It's that wonderful time of the year Passover. Jews commemorate the Exodus story with an elaborate ritual feast called the Seder. As I pointed out last week, the Exodus story celebrates how the ancient Israelites went from slavery to freedom. That freedom is so essential that one of the names for Passover is זמן חרותנו, which is Hebrew for "time of our freedom."
I look to the etymology of the word "freedom" when I think about this holiday. The word "freedom" comes from the Old English freo, which means "not in bondage" or "acting of one's own will." It can also mean "noble" or "joyful." The "acting of one's own will" part is important because that free will implies the ability to choose. If freedom is about one's ability to choose, why in the world would Jews celebrate liberation with the prohibition of chametz?
What does a prohibition of eating leavened products made from wheat, barley, oats, rye, or spelt have to do with freedom? How does curtailing one's dietary freedom symbolize or commemorate freedom? Isn't restricting dietary freedom the opposite of being free if being free means to do something without restriction or limitation? These questions have been bugging me since I went shopping for Passover food because I very much want to resolve the paradox.
Back in 2012, I contrasted chametz with matzah. Chemically speaking, they are essentially the same ingredients. The difference is that the chametz went through a fermentation process. In other words, it becomes inflated both physically and metaphorically. That is why Judaism treats chametz as a representation of pride, ego, arrogance, entitlement. It is about a bloated sense of self. The matzah, on the other hand, represents one's true and aware self without the fluff. As R. Aron Moses reminds us, "if your soul has not had the opportunity to be expressed, then you are not yet free." By abstaining from chametz for a few days, we strip away what is unnecessary, or to think of it in another way, what is getting in the way of us being truly free.
To go back to what I wrote last week, that idea of leaving Egypt (Mitzrayim, מצריים; literally meaning "narrow places") is not only in reference to the country, but also a narrow place that exists within ourselves. Whether it is Rob Dial Jr., Mel Robbins, or Lewis Howes, I have heard such podcasters and personal development/motivational speakers talk about how personal development is less about adding on new habits and more about stripping away bad habits, negative thought patterns, and limiting beliefs that no longer serve us, or removing the fluff that chametz represents.
Freedom from a Pharaoh is one thing and certainly is worth celebrating. Acquiring freedom from ourselves is deep work. To quote the Jewish text Pirke Avot, the Ethics of Our Fathers, "Who is strong? One who subdues his [evil] inclination (4:1)." While I have dealt with some metaphorical Pharaohs in my life, I also have caught myself being my own worst enemy on more than one occasion, as hard as that is to admit.
This brings us to another aspect of this freedom has to do with another practice in Judaism. In 2020, I explored a similar paradox with the Jewish observance of Tisha B'Av. One of the practices during that time of year is to abstain from meat and wine for nine days since those consumables represent joy in Judaism. It turns out that diminishing happiness for a bit can actually make you happier in the greater sense. The common theme between this Tisha B'Av practice and restricting chametz has to do with that self-limiting in certain aspects, even for a bit, can make life more fulfilling and freeing.
Free will and having options are essential to freedom. Politically and culturally speaking, I strongly believe we ought to be free to choose what to do, believe, think, and say. To channel Jean-Paul Sartre, it gives us the ability to create meaning in life and make something of ourselves. I also think that part of being free has to do with us deciding to limit our own choices. How does that work? If freedom strictly means to do whatever you want for its own sake, it is chaos, especially when that comes into contact with other people and their choices. Without a path, goals, or a vision, I have to ask the question of "freedom to do what?" Freedom is an essential ingredient for a well-lived life, but what good is freedom without direction?
To quote Rohan Kapur, "True choice isn't about quantity; it's about the conscious decision to relinquish what no longer serves us, paving the way for what does."Mark Manson brings up that there is a paradox of choice. The more options we have, the less satisfied we are. That is because with so many options, the opportunity cost is higher. We become aware of what we give up with each option, and that minimizes one's propensity to commit to something, whether it's a brand of shampoo, a career path, or a romantic partner. This could also help explain the phenomenon of decision fatigue.
We have to face facts that by being finite creatures, there are limitations as to what we can do. We cannot have it all, no matter how much we would like to have it all. Rather than try to do it all and succumb to FOMO (Fear of Missing Out), we should ask ourselves what matters to us most based on those limitations, as well as our priorities and values. By rejecting alternatives, by giving up certain freedoms while choosing to commit to others can our freedom become meaningful.
If Mark Manson is right, then a way to resolve the paradox is to say "No" to certain things while committing to actions that multiply our freedoms. One example is staying in physical shape. To successfully do so, there are certain things you cannot do, such as eat a lot of processed foods or binge-drink alcohol. While there are certain limitations on consumption, it also provides you the freedom to do a lot of physical activities that were previously inaccessible or infeasible. If you commit to certain interpersonal relationships, that commitment can help you emotionally mature, even if it means limiting other options. As I mentioned a couple of years ago, opening yourself up to kindness and giving to others is, within reason and having at least some personal boundaries, a way to expand one's freedom. That is in part because there are more options when you think about more people than yourself versus only thinking about yourself. Also, people in your life can help you reach different heights than you would have reached if you were only by yourself.
This is where discipline comes in. Take playing a musical instrument. At first, you cannot creatively express yourself. It takes time, effort, and discipline to learn how to read music and play an instrument. After a while, that discipline tends to pay off with greater creative expression and freedom. But that creative expression also came at the price of saying "No" to other things while practicing scales, fingering, études, chords, and difficult passages. Athletes who train for a marathon or the Olympics; monks or nuns who take on vows; or writers who take on poetic forms can gain clarity, depth or purpose from the discipline. I am not saying that you need to necessarily do something that intense in order to be free, but rather that discipline and saying "no" to certain things can carry us to experiences and freedoms that were previously closed off to us.
I think what I am trying to say is that this can be applied with chametz and what chametz represents. The restriction of chametz beckons us to ask what is serving us and what is not. It invites us to examine what is worth saying "no" to and what is worth a commitment in life. In short, chametz is a reminder that freedom is not about living with the absence of boundaries, but choosing the boundaries that optimize one's quality of life and one's freedom. It helps us choose mindfulness over mindlessness. It means that freedom is not something that we passively receive from G-d or the government, but rather is something that we actively create every day in our lives.
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