“Can Money Buy Happiness?”

A weekend warrior in sweatpants, a business person in a suit, a parent with toddler in hand, a student, a worker in coveralls, a Temple Executive Director - we all stood in line for the same thing. As we waited I grew tired of my own dreams and began to wonder what theirs might be." Watcha gonna do if you win?" "I'd pay my student loans." "I'd quit work." "I'd buy a car." "I'd go to Europe." "I'd buy anything I wanted." "Man, if I won $280 million dollars, I'd be one happy man. I'd get me a big ol' house and a Mercedes Benz and all my problems would be over. All my problems would be over, man. $280 million? All my problems would be over."…
The time? December 24, 2002.

The place? The line for lottery tickets at the Exxon gas station near Carrowinds. The cost of a single chance at having all your dreams come true? $1.

The payoff? Massive! Enormous! Beyond comprehension! The hope? That money, enough of it, will solve all your problems. Won't it? Winning the lottery would be life-changing, certainly. I won't deny that. I was standing in line waiting to buy a ticket, wasn't I? But would $280 million dollars solve all my problems?…

The time? January 17, 2000.
The place? The loneliest place in the world.
The occasion? Amy and I coming home from the hospital, home to the emptiest house in the world.
In the early hours of that morning, Amy's mother, my wife, had died after a long battle with cancer. Nothing will ever feel as barren as that day; nothing will ever completely heal the wound of her passing.

Three years later this memory mocks me even as I stand in line for my small shot at $280 million. In fact, I can imagine Susan mocking me as I stand in line for my small shot at happiness. No, I don't believe money can buy happiness. I guess I never have, not really. But it's tempting to think, for a few minutes at least, that it could at least come close. Then, lest I forget the common sense wisdom Susan lived by, I come into the Temple office where I'm surrounded by life, real life, real happiness, real grief, real joy, and none of it, ultimately, has anything to do with money.
 
A young couple agrees to enter into a covenant to live the rest of their lives together, for better or worse. A student reads from the Torah scroll for the first time. Someone dies, someone is born, a prayer is said, a blessing given, a job is lost, a job is found, a hug exchanged. One phone call comes from a family in need and the Temple rallies its staff, its resources, and its heart, to do the best it can to ease life's journey.

Money won't buy happiness. It can't. It won't buy love or health or caring or commitment or resolve.

So this month, in honor of Susan's third yarhzeit, and in honor of her life and what she lived for, I'm not going to ask you for money, but I am going to ask you for more of what she gave the Temple community in great plenty: time, heart, and devotion. Take a minute now to remember a loved one you've lost and recall what it was which made that person so precious to you. How can you be more of the person your loved one wanted you to be? Then share yourself with others, either through the Temple or on your own. Join a committee, visit a friend, heal a relationship, read a book, soothe a grief, ignite your creativity, teach a child, worship God, seek the truth even if it means admitting you were wrong.

Money can't buy happiness, but if you seek it, it can be found.

Arthur B. Kramer