Take the Pressure Off

Solomon Berezin
2 days ago
3 min read

Letting go of pressure so growth can be real

My wife once told me about a class she gave while living in California. She was teaching the halachos, laws, of washing one’s hands in the morning. The ideal practice is to turn to the side and wash before even placing your feet on the ground.

But the people listening felt overwhelmed. The standard sounded so exacting that instead of inspiring them, it weighed on them.

So she asked a Rav what to tell them. He answered with clarity and compassion that, yes, washing by the bed before your feet touch the floor is the preferred way according to Kabbalah and Chassidus, but a person can at least simply wash before leaving their home.

When she shared this, something shifted. The pressure dissolved. And here’s the striking part: not only did people begin washing in the morning, but they gradually moved toward the ideal practice by their beds. When the burden lifted, the desire awakened.

It seems that when something is no longer imposed, we naturally reach for it. We want to do things well, often even the best way. But we want it to come from within, not from a sense of obligation.

Less, in this sense, becomes more.

I notice this in my own learning. When I try to cover everything, I learn less. When I learn less - truly less, with space and patience - I want to, and I actually do, learn more.

I recently heard a story of the Lubavitcher Rebbe who instructed a chassid struggling with learning the daily Chumash (the commitment to learn the weekly Torah portion for the day) very unique advice. He told him to say only three pesukim, or verses, a day and not a word more until permitted. Three. Shortly after, the student came begging to do more. But the Rebbe declined for a while before finally permitting it. That boundary didn’t shrink the chassid’s connection to the Rebbe; it sharpened it. The Rebbe’s consciously guided limitation turned the chossid to long to do what he originally struggled with taking on.

We often imagine that growth comes from tightening the grip. But sometimes growth begins when we loosen it.

We want the “right” thing. We want the elevated path. We just don’t want to feel that there is only one rigid way to arrive there. The soul leans toward what is true, but it resists compulsion. In Maariv, the evening prayers, we say, U’malchuso b’ratzon kiblu aleyhem, “[His children…] willingly accepted His sovereignty.” In other words, Kabbalos ol malchus shamayim, the acceptance of the yoke of Heaven, must be kiblu b’ratzon, accepted willingly. Otherwise the form may be right, but the heart remains elsewhere.

Even in small, ordinary moments, this shows up.

Waking later than usual can become an invitation instead of a failure. Davenen, prayer, at one’s own pace, not the speed of the congregation, can be a quiet way of reminding the body: connection is not a performance. I can stand before Hashem without scaffolding. I can choose this.

And sometimes, returning to silence—sitting, breathing, meditating without words—restores the space where willingness and flexibility grows. Even just a seemingly short period can open up great clarity. No pressure. No proving. Just presence.

There’s a saying in a Medresh, Pit’chu li petach ke-chudo shel machat, va-ani eftach lachem petach ke-pit’cho shel ulam, “open for Me a hole the size of a needle, and I [G‑d] will open a hole like the doorway of the Temple hall.” A little goes a long way.

There is a paradox here: when we take off the pressure, we often rise higher. When we are given room, we step forward. When the demand softens, devotion strengthens.

We prefer to do what is right—when it is truly ours.

Less becomes more.

And what is chosen freely and accepted willingly is held most deeply.