I am writing this message on March 20, the 20th day of Adar. Exactly 30 years ago on this very day on the Jewish calendar, I was on my way to Jerusalem to register for architecture school. Little did I know that God had a different plan for me. It was a moment of transition — my final week after four years of army service. I had chosen not to extend my service again. I had given my time to my country, including an extra year as an officer. But now, I was free to move on. And I did not look back.
As it so happened, on that same day, an event of immense gravity had unfolded. The great rabbi of the generation, Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, passed away. His funeral brought between 300,000 and 400,000 mourners from across the world, arriving within just 24 hours to accompany him on his final journey.
I found myself moving against a tide of men dressed in black, all flowing down the wide Bezalel Street like a vast river. Their eyes reflected not only grief but something brighter — a light. They were free — free of doubt. These mourners embodied the wisdom of mitzvot: “Do not call it Charut (engraved),” the sages teach, “but call it Cherut (freedom).” The commandments are not meant to be seen only as a rigid law or as an unchanging script, but rather as the source of liberation. That was the look in their eyes — the free-flowing fire of faith and Torah. They did not look back.
Approaching Passover, we are reminded: “You shall not see Egypt again.” Never look back. When the Israelites stood trapped between Pharaoh’s army and the Sea of Reeds, some longed to return to Egypt — a hesitation, a doubt, the natural pull of the familiar. But as a people, they moved forward. They stepped into the water, proving their faith, and the sea split before them. God provides. Even in the wilderness.
When a Hebrew slave is offered release, he must make a choice: Embrace freedom or remain a servant for life. There is comfort in captivity, security in the known. The Hebrews in Egypt had grown accustomed to the garlic and the pots of meat. But God does not wish for His people to be comfortable in bondage. Freedom is not about ease; it is about movement, about stepping into uncertainty with faith.
Freedom is like the Year of Jubilee, when debts are forgiven, land restored, and slaves set free. What does it truly mean to return to one’s own? Freedom must be embraced wherever life leads. Unlike the wife of Lot, who looked back — and in doing so, lost her freedom — she remained frozen in place, never to move forward again.
When my parents left Yemen, they were pushed out, but they also wanted to leave. Perhaps that push was necessary, propelling them toward their destiny, into their freedom. They never looked back.
Today, we are witnessing powerful moments of freedom. The Israeli hostages being released from Hamas captivity — what does their first breath of freedom taste like? Even the astronauts returning to Earth after months aboard the space station — what is it like to feel gravity again?
Freedom often means walking through a desert. But on the other side, there is a promised land, our own individual Promised Land, where there are no doubts, no looking back.
Wishing all of us a Happy Passover,
—Rabbi Gadi Capela