An ancient Midrash portrays Alexander of Macedon, conqueror of the known world, standing at the gate of the Garden of Eden. He demands admission and is told that only the tzaddikim, the righteous, may enter there. Alexander becomes indignant: no one has treated this monarch with such indifference before! To try to save face, Alexander insists that at the very least, the angel guarding the gate should offer him something of great worth. So the angel gives him a human eyeball.
Puzzled, Alexander places the eyeball on a scale, and in order to determine its worth, begins to load gold and silver on the other scale. No matter how much of the precious metal he adds, the eyeball remains outweighs it all. Finally, the angel intervenes by covering the eyeball with a layer of dust. Unable to see the gold, the eyeball immediately finally resumes its normal weight.
The explanation offered by the Midrash: the human eye always covets more than it has. No matter how much we possess, enough is never enough.
The infinite desire of humanity is the cornerstone of the harsh philosophy of Thomas Hobbes, who posited that life was "nasty, brutish, and short" because of the inevitability of human greed, and the consequent violence that infinite desire would always generate.
What a difference, then, to see a Jewish role model who teaches the indispensability of setting limits to our own desires, and simultaneously demonstrates that restraint is, indeed, within human reach.
Recall the pain of our ancestor Jacob, the greatest of the Patriarchs. Forced to flee from his childhood home, he returned with wives, children, and possessions. All of that wealth could not prevent his anguish as he lost his beloved wife and soul mate, Rachel.
Then, in a further blow to his tranquility, Rachel's eldest son, Joseph, disappears, and his brothers retrieve his bloodied coat--evidence that a beast had mauled the boy.
Through all the long years of Joseph's servitude to Potiphar, his imprisonment in Egyptian jail, his appearance in Pharaoh's court and his elevation to the position of head minister during years of drought and famine, Jacob mourns the death of his beloved son. Inconsolable, Jacob knows the pain of loss--a suffering that has no end, no bottom.
Then comes miraculous news: His remaining sons return from Egypt, loaded down with food, provisions, and gifts. Thrilled, they report to their father that Joseph is still alive, still in Egypt. After fainting, Jacob says, "It is enough, Joseph my son is still alive."
Those brief words, "it is enough," stand in articulate dissent from the Hobbesian lust for more, more, more.
There is such a thing as enough. The restoration of love--between parent and child, between spouses, between friends--that is surely enough. A life lived with morality and purpose, which is surely enough. A community passionate in the service of God, that is clearly enough. As the Mishnah insists, "Who is rich? One who is happy with his portion."
Contentment is the only source of peace of mind. Satisfaction is still our only wealth. Love, after all, is the only possession.
It is enough.
Shabbat Shalom!