Nobody Wiser

There’s a saying:

אין חכם כבעל הניסיון

Ein chacham k’baal hanisayon.

There is no one as wise as the person with experience.

Sometimes, the greatest lessons in life come directly from our experience, not from the guidance of someone else, even if afterwards we wish had gone differently.

Making a ‘mistake’ can be painful. We replay the situation in our minds. We wonder whether we should have known better, whether we misread the situation, or whether we should have listened to someone else.

But what if the experience we call a mistake is also an opportunity to discover something about ourselves that we couldn’t have learned any other way?

Of course, that doesn’t mean every decision is the right one, or that we should act on every feeling that comes our way. It means that even when we get something “wrong,” there is something meaningful to learn.

And sometimes, that lesson becomes the very thing that motivates us to move forward with greater clarity, honesty, and connection to Hashem.

Learning to Trust the Heart

One of the things I’m learning is how to listen to the feelings of my heart without being controlled by them.

I want my decisions to come from a genuine place within me, rather than from fear, pressure, or the expectations of others.

But how do I know whether a feeling is coming from my soul or from my ego? Is it an authentic desire, a passing whim, or simply the yetzer hara (lit. evil inclination, or ego) trying to convince me that something I want is something I need?

These aren’t always easy questions to answer.

Chassidus teaches that we don’t necessarily have to suppress every desire or distrust every inner feeling. Rather, we can learn to become more discerning. We can examine our motivations, pay attention to the consequences of our choices, and notice what an experience reveals about us.

Sometimes, we only discover the true nature of a desire after acting on it.

We may pursue something we thought would make us happy, only to realize that it wasn’t what we really wanted. We may follow an intuition and discover that there was wisdom in it. Or we may make a decision from a place of ego and, through the discomfort that follows, become more aware of the work we still need to do.

The point isn’t to justify every choice. It’s to learn from each experience.

The Torah (Sotah 3a) says:

“A person does not sin [chet literally means miss the mark] unless a spirit of folly enters into him.”

In Chassidus, this is understood as a kind of temporary distortion in perception. In the moment, a person may lose sight of what is truly important. Something that ordinarily wouldn’t make sense suddenly seems appealing or justified.

But the fact that we can lose our clarity also means we can regain it.

We can pause, reflect, and ask ourselves: What was I really looking for? What did I believe this would give me? What was I feeling that I didn’t know how to express or address in another way?

These questions can take us somewhere that self-criticism never will.

Beyond the Fear of Making a Mistake

There’s a certain kind of wisdom that comes from learning about life intellectually. And there’s another kind that comes from actually living it.

We can learn about patience, but it’s different when we find ourselves in a situation that tests it. We can study the importance of humility, but it’s different when we have to acknowledge that we were wrong.

Experience makes an idea personal.

And sometimes, the fear of making a mistake prevents us from gaining that kind of wisdom. We become so concerned with getting everything right that we stop allowing ourselves to explore, learn, and grow.

We second-guess our feelings. We look for guarantees. We want to know in advance that a decision will lead to the outcome we hope for.

But life doesn’t always offer that certainty.

Sometimes, we have to make the best decision we can with the understanding we have at the time, act with sincere intentions, and remain open to what the experience teaches us.

There is a difference between acting recklessly and being willing to learn through experience.

The former ignores consequences. The latter accepts that we cannot always predict them.

And when we approach life with humility and a genuine desire for truth, even a painful experience can become a source of wisdom.

Treating Life as an Experiment

One practical way I’m learning to live with less fear of making a mistake is to treat new things as experiments rather than permanent commitments.

Sometimes, the pressure of making a big change is enough to prevent us from trying something new. We feel that if we change our schedule, start a new project, or pursue a different direction, we need to know in advance that it’s the right decision.

But what if we didn’t have to figure everything out beforehand?

What if we could simply experiment?

For example, I considered changing my daily schedule. At first I felt pressure and nervous. I wanted to make more room for creative projects and things related to parnassa (livelihood). But rather than commit to an entirely new routine, I decided to use one week as an experiment. And the next week a different approach. It helped me simply go along with the experience.

I woke up earlier, learned earlier, and prayed Shacharis earlier, with the intention of creating more space later in the day for these other areas of my life.

At the end of the week, I did a cheshbon hanefesh, a personal accounting, a practice of reflecting on my actions and how I can grow. I looked back on how the experiment went.

Did the new schedule help me feel more present and productive? Did I have more time and energy for creative work? Was the routine sustainable? Did it bring more alignment to my day, or did it create unnecessary pressure? Was my Torah learning strong enough?

I didn’t need to answer all these questions before I began. I learned from the experience itself.

Now afterwards, I can share that I didn’t enjoy it and didn’t feel like it helped so much. But it led me to another schedule that felt better in all aspects.

I discovered that a particular part of the schedule works well, while another needed adjusting. I realized that I was pursuing a version of what my day should look like, similar to what other’s look like, rather than paying attention to what actually helps me thrive.

I gained information that I probably wouldn’t have had if I had never tried.

This approach allows me to take action without placing the weight of an entire life decision on a single choice. I moved forward with intention while remaining flexible enough to learn and adjust.

There is something freeing about knowing that I’m not necessarily making a permanent decision. I’m giving myself an opportunity to experience something, observe what happens, and respond with greater clarity.

Perhaps this is another way to understand ein chacham k’baal hanisayon: sometimes, wisdom comes not from thinking our way to the perfect answer, or from asking a mentor, but from having the courage to try, the humility to reflect, and the willingness to change course when we learn something new.

We don’t need certainty before every beginning. Sometimes, we just need a sincere intention, a willingness to experiment, and the patience to see what the experience teaches us.

Getting a Taste of the Yetzer Hara

I once was shared a story from Dr. Pape and recently found it online. It’s about the Tzemach Tzedek, the third Lubavitcher Rebbe, who’s beautiful, strong horse had been stolen. Below is the story as I found online:

One night, a notorious local thief broke into the stables and stole the horse.

The Chassidim were distraught when they discovered the theft the following morning. They wanted to notify the local authorities immediately and search the nearby villages to bring the criminal to justice. However, the Tzemach Tzedek remained entirely calm and instructed them not to pursue the thief right away.

A short while later, to everyone’s utter astonishment, the thief walked right back into the courtyard of the Rebbe’s home, leading the stolen horse behind him. He looked pale, trembling, and completely broken. He handed the reins back over and begged the Tzemach Tzedek for forgiveness.

The Chassidim gathered around, amazed. Why would a successful, cunning horse thief get away scot-free, only to turn himself in and return the prize?

When asked why he came back, the thief explained that as he was riding away on the magnificent horse, a strange, overwhelming thought gripped him. He realized whose horse he had taken, but instead of just feeling guilt, he felt a deeper spiritual shift.

The Tzemach Tzedek explained the deeper spiritual reality of what had occurred to his Chassidim. When the thief set his sights on the horse, his yetzer hara (evil inclination) was blazing with an uncontrollable desire to possess the beautiful animal.

The Rebbe explained that instead of simply invoking strict judgment or cursing the man, the Tzemach Tzedek had used his spiritual intervention to give the thief a mirror of his own soul. He willed it so that the thief would suddenly “get a taste” of the yetzer hara for what it truly was.

As the thief rode away, the illusions and false “sweetness” of the temptation suddenly evaporated. The yetzer hara’s mask was stripped away, and the thief tasted the bitter, hollow reality of the sin, realizing he had compromised his entire soul just to steal from a holy Tzaddik. The pure weight of that spiritual clarity, the sudden, visceral distaste for his own evil inclination, made it impossible for him to keep running. He was driven entirely by a sudden, desperate urge to return the horse and mend his soul.

There is something striking about this idea.

It is easy to talk about the yetzer hara when we imagine ourselves standing outside the struggle. We can identify what someone else should have done, explain why their choice was wrong, and assume that we would have acted differently.

But experiencing a struggle from the inside can teach us something that judgment from the outside cannot.

We begin to appreciate how desire can cloud a person’s judgment, how an impulse can temporarily overpower better sense, and how much inner work it can take to choose differently.

This does not make wrongdoing right. It makes our understanding of human beings more compassionate and more honest.

We can take responsibility for our own mistakes without defining ourselves by them. We can recognize the harm caused by someone else’s actions without reducing that person to the worst thing they have done.

And we can become more aware of our own vulnerabilities.

Perhaps one of the gifts of an experience we regret is that it makes us a little less judgmental, a little more understanding, and a little better prepared for the next time we face a similar challenge.

Sometimes, we need to experience a struggle ourselves to truly understand it. And sometimes, that understanding becomes the beginning of real change.

The Burden Fits the Camel

There is another expression from the Gemara:

לפום גמלא שיחנא

Lefum gamla shichna.

According to the camel is its load.

A camel is built to carry a particular load. Its burden is suited to its capacity.

We each have our own challenges, circumstances, and areas of growth. Sometimes, what feels like an overwhelming burden is also an invitation to develop a capacity we haven’t yet discovered.

Hashem wouldn’t have given a load to us if we couldn’t '“carry it.”

That doesn’t mean every difficulty is easy, that every painful event has an obvious explanation, or that we should romanticize suffering. Some experiences require healing, support, and time.

But we can ask ourselves whether the challenge in front of us might also become an opportunity to grow.

Maybe the situation is teaching us patience. Maybe it is revealing a desire we need to understand more deeply. Maybe it is showing us where we need stronger boundaries, more humility, or greater trust in Hashem.

And maybe we will only understand the lesson much later.

We don’t have to force meaning onto every experience immediately. Sometimes, the first step is simply to acknowledge what happened, take responsibility where necessary, and give ourselves the space to learn.

Living With More Truth and Less Fear

I want to become someone who is less afraid of making mistakes and more committed to learning from them.

Someone who listens to his heart without blindly following every impulse. Someone who can acknowledge when the ego has taken over without becoming consumed by shame. Someone who can trust that sincere reflection, together with Torah and Chassidus, can help clarify the path forward.

The goal isn’t to become a person who never gets anything wrong.

It’s to become a person who grows through what happens.

Sometimes, a decision teaches us what we truly want. Sometimes, it teaches us what we don’t want. Sometimes, it reveals a part of ourselves that needs attention, compassion, or refinement.

And sometimes, the very experience we wish we could erase becomes the source of a new motivation to live differently.

Ein chacham k’baal hanisayon.

There is no wisdom quite like the wisdom of experience.

May we have the courage to live honestly, the humility to learn when things don’t go as planned, and the discernment to recognize the difference between the voice of the yetzer hara and the deeper desires of the soul.

And may every experience, even the ones we wish had gone differently, help us become more connected to who we truly are and to the One who guides us along the way.