To Whom It May Concern

Freedom is in the air.  Following weeks of focused preparation, we will soon gather in our homes and synagogues, in observance of Pesach, the festival of our freedom.  Our annual celebration of yetzias mitzraim reminds us to recognize and cherish our gift of eternal freedom, cheirus olam.  Although 3300+ years have passed since the Exodus, there is still plenty of freedom for us to celebrate; arguably, more than ever before.  We enjoy unprecedented religious freedom and economic opportunity, both of which have enabled the exponential growth of our communal infrastructure.  Profound advancements in technology allow us to communicate freely with family and friends all over the world. Global (and even local) travel has never been easier and there are very few barriers, if any, between us and anyone with whom we are seeking to connect.  And so yes, it would seem that we have never been freer than we are today.

Remarkably however, there do appear to be several indications that our path towards absolute and demonstrable freedom may be partially obstructed.  Does modern man truly possess the freedom to exist, live and choose voluntarily?  If that were indeed the case, then we would likely observe widespread contentment and happiness.  Genuine freedom would allow individuals and families to demonstrate passion and commitment to the preservation of their values and achievement of their goals.  If we were truly free, we would constantly ascend to new heights of self-awareness and achieve new levels of self-control.  Yet, numerous studies (do we really need data anyway?), indicate that in all these categories, we were once better off than we are today.

Why is that so? Shouldn’t our freedom to live, to be, and to choose, enable us to experience true happiness, commitment, satisfaction, and fulfillment?  Why do our lives, so suffused with freedom, appear to leave us with the constant nagging feeling that there is so much more to be desired?

There are undoubtedly many different paths to explore if we are to properly address these questions.  For the moment though, it may be helpful to consider the inherent value in simply asking ourselves these questions, even without pressing forward, in search of specific answers.  Honest and critical examination of the widely held assumption that we do, in fact, choose purposely and freely, may allow us to discover much about ourselves and the real driving forces in our life.  And we should not stop there.  Rather, in the spirit of the Pesach experience, let us share these questions with others and discuss them with the members of our family.  Perhaps consider these additional challenges, in an effort to achieve deeper insight and greater perspective regarding our personal freedom:

• How often do I feel that I can express myself freely and speak genuinely?
• How often am I able to secure the time to devote to the things that I truly want to accomplish?
• How often do I say, “I can’t because I’m too busy” or “I just wish I had more time”?
• To what extent does technology enable me to achieve more of my life’s goals? In what ways does technology interfere and, at times, obstruct these efforts?
• Do the conveniences and efficiencies of technology enable me to better manage my time and discover new opportunities for growth?
• Do the marvels of modern communication enable me to achieve greater satisfaction and fulfillment in my relationships?

If you are like me, confronting these questions generates a degree of inner discomfort. We are faced with the realization that although modern man has succeeded in achieving unimagined feats and accomplishments, our existence, in many ways, seems quite confined and our choices seem remarkably limited.  Our freedom, while ours to be claimed, seems forever elusive, evading actualization.

And so, as we celebrate zman cheiruseinu, the festival of our freedom, let us challenge ourselves with the following question: do I truly possess freedom of will or do I simply carry the will to be free?  Only after we have asked ourselves this question, may we begin our journey in search of answers.

 

You only get one chance to make a first impression.  Our initial encounters profoundly shape and define our experiences and relationships. And so, as we prepared for our exodus from Egypt, those first moments were exceptionally critical. It is not surprising, therefore, that at that fateful moment in time, Hashem presented our fledgling nation with a lengthy and detailed series of instructions, as our formal entry into the world of mitzvos was set to begin. Remarkably, the very first mitzvah given to the Jewish people is Kiddush HaChodesh, the sanctification of the new month.  This mitzvah, which serves as the basis of our calendar system, is essential for the functioning and maintenance of numerous aspects of our ritual observance. It is somewhat peculiar, however, that this particular mitzvah, of all mitzvos, should be the very first given to the Jewish people. The Jews who were preparing to leave Egypt at this time were not yet a committed and God-fearing people. They were emotionally fragile, spiritually immature and on the verge of complete assimilation, many of them still profoundly confused regarding their true loyalties.  One has to wonder, therefore, why the Master of the Universe chooses the platform of kiddush hachodesh upon which to make His initial introduction.

The Seforno (Shemos 12:2) observes how this monumental point in history was a critical juncture in time.  At the moment of liberation, the Jewish people would undergo a transformation, transitioning from slavery to freedom. With this transition, control over one’s time is transferred, from master to newly emancipated slave.  Enslavement denies the individual the ability to manage and use his time autonomously. A slave is coercively subjected to the wills and whims of his master, thereby denying him any personal control over his time or schedule.  With liberation, this all changes.  Suddenly, personal autonomy over one’s time, as well as the ability to manage that time, is reinstated. It is at this point in history, says the Seforno, that our existence as a people who possess the ability to make meaningful choices, officially commences.

The degree to which we properly manage our time reflects, to a certain extent, how much we truly cherish our freedom.  While many of us are often immersed in a multitude of tasks, running from one appointment to another and gasping for time, as if struggling for another breath of air, we do possess the ability to control our time, perhaps more than we realize.  Difficult choices need to be made, yet by recognizing how valuable our time is, we can choose to elevate our days by sanctifying our hours.  Occasionally, painful sacrifices must be undertaken, but by making responsible and deliberate choices as we manage our schedules, we can enrich our minutes by being more mindful of the passing seconds.  It is not an easy task; far from it. Yet there is no more appropriate way to celebrate the beginning of the month of Nissan, than through a renewed appreciation of the incredible and irreplaceable gift of time.

Please consider the wisdom of the following parable, author unknown: Imagine there is a bank that credits your account each morning with $86,400. It carries over no balance from day to day. Every evening deletes whatever part of the balance you failed to use during the day. What would you do? Draw out every cent, of course!

Each of us has such a bank. Its name is TIME. Every morning, it credits you with 86,400 seconds. Every night it writes off, as lost, whatever of this you have failed to invest to good purpose. It carries over no balance. It allows no overdraft. Each day it opens a new account for you. Each night it burns the remains of the day. If you fail to use the day’s deposits, the loss is yours. There is no going back. There is no drawing against the “tomorrow”. You must live in the present on today’s deposits. Invest it so as to get from it the utmost in health, happiness, and success.

The clock is running so make the most of today.

Chodesh Tov!

 

 

It’s hard to believe but Purim is just around the corner. In less than two weeks, Jews all over the world will gather and celebrate a day endowed with meaning and infused with joy.  Purim provides adults and children with the opportunity to connect with God and with each other in a remarkable way, offering an experience which can be impactful and, at times, transcendent.  Many enjoy cherished memories of Purim celebrations which inspired sustained periods of growth and elevation.

One of the unique features of a traditional Purim celebration is the excessive consumption of wine. Although there is a Talmudic basis for this practice, many rabbinic scholars have established limits and set specific parameters, in an effort to dissuade individuals from becoming intoxicated.  Among the great rabbinic authorities who have advocated such an approach, are Nimukei Yosef (Megillah 7a), Rama (O”C 695:2), Chayei Adam (155:30) and Aruch Hashulchan (O”C 695:3-5).  It is not my intent to offer my own view regarding the halachic definitions and parameters of alcohol consumption on Purim. It would be presumptuous (and irrelevant to most) for me to express an opinion regarding this matter. Our rabbis have presented a remarkably wide spectrum of views, all a matter of public record.

For full disclosure, it has never been my personal practice to become overly intoxicated at a Purim seudah.  Yet, for my entire adult life, I enjoyed the practice of drinking considerably more wine than I did on any other day throughout the year (which, admittedly, is not all that much).  Our personal Purim seudos have always been especially celebratory and festive, reflecting deep and genuine expressions of religious emotion and joy. I will not deny that these experiences were sharply enhanced by the impact of our collective alcohol consumption.

For the past several years, however, I have consciously limited my alcohol consumption on Purim to no more than a single token drink.  This deliberate choice was proudly broadcast to the other participants, most of whom chose to follow this lead. What initiated this sudden change of practice? What precipitated such a significant departure from our customary Purim experience?

Truthfully, I cannot point to a particular event which motivated this change. It was not a reaction to a specific experience, nor a developing crisis in my life. My personal decision to abstain from alcohol on Purim is driven by a desire to communicate clear and consistent messages to myself, my family, and anyone else who may happen to be paying attention.  As a father, as a rabbi and as a teacher, I find it increasingly more challenging to effectively promote intolerance towards excessive alcohol consumption throughout the year, while simultaneously tolerating such indulgences on Purim.  For many, particularly among our youth, the perceived disparity between these two messages is both glaring and compelling.  Our commitment to teaching the value of self-control and our continued efforts to promote intolerance for drugs and alcohol are not merely obstructed by this apparent behavioral contradiction; they are entirely compromised.  To be clear, I do not have the slightest temptation to dismiss or revise Talmudic texts, nor do I intend to imply any grievance with our sacred traditions. On the other hand, Purim does not exist in a vacuum.  With the setting of the sun and the cleansing of our bloodstreams, our religious obligations, social challenges, and personal struggles all resurface and are they right where we left them before the festivities began.  Is it realistic to assume that we can effectively communicate and inspire the virtues of self-control, while faced with conflicting messages that are, for the most part, too nuanced to reconcile?

Additionally, it is no secret that many in our community suffer, directly or indirectly, from the devastating effects of alcohol abuse.  While many of us are able to enjoy the harmlessly benign effects of alcohol consumption one day a year, others among us suffer from the torment and misery of alcohol abuse every day of their lives.  How do we, as individuals and as a community, indulge so excessively, while simultaneously protecting and supporting those among us who may be painfully triggered by our actions? Is it even possible to participate in planned and organized intoxication without provoking sadness, pain, or grief among those most vulnerable and afflicted?   

I offer these questions without presuming to have all of the answers. For myself, the decision to celebrate a dry Purim seems most appropriate and responsible, given my current surroundings and circumstances.  Of course, I will continue to cherish the memories of past Purim celebrations, powerfully enhanced by the alcohol accompaniments.  I will not attempt to forget nor revise the inspiring memories and impressions that were created by rebbeim who radiated joy and transcendence, while under the simultaneous influence of alcohol and Torah.  For now, though, I pray that my children, students, and peers can discover meaning and find inspiration in other opportunities that the day of Purim offers.  We may, in fact, miss the alcohol-induced joy of Purim.  Regardless, we’ve got bigger issues to deal with at the moment.