Growing up, wine was more than just a drink; it was a symbol of joy, holiness, and a way to elevate the everyday in my life. Whether it was during the weekly Kiddush—a blessing pronounced over a cup of wine on Shabbat—or festive holidays like Purim, Passover, and Simchat Torah, wine held a revered place in the tapestry of Jewish traditions.
However, the recent surgeon general’s report linking alcohol consumption to cancer has deeply unsettled me. It serves as a stark reminder that even our cherished traditions come with risks that cannot be ignored.
This advisory highlights a terrifying reality: even moderate alcohol consumption is associated with various cancers, such as breast, liver, and esophageal cancer. For a long time, the prevailing view was that only excessive drinking was harmful. Now, it seems that even casual drinking can pose a severe threat. As a father of four and a member of a community where celebrations often include wine and spirits, this warning is one I cannot ignore.
In Judaism, alcohol has always had a special role. Unlike certain religions, such as Islam, which completely prohibit it, Jewish tradition embraces alcohol as a means to foster joy, connection, and spirituality. The Talmud famously states, “There is no joy without wine,” while the mystical Zohar suggests that wine can uncover hidden truths.
For Chabad Hasidim, where joy is a central theme, alcohol often features prominently in community gatherings known as farbrengens. Recognizing the potential risks, the community’s Rebbe prohibited excessive drinking as far back as 1962.
Yet even when alcohol is used moderately within sacred settings, the recent scientific findings urge a reevaluation. Cancer doesn’t discriminate based on context. A wine glass held high to sanctify the Sabbath poses the same risk as a glass raised in a bar. Although the Torah commands us to safeguard our health, it’s easy to forget this when tradition feels so immutable.
Of course, many in Jewish communities abstain from alcohol altogether, and perhaps we could learn from their example. Jewish law even permits grape juice as a substitute for wine in rituals like Kiddush and the four cups of the Passover seder, preserving the sanctity without the risks.
Christian communities face similar dilemmas with Communion wine, symbolizing Christ’s blood. Many Protestant churches have opted for grape juice, addressing health concerns and accommodating those who choose to avoid alcohol for any reason.
Historically, advisories like the one from the Surgeon General have had significant impacts, such as reducing smoking rates from 42% in 1965 to less than 12% today. Despite occasional shortcomings, like early dietary guidelines or initial COVID-19 mask advice, these advisories demonstrate that as science evolves, so does public guidance. This progress reflects the strength of scientific inquiry, not its failure.
Even if moderate drinking remains generally accepted, it’s a slippery slope—and not always safe. I’ve witnessed spiritual gatherings where participants started with melodies and stories, accompanied by modest toasts. For some, it escalates into something unhealthy. While most people proceed with caution, both my Chabad community and society often normalize alcohol use, leaving little room to challenge this norm. The recent report from the surgeon general urges us not to hide behind tradition when new knowledge calls for change.
As a parent, this is especially poignant. When I raise a glass for Kiddush in front of my children, am I inadvertently promoting something harmful? It’s imperative that we preserve the holiness of our rituals while mitigating their potential dangers.
Judaism has long championed this balance. The Talmud warns against overindulgence, and Maimonides teaches that true joy comes from wisdom and moderation.
Perhaps it’s time to broaden the conversation. What if we made Kiddush with nonalcoholic options more often, like grape juice? What if our “L’chaim” toasts were made over mocktails instead of cocktails?
Judaism, an ancient yet vibrant faith, owes much of its endurance to its flexible approach: adapting age-old practices to modern realities without losing sight of core values. Just as matrimonial laws evolved to protect individual rights, so too must our handling of alcohol reflect an unwavering commitment to life’s sanctity over ritual.
Reflecting on my late father, I feel a sense of validation. His criticism of Hasidic Judaism was partly rooted in its acceptance of alcohol. At farbrengens, he avoided vodka and particularly disapproved when minors were involved. His stance planted a seed within me that holiness should never come at the expense of health or truth.
The choice of what fills our glass—and what it signifies—is entirely ours. Let’s choose thoughtfully.
Eli Federman frequently writes about the intersection of religion and society. You can follow him on X: @EliFederman.
