It's that special time of the year again when supermarkets in heavily Jewish neighborhoods advertise their Passover wares, all conveniently stocked under one roof. And inevitably, something along the lines of "Helping you celebrate freedom!" will grace those holiday ads.

The advertising executives, with their catchy phrases, harken us back to the times when G-d redeemed his people from the bonds of Egypt, that we may lighten our pockets at our local grocery stores.

It may sound unusual, but every year when I encounter these advertising slogans it brings about a particularly painful and prolonged visceral reaction inside of me. It bothers me. Do these chain stores think they understand the freedom that I am celebrating? For that matter, I'm not sure my fellow Jews understand either.

I imagine families around their seder tables, struggling in to connect to a story of slavery and redemption thousands of years old. More recent examples of slavery and freedom from bondage will become topics of conversation. The slavery and liberation of black slaves in the South will surely be referenced, and perhaps a somber contemplation of the current plight of Yazidi women in the hands of ISIS. The value of freedom will be extolled and most likely blessings of life in America will be acknowledged, the land of the free.

The modern conception of freedom, however, is far from the Biblical freedom that we commemorate in the yearly seder. For all of the blessings that modern freedom affords us, it has been a mixed blessing for the Jews. There has never been a time in our history with as much religious freedom, economic opportunity or physical security than now in America, and there has also never been a time of such great internal defection, with nearly six-in-10 Jews intermarrying, and one-in-five Jews describing themselves as having no religion. Just 19 percent of Jewish adults say that observing Jewish law is essential to being Jewish, according to the Pew Research Center, and just 26 percent of U.S. Jews describe their religion as very important in their lives.

It's no surprise, then, that Hanukkah has overtaken Passover as the most widely celebrated Jewish holiday. Tim Newcomb, in a 2011 article in Time said, "The lack of strict rules makes the holiday easy -- and fun -- to celebrate, which may be why research now shows Hanukkah is more celebrated -- whether through the lighting of candles, gift giving, attending a party or a full celebration of the festival in Jewish practice -- than even Passover."

Hanukkah, unlike Passover with it's myriad rituals and requirements, is the quintessential holiday for the modern, "free" American Jew.

What, then, is this freedom the Torah asks us to commemorate for all generations? If you read the Biblical text carefully, you will notice that the Exodus of the Israelites from Egypt is not so much a freedom from bondage but a transfer of ownership from one slave master to another. As Moses stresses over and over in the Biblical narrative, it is only for the purpose of serving the one and only G-d at the holy mountain that the Hebrews were to leave the confines of Egypt.

The Jews were to leave the tyrannical rule of a human despot for the loving service of their maker on high. The sages of the Talmud hint to the Torah's unique vision of freedom by pointing out the same letters in the word cheirut, freedom, also comprise the word charut, engraved, a reference to the engraved lettering of the ten commandments of stone. True freedom is only found in adherence to divine law.

Here lies the paradox of the Passover celebration. The night of the celebration of our freedom is commemorated in highly legalized pageantry. The name of the night's proceedings, the seder, meaning order, is taken from the detailed laws that dominate the night.

The freedom that we commemorate on Passover is a liberty laced with great personal responsibility. If we exercise our freedoms to fulfill our obligations and spiritual calling, then freedom becomes a vehicle for good. But if we approach freedom as carte blanche to do as we please, then freedom takes away more from us than it offers in return.

The freedom of our country gave a broken people reeling from the horrors of Nazi Europe a fresh chance at life, and it has also, unmistakably, taken a toll on our people's spiritual core. As we celebrate our freedom, let us also remember the costs.

Rabbi Yogi Robkin is the director of outreach at Data of Plano. Email: yrobkin@gmail.com