The ads, the conversations, even subtle social cues, all whisper the same message: This is what “normal” looks like

T

he classroom buzzes with anticipation. Twenty middle-school boys lean forward in their seats during a general studies personal finance class, eager to see where I’m going with this.

I pause and ask, “Why do I drive an older model car instead of the newest version?”

One boy raises his hand. “Because it gets you where you need to go?”

“Exactly,” I say. “If anyone can give me a reason why I need a fancier car, I’ll consider it.”

Suggestions fly. “It looks better!” “It’s more comfortable!” But each time, I push back. Is it truly a need, or just a want dressed up as a need?

The room quiets. They’re thinking. Then one boy ventures, “But Rebbi, what about other people who drive newer cars?”

That’s the moment I was waiting for. “Good question,” I tell them. “Each person’s needs are different. Someone who travels constantly, or has other specific needs, may require a newer car. My commute is five minutes each way. For me, the older car does everything I need. The key is being honest with ourselves.”

Needs aren’t universal, but the need for honest self-reflection about our needs is.

And coming by that honesty might be one of the greatest chinuch challenges of our time.

I like nice things, too. It’s easy to be pulled by what’s new or shiny. But I find myself thinking about this more and more, especially when I see how early our children start feeling those same pressures.

In today’s frum world, it’s become harder to tell where “need” ends and “want” begins. Items that were once considered luxuries have quietly become everyday essentials. The ads, the conversations, even subtle social cues, all whisper the same message: This is what “normal” looks like.

Our children hear it, see it, and absorb it. Throughout their formative years, they are exposed to hundreds, thousands, even tens of thousands of ads, all carefully designed to sell not just products, but messages about what people want or should have. The result? It can be challenging for children to recognize what is truly important.

Of course, the businesses behind the ads aren’t villains; they’re simply trying to make a parnassah. But the cycle feeds itself. As consumers purchase, more is produced, and the standard quietly rises.

We can’t rewind the world. We can’t block every message. But we can give our children the tools to think differently.

The first step is conversation.

Children learn not only from what we do, but from how we think aloud. When we choose to step down a notch in material things, we can let them in on that decision-making process. It doesn’t make us smaller in their eyes, it makes us real.

Orchos Tzaddikim (Shaar Hagaavah) teaches that speaking about our accomplishments and victories to those who learn from us is part of chinuch, not gaavah. “We find that many gedolim shared their actions [with] their students and close friends, so that they could learn from them and follow their ways. However, to anyone else it’s inappropriate to reveal great deeds,” says Orchos Tzaddikim. When our children see us wrestling honestly with the pull of material desires, they learn what strength really looks like.

Rabbi Aharon Kaufman, rosh yeshivah of Yeshiva Ateres Shmuel of Waterbury, shared that when he was a young boy in the 1970s, his grandmother, Mrs. Esther Bodner, instilled in him and his siblings a strong sense of financial responsibility. She often spoke about the difference between needs and wants, and constantly encouraged them to save. For every nine dollars they set aside, she would add one more, and often on Friday they would go together to the bank to make their deposits.

She would often remind them, “When you receive money, you do two things: Take off maaser and put some into savings. Only then do you spend.”

Over 50 years later, Rabbi Kaufman shared that those lessons still stay with him.

IN a world where credit cards often arrive before financial wisdom, our children need real, structured guidance before they’re challenged in real time. That’s why teaching practical money management, from savings and credit to taxes and insurance and so much more, is more essential than ever.

And the beauty is: Children love it. It’s tangible, real-world learning that grabs their attention, even in those long afternoon hours. When we go over a sample monthly budget, they’re shocked to realize how quickly money disappears. Learning about compound interest helps them see how small steps can lead to big results.

Through these lessons, they discover that money can grow, responsibility matters, and that giving maaser is the first “expense” worth celebrating.

And every discussion leads back to Torah: money as a tool, not a goal; the dignity of restraint; the joy of giving.

Rabbi Hillel Adler, Director of U.S. School Programs for Mesila, estimates that fewer than 25 percent of high school-aged students receive any financial literacy education. In junior high and elementary schools, that number falls below five percent. He says, “While nearly every educator agrees on its importance, updating school curricula remains a slow and difficult process.”

Imagine the impact if more yeshivos and Bais Yaakovs were able to give students a financial education infused with Torah values, each kehillah and each school  at a stage that works for them.

Lessons alone aren’t enough. Children live what they see.

I once heard a story about a kollel yungerman whose daughter asked her mother, “Mommy, are we rich?”

Her mother smiled. “Rich means being happy with what you have. We are very happy with what we have, and furthermore, Tatty is rich in Torah. So, yes, we’re rich.”

Sometime later, her father went out of town to help his parents move. Now the girl asked, “Will Tatty still be learning?”

“Less,” her mother admitted, “because he’s helping his tatty.”

The girl thought for a moment. “So… we’ll be poor this week?”

From the mouths of children. They don’t just hear our words; they absorb our priorities.

We live in an age flooded with possessions. We can’t stop the waves. But we can build seawalls of values, starting within our own homes and classrooms.

Imagine if both at home and in school, we gave our children the foundation to discern between needs and wants, to handle money responsibly, to view it through the lens of Torah. Imagine a generation growing up grounded, grateful, and giving.

We can’t solve the issue of excess materialism overnight. But if we start the conversations, model the choices, and teach the principles, we’ll be preparing our children not just for a greater chance at financial stability, but for more meaningful, purposeful lives.

And perhaps, through it all, we’ll remind ourselves that the truest wealth isn’t measured by what we have, but by who we’re becoming.

Rabbi Moshe Dov Heber is a rebbi at Yeshiva K’tana of Waterbury, where he also teaches personal finance, and a division head in Camp Romimu.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1089)