Even Less is Even More

Solomon Berezin
12 hours ago
4 min read

I recently came across a story about a student determined to become a monk. I adapted it to fit closer to my world: a student determined to become a master Chassidic Rabbi.

There was once a young student named Yosef, who was determined to become a Chassidic Rabbi. Yosef believed that jewish spiritual enlightenment was achieved through willpower and relentless discipline. He rose earlier and went to sleep later than everyone else, spending every waking hour in study, meditation, prayer, and strenuous effort.

His Rebbe, an old master with a gentle smile, observed Yosef’s drive with quiet concern.

One day, Yosef approached him.

“Rebbe,” he asked eagerly, “if I learn twice as much as everyone else, how long will it take me to reach enlightenment?”

The Rebbe answered calmly, “Ten years.”

Confused, Yosef pressed on:

“What if I learn four times as much? I’ll pray and learn every waking hour, sleep only two

hours a night. How long then?”

After a pause, the Rebbe replied, “Twenty years.”

Yosef was stunned. “But Rebbe, how can more effort make it take longer?”

This story resonates with me so deeply and honestly leads me to feel very emotional.

The yetzer hara, the ego and inner resistance, isn’t always obvious. It doesn’t only tempt us with things that are blatantly wrong or unhealthy. Sometimes it comes dressed in the cloak of piety, urging us to do “more holy things.” As the Hayom Yom on Sivan 23 writes, “ [the yetzer hara] may clothe itself in the garb of an earnest, straightforward, humble tzadik, possessing fine traits of character.” It can sound like an earnest tzadik, righteous individual, inside your head, pushing you to extremes that appear virtuous but in truth disconnect you from balance, joy, and Hashem Himself.

In my three years in yeshiva, learning Chassidus each morning has become a foundation of my day. The teachings of the Rebbeim light up my mornings and often guide my prayers. An hour of study before prayer felt like the perfect rhythm.

But slowly, without noticing, it hardened into an unhealthy must. Especially as I began feeling pain and tension in my body intensify and negatively influence my frame of mind.

It wasn’t a conscious belief, like “I must learn an hour or else my davening won’t count,” but a subtle, subconscious grip. The same tightness that used to show up in sports, meditation, or self-development now showed up in areas of holiness, like learning Torah and Chassidus, and prayer. This time, the yetzer hara disguised itself in holiness.

It’s true, as the Rebbe Rashab is quoted in the HaYom Yom for 22 Tammuz, that “a chassidic teaching clears one’s mind and cleanses one’s heart.” But where does it say that only sixty minutes does the trick? Isn’t one word of Chassidus studied with depth capable of transforming a person?

The yetzer hara cleverly twists good habits into rigid chains. One moment it whispers, “Don’t learn at all.” The next, it says, “Unless you learn X amount, you’re worthless.” Both messages come from the same place.

So how do we recognize its tactics? How do we tell the difference between healthy discipline and unhealthy pressure?

I remembered something Jim Kwik once taught in a speed-reading course: true mastery is not reading fast all the time, but knowing when to read fast and when to slow down.

And I remembered my own meditative encounter with my “older, wiser self” (link below). When I asked how to release tension, he told me simply: “This that you know less is more…even less is even more.”

That was the answer.

It’s not about how much time, but about presence. It’s not “practice makes perfect.” It’s perfect practice makes perfect. Not “no pain, no gain.” There can be gain without pain. It is not just quality over quantity. Even to the voice that says, “you can’t have quality without x amount of quantity,” that’s a limited belief!

One good deed, one clear moment of prayer, one minute of Chassidus learned with heart can outweigh hours of distracted striving. A few seconds encounter with the Rebbe has changed people’s lives forever. Quality is not bound by quantity.

Over Shabbos, this realization deepened when I learned a short but powerful maamar of the Rebbe from 5748 (1988), based on Psalm 130: “From the depths I call to You, Hashem.” The Rebbe explained that there are two kinds of teshuva: the inyan,correcting actions, and the mahus, transforming your very being. Real teshuva doesn’t just fix mistakes; it lifts you to an entirely new state of existence.

Even when teshuva is not on sins and a person is doing good, his work is perfect and he’s doing actions properly, he himself hasn’t changed. The mahus of teshuva is that the makom, or place, that he is standing spiritually is a much higher place, one that cannot even be compared to where he stood before. In other words, the person is in a completely new state of being. He didn’t just change his actions, he transformed his being-ness which then automatically refines all his actions.

“The depths I call to You” refers to a teshuva deep within one’s heart. When we call to Hashem from beyond self-imposed rules and limitations, from the place where our higher self already knows the truth. Through this teshuva, the Rebbe says, we elevate ourself to a higher plane of consciousness, one that is beyond boundaries and limitations and that is more expansive and abundant.

So instead of judging myself for “waking up late” or “only learning a few minutes,” I saw the yetzer hara for what it was: clinging to old patterns, trying to hold me hostage with fear.

And it made me wonder:

Where in your life are you holding on too tightly? Where are you subconsciously telling yourself that without this thing or for this long, you’re not okay?

Do you have to meditate an hour to feel centered?

Do you have to exercise for sixty minutes to feel good?

Do you have to learn Chassidus for an hour to believe your prayers are valid?

Maybe not. Maybe “less” is enough.

If you’re already doing less but still feel like you have to, maybe even less is more.

So here’s the real question:

How can you invite more flexibility into your spiritual life?