Can it really be true that we’re naturally wired to find joy in avodas Hashem?

TO

begin on a light and cheerful note, let’s turn our attention to parshas Ki Savo, perek 28. The majority of the perek gives a chilling list of horrible calamities Hashem threatens to inflict on the Jewish People. What would trigger these calamities? If the Jewish People were to fail to serve Hashem b’simchah uv’tuv leivav, “with joy and gladness of heart.”

Did you ever find Hashem’s apparent strategy here puzzling? If you were a chinuch expert, would you advise parents to teach their children to serve Hashem with joy by threatening drastic punishments if they fail to be joyful?

Of course not. So why does Hashem seem to be doing just that?

The answer? That we’re asking this question because of a misconception we have about avodah.

We think that when it comes to serving Hashem, our default state is disconnect. If we want to achieve connection and joy, we need to make a dramatic change. So we’re wondering why Hashem deemed harsh threats to be the most effective motivator in helping us bring ourselves to simchah.

But that’s not really true. Every Jew is actually set to a default state of “avodas Hashem b’simchah.” We’re naturally wired to find joy in avodas Hashem. So Hashem isn’t trying to force simchah out of us by making punishment the alternative. He’s simply warning us to preserve our default. To keep ourselves from losing our focus and straying to other joys incompatible with avodas Hashem.

Light and Pleasant?

Can it really be true that we’re naturally wired to find joy in avodas Hashem?

Yes, says the Dubno Maggid. Commenting on the famous pasuk (Devarim 30:14), “Ki karov eilecha hadavar me’od, b’ficha u’vilvavcha, laasoso,” the Maggid tells of a merchant who came home from an overseas buying trip. He walked off the ship, told a porter where to find his bags, and hired himself a carriage home.

Later that day, a panting, sweat-soaked porter knocked on his door. “Here are your bags,” he wheezed.

The merchant shook his head. “Impossible. I’m a jewelry merchant. My bags are light and pleasant to carry. They wouldn’t have exhausted you so.”

The nimshal? Avodas Hashem isn’t meant to be heavy. Overwhelming. Grueling. It’s actually meant to be “light and pleasant.” And we Jews are naturally wired to experience it that way.

Which of course sparks a burning question.

If avodah is meant to be “light and pleasant,” and we’re naturally wired to find joy in it — why don’t we? Why do we often feel exactly the opposite?

With Yom Kippur and teshuvah featuring prominently in our thoughts, this question feels especially urgent. We want to change. We really want to do better. But it’s all so overwhelming, so difficult.

And it’s always been so. Some years, few and far between, our post-Yom Kippur kabbalos have lasted until Rosh Chodesh Kislev. Most years, they didn’t even see the dawn of Cheshvan. Some didn’t even survive the busy transition into Succos.

Why? What makes it so impossibly hard for us to stick to change?

Slipping Into Simchah

Think about a hobbyist. No cooking fan or basketball lover or musician needs accountability or consequences to keep at his hobby. Why not? Because when we enjoy something, we stick to it. We dedicate time and effort to it out of natural desire.

That’s how Rav Yisrael Salanter defines “simchah” — the state we’re in when the activity we’re engaged in resonates with us. When we’re naturally in sync with it.

Our hobbies align with our nature. So they bring us to a state of simchah. We work on them out of joy — even if the work calls for sweat and strain. We stick to them over time.

We tend to assume that when it comes to spiritual growth, harder equals better. That we’re supposed to push ourselves to our very limits at every opportunity. After all, aren’t we taught that the higher we shoot, the better, and that the more we sacrifice, the greater our reward will be?

There’s a time and place for this approach to avodah. But when we make it our ongoing outlook on everyday Yiddishkeit, we set ourselves up for burnout. Far from helping us achieve a state of simchah in avodah, this approach drives many of us into a state of too-painful strain, of relentless exertion. Which simply isn’t sustainable.

If we want our Yom Kippur kabbalos to actually change us, if we want to achieve growth that lasts, we need to find a way to enjoy it. We need to figure out how to naturally slip into a state of simchah as we work — so the changes we make can stick long-term.

The question, of course, is how to do that.

Start with What’s Natural

One of my first conversations with my rebbi, Rav Reuven Leuchter shlita, touched on this topic. A serious yeshivah bochur, I was filled with aspirations — and struggling to meet them all. I wanted my rebbi to teach me the secret to “making it” spiritually.

He responded with a question: Where does the Torah discuss she’ifos, spiritual aspirations?

I quickly offered the Tanna d’Vei Eliyahu’s famous line: Masai yagiu maasai l’maasei avosai? “When will my deeds come close to those of my great forefathers?”

My rebbi shook his head. Rav Yerucham Levovitz, he told me, finds the Torah source for she’ifos in the Midrash Koheles (1:13) that states: “One who has 100 wants to make from it 200, and one who has 200 wants to make from it 400.”

We commonly interpret this statement to be referring to man’s greed. But Rav Yerucham understood it differently. He read it as a statement about the nature of personal growth.

We don’t grow best by aspiring toward goals far above ourselves, and pushing relentlessly until we attain them. We grow best by finding the “100” inside us — the growth we’ve already achieved, the element of connection we naturally feel with an area of avodas Hashem — and building from there.

Once we discover — and celebrate — that “100,” we trigger a natural urge to take a small step forward. And then another, and another. Our pasuk doesn’t move straight from 100 to one million. It moves up incrementally — 100, then 200, then 400. And we should do the same — building in small increments, slowly pushing forward as the natural connection and resonance we feel toward the work we’re doing grows alongside us.

How would that work practically? Here’s an example. Chaim works hard all week, and Shabbos is his only time to unwind. For him, that includes spending his seudos schmoozing with his family about the week’s news.

This year, he decides he wants to work on elevating his Shabbos table. If he makes a blanket ban on all current events talk at his seudos, or even at one seudah, chances are he’ll stumble quickly.

What if he took our 100-200 approach instead? What if he thought about what he’s already doing well in his kibbud Shabbos, or what he already connects to?

If he’s musical, and he’s always enjoyed singing zemiros, he could commit to singing two or three more zemiros at each Shabbos seudah. He’d be bringing more elevated content to his Shabbos table, leaving less room for mundane discussion, and doing it in a way he enjoys. With this change, his Shabbos seudos would naturally take on a more Shabbosdig emphasis, making it less alien and more natural for him and his family to shift their behavior. And not just more natural — more desirable as well, as they begin to taste that satisfied, elevated feeling that comes from a Shabbos seudah well spent.

If, as Tishrei turns into Cheshvan and Kislev, Chaim stays focused on why he’s singing these extra zemiros, that awareness, plus the natural shift his action is creating, will furnish the momentum he needs to keep taking incremental steps forward — not solemnly and with a krechtz, but b’simchah uv’tuv leivav.

Making It Real

What area of avodas Hashem are you thinking about improving in this year? How can you use the 100-200 approach to choose the right kabbalah?

Say you want to work on kavanah in davening. Choose one paragraph, or one brachah of Shemoneh Esreh, that already catches your attention. Maybe you find it especially meaningful. Maybe it just interests you. Whatever the reason, commit to learning more about the meaning of that one passage.

What you’ve learned will automatically come to mind when you recite the brachah or pesukim. You’ll find the experience of reciting that passage with kavanah fulfilling, perhaps even enjoyable. You’ll also enjoy the good feeling of having accomplished what you set out to do.

These experiences will breed within you a natural interest in learning about another passage, and then another. Slowly, you’ll reach a place where you find it genuinely “light and pleasant” to maintain kavanah during significant chunks of davening.

Serving Hashem b’simchah uv’tuv leivav truly isn’t that far from us. When we approach growth with this 100-200 approach — taking actions aligned with our nature, and moving forward in small increments — significant teshuvah truly becomes karov me’od.

That’s not to say it won’t require effort. It will. It’ll also require focus and consistency. To borrow the Dubno Maggid’s phrasing, we’ll still be carrying packages. But when we work on ourselves from within outward, we’ll feel light. Our journey will be pleasant.

And we’ll discover on our own that our bags contain precious gems — the deep fulfillment and satisfaction of meaningful avodas Hashem. —

Rabbi Levi Lebovits is the director of the Vaad Project, an initiative to help Jews worldwide find joy, meaning, and fulfillment in their Judaism. He has studied for over 20 years under Rav Reuven Leuchter, and has authored step-by-step guides on teshuvah and the Haggadah.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1080)