Small tidbits and Sparks of wisdom

The Iggeres HaKodesh of the Baal HaTanya states clearly that in our generation, the central avodah is tzedakah—and that a person must force himself to open his heart and give. This is not describing a feeling. It is describing a system to overcome resistance.
The halachic direction, rooted in the Rambam, brings it down to action: maaser money should be set aside in a designated place, separate from regular funds, ready at all times. If money intended for the poor is by a person and he delays giving it, that delay itself is already a problem. The issue is not whether he gives—it is whether he gives on time.
Put together, the obligation is not occasional generosity. It is readiness.
As soon as profit is made, a portion is separated. That money is no longer part of one’s personal funds. It is defined as tzedakah and held ready. By doing this, a person removes the internal struggle at the moment of giving. The decision was already made.
But even this is not enough if a person waits to be approached. Waiting is another form of holding back. The proper approach is to seek—actively—to find where the money belongs. To ask, to look, to pursue opportunities to give. In this way, a person is not reacting to need; he is chasing his responsibility.
And if one does not know how to find those in need, or how to approach them, there is a clear path: he should entrust the funds to his Rav or a trusted spiritual leader who is connected to the community. If that trust is real, then the money remains in a state of readiness through them—positioned to be distributed without delay.
This creates a complete structure:
Money is separated immediately.
It is not mixed with personal funds.
It is always accessible.
It is directed without hesitation.
That is what it means to be ready at all times.
Not when asked.
Not when inspired.
But as a constant state.

What appears at first to be a strategy for preserving wealth is, in truth, a disciplined way of preserving the soul. Charity is not merely the transfer of money from one hand to another; it is a test of clarity—who is the source, who is the channel, and whether a person confuses the two. In the framework laid out by Maimonides, the highest forms of giving are structured specifically to prevent that confusion, placing great value on anonymity so that neither the giver nor the recipient stands at the center of the act.
When a donor becomes known, the entire structure begins to shift, often quietly and without intention. The recipient, even if he speaks the language of faith, begins to rely in practice on the human benefactor. His expectations settle on a person rather than on Hashem. That shift weakens him. At the same time, the donor absorbs recognition—praise, honor, dependence. Whether he seeks it or not, it feeds his sense of importance. What began as a mitzvah becomes entangled with ego. Over time, gratitude turns into expectation, and expectation hardens into entitlement. When the flow stops, resentment often follows. The relationship is no longer clean; it is no longer simply about helping, but about influence, identity, and control.
This is where the danger lies. When a donor is perceived as the source, he steps into a role that does not belong to him. In such a case, the act of giving can lose its protective quality. The merit may be diminished because it has already been “paid out” through recognition, or because it has distorted the proper order by redirecting reliance away from Hashem. In more severe terms, the giver exposes himself to loss—not because giving is wrong, but because it was done in a way that invited imbalance.
Anonymous giving corrects this. When charity is delivered through intermediaries or in a manner that conceals the giver, the recipient has no choice but to look upward. The donor receives no praise, builds no identity around his generosity, and avoids the subtle intoxication of being needed. The act remains disciplined and contained. Even if the recipient behaves poorly or becomes unworthy, the consequence does not attach itself to the giver in the same way, because he never presented himself as the origin of the blessing.
Yet anonymity alone is not enough. There is a harder demand that cannot be ignored: discernment. Not every cause deserves support. Giving blindly, even with good intentions, can strengthen what should not be strengthened. Resources placed into wasteful or harmful channels do not remain neutral; they carry consequence. In that sense, proper charity requires judgment before generosity—careful evaluation, then decisive action, followed by complete detachment from recognition.
There is another mistake that needs to be confronted directly. Sometimes, the Creator reveals Himself through unusual or even miraculous circumstances in order to awaken people—to push them toward repentance, to force a higher level of awareness and return. A wealthy individual who imagines that he should step into that role, making his giving public in order to “inspire” others, is overreaching. That is not his function. There is, admittedly, a lower-level argument: when one wealthy person gives publicly, others may follow. That can have some practical value. But it remains a low level, because it turns giving into imitation and social pressure rather than inner obligation. A person is not a divine messenger sent to orchestrate mass repentance through his visibility. He is certainly not a “motivator” on that scale. Every person of means who has excess income already carries a clear obligation to give. If others are not doing so, the responsibility to educate, to rebuke, and to guide belongs to rabbinic leadership and those tasked with teaching. It is not the role of the donor to turn himself into a public example in order to compensate for that gap. His role is stricter and more difficult: to work on himself, to give correctly, and to protect the integrity of the act. That means preserving privacy, avoiding recognition, and refusing to build an identity around generosity. Growth comes through discipline, not through public display.
This approach works only for those who are God-fearing and recognize that everything they have comes from Hashem. The deeper a person believes that all his wealth and success are gifts from above, the less he feels the need to promote himself or inflate his ego. In contrast, secular individuals—agnostics or atheists—often feel compelled to assert themselves, because in a finite world without a guiding Source, self-promotion is a natural response. This essay, therefore, is directed specifically at Orthodox Jews and spiritually connected individuals who understand their blessings come from God and who seek to preserve and grow those blessings through disciplined, private giving.
This combination is rare. Most people are willing to give, but not to disappear. They want to be associated with the act, to be acknowledged, to feel the return in status or influence. That is precisely where the purity of the act begins to erode.
In conclusion, when a person gives properly—meaning generously, wisely, and without revealing himself—he removes the very risks that can undermine his blessing. There is no ego being inflated, no reputation being built on the backs of the needy, and no confusion about who the true Source is. The recipients remain dependent on Hashem, not on a human benefactor, and the giver remains a quiet channel rather than a visible provider. In that structure, there is little reason for Divine judgment to strip him of what he has, because his wealth is not being used to elevate himself or to distort others. Instead, it continues to flow in the right way, allowing him to keep giving, steadily and anonymously, while preserving both his prosperity and his balance over time.

If he engages in a certain occupation and does not see success, he should not become discouraged or think that his efforts were in vain. Rather, he should tell himself that it is possible that that day’s sustenance has already come to him beforehand and is already in his possession, or that it will come to him through another means. In either case, his provisions are not dependent on the visible success of his efforts, and therefore he should not lose heart when success is not apparent.
Nevertheless, he is not permitted to abandon effort. It is proper for him to continue working in the occupation he has chosen, and he should not slacken from pursuing it, provided that it suits his character, his physical ability, and is consistent with his faith and his obligations. A person must persevere in his efforts to earn a livelihood even when they do not seem to bear fruit, for his duty lies in engaging in the proper means, not in producing the result.
Together with this effort, he must place his trust in Hashem, confident that He will not forsake him, ignore him, or abandon him, but will surely provide him with his livelihood. As it is stated, Hashem is beneficent, a stronghold on the day of distress, and mindful of those who take refuge in Him.
This same principle applies to the preservation of health. A person must trust in the Creator regarding his health and illness, while at the same time making efforts to maintain his well-being through natural means that are suited to produce this result. He is obligated to protect himself from harmful conditions, such as extreme cold or heat, for failing to do so is considered negligence.
However, when circumstances arise in which a person cannot protect himself through normal means, he may cast himself upon Hashem’s protection, recognizing that the responsibility has shifted beyond his control.
Likewise, if a person becomes ill, he should make every effort to treat the illness through the generally accepted methods, as it is commanded, “and heal you shall heal.” Yet he must not rely on these methods themselves, nor believe that they possess independent power to help or harm. Rather, he should understand that all healing comes only through the will of Hashem, Who may heal through natural means, without them, or even through that which does not appear to be a means of healing.
Thus, in matters of livelihood and health alike, a person is required to act within the natural order while placing his trust entirely in the Creator, knowing that all outcomes are determined solely by Him.

When a person becomes prideful, haughty, and excessively ambitious in this world, he should make an accounting with himself as follows. He should reflect on his position in creation between the supernal and the terrestrial creatures; it will become clear to him that he is small and insignificant among God’s creations, as I explained when dealing with this theme in the Sixth Gate of this book.
Then, let him consider how God has granted dignity to man by giving him dominion over the various animals, plants, and inanimate objects, as it is written: “You have made him master over the works of Your hands, placed all things at his feet” (Tehillim 8:7); by acquainting him with the statutes of His Torah; and by giving him knowledge of all secrets, beneficial to him, of the upper and lower realms of this world.
Let him consider how God has elevated man in that he may offer praise and thanksgiving to his Creator, and call Him when in trouble, and by God’s answering him in times of distress; further, in that He chose a human being, sent him as messenger to His creatures, communicated to him the secrets of His power, and revealed wonders through him.
Add to this all the favors — hidden and apparent, material and spiritual, general and unique — too numerous to recount, bestowed upon us in lovingkindness and grace.
Consider, my brother, how insignificant you are, how petty your affairs, and yet how your Creator has exalted you — though He does not need you, though you are so dependent on His providence and rule. Show regard for this excellent crown with which He has crowned you, for the high degree to which He has elevated you in this world, and for the great reward which He has reserved for you in the World-to-Come, by devoting yourself to His service and expressing your gratitude to Him.
Do not let the fact that God has elevated you through His graces and favors, as I have mentioned, lead you to become proud of your condition, to glory in yourself, or to exalt yourself because of God’s kindness to you. Do not think that you deserve this, that you are worthy of it, or that it benefits you.
On the contrary, cling to humility, modesty, and lowliness — which, if you admit your true station in the context of God’s creation, are fitting for you — just as a powerless, lowly, and unimportant servant would be bound to remain lowly in his own sight, were his master, out of kindness toward him, to promote him and place him among his chosen ones. This servant’s self-image should remain as it was originally, before his master overwhelmed him with grace. He should not act proudly in his master’s presence nor be proud of the honor and prominence he attained. He should not ply his master with requests in a presuming way, but should rather leave his interests in his master’s hands, trusting in him and relying on his goodness.
It is told of one of the righteous that after reciting his prayers he would add the following: “My God, I am emboldened to stand before You not by ignorance of my own paltry stature and inadequate knowledge of Your greatness and transcendence; for You are high and exalted, and I am of too little account, too lowly and small, to petition You, to praise and sing hymns to You, or to sanctify Your Name, which is sanctified by the voices of the high and holy angels. Rather, what has emboldened me to it is that You have uplifted me, by commanding me to pray to You, and have permitted me to praise Your exalted Name, according to my understanding of You and my grasp of Your glory; also, that I may express my service to You and my humility before You.
“You know what is best for me and the ways in which I should be guided. I have informed You of my needs, not so as to call Your attention to them, but that I may be conscious of my great need of You and of my trust in You. If I should ask You, in my ignorance, for something that is not good for me or of no benefit to me, Your exalted choice is better than my choice. And so I leave all my interests to Your lasting determination and supernal governance, as David, peace be upon him, said: ‘God, my heart is not haughty, my eyes are not raised high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and mysterious for me. Surely I have stilled and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; my soul is with me like a weaned child’ (Tehillim 131:1–2).”

Prayer is often described in simple terms: a person speaks, asks, thanks, or praises. But the tradition of the sages describes something far deeper. When a person truly prays, he is not merely speaking words into the air. He is entering a higher realm of existence.
During the Shemoneh Esrei, a person stands physically in this world, yet spiritually he is somewhere else entirely. The sages describe that by the end of the prayer, a person who has prayed properly feels almost disoriented when returning to ordinary life. It is as if he had been lifted into a higher world and now must descend again into the mundane concerns of daily living. This sensation reflects the essence of what prayer is meant to accomplish: a temporary elevation of the human soul beyond the limits of the physical world.
The power of prayer lies in the soul itself. When a person prays with burning love of God, each word becomes more than sound. Each word becomes an act of attachment. The soul rises from the body and clings to its Creator, so to speak. Prayer becomes a ladder through which the human being reconnects to the spiritual root from which his soul was originally drawn.
The sages express this idea clearly. The Gemara teaches that a person’s prayer is answered only when he puts his entire soul into it. This does not mean merely saying the words correctly. It means that the person must direct his inner being toward Heaven. When prayer is performed in this way, it becomes an act of elevation: the soul lifts upward and reattaches itself to its heavenly source.
Yet the Torah also recognizes a practical reality about human beings. Not every person is capable of the same level of spiritual intensity. The Torah commands us “to serve Him with all your soul.” This phrase can be understood in two different ways.
The first interpretation is literal: a person should serve God with his entire soul, with full devotion and complete spiritual focus. The second interpretation is more practical: a person should serve God with everything he is capable of, even if that capacity is limited.
Both interpretations are true.
There are rare individuals who can reach extraordinary spiritual heights. Their love of God is intense and overwhelming. When they pray, they pour their entire being into the words. Their souls soar upward with clarity and longing.
But the Torah does not expect every person to live constantly at that level. Most people struggle with distractions, fatigue, responsibilities, and the constant pull of the physical world. For them, the goal is not perfection but sincerity.
A person should strive to serve God according to his ability. Even if he cannot reach the level of complete devotion, he should still try to direct his heart during prayer. At the very least, when he speaks the words, he should hold a simple intention: that he is expressing love and service to his Creator.
If he cannot pray with his entire soul, then he should pray with a fraction of his soul.
And that fraction still matters.
Because even a small opening of the heart creates a connection between the human being and the higher world. Prayer does not require perfection. It requires effort, sincerity, and the willingness to lift one’s soul—even if only slightly—toward Heaven.

The Torah commands, “to serve Him with all your heart and all your soul” (Devarim 11:13). This teaching, explained by Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin, shows that prayer is not simply the recitation of words but a full expression of the nefesh—the soul itself. True prayer must emerge from within, drawing on the inner life-force that animates a person. Throughout Tanach, we find examples of this. Channah tells Eli, “I have poured out my soul before Hashem” (I Shmuel 1:15), illustrating that prayer is the act of revealing the deepest parts of one’s inner being before G-d. Similarly, the Psalms repeatedly address the soul directly: “Bless Hashem, O my soul” (Tehillim 103:1) and “Praise Hashem, O my soul” (Tehillim 146:1).
The sages in Talmud teach that daily prayers were instituted to replace the offerings brought in the Beis HaMikdash, through which atonement was achieved. The Torah emphasizes: “For the blood is the nefesh” (Devarim 12:23). Blood represents the life force. When the blood of the offering was sprinkled on the altar, it symbolically elevated the animal’s life-force to Hashem. The sinner’s own life, had he been required to give it, would belong to G-d; instead, the animal stood in his place.
So does the sprinkling of the blood, which represents oxygen and breath leaving the body, have a parallel to human prayer? Just as the blood was elevated on the altar, when we speak words of prayer—even in whispers—the breath leaving our mouth carries the oxygen delivered by the blood. In this sense, every word we utter in prayer becomes an offering of our own nefesh, and just as the sprinkling of the animal’s blood brought atonement, the breath and speech of prayer have the power to elevate and purify the soul, drawing us closer to Hashem. Prayer is therefore not merely symbolic; it is the modern expression of the Temple service, replacing the physical sacrifice with the spiritual life-force of the worshipper.
The Torah reinforces this idea at the moment of Creation. When G-d breathed life into Adam, he became a “living being” (nefesh chayah) (Bereishis 2:7). Onkelos renders this as ruach memallela—a speaking spirit. The defining attribute of the human soul is speech. Every word we speak is an expression of the life within us, and the breath we exhale is the vehicle for that expression. The Torah teaches that our ability to articulate thought and convey intention is intimately connected to the soul itself.
Modern physiology echoes this principle. Breathing delivers oxygen into the blood, which carries it to the brain and muscles that govern speech. Proper speech depends on the coordinated action of lungs, diaphragm, throat, and mouth, all sustained by oxygen circulating in the bloodstream. Without this life force, speech—and by extension thought—is impossible. The science aligns with the Torah’s wisdom: the life within the blood powers the breath that produces words, and every spoken word becomes a channel through which the nefesh is expressed.
This understanding has profound implications for prayer. Just as the animal offering was carefully dedicated and could not be wasted, our speech too carries weight and responsibility. Words are not neutral; they are an extension of the soul. Negative speech, cursing, or frivolous words misdirect this divine life force, whereas prayer, praise, and blessing channel the soul toward its intended purpose: to elevate, to connect, and to atone. Every utterance of prayer is therefore a small but real act of kapura—atonement—and a personal offering to Hashem.
In conclusion, the Torah’s teachings on prayer, life-force, and the soul are beautifully interconnected. In the Temple, the blood of the offering represented life elevated to G-d. Today, the soul itself becomes the offering through speech and breath. Science shows us that our words literally depend on the oxygen carried by the blood—the modern, physical counterpart to the Temple offering. Prayer, therefore, is both spiritual and physical: a full expression of the nefesh, a connection to the Creator, and a living continuation of the service of the Temple.

The main point of creation was that God wanted to create man, who would then have the task of attaching himself to God, thus to enjoy His true good. This is accomplished through the fact that man has two ways before him, one being good and the other evil; and man has the power to choose whichever he desires. When through his own free will and knowledge he chooses good and rejects evil, then this true everlasting good is given him.
All other things were created only because the Highest Wisdom deemed them necessary in order for the universe to be complete, so that man could exist in the state mentioned above, where he could serve God and thus attain true good. Of course, we do not know why every single thing in the world was necessary. But what we do know from our Sages is that the main element in all creation is man, and that all other things were created only for his sake, and furthermore, that the main purpose in man’s creation was for him to attain the true good. However, the Highest Wisdom perceived that in order for man to attain this true good he must first be tested and pass his test. For this reason God created a world where he could be tested.
This is the physical world, a place where both good and evil exist, and where man can reject evil and choose good.
The ultimate nature of good and evil is respectively the holiness and corruption (Tum’ah) that God placed in the world. Holiness is a state of closeness to God, while corruption is that which is distant from Him. Holiness is the Influence that God grants to one who is fit for it, and is a bestowal that abides with him. Corruption, on the other hand, is a state of separation, where God draws away, and a state of hiding, wherein God conceals Himself.
The truth, however, is that God created spiritual Forces especially for this purpose. It is from these Forces that darkness and pollution (zuhamah) emanate. Wherever such pollution exists, holiness draws away and God’s Light hides itself. These Forces are known as the Forces of Corruption.
God gave man the ability to motivate the highest Roots through his deeds. Man’s deeds can therefore draw sustenance from God’s holiness and the Light of His good. On the other hand, they can also transmit pollution and corruption.
God specified certain deeds through which holiness is transmitted, and commanded us to keep them. These include all the commandments that we are required to obey. On the other hand, He also specified certain deeds that bring about pollution, and commanded us to abstain from them. These include all things that are forbidden.
There is only one true good, however, and that is attachment to God. We have already explained that the commandments are the means which transmit the emanation of God’s holiness and the Light of His good. These commandments are therefore the means through which true good can be achieved. The individual who sanctifies himself to a great degree with the emanation of God’s holiness becomes fitting to be attached to Him and enjoy His true good. On the other hand, the person who corrupts himself with the pollution that we have mentioned becomes unfit to attach himself to God, and is therefore cast away from Him.
There are, however, many levels with regard to the emanation of both the holiness and the pollution that we have discussed. This is likewise true of the good that is attained through good deeds, as well as the state of being cast away from God as the result of evil deeds. These levels are responsible for the differences that will exist between various individuals with regard to true excellence, as we shall explain shortly.
It is also necessary to realize that just as man was given the power to have both holiness and pollution transmitted to himself, so was he given the ability to have holiness or pollution transmitted to all creation through his deeds. Therefore all creation can be either rectified or damaged spiritually because of man. This is counted as a merit for the righteous who benefit creation, and a liability for the wicked who damage it, as will be discussed later.
The manner in which man’s deeds transmit these influences is through the above-mentioned power of parallelism that exists between the entities below in the physical world and the highest Forces. Whenever something physical is moved, a certain motivation reaches its counterpart Force on high. That Force then brings about the transmission of a particular influence.
If a particular deed involves the fulfillment of a divine commandment, then this will strengthen its counterpart Force, and as a result an influence of holiness will be transmitted from God, following the nature of this particular motivation. If, on the other hand, that particular deed is among those which must be avoided, it will cause a blemish in its counterpart Force on high, according to the particular nature of that misdeed. This in turn causes God’s Light to conceal itself and retract. In its place, one of the Forces of Corruption is motivated, exactly opposite to the influence that has been concealed. This transmits pollution according to the particular motivation in question.
Repentance removes the blemish in precisely the same manner. Power to act is taken away from the particular Force of Corruption that parallels the sin, and therefore the influence of holiness is brought back and appropriately transmitted.

Concluding Reflection

While every human being possesses a natural sense that distinguishes between right and wrong, this instinct alone is not sufficient to determine what is truly good or truly evil. Even animals possess a basic instinct for survival and avoidance of harm, and human beings naturally have a higher moral awareness than animals. Yet this natural level of understanding is only the beginning. It does not reach the depth that is required for a people who are commanded to live according to the will of God.
For the Jewish people, the definition of good and evil must be learned through the Torah—both the Written Torah and the Oral Torah—and through the guidance of teachers who transmit its tradition. Only through study, discussion, and clarification from recognized Torah authorities can one understand the precise nature of actions that bring holiness into the world and those that introduce spiritual corruption.
Very often what appears good according to ordinary human judgment may in fact be spiritually destructive, while something that appears difficult, restrictive, or even harsh may actually lead to holiness and true good. The determination cannot be made through secular reasoning or common sense alone. It must be seen through the eyes of Torah.
Seeing through the eyes of Torah means learning continuously and seeking guidance from the chain of tradition preserved by the sages of Israel. It is not based on the opinion of a single individual but on the collective wisdom transmitted through generations.
For this reason the Jewish people were meant to be a light to the nations. When the nations truly seek to understand what is genuinely good and what is genuinely evil, they look to the wisdom of the Torah and to the sages who preserve and interpret it. Through this guidance the deeper reality of good and evil becomes clear, often revealing that what appears good may in truth be harmful, while what appears difficult may in fact be the path to true good.

Below is a full transcription of the visible text, including the Hebrew and the sources at the bottom, exactly as they appear on the pages you provided.
1.26 Obstacles
והנה שמו הקדוש ברוך הוא לאדם במקום שרבים בו המרחקים אותו ממנו —
The Holy One blessed is He put man in a place where there are many things that distance him from Hashem.
Hashem put man into this world, which is especially made to contain many obstacles that prevent thinking about Him, in order that man should have to labor to overcome those obstacles. That is the idea of nisayon, of a test.
והם הם התאווֹת החמריות —
And these obstacles are the physical inclinations.
Taavos, as used here, doesn’t mean what people normally think: the inclination to desire certain things. Here, it refers to the way the body naturally wants to behave. The body naturally wants to see, hear, smell, and taste; the body wants to perceive everything in its surrounding environment.
As man perceives this world, he is then confronted with the reality that the world is planned and designed in such a way that all of the objects in the world are intended to deceive him into thinking that the world operates by cause and effect. This is the obstacle being described here. This is implied by the verse in the Torah: אשר ברא אלקים לעשות — “which G-d created to do.”⁷² Hashem made the world so that it should appear to function on its own. In reality, the world does not function by itself at all. Every moment, Hashem is causing the world to exist and to operate, but He made it look like it’s working by itself. From then on, man has to search and discover that it’s Hashem who is constantly making the creation.
1.27 Two Functions of the World
Actually, the world has two functions. One function is, as we just said, to deceive mankind into believing that the world works through a system of cause and effect. But there is another function, which is to teach mankind. Because if one looks a little more closely, he will see in everything evidence of the miracles of plan and purpose. For example, the fact that something can grow out of the ground and provide sustenance to people is a miracle. The Gemara compares that miracle to the splitting of the sea,⁷³ and just like the Pesach Haggadah says that there were 250 miracles at the splitting of the sea, so too there are no less than 250 miracles to bring forth bread from the earth. The world contains wisdom that is so complicated that only the greatest Designer’s mind could conceive of it. This is what David Hamelech tells us:⁷⁴
יודוך ה׳ כל מעשיך — “All of Your works praise You,”
וכבוד מלכותך יאמרו — “they all speak of the glory of Your kingdom,”
להודיע לבני האדם גבורתיו — “to let people know about the mightiness of Hashem.”
Sources
Bereishis 2:3
See Pesachim 118a.
Tehillim 145:10–12.
Earlier, the author explained that our most important function in life is to get close to Hashem — deveikus. Here, however, the Mesillas Yesharim explains:
והנה שמו הקדוש ברוך הוא לאדם במקום שרבים בו המרחקים אותו ממנו —
“The Holy One blessed is He put man in a place where there are many things that distance him from Hashem.”
This is a paradox. Our chief function is to get as close as possible to Hashem, but He intentionally planned this world such that many things in the world are intended to keep us as far away as possible from Him.
This highlights for us the important principle that this world is not what it seems. The world is a place full of snares and traps which are planned by the Master Intelligence of Hashem, and if He makes a trap, it’s an efficient trap. This is what the Mesillas Yesharim means when he says below:⁷⁶
כי כל עניני העולם — “Everything in the world,”
בין לטוב — “whether things that are happy for him,”
בין להפך — “or the opposite,”
הנה הם נסיונות לאדם — “they are all for the purpose of testing man.”
Everything in this world is a test. The ultimate purpose of all these tests is to keep our minds occupied so that we are prevented from thinking about Hashem. Not only do the tests keep us occupied, but they can even steer us in the wrong direction.
However, it’s important to know another principle that is connected with these principles: everything in the world has two sides. There is falsehood, which is planned to divert our minds away from the truth, but those very things are also planned to teach us the truth. That is the genius of Hashem, if we can say such a thing. He knows how to plan a test. The same test which is a peril for the mind and can lead someone into darkness; it can be a golden opportunity to illuminate the mind and to acquire closeness to Hashem. The very things that distance us from Hashem, if they are utilized properly, can be the means to bring us closer to Him.
It is important to clarify this matter, and be convinced that it’s so. The book of Koheles starts out:
הבל הבלים אמר קהלת הכל הבל
Sources
Section 1.21. The following elaboration is adapted from before §8.2, “Return to Hashem.”
Section 1.29.
If you want, I can also next:
• show the exact original Mesillas Yesharim Hebrew these sections are based on,
• or turn this into a structured Torah essay with sources and explanation (which would fit the type of essays you’ve been writing).

The sages teach that the Holy One, blessed be He, placed man in a world filled with many things that distance him from Hashem. At first glance this appears to be a contradiction. If the purpose of life is to come close to Hashem, why would the world be constructed in a way that seems to pull a person away from Him? The answer is that these obstacles are not accidents. They are part of the design.
The world is intentionally structured with distractions, desires, and pressures that occupy a person’s mind. The body naturally seeks to see, hear, smell, taste, and experience everything around it. These physical inclinations draw attention outward, toward the material world. Because of this, a person may easily begin to believe that the world operates by simple cause and effect — that nature runs on its own. Yet this appearance is itself part of the test.
In truth, the world does not function independently even for a moment. Every instant of existence is sustained by Hashem. However, the world is arranged so that it appears to operate on its own. This illusion forces a person to search deeper and recognize that behind every process stands the Creator.
The world therefore has two functions. One function is to conceal. By presenting a system of natural cause and effect, it hides the hand of Hashem and challenges a person to discover the truth. The second function is to reveal. Anyone who examines the world carefully will see signs of extraordinary wisdom and planning everywhere.
Something as simple as bread growing from the earth is itself a miracle. The complexity required for a seed to grow, the balance of soil, water, sunlight, and countless natural systems working together — all of it points to a Designer. The sages compare the miracle of producing food from the earth to the splitting of the sea. What appears ordinary is in fact filled with hidden miracles.
Because of this, every circumstance in life becomes a test. Whether a situation is pleasant or difficult, it serves the same purpose: to challenge a person to recognize Hashem within the world. The same obstacle that can distract the mind can also awaken it. What appears to distance a person from Hashem can, when used correctly, become the very path that brings him closer.
This is the deeper purpose of the world of obstacles. They are not merely barriers. They are opportunities placed within creation so that a person can search, discover, and ultimately draw nearer to the One who created everything.

The Torah repeatedly teaches that the purpose of its instruction is to direct a person’s trust toward God. As it says in Book of Proverbs 22:19, “So that your trust may be in God, I have made these teachings known to you today.” The message is simple but demanding. A person must understand that livelihood, security, and success ultimately come from God. Human effort has its place, but it is not the true source of provision.
The explanation given by Eved Ha-Melech emphasizes that this awareness should shape a person’s priorities. One must certainly earn a living, but earning a living should not become the excuse that pushes Torah study and the fulfillment of commandments to the margins. When a person claims that work leaves no time for Torah, he is quietly assuming that livelihood depends entirely on his own effort. The verse in Proverbs challenges that assumption by reminding us that sustenance ultimately comes from God.
This teaching exposes a tension that appears frequently in human life. A person may speak openly about faith and divine providence. He may say with confidence that God gives wealth and poverty, brings life and death, strikes and heals. Yet when one observes how that same person lives, a different story sometimes appears. His sense of stability may rest primarily in his bank accounts, his investments, or the success of his business ventures. When illness arrives, his emotional reliance may shift immediately to doctors and medications as though they alone possess the power to cure.
The problem is not the use of doctors or the management of wealth. Both belong within the normal structure of human effort. The issue is where a person places his confidence. When security is anchored in wealth, professional success, or financial systems, the language of faith becomes little more than decoration.
This idea is captured sharply in Book of Psalms 10:4, which describes the wicked person as one who lives as though God is absent. The verse does not necessarily refer to someone who openly denies God. Rather, it points to a person whose practical life reflects reliance on human strength and material security, even while religious language continues to be spoken.
In many communities this contradiction becomes visible through lifestyle. Social expectations often reward visible displays of success—large homes, expensive cars, lavish celebrations, and a lifestyle that must appear more prosperous than that of one’s neighbors. Publicly, people speak about trust in God. Socially, however, prestige is measured by how much one can accumulate and how clearly that accumulation can be displayed.
Here the conflict between words and actions becomes unmistakable. If a person truly believes that his livelihood comes from God, the need to demonstrate success through visible luxury becomes difficult to explain. The constant drive to accumulate and exhibit wealth suggests that the real source of confidence lies in material assets rather than in divine providence.
Words are inexpensive. Anyone can say that he trusts in God. But actions reveal what a person actually believes. When someone feels compelled to live more lavishly than the average person around him, that display becomes a declaration of where he believes security and status truly originate.
It is important to note that wealth itself is not the problem. The Torah does not condemn prosperity. A person may become very wealthy and still live with genuine trust in God. The issue arises when wealth becomes the foundation of one’s identity or when it must be constantly displayed in order to maintain social standing.
A person who genuinely trusts in God does not need to prove his success through excess. If one believes that God provides and sustains, there is little need to turn prosperity into a public performance. Wealth can remain a tool rather than a statement about one’s worth.
In this sense, lifestyle becomes a test of belief. Bitachon—trust in God—is not measured primarily by the phrases a person repeats but by the structure of his life. When trust is real, it creates a certain inner stability that does not depend on comparison with others. Even within prosperity, it produces restraint and perspective.
When trust shifts toward money, status, or reputation, lifestyle inevitably begins to reveal that shift. The heart may continue to speak the language of faith, but the surrounding patterns of life quietly expose what a person truly depends upon.
The Torah’s instruction therefore reaches beyond theology. It challenges a person to align his actions with his words. If trust in God is genuine, it must shape priorities, ambitions, and the way prosperity itself is carried. In the end, belief is not proven by what a person says about God but by how he lives in the presence of wealth, success, and security.