When we accept responsibility for doing something, that means doing everything we can to succeed

A few years ago, an IDF platoon raided a terrorist’s home in an extremely complex operation. One of the tacticians involved said they had charted out eight different plans for approaching the house. Having a Plan B is rule number one in military strategy. A plan might be perfect on paper, but in real life, surprises are inevitable. A commander who sends his soldiers to battle without a Plan B is a murderer.

When a duty falls to us, and failure is not an option, formulating only one plan would be deeply irresponsible. So why is it that we approach so many of our obligations with only one plan? I’ve heard many people lament their difficulties in chinuch, in tefillah, in learning, but when I ask them if they’ve tried a different approach, they look at me bewildered.

And because we only have one plan, we don’t accept responsibility if we fail. We did our best, we think, so if it didn’t work out, it’s not our fault. I can’t raise my kids to have derech eretz; kids today are all impudent monsters. I have a lot on my mind, so I can’t daven with kavanah. I have a lousy memory, so I can’t remember anything I learn. So we come to terms with failure by saying “we just have to do our hishtadlus.”

But think about different strategies? That never even dawns on us. It’s true that everything is in Hashem’s hands. But when we accept responsibility for doing something, that means doing everything we can to succeed. A general doesn’t send his soldiers off with one plan saying, “Have no fear — I’ve done my hishtadlus.”

Don’t worry. I don’t mean we need to be brilliant strategists who work out eight plans in advance. All we need to do is learn from experience. When we see beyond doubt that an approach isn’t working, it’s time to think of alternatives. In other areas in life, we constantly learn from experience. Someone who seriously resolves to get in shape will try diet after diet, exercise plan after exercise plan, till he find something that works. Someone who invests money unsuccessfully will quickly find a different investment strategy. So why is it that, especially when it comes to religious obligations, we repeat the same mistaken approach again and again?

The trap we fall into is the assumption that the direct path is the only one. Imagine someone who decides to travel to Alaska. He takes out a compass and map, determines the exact bearing, and starts driving as the crow flies. Within seconds he hurtles off the road and plunges into a lake. We all know that the route to a destination is almost never direct. You can’t just say, “Okay, I’m going to Alaska.”

Yet every time we begin Shemoneh Esreh, we tell ourselves, “Okay, now, have kavanah.” It’s not enough to “just do it.” We need a plan to get there.

Some mitzvos are fulfilled by a straightforward action. Affix a mezuzah; put on tefillin. Other mitzvos are concerned with achieving a desired result. Educating our children, davening with kavanah, remembering what we learn — these are a few examples of mitzvos that present us with a goal to reach, not just something to do. But we don’t see a destination. We just see a task we need to do, so the most linear approach is automatically the only one.

I have to raise my sons to learn Torah. So what’s the way to do it? Make them learn Torah. After a full day in cheder, we force or bribe them to go to extracurricular learning programs. I’m teaching my son to value Torah. But while this approach works for some boys, it doesn’t work for others.

Last month I mentioned my son who became a masmid by playing kugelach (chamesh avanim). I would never have thought of that path on my own, but life taught me to think outside the box. But others don’t learn from experience, because they only see an obligation to do, not a destination to reach. So the possibility of an alternate path never crosses their mind, even when their approach fails again and again.

I know parents who fight with their children every single evening to get them to bed. The children don’t listen, the parents raise their voice, the children defy them, the parents yell louder, till the kids are screaming and crying and certainly not in bed. But when I ask them why they stick so stubbornly to an approach that’s totally ineffective, they reply: “I need to teach my kids to listen to their parents.”

It’s true, the Torah obligates us to establish parental authority in the home. But people assume that the only way to do that is to flex their muscles and show them who’s boss.

When it comes to learning, many people think: What’s the way to remember the Gemara I just learned? To memorize the words of the Gemara. They read the Gemara over and over, trying to drill the words into their head. That method works for some people. But for many others, it bears no fruit and just frustrates them. In chadarim, some boys watch in pain as their friends memorize hundreds of mishnayos while they can’t succeed in memorizing any. Tragically, many people immediately conclude that they have a poor memory and give up on remembering what they learn. They don’t consider the possibility that they might simply learn differently. Different types of learners remember information in different ways, but people assume that verbal memorization is the one and only way.

In davening, we all want to say the words with kavanah. Far too many people assume that the only way to say the words with kavanah is to say them slowly, one by one. That works for some people in some circumstances, but many times, in the pauses between words, our minds take off to all sorts of interesting places. It never occurs to us that when we’re tired or have a lot on our mind, the best way to have kavanah might be to daven with the flow and pace of a natural conversation.

In other areas of life, we think pragmatically and creatively. That’s because we recognize that our goal is a distant destination, and the way to get there is a process. But people don’t view mitzvos that way. We think the mitzvah is just an item on our to-do list we need to cross off. So we never question our assumption that the most direct way to do it is the only way. In our eyes, changing strategy is tantamount to abandoning the mitzvah.

When I advise people who constantly clash with their children to try a different approach, many times they respond, “What, I don’t need to teach my kids to listen?” Of course you need to do the mitzvah. But a mitzvah like chinuch isn’t a straightforward task to simply perform. It’s a destination, and the way to reach it might be less obvious than the most direct path. Finding another path isn’t abandoning the mitzvah; it’s the key to fulfilling it.

If we find ourselves repeatedly falling short in a certain mitzvah, it’s likely a sign that our approach is kadosh in our eyes. If we want to be responsible, we’d better ask ourselves: Do we have a Plan B? If not, why not? Have we forgotten that chinuch, tefillah, learning, and many other mitzvos are processes, not tasks? Once we’ve realized that, our minds will be free to think pragmatically. We’ll begin to learn from failure, instead of lamenting it. Then, with Hashem’s help, we can begin to live responsibly.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 838)