August 30, 2024|כ"ו אב ה' אלפים תשפ"ד Redefining Resilience: The Journey Beyond Results By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

This week, during our high school’s faculty orientation, Mrs. Yael Kaisman—a teacher, lecturer, life coach, and outreach professional—gave a thought-provoking presentation on resilience. Her insights not only reshaped how I think about resilience in the context of high school students, but also how it applies to each of us on a personal level. Previously, when I thought of resilience, the Biblical phrase from Mishlei “sheva yipol tzaddik v’kam”—a righteous person falls seven times and rises—came to mind. I understood resilience as the ability to rise and try again, no matter how many times we fail. I saw failure as a step in the learning process, something to embrace as we work towards getting it right. The Hebrew word “chet,” meaning sin, also signifies missing the mark, suggesting that each miss brings us closer to hitting the target. Our mission in life isn't about achieving “shlemut” (perfection) but rather “hishtalmut,” the process of becoming complete. It’s the journey, not the destination, that truly matters. These ideas have been invaluable to me during times of struggle and failure.

Mrs. Kaisman introduced additional language that further enriched my understanding of resilience. She emphasized the importance of internalizing two key phrases: “l’fum tza’ara agra”—we are rewarded according to the effort we put in, and “hakol bidei shamayim chutz mi’yirat shamayim”—everything is in the hands of Heaven except for the fear of Heaven. The essence of resilience lies in recognizing that it’s the effort, not the outcome, that counts. Ultimately, God determines the results of our efforts. We might be just as qualified as someone else for a job and still not receive the offer, or we might study hard for a test only to freeze during the exam and not achieve a high score. The only thing within our control is our fear of Heaven, our actions, and our efforts.

This approach aligns with Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler’s famous essay on free will. Rabbi Dessler explains that we are not judged solely by the mitzvot we observe or the sins we commit but by the choices we make. If I grew up in a Shabbat-observant home and someone else grew up without knowledge of Shabbat, the other person’s observance would be rewarded more than mine. For me, keeping Shabbat isn’t much of a choice—there’s no inner conflict—but for someone who wasn’t raised with it, the struggle is significant, and so is the reward. It’s all about the effort, not the number of mitzvot observed or sins committed.

Internalizing these concepts is challenging, especially in a world that celebrates results. We often hear, "I won this award," "I got the highest grade," or "I was accepted to a prestigious school," and it's easy to equate our worth with these accomplishments. In education, we assess results to help students identify their strengths and potential career paths. After all, if God has given us certain talents or skills, we are responsible for using them for the betterment of society.

However, these societal accolades do not define who we are. We live in two worlds simultaneously: the external world, which celebrates results often beyond our control, and the internal world, where we are defined by our efforts. Our externally-based world praises innate skills and talents, but it’s our internally-based world, where we are rewarded for our efforts and unique contributions, that truly defines us. Here, criticism becomes an opportunity for growth and deeper expression of our true value.

The key to navigating our internal world is honesty. When a teacher returns a test, the grade reflects the student’s understanding of the material—part of their external world—but it doesn’t define them. What truly defines a student is the effort they put into preparing for the test. The teacher cannot assess how hard the student tried to pay attention in class or how diligently they studied; only the student knows the answers to these questions. Therefore, the student must be honest with themselves, asking whether they did their best or if they could have done better.

Ultimately, this is how each of us should define ourselves in life. We could measure our lives by our accomplishments, salaries, degrees, and personal satisfaction, but these may not tell the whole story. To the outside world, our achievements might seem impressive, but perhaps we could have tried harder and accomplished even more. Conversely, our achievements might seem modest, but our efforts could have been superhuman. If that’s the case, then that’s who we truly are—superhuman.

As we continue striving for great results, we should see them as a means to actualize our God-given skills and talents for the benefit of the world. At the same time, we must make room in our lives for honest self-reflection, asking ourselves if we are truly fulfilling the dictum of “l’fum tza’ara agra,” doing our best. Because, in the end, that is the true measure of resilience.