save it for the following day. They had enough food for today—but tomorrow morning they would once again have to look toward Heaven and collect their daily manna portion. That uncertainty was the affliction. But this raises a bigger question. Why should they have been worried at all? Imagine parents who have loved, fed, clothed, and cared for their daughter from the day she was born. When she turns eighteen, would it make sense for her suddenly to panic and think, what if tomorrow my parents stop loving me? What if they decide never to help me again? Eighteen years of love and care have given her every reason to trust that the relationship will continue. The generation in the desert had witnessed the Ten Plagues, the splitting of the Red Sea, the Clouds of Glory and the pillar of fire; every morning manna appeared outside their tents. They knew how Hashem felt about them and they certainly knew He was capable of providing for them but, nevertheless, tomorrow still frightened them. That struggle is hardly limited to the generation of the desert. Having food in the house and money in the bank can bring peace of mind. The problem begins when no amount ever feels like enough. We acquire more so that we can feel secure but instead of enjoying what we have, we become increasingly preoccupied with what we might someday lack. We save for a rainy day—and then allow the possibility of tomorrow’s rain to obscure today’s sunshine. The antidote is not irresponsibility; we must plan, save, and provide for the future but alongside that effort, we need to notice how much we are already receiving. We breathe and eat; our bodies perform countless functions every moment without our giving them a thought. We have people who love us and blessings we barely notice until something threatens them. Taking even a moment each day to recognize those gifts can change how we experience what we have. The lesson of the manna is that having enough and feeling that we have enough are two very different things. The Jews in the desert ate food from Heaven yet could still experience it as an affliction because they worried about tomorrow. We can do the same. We can possess tremendous blessings and still live in a desert of anxiety because we are constantly afraid that what we have will disappear. Sometimes the difference between abundance and deprivation isn’t what’s in our basket, it’s what’s in our head. The Torah calls the manna both an affliction and a test. The question wasn’t simply whether God would provide tomorrow because He had already demonstrated that He would. The test was whether they could trust Him enough to enjoy what He had given them today. Good Shabbos (Sources: Yoma 74b-75b; Biblical Stories for Psychotherapy and Counseling pp. 114-116) |
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