One of the most honest questions I’ve ever been asked came from inside a prison.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t come from anger.
It came quietly, almost carefully, as if the person asking it had been carrying it for a long time.

“Rabbi,” he said, “if I knew what I was doing was wrong… why did I still do it?”

That question has stayed with me, because it isn’t really a prison question. It’s a human one. And it leads to a deeper question that most of us don’t like to sit with for too long:

Who are you making king over your life?

Whether we realize it or not, everyone serves something. Freedom doesn’t mean serving nothing—it means choosing who or what gets authority over you. The real choice isn’t whether we serve, but what we become subservient to.

Some people choose to serve something higher than themselves: truth, responsibility, meaning, God, the belief that they were created for a reason and that their choices matter. Others end up serving their impulses—their desires, their fears, their habits, their anger, their hunger for escape. That voice inside that says, “Just this once,” or “It won’t matter,” or “You deserve it.”

That voice is very persuasive. And if you listen to it long enough, it doesn’t just suggest—it rules.

Almost everyone I’ve spoken to in prison has said some version of the same thing when we talk honestly. “I knew it was wrong when I was doing it.” That’s important, because it means the issue was never a lack of knowledge. It was a choice about which voice to obey.

There is a quiet inner voice that most people have. Some call it conscience. Some call it truth. Some call it God. It says things like, “Stop,” or “This isn’t who you want to be,” or “This is going to cost you.” God made the world in such a way that the truth is never completely taken away from a person. You can ignore it. You can numb it. You can push it aside. But it doesn’t disappear.

When people say, “I lost control,” what they often mean is that they kept choosing not to listen. Ignoring the truth doesn’t mean you lack control—it means you’re using your control in the opposite direction. And that matters.

I have a song called Just One Cigarette. It’s about the way people justify things they already know they shouldn’t be doing. “It’s just one.” “I’ll stop tomorrow.” “I’ve had a rough day.” “This isn’t really who I am.” That kind of thinking doesn’t just apply to cigarettes. It applies to violence, addiction, theft, dishonesty, and crossing lines we once swore we wouldn’t cross.

Small compromises don’t feel dangerous in the moment. They feel manageable. Reasonable. Harmless. But when they stack up, they build a life a person never planned on living. And the hardest part to admit is that at every step along the way, there was still a choice.

Here’s an image that helps explain it. Imagine someone building a structure, one level at a time. At first, they can step down whenever they want. No problem. But they keep building. Eventually, the structure gets so high that jumping down would destroy them. At that point they say, “I can’t get down anymore.” And in that moment, they might be right. But it didn’t start that way. They chose to keep building.

This is how habits form. This is how addictions grow. This is how people end up trapped. Sometimes outside help is needed. Authorities step in. Systems intervene. Consequences arrive. But spiritual growth begins with one honest sentence: “I helped build this.” Because if you helped build it, change is still possible.

In ancient times, people worshipped idols made of stone and wood. Today, we build idols out of comfort, pleasure, control, image, money, and escape. We serve them. We obey them. We sacrifice for them. And before we realize it, they become our kings. Whatever you crown as king over your life will eventually tell you what to do, and it won’t care what it costs you.

There’s an idea taught quietly in Jewish wisdom that as the world moves closer to redemption, what matters most won’t be how spiritual people sound, but who they choose to listen to when it counts. You may not control every circumstance in your life. You may not control where you are right now. But you always control who you listen to next.

The most powerful moment in a person’s life is when they stop building higher towers of excuse and say, “I’m ready to listen again.” That moment is where change begins. That’s where redemption begins. Even here. Especially here.