The first Torah portion read after the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai addresses a foundational issue on which the entire Jewish worldview rests – the question of freedom and bondage.
In principle, the Torah opposes the enslavement of a Jew. With the Exodus from Egypt, the Children of Israel accepted absolute commitment to the Creator alone; therefore, there is no room for additional human subjugation. This is stated explicitly:
“For they are My servants, whom I brought out of the land of Egypt; they shall not be sold as slaves” (Leviticus 25:42).
Nevertheless, there are exceptional situations in which the Torah permits a Jew to be sold into servitude. For example, a person who stole and is unable to repay the value of the theft may be sold by the court as a servant to another Jew, so that he can repay his debt from the wages of his labor.
Even in such a case, however, the Torah sets a very high moral bar. The master is obligated to treat the Hebrew servant with full dignity – to provide proper housing, food, drink, and a standard of living no lower than his own.
Because of these obligations, the sages said: “Anyone who acquires a Hebrew servant is like one who acquires a master for himself” (Kiddushin 20a).
Choosing enslavement
A Hebrew servant sold by the court is released after six years of service. But if, at the end of that period, he asks to remain with his master out of love for the master and his household, the Torah commands that his ear be pierced with an awl against the doorpost, as it is written:
“And if he shall say to you, ‘I will not go out from you’ because he loves you and your household, because it is good for him with you, then you shall take the awl and put it through his ear and into the door, and he shall be your servant forever...” (Deuteronomy 15:16-17).
The Torah views this choice negatively, and the Talmud explains:
“Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai would expound this verse with great severity: Why was the ear singled out from all the limbs of the body? The Holy One, blessed be He, said: ‘The ear that heard My voice at Mount Sinai when I said, ‘For the Children of Israel are servants to Me’ – and not servants to servants – and yet this person went and acquired a master for himself, let it be pierced’” (Kiddushin 22a).
These words puzzled many commentators. Why is the servant’s choice considered so severe? After all, people violate many other commandments as well, which that same ear also “heard at Mount Sinai,” and yet there is no comparable punishment. Moreover, what is so wrong with a person choosing to remain in a place where life is good for him, with family, stability, and security? Why is this seen, according to the Talmud Yerushalmi (Kiddushin 1:2), almost as a form of idolatry?
The basic answer lies in the very purpose of the Exodus from Egypt – the acceptance of absolute spiritual servitude to God alone. Any preference for human subjugation as a value contradicts this principle. Initially, when the court sold the servant, the servitude arose from necessity. But here, the servant declares of his own free will: “I love my master.” This is not submission to circumstance but an ideological choice to relinquish spiritual freedom.
Beyond this, there is a deeper layer, as Rabbeinu Yonah of Gerona writes in Sha’arei Teshuvah (chap. 1, 6): Imagine a person who starts a job and declares that he accepts all the rules except one; or a citizen who respects the laws of the state, except for a single law that does not suit him. Would we find that acceptable? Clearly not.
Commitment to an idea means full acceptance of its principles. If someone sends an email but omits one dot from the address, plays a concert but leaves out one note, or cooks a dish while skipping a key spice, the result is not “almost right.” It simply does not work. In matters of essence, it is all or nothing.
According to Judaism, the commandments are not a random collection of laws but are one complete, integrated system. Declaring “everything except one thing” undermines belonging altogether. When the servant says, “I love my master,” this is not merely a preference to stay in a comfortable place; it is a conscious declaration of relinquishing the idea of spiritual freedom.
In the modern world, personal autonomy and the desire to leave oneself “space” without commitment are widely accepted. Sometimes this seems insignificant, but in practice, it can sever a person from the entire idea. Half a chair, a quarter of a table, or a third of a haircut are not “almost okay” – they are fundamentally lacking.
Loyalty to a path means saying, “I belong. Sometimes I will fail, sometimes I will err, but I am all in.” This is completely different from saying “I like this, but I don’t like that.” Because, as we were told when we were children, “almost” is not enough.
The writer is rabbi of the Western Wall and holy sites.