Netzavim

Free Will vs. Free Willy

In Parshas Netzavim, the Torah states that God has placed before us the choice of life and death. Yet, on Rosh HaShana, we proclaim God as the Judge, deciding who will live and who will die. Is there a contradiction here?


The answer is subtle, but profound: The **choice** of life is indeed ours, but the **judgment** of whether we continue to exist is in the hands of the Creator. Only God can determine if a particular existence—a galaxy, a planet, a nation, or a single human being—is still necessary in the cosmic symphony. But God's judgment is not arbitrary; it reflects the **choices** we make.


Every decision we face ultimately boils down to one core tension: do we refine ourselves or give in to chaos? Do we choose good or not? The definition of good is not always immediately clear, but once clarity arrives, we are presented with the challenge: choose life, or its opposite.


Not every choice needs to be dramatic. When I was younger, whether or not I exercised didn't seem like a big deal. Today, my back issues have motivated me to care more deeply for my body. What was once optional has become essential. That, too, is a choice for life.


Anything touched by knowledge—the eitz ha-daas—forces a reckoning. Do I eat this cake that I know will cause me pain later? The knowledge is there. The choice is real. The consequences are built into the system.


The deeper our understanding, the more powerful our choices. With deeper awareness comes greater freedom. At the root of that freedom is a relationship with God—as our Source, our Guide, our Sustainer.


To be unrooted from God is to be a tree without roots, vulnerable to every gust of wind. The task of choosing good—which Adam failed at, and which we are called to succeed in through Torah—is to plant ourselves firmly in that Source. Choosing Torah is choosing life.


It begins when the individual realizes: my life depends on being rooted in God. That is the moment of planting. Study, prayer, acts of kindness—these are how we water the seed.


Choosing life means choosing to "nurse" the very energy of existence from its Source. Real teshuva (return) doesn't stem from reward or fear of punishment alone, but from realizing: I need God like I need air. Sometimes, this clarity only comes when we hit bottom. But once we see it, it becomes our truest motivation.


And yet, teshuva must be personal. As more people around us return, we must ask: am I doing this because it’s real for me, or am I just following the crowd? Real teshuva requires individuation. That's why ba'alei teshuva often face resistance from friends and family—their journey is awakening something that others are not ready to face.


Without personal conviction, observance becomes a burden. If you’re only keeping Shabbos because your new crowd expects it, you will eventually rebel. Torah must be internalized. It must become your own.


And when it does? It gladdens the heart. *The Torah of HaShem is perfect, restoring the soul.*


Inspiration can only come from Above. But if you feel uninspired, ask for it. Pray for it. That, too, is a choice for life.


Teshuva from love naturally includes a desire to bring others back, too. Like Avraham, who shared his awakening with the world. Love, by its nature, wants to be shared.


Our sense of responsibility for others is a direct mirror of our own spiritual return. And exile—galus—is sustained by our lack of unity. Baseless hatred isn’t just hating without cause; it’s hating without *peoplehood*. It’s forgetting we are one.


When that unity is broken, even prayer suffers. A shul where people harbor hidden resentments cannot pray properly. Love among the members is essential. Without trust, there can be no friendship. Without friendship, no admiration. Without admiration, no willingness to serve. Without service, no connection. And without connection, no fulfillment.


To relate to God is sometimes like relating to a beloved old uncle who knows his way around the world. He's powerful, and he's close. He's our best friend. We just wish we were more faithful friends in return.


Writing is a funny thing—it’s the gift of gab with no one listening. And yet, maybe someone *is* listening. Maybe existence itself records everything. Maybe the energy we put out shapes the world more than we realize.


Politicians come and go, but people always hold the greater power. Our collective choices matter more than we know.


At the end of Parshas Netzavim, the Torah sets the stage: life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life. It isn’t a slogan. It’s a worldview. It’s a posture of being rooted, conscious, compassionate, and committed.


Choosing life means reconnecting to the Tree of Life. And the miracle of teshuva is that no matter how long we’ve been cut off, we can always be grafted back in.


May the sound of the shofar this Rosh HaShana find our hearts open, our roots planted, and our will aligned with the Source of all Life.