In last week’s parshah,the Children of Israel criticize Moshe and Aaron for angering Pharaoh by calling for their freedom. They have become so inured to their slavery that they would rather continue as slaves than sacrifice for their freedom. They had become like the beaten down and despondent worker who faces his miserable shop foreman with a shrug. “What else can I do? This is my life.” The implication being, “This is the life I deserve.”
No. That is not “a life.” That is slavery. It is addiction. It is the antithesis of God’s desire that we enjoy the power and grace of geulah.The slave, the addict, the downtrodden and miserable want only their daily bread, their drug, the inexorable sameness and numbness of their existence. They do not consider a life of spirituality and meaning.
Our prison can be anything that benumbs us to that life of meaning. Drugs. Sex. Money. Fine cars. Misery. Anything we tolerate that keeps us from enjoying the geulah God wants for us is slavery, is prison. Our first step toward a life of meaning is to become intolerant of enslavement; to value the dignity of liberty over physical gratification. Our first step is to declare without qualification, “Enough!”
Certainly the generation of Yetziat Mitzrayim had to say “Enough!” before they could cross the Red Sea, enter the wilderness and, ultimately, receive the Law at Sinai.
“Enough” is more than a cry of “ouch” to the pain of the lash. It is a declaration that the pain of the lash is not my due. It is a statement of absolute refusal. It is not a negation of what is bad but an embrace of what is good. It is an embrace of the possibility of geulah.
It is told that Rav Nachum of Chernobyl once stopped at an inn owned by an old Jew. At midnight, Rav Nachum sat on the floor to conduct his Tikun Chatzos, crying so bitterly over the Churban that many of the inn’s guests were awakened by his distress.
Trembling, the Jewish owner rushed to the rebbe. “Why are you crying? Does something hurt?”
Rav Nachum shook his head. “I am bemoaning the Churban and the bitter galus.”
The innkeeper was confused. “What Churban? What galus? What is all the grief about?”
“You don’t know?” Rav Nachum asked. “Our Temple in Jerusalem was razed. We were exiled from our Chosen Land because of our sins.” He studied the innkeeper. “I am beseeching God to speedily send Mashiach so he can bring us to Eretz Yisrael. Are you ready to go up to the Promised Land?”
The innkeeper shook with fear. “Wait, Rebbe. I am going to ask my wife what to do. She will know.” He hurried away only to return soon after. “No,” he said, “we will not go. It would be foolish to lose all the chickens, cows, and sheep. No, it makes no sense to follow Mashiach and leave all this behind!”
Rav Nachum persisted. “Is it really so good here? Often, the locals rampage, kill, and plunder!”
The owner once again went to ask his wife and once again he came back quickly. “She said that this is our life and it is quite satisfactory, thank you. She said I should tell you to pray that God should chase away all the evil locals to the Promised Land. As for us, we will stay here with the chickens, cows, and sheep.”
Imagine! To be satisfied, to be tolerant, of a simple and vulnerable existence for the sake of a few chickens, cows, and sheep!
Foolish people! To say “What’s so terrible? It’s a life after all…” How sad – how familiar – a feeling to not be able to cry out, “Enough!” How pathetic to accept tzuros rather than embrace God’s gift of geulah.
