There’s an expression, “Mit gelt in tash is a mentsch a chacham, a ba’al eitzah, un ehr ken oich gut zingen—When a man has money in his pocket, he’s [suddenly perceived as] a wise person who can dispense good advice, and he even knows how to sing well.”

Money is the driving force behind much of what goes on in the world. From world leaders to street cleaners, people chase the dollar around the clock. They face tests of integrity and honesty on one side and trickery and dishonesty on the other. It’s a constant struggle and balance.

In our circles, it’s a little easier because we have one big advantage—we’re taught a lifelong value system. In this system, money’s importance isn’t even close to the top of the list. Our learning is more important, our davening is more important, and our kindness is more important, and this fortifies us when faced with challenges.

The question is how to transmit this value system to the next generation.

Recently, I heard about a few boys who are struggling in yeshivah. They’re struggling even though they’re extremely intelligent, blessed with good memories, and straightforward thinkers with lomdish heads. So why do they struggle, you ask? They struggle because they aren’t motivated. Because their value system was turned on its head at some point in their lives.

Some kids are getting the impression that money is the most important thing. When we talk with awe about someone’s newfound success as if they suddenly became a ba’al eitzah or a good singer, it sends the wrong message.

It’s “negative motivation,” for lack of a better term. Our children have been over-incentivized, and no prize can motivate them anymore, only the attraction of imaginary success.

“The first question one is asked on the day of judgement is if he learned Torah. Therefore, one should learn even shelo lishmah because through this, they will come to learning lishmah—for the sake of Heaven” (Rambam, Hilchos Talmud Torah, based on the Gemara). This teaches us that there’s at least a base motivation called shelo lishmah. When all else fails, that should motivate us. But what if even that doesn’t motivate us? What do we do about this “negative motivation” Chazal didn’t address? What can be done to motivate such people?

The answer, I believe—as weird as it may sound—is that they can only learn lishmah.

Much like a melamed who grabs time in the afternoon for his own learning or a regimented breadwinner who puts in a night seder as if it was a first seder, extreme exhaustion notwithstanding, and both expect nobody to notice except Hashem and the pamalya shel ma’alah, the motivationally spent must apply the same logic to their own learning. Do it because it’s the right thing, and you need it. A Yid can’t bear emptiness in his neshamah even for a minute. Let alone for weeks and months.

When such people learn, it’s an entirely different story. As my brother Rav Yehudah (rosh yeshivas Chedvas HaTorah of Monsey) quotes from sefarim, “If you push and work when it’s hard, the reward is a hundredfold, and it doesn’t end there. For the rest of your life, even when it gets easier, each minute is still rewarded like the hard first minutes, so each of your minutes equal a hundred minutes of someone else for the rest of your life!

Even if it’s by default—you’re in yeshivah and might as well make it worthwhile and do it l’sheim Shamayim—every minute, even eating and sleeping, is lishmah! Every second will light up a Gan Eden beyond imagination.”

So, let’s hear what lishmah looks like:

Ezra Witkin a”h was a close friend of mine in yeshivah. A bachur with such amazing traits is rare indeed. His smile and cheer, along with his sterling middos and humility were truly an inspiration. I remember early one Friday morning, Erev Shabbos Shirah, he arose to learn the parshah, shnayim mikrah v’echad Targum. He sang the trop softly to himself at his seat in the beis medrash with a sweet voice. After making his way through the beginning of the parshah, he reached the Shirah itself. And at this point his nekudas halishmah came through in all its beauty. He read each Rashi and translated it aloud to himself, laughing as he described the punishment of the Egyptians and the gadlus of Hashem. That’s it. Just him and Hashem—that’s what lishmah looks like. May he have a lichtige Gan Eden.

Much like “concentrate” is to orange juice, a minute of lishmah is the undiluted elixir of life lived at the highest level. Think about how simply doing His will packs an enormous punch for siyata d’Shmaya and closeness to Hashem. Find your level—your nekudas halishmah—and build on it.

I once heard from a great person that he attributes all his success in Torah v’avodah to Modim D’rabbanan. When asked what he meant, he explained, “When I was very young, my father mentioned that some poskim hold that a person should bow again at the end of Modim D’rabbanan. I thought about it and decided to adopt this unknown halachah. This was my first personal connection to Torah, and it felt good that it was my choice. I then tried this

with other hanhagos and masechtos, and I ran with them, making them my own. There’s nothing like feeling that you did it yourself.”

That’s what lishmah means. Just you and Hashem. No attention, no prizes. Simply enjoying that you own it and speaking to your Creator. Rack up those merits like nobody’s business. Because lishmah isn’t just a little better, it’s an entirely different story.

Rabi Meir said, “One who studies Torah lishmah—for its own sake—will merit many benefits. And he will be a friend to many, even beloved, he will merit the love of Hashem and his nation and will make them happy constantly, and he’ll merit true humility and fear of sin. He’ll prepare to achieve righteousness at all levels, remaining distant from sin and accessible to constant merits. Others will benefit from his advice and feel strengthened by it, and as a result, he will become a king and ruler (i.e., a leader), merit deep understanding, understand the secrets of the Torah, become an overflowing spring, and merit sustenance and a calm life. He will not care when insulted, and he’ll achieve the purpose of his creation (Pirkei Avos, chap. 6).

To summarize, you get a million times further in life by just doing things l’sheim Shamayim. You make friends, you learn good middos, your heart opens to the deepest secrets of Torah, you live a calm, happy life, and you become an influencer.

And yes, you even become a ba’al eitzah (by the way, the Vilna Gaon said that you’ll also know all wisdoms, including how to sing…)

How’s that for motivation?

With Chanukah around the corner, we learn the story of doing things l’sheim Shamayim. A few individuals had saved our nation, and their fire will burn until Mashiach comes.

And it started with the smallest jug and flame.

Try to recreate their miracle. On these long and special winter nights, take a topic or a few minutes to learn lishmah—in your own corner. Just you and Hashem—nobody else needs to know—and see how far it can go. Then, watch how this miraculous candle will lead you for the rest of your life.

(Ah, what a pure and special feeling.)