What if, indulgence could sometimes become a tool for avodas Hashem rather than a threat to it?
Much has been written recently about the culture of indulgence within frum society. We speak about rising standards, expanding comforts, and the pressure to live larger and more luxuriously than ever before. Those concerns are real and deserve attention.
Yet perhaps it is worthwhile to consider this from another angle. What if, under the right conditions, indulgence could sometimes become a tool for avodas Hashem rather than a threat to it?
To develop this idea, it is helpful to consider a profound principle articulated by Rav Eliyahu Dessler, in his essay on Yom HaKippurim.
The Torah’s description of the se’ir l’Azazel on Yom Kippur is, at first glance, difficult to understand. The pesukim seem to suggest that we send a goat off a cliff and that it somehow “carries” the sins of Klal Yisrael away. Clearly, sin cannot be literally transferred to an animal. The avodah must therefore be understood on a deeper level.
The Ramban explains that the se’ir l’Azazel functions as a form of shochad la’satan — a symbolic “bribe” to the prosecuting forces that oppose Klal Yisrael. Chas v’shalom, this does not imply offering anything to an independent power. Rather, it reflects a deeper spiritual dynamic.
The Ramban illustrates with a parable: A king surrounds his palace with fierce guard dogs to prevent intruders from approaching. One who wishes to gain access to the king may distract the dogs by throwing them food; he can then enter without interference. So too, on Yom Kippur, when Klal Yisrael seeks closeness to Hashem and forgiveness, the se’ir l’Azazel serves to quiet the forces of accusation and allow our tefillos to ascend unimpeded.
Rav Dessler reframes this concept not as a mystical mechanism but as a profound psychological principle in avodas Hashem. When one confronts a deeply ingrained inclination, attempting to eradicate it head-on often backfires. Total suppression can provoke stronger resistance and lead to failure. A wiser approach is to give a “bribe to the satan,”allow limited expression within carefully defined boundaries while gradually strengthening one’s mastery over the impulse.
He links this idea to the teaching of the Rishonim regarding the Torah’s command to leave one side open when laying siege to an enemy city. If the enemy has no possibility of escape, they will fight with desperate, all-out intensity. But when an avenue of retreat remains open, their resistance weakens.
This same principle applies to our inner struggle with the yetzer hara. When we try to crush or eliminate it entirely, the effort often backfires, stirring it to fight with even greater desperation and intensity. A wiser approach is thoughtful redirection. By harnessing the yetzer hara and channeling its powerful drives, we can transform its energy into a force for growth and positive action rather than allowing it to become destructive.
Bringing It Home
This principle has powerful relevance in our current cultural climate.
We readily accept the use of material incentives in chinuch. The Rambam (Peirush HaMishnayos, introduction to Sanhedrin, Chapter 10) explains that a young child cannot yet appreciate the inherent greatness of Torah. To motivate him, we offer simple rewards — nuts, figs, honey — until he matures enough to value Torah for its own sake. As he grows, the incentives evolve, serving as stepping stones toward genuine internal motivation.
Chazal (Bereishis Rabbah, Chapter 43) themselves recognized the potency of tangible incentives. The Gemara explains the words “vayarek es chanichav” (Bereishis 14:14) to mean that when Avraham Avinu went into battle, he emptied his treasury to support those who fought alongside him. This seems puzzling. Avraham’s followers were loyal; they would have gone at his command. Why the need to provide material support?
Avraham understood a fundamental truth about human nature: Tangible incentives strengthen commitment and performance. Even devoted individuals function more effectively when their efforts are reinforced in concrete ways. By providing material support, he ensured that his men entered battle with greater strength and resolve.
If this is true for children — and even for Avraham Avinu’s soldiers — it can certainly apply to us as well.
We live in a world saturated with comfort and taavah. Rather than viewing this reality solely as a threat, we can learn to harness it constructively. Instead of allowing indulgence to pull us away from growth, we can use it to propel us toward it.
There is a striking precedent for this approach among our greatest leaders.
Rabbi Avrohom Yachnes, a veteran mechanech in North Miami Beach, recalls struggling greatly early in his career. Assigned a particularly difficult class, he began to question whether he was suited to chinuch at all. A friend with access to Rav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv conveyed his predicament and asked for guidance.
Rav Elyashiv’s response was powerful. “I have heard,” he said, “that in America, they have foods called pizza and ice cream.”
He advised that at the end of each day of teaching, Rabbi Yachnes should buy himself a slice of pizza. This small daily incentive, he suggested, would provide the encouragement needed to persevere.
Rabbi Yachnes followed the advice — though he substituted a chocolate milkshake. Decades later, he reflected that this simple reward gave him the boost he needed to endure those difficult early years and remain in the profession he loved. From that struggling young rebbi emerged a mechanech who has influenced generations.
At first glance, such counsel may seem surprising from one of the greatest Torah authorities of the generation. Yet Rav Elyashiv, who lived with remarkable simplicity, recognized that even physical incentives can be harnessed to serve a higher goal.
Applying This Practically
Consider how this might look in our own lives:
A businessman commits to learning Daf Yomi daily and decides that after finishing the first masechta, he and his wife will take a modest getaway.
A working mother strengthens her consistency in tefillah and rewards herself with a meaningful purchase she has long wanted.
A father sets a goal of mastering a halachic topic he has long avoided and celebrates with a special family dinner out.
Someone working on patience at home sets measurable goals and marks milestones with incentives.
These are not acts of indulgence for their own sake. They are tools. They harness motivation rather than pretending it does not exist. And sometimes, that motivation can carry a person through years of growth.
And what begins as motivation by incentives at some point becomes genuine, self-driven growth. The sweetness of Torah becomes real. The calm of refined middos becomes satisfying. The clarity of consistent tefillah becomes sustaining.
There comes a point when doing the right thing truly does become its own reward. The need for incentives gradually fades. But that stage is typically reached over time.
The Rambam’s model is developmental: first nuts and honey, then honor, and eventually genuine love of Torah and mitzvos. As Chazal teach (Pesachim 50b), one should serve Hashem shelo lishmah, for through serving Hashem with even imperfect motivations, a person is gradually led to serve Him lishmah, with pure intent.
We live in a world of comfort and taavah. Pretending otherwise is unrealistic. The question is not whether we are motivated by enjoyment. The question is whether enjoyment will control us — or whether we will channel it.
Sometimes the yetzer hara must be fought. But sometimes it can be recruited in the service of something higher.
Used wisely — proportionately, thoughtfully, and temporarily — materialistic incentives can be the key to carry us from shelo lishmah to lishmah.
Until, one day, the mitzvah itself becomes the sweetest reward of all.
