Judaism without Anxiety

A friend once told me, “If you feel anxious with Jewish practices, you’re doing it wrong.”

That line stayed with me.

Judaism and its mitzvos are meant to be done b’simcha, with joy. Every mitzvah connects a Jew with Hashem Himself, the Infinite One, Who creates with grace and fluidity. Our avodah, spiritual work, and our life, should gets to reflect that same divine flow.

Healthy Questioning and Flexibility

For a long time, my religious growth and personal growth became mixed together. My healing journey and personal growth developed as I developed in Torah and mitzvahs. As I grew in yeshiva surroundings; however, somehow it led to feelings of tightening, being more exacting and careful. But recently I learned the environment I am in has flexibility. It was me who was being rigid.

When I first stepped foot in a chabad shul and davened, prayed, I would just show up to shul, wherever the minyan, congregation, was, and pray. It felt light and carefree. Later, as I came to yeshiva and learned the halachos of tefillah—what to answer in a minyan, which parts require presence—I began to feel pressure of having to show up on time and be present until the end. There developed a limited belief that anything less than that was not sufficient.

The teachings are true, but how we receive them matters. I unconsciously took many of them as “you have to” instead of “you get to.”

Self-Compassion in Avodah

Judaism was never meant to be lived through clenched teeth. It’s not a test of endurance, or “scoring points,” but an invitation to intimacy with Hashem.

When I started bringing self-compassion into my practice, something shifted.

I asked myself: What would spark joy? What would lead to being more b’simcha?

Perhaps I don’t “have to” be at the minyan at that time. Perhaps I can just show up and be there when I get there.

I began letting go of the “have to’s,” even around holy and important things.

I realized there’s a difference between what’s really primary and what’s secondary.

For example, air is constant. Water, though vital, can be gone without for a few days. Prayer is a daily must, but maybe responding to certain parts of the minyan can be flexible, especially when self-compassion allows for greater presence overall.

When I remembered that I’m okay either way, I found I naturally wanted to do what’s best. But I didn’t have to force it. It came from within, not from external pressure.

Freedom Within Holiness

The holiday of Sukkos embodies this beautifully. There’s an avodah of nisayonos, tests, that refine us and the world. The korbanos, sacrifices, offered on Sukkos for the nations symbolize transforming opposition into partnership. Likewise, challenges in our avodah aren’t meant to crush us but to uplift us.

That’s where I began to see the importance of flexibility within kedusha. To move from a slave mentality (“I have to serve”) to a free mentality (“I get to serve”). True freedom isn’t about being unbound; it’s about choosing to be free regardless of surroundings.

Sometimes I had unconsciously been using aspects of religion to reaffirm an addiction to anxiety and rigidity. But holiness should heal, not tighten.

Letting Go and Returning with Joy

I remember one morning on Shabbos Chol Hamoed Sukkos, tears of joy welled up as I made it “late” to Shacharis at 770 i.e I missed two of the parts that I learned I “have to” be present for. The tears were a release of pressure. It was exactly what my soul needed—to follow my heart, to move from the head into the body. I was praying in the presence of the minyan, rather than a victim to it.

I had learned in the past - from meditation and the science of transformation - how to improve my approach with all things known and external, but given its spiritual stance I never questioned matters of holiness because I was listening and following instructions or so I thought. But as I noticed the pain and anxiety increase around this part of my life and on my body, I started to question it. I realized that healthy questioning is also holy, it keeps the relationship alive and personal.

When we return to the beginning with greater understanding, we rediscover the freshness of the first time.

Like loosening the rings on the lulav on sixth day of sukkos, Hoshana Rabbah, we are encouraged to loosen up. The next day there’s dancing freely all night on Simchas Torah. Joy breaks through barriers.

It has felt like a full circle moment with prayer and Judaism. While at the beginning I just showed up whenever but knew no laws of prayers, in the middle I felt pressured to follow the laws and show up on time, now I can show up with the original lightness and the new understanding.

As I look back on this season—from Rosh Hashanah through Shemini Atzeres and Simchas Torah—it feels like a gradual letting go of rigidity, even and especially within the sacred, and embracing simcha as the core of avodah.

Where there’s joy, there’s lightness. And where there’s lightness, there’s deeper presence.

It may look careless from the outside, but it’s actually more real and internalized. That’s why Hashem gave Moshe Rabbeinu the second luchos, tablets, so we could receive His Torah not with trembling fear but with simcha and lev shalem, a full heart.

Okay Either Way

When you’re truly okay either way, you naturally want to rise and to align with your higher self and live frum in an authentic, joyous way aligned with Hashem.

In an interview, Kobe Bryant once said about his father’s reassurance after a basketball game (watch here): “Whether you score 0 or score 60, I’m going to love you no matter what.” He went on to explain that these words gave him the confidence to fail and even to strive to score 60. His father gave him the security of knowing, he’s loved no matter how well he does.

That’s what Hashem whispers too.

And from that love, we serve Him not with anxiety, but with joy.