The Journey to Imperfection: How to Embrace Growth Over Perfection

I'm a 20-year-old yeshiva student, and thankfully, I'm considered a good student. Lately, I've frequently found myself contemplating leaving the yeshiva and possibly my religious life altogether. Let me explain why this idea keeps coming back and won't leave me alone. Beside the obligatory halachic framework requiring us to observe mitzvot, there's also an expectation to engage in internal work, such as *avodat hamidot*, or personal development. This internal work, as far as I understand it, aims to transform oneself into a more refined, sensitive, and contemplative person—what is commonly called becoming a righteous person who performs 'work on one's character traits,' shuns all worldly vanities, and directs all actions 'for the sake of Heaven.' As our Sages said, "A Torah scholar whose inner essence does not match his outer appearance is akin to the lowest members of society." Even if I've learned a lot of Torah so far, it doesn't comfort me as long as I don't feel it within me. The greatest figures of our generation—those who have achieved and experienced such refinement—are people who have conquered all their earthly desires, who have battled anger to astonishing degrees, who are meticulous in avoiding wrongful gain and gossip. All the books describing their lives paint a picture of holiness and excellence that is not my heritage at all, and more than that, I feel I have no concept of what they're talking about. Intellectually, I understand the concept of their stories and am moved by it, yet it remains distant from me and not applicable to me. I have no hope of measuring up to the true righteous individuals unless Hashem transforms me into one while I sleep. But then I wouldn't recognize myself when I wake up in the morning. Thus, while I'm considered a top-tier student in yeshiva, in my heart, I feel like the last of the last, only a hair's breadth away from completely dropping out. This is because I lack any internal consistency between my outer and inner self. Indeed, often, especially after the Yamim Noraim and Yom Kippur, I resolve to pursue righteousness again and conquer it. After all, who will do it if not a sincere and serious student like me who genuinely wishes to grow and succeed? But I always fail spectacularly and accomplish nothing. That's why thoughts of casting off the yoke and giving up disturb my peace. I don't know if you'll choose to publish my letter. I wrote it because I didn't dare tell anyone I know the truth about what's going on inside me. Yeshayahu A. * * * Response from Rabbi Erez Moshe Doron: Firstly, I must say that your sincere desire and courage to lay your question before me have profoundly moved me. Who knows how many precious souls like yours suffer similar torment and can't find the strength to ask or seek a way out? I hope your question will also provide an answer for those less courageous and fearful of revealing themselves, and that my words will offer them healing. The answer to your question is—yes! One should strive for perfection. Indeed, the ultimate goal is to work on and improve oneself and one's inner life, just as one is commanded to observe a religious lifestyle outwardly. However, I believe the root of your issue lies in a mistaken definition of 'success' or 'progress.' In your view—and unfortunately, you are not alone in this bitter error—progress means perfection. That is, as long as you haven't achieved perfection in study, character traits, prayer, etc., you've achieved nothing and all efforts were in vain. Regrettably, this perspective finds unintentional support in many stories about the righteous and great figures in Jewish history. Almost invariably, these stories follow a recurring pattern: "Even from his youth, it was seen that he was righteous..." You find on the first page of the book: "He never played with other children in the Talmud Torah, only studied diligently. His noble qualities were legendary, he always conceded to everyone, progressed, sanctified himself, and rose higher and higher." And so it goes to the end of the book. You, the perplexed reader, are ashamed to admit that in your childhood, you showed no signs of righteousness, that you indeed enjoyed fooling around like everyone else. Like every normal person, you have experienced setbacks and failures, highs and lows, and you will never reach the perfection described in these stories. "Apparently," you say to yourself quietly when no one's listening, "I will never be a tsaddik. Indeed, you know the vast gap between you and those awe-inspiring figures described in endless stories." The authors of these books probably meant well—to inspire the youth about what greatness is and to guide them along the paths of the great. Nevertheless, they have made a grave and fatal error by rendering these greats as non-human, portraying them as high above the rest from their childhood. They have painted a distorted picture, because all the greats, without exception, were born with the same inclinations as us. Like us, they rose and fell, sought and searched, stumbled and prayed, and only through perpetual struggle with their inner evil did they gradually ascend higher and achieve what they did. As it says in Proverbs (24:16), "A righteous man falls seven times, yet rises again." Even a righteous person falls, but he gets up and starts over. He too, like everyone else, is prone to mistakes and errors. His closeness to Hashem was not inborn, and his elevation is solely due to his sacred work, not some unique familial lineage or miraculous trait. For this reason, the Torah goes to the lengths it does to highlight the missteps of all the righteous figures, without exception. Surely their missteps were subtle compared to ours, but the mention of them teaches us that they were human, they erred and made mistakes. Precisely because of this, you, the human reader, are capable, just like them, of reaching great heights. Both they and you are made from the same material—flesh and blood. Rav Yitzchak Hutner of blessed memory, in his book *Pachad Yitzchak – Letters and Writings*, wrote: "It's a damaging habit among us that when we deal with the perfection of our greats, we only address the final tally of their greatness. We recount their pathways to perfection while skipping over the internal battles waged within them. The impression given in our conversations about the greats is as if they emerged, fully formed, from their Maker. Everyone speaks, marvels, and lifts up the purity of speech of the Chofetz Chaim of blessed memory, but who knows of all the battles, struggles, obstacles, falls, and retreats he encountered in his war against his evil inclination?" *Every Struggle is an Eternal Acquisition* If success is solely defined by perfection, and if advancement only means reaching a complete and absolute righteousness (and is unattainable), then no one will likely achieve it. You might ask: Who said things are different? What value is there in striving for spiritual growth if the ultimate goal and perfection aren't reached? King David writes (Psalms 119:96): "I have seen a limit to all perfection, but Your commandments are boundless," which the Malbim explains: "In all worldly things, if one wants to reach fulfillment, the thing must first be completed, for fulfillment only comes in the finished matter, like sitting on a chair, which is the end goal, happens only if the chair is finished. But Your commandments, though boundless and unattainable... still achieve fulfillment, for every mitzvah is an end in itself! Also, pursuing the mitzvah is an end in itself! For the main purpose of a mitzvah is the belief in Hashem and obeying His commandments, and it brings satisfaction that He commanded and His will was done." In worldly matters, a thing only has purpose if it is complete. An unfinished house can't be lived in and is of no use. In serving Hashem, however, everything that is on the path to completion is an end in itself. Every verse you learn is an end in itself, every overcoming of character flaws is an eternal possession, even before you complete your work. Moreover, even "pursuing the mitzvah" is an end in itself. That means even the desire and effort to grow spiritually is called success. Even if you have accomplished nothing but this, in a way, you have already attained perfection! *Perfection in This World Means All or Nothing* The root of this mistake in perceiving perfection is very ancient, as the Midrash states—it was the root of the downfall and destruction of the generation of the Flood. The generation of the Flood had broad knowledge and expertise in all wisdom. How then did they become so wicked and sin so much that Hashem decreed total destruction upon His world? The people of that generation were aware of the struggle of good and evil within them. They had outstanding leaders, such as Chanoch, Methuselah, and Noach, who surely urged the masses to follow the path of goodness and righteousness. Not once or twice did they try to mend their ways and seek the light, until people arose among them and said—enough! "What profit is there in serving Him, and what benefit do we have if we beseech Him?" To the perfect, unblemished good, we cannot attain. As we advance, so does evil. Once we conquer our desires, twice they trip us up. If so, what's the point in serving the Creator, and what benefit will come of it? We cannot fully reach the good; we should not enjoy desires, as conscience troubles us endlessly day and night. Better, then, to get rid of it altogether! Let us decide to immerse in evil all the way, so we can at least enjoy this world. "No results," they claimed. "No progress is visible... Therefore, if we can't get it all—we'll opt for all or nothing, choosing nothingness over all. If we cannot get everything, we will resign to nothing, and soon fall into total nothingness and the world's destruction by the Flood." Ironically, their aspiration for perfection became their downfall and led to destruction on their heads. They wanted perfection as they understood it—perfection by the world's external standards: give me everything—now. I want to be the 'greatest'... not only the richest or mightiest but also the most righteous, the most spiritual, and the greatest scholar... Hashem tells us in the Torah and the words of the Sages, that true perfection is not necessarily reaching the finish line, but every movement and step toward it is called perfection. And we? When we cannot achieve our hoped-for good, cannot be successful or perfect to the very end, do we not also tend to abandon everything? Do we not also disregard our small, partial, and fragile achievements in the face of unreachable perfection? How long can one live with guilt and distance from perfection? Such thoughts and feelings lead many—as they led you, and as they led the people of the Flood—to the desperate and erroneous conclusion that it's better to give it all up. *True Perfection—Doing Hashem's Will Is Perfection* That aspiration for perfection, even though it undoubtedly has a holy source in the soul, also contains a dark, bottomless root. The 'all or nothing' mindset is mostly an overt expression of pride. Imagine: If we reached the anticipated perfection in learning, prayer, or character development with ease and speed, there's no doubt we would fall inescapably into the abyss of pride. "Look how successful I am, how righteous and learned I am..." We would delude ourselves with an illusion of perfection, and indeed would remain in a dreadful pit where not even a ray of light penetrates. For Hashem proclaims of the proud: "He and I cannot coexist in the world" (Sotah 5). The Talmud in Sanhedrin 104 describes an event involving Yeravam ben Nevat, who was a great evil-doer, where Hashem Himself offered him a path to repentance: "Rabbi Abba said, 'After Hashem grabbed Yeravam by his garment, He said: Return, and you'll have the pleasure of walking in Gan Eden with Me and the son of Yishai (David, the kingly messiah).' Yeravam responded, 'Who will lead?' 'The son of Yishai will lead,' he was told. 'If so, I wish for none of it,' replied Yeravam." Hashem approaches Yeravam and offers him to repent from his evil deeds and stroll together in Gan Eden with King David (!). Yeravam the wicked not only is unimpressed by the fact that Hashem Himself offers him the deal of a lifetime, but all that concerns him is "Who comes first," causing him to be willing to forsake everything!! Is it surprising? Mad? Not entirely. It is rather a demonstration of the well-known and familiar feeling of "all or nothing". "I want only the best! And otherwise, bring me the worst. Anything but mediocrity..." In the world of truth, the opposite stands true. "One who is small is great, and one who is great is small," declares the *Zohar* (Volume I, Page 122). He who rejoices in little and appreciates it, who embraces his shortcomings and distance from perfection with patience and forbearance, is truly great. He—lacking anything for boasting—can work solely for Hashem's sake, and "less, with intent (and for Heaven's sake) is better than much, without intent." On the other hand, the 'great' one, who wishes to devour everything and will settle for nothing less, is truly small. His quest for perfection is no more than one large expression of vanity, and thus he is ready to cast everything aside when his greatness does not turn out as planned. "The main purpose of a mitzvah is the belief in Hashem and obeying His commandments, and satisfaction He finds in that He commanded and we fulfilled His will". Such satisfaction is attained through every sacred act and every mitzvah, in every moment of study, and every word of prayer. Even "pursuing the mitzvah," as the Malbim puts it, which means desire and intent, "is an end in itself"! This is the perfection hidden in every move of holiness, and no other perfection exists beside it!