The Freedom of Restraint
What we can learn from the laws of Kashrut
Centuries ago, some of the greatest Greco-Roman philosophers knew that the path to peace did not lie in pleasure, but in restraint. They taught that true solace could only be found in mastering the self, rather than the world around us.
Today, that idea feels almost impossible. We live in a world saturated with distractions – texts, emails, social media, noise. Modern man has harnessed the elements and conquered nature, and in doing so has developed an insatiable desire to control everything: our surroundings, our image, our time, even our emotions. We scroll, we refresh, we race, and we can’t seem to stop.
What hope is there for us?
The answer can be found in this week’s Parsha. After the dedication of the Mishkan is thrown into disarray by the tragic death of Aharon’s eldest sons, Nadav and Avihu, the Jewish people are given the laws of Kashrut.
Why is Kashrut connected to the death of Nadav and Avihu? Furthermore, how can we possibly penetrate the meaning of these laws which seem to belie our understanding?
If we look closer at the connection between these two disparate stories we can begin to understand the answer. The Torah seems to be telling us that Kashrut is the solution to what Nadav and Avihu misunderstood.
Their sin, which resulted in death, is a heavily debated question. The Midrash Rabba lists four different reasons for why they were killed, with the commentators adding numerous others. The commonality between all these views is as stated in the Torah itself, “Asher Lo Tsiva Otam”. Nadav and Avihu misunderstood the nature of holiness. They believed that religious observance meant following their spiritual impulse, expressing religious passion on their terms. But they weren’t commanded. They didn’t seek advice from one another nor Moshe or Aharon. They didn’t even pause to wash their hands and feet and put on the priestly vestments. They rushed impulsively into their own form of service. The Torah informs us that such an offering is “Zara”, it is foreign and has no place in Jewish worship.
The self-restraint which Nadav and Avihu ignored is what Kashrut calls on us to do. In the area in which man can be most impulsive, most animal like, God commands us to be restrictive. True holiness, the Torah tells us, requires restraint.
The irony is that we tend to think that something like Kashrut is a shackle. In reality though, Kashrutfrees us from the prison of indulgence. The ability to have self-control is the most freeing attribute of all. The same underlying principle underlies the phrase in Pirkei Avot (6:3), “the only free person is the one engaged in Torah and Mitzvot.”
Rabbi Chaim Jachter tells a story of once flying on a plane and receiving the standard kosher meal – tinfoil, plastic wrap, unappealing steam and all. A man next to him mocked the meal, eventually offering the rabbi $100 to eat the non-kosher option. Without missing a beat, the rabbi switched trays with him. He opened the regular meal, lifted a forkful of meat… and just stared at it. Then he said, “You thought I should feel bad for eating that food. But I pity you. I can resist this steak. You, on the other hand, can’t even imagine doing so. That’s not freedom – it’s servitude.”
That story captures a truth long understood by both religious and philosophical traditions. As Alexis de Tocqueville wrote, “The main business of religions is to purify, control, and restrain that excessive and exclusive taste for well-being which men acquire in times of equality.” And Epicurus, often misread as a hedonist, once said, “if you wish to be rich, do not add to your money, but subtract from your desires.” Real wealth – real freedom – is not in satisfying every craving, it’s in needing less. “Ai Zo Hu Ashir? Ha’Sameach B’CHelko.”
The Rambam understood this well. He placed the laws of forbidden foods in his section called Sefer Kedusha – the Book of Holiness. That book includes three things: forbidden relations, forbidden foods, and shechita. In the areas where we are most vulnerable to indulgence, that is where the Torah plants the seeds of holiness.
This isn’t asceticism. Judaism does not call us to deny pleasure. It calls us to earn it through mastery of the self. That is not repression – it is redemption. And in a world addicted to control, the Torah reminds us: the only thing worth mastering is ourselves.