Aramaic Word of the Day - ܡܡܘܢܐ — mamona - wealth, money, that in which one places trust

Its root carries the idea of that in which one places trust. Mamona is not just currency; it is false security. In Aramaic thought, whatever you trust to sustain you becomes your master. Western thinking asks, “How much do I have?” Semitic thinking asks, “What am I leaning on?”

Yeshua says plainly in Matthew 6:24:

“You cannot serve God and mammon.”To Middle Eastern ears, this was not moral advice—it was a statement of reality. Service implies loyalty, obedience, and dependence. You cannot divide trust. If your security rests in mamōnā, your heart will follow it. Yeshua is not condemning provision; He is exposing misplaced trust. God is not competing with money for attention. He is confronting what claims your allegiance.

I remember standing with a group in a traditional Middle Eastern market, where the air is thick with sound and movement voices overlap, merchants call out prices, and the smell of bread and spices lingers between narrow stone alleys. Every object on display tells a story of provision. There is no excess here, no abstract wealth stored away in numbers or screens. What you see is what feeds a household. In that space, money is never theoretical. It represents survival, family honor, and tomorrow’s bread. I explained to the group that in the ancient world, wealth was not measured by luxury or accumulation, but by security, the ability to endure the next season, to care for one’s household, to remain standing in the community. What you trusted to sustain you shaped not only how you spent, but how you lived, how you planned, and whom you ultimately obeyed.

This is where Western and Eastern assumptions about money quietly but decisively part ways. In the Western mindset, money is often framed as a neutral instrument something you manage, use, and control. We speak of budgets and choices as if money has no will of its own. But in the ancient Semitic world, money was understood relationally, not mechanically. It was seen as a master that demanded loyalty and shaped identity. You did not merely possess wealth; wealth possessed you. It claimed your attention, directed your priorities, and influenced your sense of safety. The question was never whether money affected your life, but how deeply it ruled it. To whom you entrusted your security revealed whom you truly served, because in a Middle Eastern worldview, trust and obedience always travel together.

In the Aramaic mindset, this teaching cuts to the core of discipleship. Trust is not proven by words, but by where you turn in moments of fear and uncertainty. Mamona promises safety but demands anxiety. God promises faithfulness and invites rest. This is why Yeshua continues by speaking about daily bread, birds, and lilies. He is not romanticizing poverty; He is redirecting trust.

Let this speak into your life today, not as a theory, but as an honest moment of reflection. When pressure rises when bills arrive, when plans feel uncertain, when the future looks fragile, where does your heart instinctively turn first? Do you reach for numbers, strategies, and backup plans, or do you pause and place your weight on God’s faithfulness? In a Semitic worldview, discipleship is not measured by what you say you believe, but by where you lean when the ground feels unstable. Dependence reveals allegiance. What you trust will quietly shape your decisions, your anxieties, the way you sleep at night, and the tone of your prayers.

I have seen this play out again and again, both in Scripture and in life. Mamōnā rarely announces itself as a master; it presents itself as wisdom, responsibility, and preparation.

Yet when it holds authority, peace becomes conditional. You feel secure only when numbers align, when accounts are full, when control seems possible. But biblical freedom does not begin when money disappears or circumstances improve. Freedom begins when mamona loses its claim over your heart, when it no longer defines your sense of safety or your worth. In the Middle Eastern understanding, God does not oppose provision; He opposes misplaced trust.

So choose your master wisely, because trust is never neutral. Whatever you rely on most will shape the direction of your soul. It will train you either toward anxiety or toward rest, toward control or toward surrender. Yeshua does not invite you into recklessness, but into relational trust to depend on the One who sustains life itself, who knows your needs before you name them, and who remains faithful when human systems fail. When that trust takes root, peace no longer rises and falls with circumstances; it becomes anchored in the character of God.

Shlama

Andre Moubarak