The Ten Commandments occupy a unique and exalted place in the Torah. Much has been written by our sages about why these ten, of all mitzvot, were chosen to be proclaimed at Sinai and engraved on the Tablets. Without entering that broader discussion, it is clear that their selection reflects their foundational role in shaping Jewish belief and moral life.
Some of the commandments are readily understood. Others require deeper reflection. Perhaps the most difficult of all is the final one: Lo Sachmod — “You shall not covet.”
What does this commandment actually demand of us?
What if a thought simply pops into my head: My neighbor has a beautiful home, a car, a cow — or even a wife — and I wish that were mine. Have I already transgressed the prohibition against coveting? I can’t help it! My brain is wired this way. I see something, I like it, I wish it were mine. What fault is it of mine that the thought arose at all? Isn’t that just simple human nature?
This is a classic question, raised by many commentators. The most famous conceptual response is offered by Ibn Ezra, who begins with a critical premise: God does not command the impossible. To explain how Lo Sachmod can realistically be observed, he offers a striking analogy.
What is truly impossible is not desired
When a king and his entourage pass through a distant province, a simple villager may see the noble and beautiful princess riding by in her carriage. He does not fantasize about marrying her, because the idea never even enters the realm of possibility. She exists in an entirely different world. Similarly, no matter how loving and admirable a person’s mother may be, the thought of marrying her is inconceivable. It lies completely outside the borders of possibility.
So too, explains Ibn Ezra, must a person train himself to view what belongs to another. One’s neighbor’s spouse, home, or possessions must be regarded not merely as forbidden, but as fundamentally beyond reach — as removed from possibility as the princess is from the peasant. What is truly impossible is not desired.
Rabbeinu Bachya, in Kad HaKemach, deepens this insight by noting that the first and last commandments form a matched pair of bookends that inform all the others. If one genuinely believes that God alone governs the world and apportions to each person exactly what is meant for them, there is no reason to covet what belongs to another. Faith in Divine providence naturally leads to contentment with one’s own portion.
At first glance, Lo Sachmod might appear to be a lofty spiritual aspiration, similar to controlling anger or restraining greed. In truth, however, it is a binding halachic prohibition with serious real-world consequences.
Is it permissible to pressure someone to sell property they do not want to sell? May one try to obtain a job or position already held by another? Is it acceptable to pressure someone into a shidduch they are not interested in, or to push one side of a family to make financial commitments they are unwilling to make simply to complete a match?
These are not theoretical questions. They arise regularly in business dealings, communal negotiations, and personal relationships. This short essay is not the place to resolve them, but it is important to recognize that such situations may involve genuine halachic concerns that require serious consideration before entering into any difficult negotiation.
The Rambam, in the opening chapter of Hilchot Gezeilah — a telling placement in itself — formulates the rule clearly:
Anyone who desires the house, servant, or property of another, and pressures him repeatedly, or enlists others to apply pressure until he sells, has transgressed the prohibition of Lo Sachmod.
One who merely schemes in his heart how to acquire what belongs to another violates Lo Tisaveh, the prohibition governing inner desire.
Beyond the weekly Torah portion, the ethic of Lo Sachmod sheds light on troubling trends in contemporary Jewish life.
One such issue is the intense material striving that has taken hold in parts of the Orthodox community, particularly in America — a phenomenon I wrote about recently. The pressure to live, spend, and celebrate at levels far beyond one’s means is often fueled by constant comparison: looking at what others have, how they celebrate, and how they spend, rather than appreciating what God has provided. If there were less fixation on what others possess and more focus on what truly matters, much of this destructive pressure would simply disappear.
Demanding Support from the Unwilling
A far more serious problem, in my view, is the growing expectation among segments of the Charedi community to receive enormous resources from fellow Jews who are unwilling to provide them. This includes billions of shekels in stipends, child support, daycare subsidies, and funding for yeshivos, kollels, seminaries, and much more — demanded from taxpayers who themselves bear the burdens of military service, employment, and civic responsibility, and who are expected to support even those who refuse to serve in the army under any circumstances, including — and especially — those who are not learning full time.
There are, of course, many complex dimensions to this crisis that deserve separate and thoughtful discussion. My point here is narrower. For anyone sensitive to the principle of Lo Sachmod — the prohibition against desiring and scheming to obtain what belongs to another against their will — there is something deeply troubling about efforts to force others to give what they do not want to give.
This concern is only heightened when such demands are accompanied by incessant, traffic-snarling demonstrations, violence, name-calling, and other repulsive behavior, including political threats and coercion. Such tactics do not merely alienate fellow Jews; they undermine the moral authority of Torah itself and cause vast Chilul Hashem.
The same issue arises, though to a lesser extent, in fundraising and advocacy efforts that rely on false or exaggerated narratives — that it is impossible to be religious in the army, that religious Zionist yeshivot lack holiness, or that Jews who work for a living are somehow less committed. At the very least, such strategies raise uncomfortable questions about whether the spirit — and perhaps even the letter — of Lo Sachmod is being violated.
May we merit to see peace among Jews, and to foster an atmosphere in which Torah and Torah scholars are admired not through pressure or coercion, but through lives that exemplify integrity, responsibility, kindness, and genuine concern for others. Such an approach would inspire far more goodwill — and voluntary support — than any strong-arm tactic ever could.
Published on February 6, 2026 in the Jewish Press and Queens Jewish Link
