There is a section in Parashat Naso which, at first glance, seems entirely irrelevant to our lives. But in truth, it holds one of the most important lessons that we need, particularly in our generation.
This section speaks about the nazir. None of us have ever met one, and will, in all likelihood, never meet one. Who is a nazir?
A nazir is somebody who strives to elevate his level of spirituality by taking a special vow which forbids him from – among other things – drinking wine for a certain period of time. He takes this vow because wine often leads to inappropriate conduct, and so in his effort to reach higher, he vows to observe a period of abstaining from wine.
Why is this person called a “nazir”? What does this word mean?
Rashi explains that this word means “withdraw” of “refrain,” and the nazir vows to refrain from wine.
The Ibn Ezra, however, offers a different – and very powerful – explanation.
He writes that the word “nezer” means “crown.” A nazir, somebody who has the strength and self-discipline to control his impulses and his desires, is a “king.” He has power and control – over himself.
To understand what the Ibn Ezra is saying, we need to make a strong statement which might sounds like an exaggeration, but it’s not. And that is: WE ARE ALL SLAVES.
We might feel that we are free, but we are all slaves, to something.
Some people are slaves to alcohol. Some people are slaves to gambling. Some people are slaves to food. Some people are slaves to shopping. Some people are slaves to their screens.
These people might insist that they have control, that they can stop whenever they want. But the truth is that they are slaves. They do not have control. They are controlled by whatever their vice is. They are not free.
There is also another type of slavery, which, I’m afraid, is especially prevalent in today’s day and age. And that is – slavery to what other people think, what other people have, and what other people do.
One of the defining words in our generation is FOMO – the fear of missing out.
We see lots of cars parked on a street one summer evening in Deal, and we feel like we’re missing out, there is something we weren’t invited to. For that matter, we drive by an enormous house in Deal – one which the owner knocked down to build an even more enormous one – and we feel we’re “missing out,” because we don’t have the same kind of house. And the same is true of cars, of vacations, of clothes, and of lots of other things.
If we can’t see what somebody else has or does without a feeling of “FOMO,” then we are slaves, controlled by other people.
We learn from the nazir how to be truly free – by telling ourselves that WE DON’T NEED TO HAVE EVERYTHING. In the nazir’s case, it’s wine, but the idea is just as relevant to anything else. We don’t need to have the same car somebody else has, or the same house. We don’t need to go to every social event. We can be perfectly content and happy with what we have.
This is the timeless, critical message of the nazir.
Somebody I know once decided to take his kids for a drive down the street in Deal with the most extravagant homes. He showed them the homes and pointed out their size, the magnificent architecture, the views of the ocean, the size of the lawns and the length of the driveways.
He then turned to them and said, “All you know about the people who live here is that they have a very large, fancy house. We know nothing else about them. We know nothing about their marriage. We know nothing about their relationship with their kids. We know nothing about whether they are happy in their professions. We know nothing about whether they have friends.”
This is freedom – the freedom to say, “I’m ok with what I have,” and to say, “My happiness has nothing at all to do with how other people live.”
If we can live this way, then we live wearing the “crown” of the nazir, enjoying real, genuine freedom.