What might Hashem be teaching us through the evolution of the modern car?

This past year, I finally admitted it — my old car had reached the end of its road. After years of loyal service through many Montreal winters, potholes, and carpools, the repairs had become relentless. It was time to move on.

That’s when I discovered that cars today aren’t really cars anymore — they’re computers on wheels. Anything decent costs over $25,000 and comes loaded with features I never knew existed. They warn you if you drift from your lane, sense icy roads (which in Montreal is most of the year), remind you if you’ve left something in the back seat, and much more.

As I explored this world of advanced technology, I began to wonder: What might Hashem be teaching us through the evolution of the modern car?

Rav Matisyahu Salomon ztz”l once remarked on how refined, gentle bnei Torah can turn into entirely different people once they get behind the wheel. The same person who would never cut ahead in line might cut someone off in traffic. The same person who would never raise his voice might blare his horn in anger. What’s changed?

Driving gives us a powerful illusion of control. We press the pedal and two tons of steel surge forward at our command. It’s very empowering. And the moment something interrupts that sense of control — a delay, a slow driver, a missed turn — our calm evaporates. The ego that felt so powerful suddenly feels helpless.

And perhaps that’s why Hashem gave us today’s self-correcting, automated, even self-driving cars — to remind us that even when our hands are on the wheel, we were never really in control. The car that steers, talks to us, and protects us without our input is Hashem’s message: You were never the Driver — I am.

But if that’s true, a question remains: If our cars now humble us and remind us how little control we truly have, shouldn’t they be making us calmer? Shouldn’t road rage be disappearing? And yet, according to recent studies, the opposite has happened — frustration on the road, and in life, has only grown.

Why?

Life with Entitlement

Technology has undoubtedly made life smoother. Tasks that once took hours now take minutes, or even seconds. Yet with every new convenience, something subtle has changed within us: Our expectations have risen. When we expect everything to go perfectly, even the smallest delay feels intolerable.

This principle is rooted in a fascinating halachah in Hilchos Tzedakah.

The Gemara (Kesubos 67b) teaches:

“Dei machsoro asher yechsar lo — Sufficient for his lack, that which he is lacking.”

Chazal explain that if a once-wealthy person becomes poor, we are supposed to provide not only his basic needs — food, clothing, and shelter — but even the comforts and luxuries he once enjoyed. If he was accustomed to having a servant run before him or to riding upon a fine horse, we must provide those as well.

At first glance, this is puzzling. Tzedakah, we might think, is meant to sustain the needy, not to preserve luxury. Why should we supply a “horse,” the ancient equivalent of a Rolls-Royce?

Rav Yerucham Levovitz ztz”l explains that when a person becomes accustomed to a certain standard, even what began as luxury eventually turns into necessity. Human nature adapts. What once was indulgence becomes expectation, and losing it can cause real emotional pain. Therefore, the Torah commands us to restore the person to the level he now genuinely needs — not as a reward for his past wealth, but because his sense of balance and dignity depends upon it.

And perhaps this same truth explains why road rage — and, more broadly, rage itself — has only intensified in our generation.

We, too, have grown accustomed to comfort, speed, and instant gratification. We’ve become entitled. Just as the once-wealthy man’s luxuries became his needs, so, too, our modern conveniences have become our entitlements. When our phones deliver answers and results in seconds, we start to believe that life should always run smoothly and on schedule.

So when reality fails to cooperate — when traffic builds, when plans change — we feel deprived, even wronged. The Gemara’s words echo anew: “Dei machsoro asher yechsar lo.” What begins as luxury soon becomes necessity; what was once a privilege, we now mistake for a right.

And so, in a world overflowing with blessings, our frustration grows — not because life has gotten harder, but because our expectations have.

I once heard Rav Yisroel Reisman remark that years ago, driving to a wedding from Lakewood to Brooklyn was an adventure. You brought along a hand-drawn map, missed a few turns, laughed about it, and arrived late — but calm, because you expected it.

Today, Waze predicts our arrival time to the minute. So when the ETA changes from 6:42 to 6:49, we’re furious. What changed? Only our expectations.

Happiness — on the road and in life — has little to do with what happens and everything to do with what we expect. Frustration lives in the gap between expectation and reality. Because our standards have risen with technology, even the smallest delay feels unbearable.

When we accept that detours and delays are part of Hashem’s plan, serenity returns. The secret to happiness isn’t a perfect road — it’s trusting the One Who charts the course.

Recently, while traveling with my wife by plane, I told her, “Every time I fly these days, there’s a delay or cancelation — and I always get frustrated. This time, I’m expecting it.” Sure enough, the delay came, but it didn’t bother me. Because I had anticipated it, I stayed calm.

Even my difficulty falling asleep was solved with this approach. I used to lie awake for hours, frustrated that I couldn’t fall asleep. Then I began expecting to toss and turn, using the time to think or reflect. The moment I stopped fighting it, I relaxed — and sleep came quickly.

It’s all about expectations. When we demand smooth sailing, every bump feels like failure. But when we anticipate a few waves along the way, the turbulence loses its sting.

The same principle holds true in relationships. Want better shalom bayis? Expect disagreements. The healthiest couples aren’t those who never argue, but those who remain steady when they do. Expect imperfection — and you’ll discover peace.

One man constantly fought with his wife over parking tickets that she got. Finally, his rav told him, “If this has been happening for years and you can’t change it, stop fighting it. Expect it. Just like you expect to pay your electric bill and your gas bill, expect a ticket bill.” The advice worked. Once he accepted it, the anger vanished, because the bill was something he anticipated.

Our modern cars — and our modern lives — may run smoother than ever, but our expectations have grown even faster. And that is why road rage and general frustration have grown. True serenity comes from expecting imperfection and embracing it as part of Hashem’s plan.

Chazal capture this truth in just a few words (Avos 2:7):
“Marbeh nechasim, marbeh da’agah — the more possessions, the more worry.”

The more we accumulate, the more our expectations rise. And with every raised bar comes new stress, new pressure, new dissatisfaction. Entitlement might feel empowering in the moment, but in the long run, it drains the joy out of life.

Because happiness doesn’t come from getting everything we want — it comes from wanting a little less.

When we loosen our grip on what we think we “need,” we make space for gratitude, peace, and genuine joy. Sometimes, the richest feeling in the world is realizing we already have enough.

Rabbi Aryeh Kerzner is the rav of Agudas Yisrael of Montreal and a noted posek and popular speaker. Many of his shiurim and speeches are available online. He is the author of the sefer Halachah at Home, published by ArtScroll/Mesorah.  

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1085)