Freedom, Now
Sermon, Shabbat HaChodesh, Shabbat Vayakhel 5785
Rabbi Samuel M. Cohon, Congregation Beit Simcha, Tucson, AZ
Comedian George Carlin memorably said, “If crime fighters fight crime and fire fighters fight fire, what do freedom fighters fight? They never mention that part to us, do they?” I’ve got freedom on my mind now, as we all should this time of year, and this year especially so .
I don’t know how many of you remember the Jewish Russian immigrant comedian, Yakov Smirnoff, who said, “My father described this tall lady who stands in the middle of the New York harbour, holding high a torch to welcome people seeking freedom in America. I instantly fell in love.” I thought about that, and about Emma Lazarus’ famous poem inscribed on the base of that great statue, this past week. Lazarus, of course, was a Sephardic Jew, who wrote
“A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
When a French politician suggested the France might want the Statue of Liberty back, since America’s leadership seems to be deliberately throwing away its role as the land of the free, the home of exiles, and the defender of freedom in the world, it brought the question of just what we mean by freedom very much to mind.
You see, this Shabbat is Shabbat HaChodesh, the Sabbath when we bless the coming month of Nisan, the month of Passover. It is a signal that we are getting closer to this pivotally important historic celebration. As we begin to approach the central Jewish festival of freedom, Passover, which begins Saturday night, April 12, three weeks from tomorrow night, it’s valuable to explore just what we mean by that powerful word, freedom.
There are several different words for freedom in Hebrew. The word used on the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia is taken from the passage in the Torah in Leviticus referring to the Jubilee; דְּרוֹר in the Bible often refers to release or liberation, particularly in the context of the Jubilee year when all slaves were freed. It carries connotations of flowing freely without obstacles, like water flowing in a river. A second word, חָפְשִׁי is an adjective meaning "free," and it's used in constructions to describe the state of being free. It often denotes being free from servitude or obligation. In modern Hebrew a chofesh is a vacation or break from work or school. A third word, שִׁחְרוּר is a term that means "release" or "liberation" and is often used in more concrete contexts like release from prison, from military service, or even from financial obligations.
Most significantly, and most commonly, the word for freedom that we use is חֵרוּת, a larger and more general term for freedom. It appears in the Bible and is used in modern Hebrew for political freedom, liberty, and independence. It's prominently featured in the Passover Haggadah when discussing the exodus from Egypt.
The distinctions reflect different aspects of freedom - from political independence to personal liberation from constraints. The concept of freedom in Hebrew thought is deeply connected to the historical experience of slavery in Egypt and subsequent liberation, giving these terms layers of spiritual and national significance beyond their literal meanings.
Passover, Pesach, which has many names, is above all the zman cheiruteinu, the season of freedom, remembering the liberation of our people from slavery in Egypt over three thousand years ago. This story has been central to our experience as Jews ever since. We constantly remember that we were originally slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt, we recall our experience of liberation not just in this pivotal spring festival but every single Sabbath during the Kiddush and at other moments, and we do so on all the other festivals, too. It is the central story of Jewish history, and a constant reminder of the great value of freedom.
But what we Jews mean by freedom is not simply the absence of control, and certainly not the simple lack of responsibility that so many people seem to think it is.
It is notable that the words Moses was instructed by God to use before Pharaoh when he asked for freedom were Shalach ami v’ya’avduni, Let my people go to serve Me, God. Shalach ami—we remember that part easily enough, let my people go. But the last word of that demand is v’ya’avduni, “that they may serve Me.” Let my people go—that they may serve God. That is, give us freedom from servitude and slavery to human masters, so that we may come to serve only God—so that we will become, as it were, ano avdo d’kudsho brich Hu, as the Zohar says—servants of the Holy, Blessed One.
The Jewish definition of freedom is not simply an absence of compulsion or a lack of obligation. Freedom is not just the ability to be freed from under the lash of a slavemaster, of out from under the thumb of a tyrant or dictactor or king or mullah or boss. That is indeed the first requirement of freedom, but it is only a prerequisite to true freedom.
You see, it is not enough to be out of chains, although that is a great blessing. It is not sufficient merely to have no demands, no obligations placed upon us, to be, as it were, free as a bird. That is not the Jewish understanding of freedom. That is merely anarchy, the abdication of responsibility. That leads not to goodness, but to chaos. It is, in its own way, enslavement—slavery to our base impulses, slavery to our worst selves, slavery to the random vicissitudes of our nature and our world. Freedom like that is, in the words of that old pop song, “just another word for nothing left to loose,” a negative freedom from choice—the freedom of the lost child, the freedom of the rootless, of the narcissitic spoiled brat, immature, damaging, compromising, even perverse.
True freedom, for our people, requires commitment. It means that we are free to choose whom we will serve, rather than having it dictated to us by birth or armed force or government edict. But it means making a choice to serve someone, or something—as Bob Dylan once put it, you got to serve someone. More specifically: our Jewish choice is to serve the highest and holiest, to serve God and goodness. Only when we make that choice, on our own, do we achieve true freedom.
That, in fact, is the heart of the Jewish understanding of freedom. Free will is the ability to choose to serve God—or not. It is the freedom of the educated, open mind, the freedom to make a moral decision between good and evil, between an ethical life based on principle and holiness, or of an empty life founded on nullity or blind obediance to a dicatator. Our choice, our blessing, our freedom, is the choice of moving towards God and goodness, or away from God and towards evil.
That choice is still ours. In America, we sometimes forget the obligations of freedom, the requirement to choose to live to standards and holiness, to choose that which is good and comes from God. We remember the freedom to choose, but abdicate the need to actually make such a choice with principle, authenticity and commitment. We may even choose to follow dictators and autocrats, bullies and fools, amoral and immoral leaders rather than the principles of our people and our faith.
In contrast, what Judaism truly represents—the freedom to choose to live as Jews, to pray and to study, to work to improve the world, to choose to be free as Jews understand true freedom to be—means to be devoted and dedicated, to our religion, to education, to God, to goodness, to fixing the wrongs and injustices of the world, not simply sailing by them without concern.
It is by making this dedication to the good, and to God, by making a conscious choice that we exercise our freedom in grown-up ways, that we can find ourselves newly inspired to live lives of holiness and meaning. It is through this process that we work to remake the world, to complete Tikun Olam, to model the generosity and goodness that are the primary forces for positive change in our world.
As we approach this month of Nisan and the coming season of Passover, may we each come to understand, and to live, this dedication to living a moral life. And may we all realize that bowing down to tyranny is never the right choice.
If we can find our own relationship to the coming zman cheiruteinu, we will discover that our lives become both more meaningful, and more fully free.