The Tip, not the Eye of the Needle
- Solomon Berezin
- 8 hours ago
- 6 min read
Two ideas keep echoing in my mind lately: less is more and playfulness.
I apply them to nearly everything, especially in beginning the morning.
They remind me of things I’ve heard before - small insights that seem simple on the surface but keep revealing more the longer they sit with you.
One memory that comes to mind is from childhood.
My mother and I used to go out for frozen yogurt. At froyo shops you can sample the flavors, and we’d stand there trying the little spoonfuls.
Sometimes we’d look at each other and laugh.
“We’re actually pretty satisfied with just the sample.”
Just a taste.
And somehow… that was enough. (Don’t worry we still paid for a cup, but you get the point).
A little goes a long way.
That small moment stayed with me, and recently it got me wondering: what really lies beneath this idea that less can be more?
It reminded me of a story I once wrote about.
One day at a massive package distribution center, everything suddenly stopped. Conveyor belts froze. Packages piled up. The whole operation shut down.
Every minute cost the company thousands of dollars.
Workers tried to fix the system but couldn’t figure it out. Hours passed with no solution. Finally, the head of operations called in the best expert technician he could find.
The technician arrived, walked slowly through the facility, and examined the machinery. After a few minutes he stopped at one of the electrical boxes attached to a beam. He took out a marker and drew a small X on the panel.
Then he opened the box and turned one screw about a quarter of an inch.
Instantly the entire system came back to life.
The director was relieved.
“Thank you,” he said. “Send me the bill.”
“$10,000,” the technician replied.
“Ten thousand dollars?” the director said, shocked. “You were here for a few minutes and
turned one screw. Anyone could’ve done that. Please send me an itemized bill.”
The technician nodded and wrote on a notepad:
Turning screw — $1
Knowing which screw to turn — $9,999
The director paid the bill immediately.
Because the value wasn’t in the amount of action (more).
It was in the precision (less).
There’s a beautiful teaching from the Rebbe in the Purim maamar, “Balayla HaHu
5720/1980” that echoes this same idea.
I sleep, but my heart is awake. Hark! My beloved is knocking: Open for me, my sister, my beloved, my dove, my perfect one, for my head is full of dew, my locks with the drops of the night.
The Midrash explains that Hashem tells the Jewish people:
“Open for Me the point of a needle, and I will open for you the entrance of the Ulam [the entrance hall of the Holy Temple which was the largest opening in the entire structure].”
Hashem is asking each of us to open something incredibly small. The Chabad Rebbeim in chassidic discourses bring out depth beyond other opinions. Whereas many explain it to be the eye of a needle, the Rebbeim share it’s actually the point of the needle.
Albeit very small, the eye of the needle has area and space. The point, however, has no space. It is just a point. Any thing after it is zero, no-thing.
This reflects the concept in Chassidus known as Mesirus Nefesh, self sacrifice. Mesirus
Nefesh, is a state that is the core of the person. It’s the person beyond any space and area, meaning any rationalizing. It’s just a point. The idea of giving oneself over completely. This point though, the Rebbe emphasizes, is constantly in it’s full strength. It’s the core of Israel that can puncture through any, “iron wall that interposes between them and their Father in
Heaven” (Tanya Chapter 17).
And in response to opening up this small amount (less), He opens something enormous
(more).
It raises a powerful question:
What is the point of the needle that we can open for Him?
Sometimes we get stuck because we feel we need to understand everything first.
Why should I do this mitzvah?
Why should I break this habit?
Why should I make this change?
But perhaps the first step is simpler than that.
Let go of the why.
Hashem wants it.
Just open up only the size of a needle point.
When we do that, we are accessing our inner core, our mesirus nefesh.
I notice this dynamic in my own life as well.
There’s been a period where I struggled with my relationship with meditation - integrating it with day to day orthodox Jewish life and making it flexible. Not meditating didn’t help. But practicing for too long also wasn’t helping. Similarly with exercise and other good habits.
I had to learn to develop enough awareness to know when it was too short and when it was
too long.
The key isn’t doing more.
It’s doing the right amount (less).
We might say, everything I do in the day is for G-d, where can I open up for Him?
I exercise to be healthy, meditate to be emotionally sound, learn Torah, work, etc. all good
and fitting things.
But maybe the deeper question isn’t only what we’re doing for Him.
Maybe it’s how we’re doing it.
How much of it do we actually need?
In fitness, the question has become, what is the minimum effective dose (MED)?
The MED is the threshold for required change. Anything less or more won’t provide any change and could lead to burnout.
It’s often quoted that, “the MED is 212 degrees F (100 degrees C) at standard air pressure. Boiled is boiled. Higher temperatures will not make it “more boiled.” Higher temperatures just consume more resources that could be used for something else more productive.”
In starting a new habit, it’s what is the smallest doable unit (SDU)—the smallest action we can do towards a desired habit. In our context, the smallest thing we can do for Him, or the smallest thing we can let go of for Him?
Sometimes the smallest step carries the greatest power.
Consider a simple example.
1 to the power of 365 is still 1.
But 1.01 to the power of 365 becomes 37.8.
And 0.99 to the power of 365 becomes 0.03.
A tiny step forward each day compounds into something extraordinary.
A tiny step backward does the same.
So the real question becomes:
What is one very small step forward today?
This perspective also changes how we can think about consistency.
There’s a phrase people often say that carries more wisdom than it seems:
Give yourself credit for showing up.
Showing up, even briefly, has tremendous value. Being present, even for a short time, keeps the relationship alive. It may actually go beyond keeping consistency. It introduces flexibility which can help the relationship thrive in a healthy way. It’s based in love, not fear. Like
In Chassidus we might call this the difference between the inyan, or idea, and the seder, or order.
There is the core idea, the essence of the practice, and then there is the structured order of how it is normally done.
Ideally, there is a set time for learning Chassidus, perhaps from eight to nine in the morning before morning prayers. But sometimes life interrupts the schedule. Other priorities arise.
Not excuses. Valid reasons.
In those moments, learning a little, even just for a few minutes, still keeps the inyan, in this case learning chassidus before morning prayer, alive.
The connection remains. Perhaps even strengthens the connection. As the Sages teach, "to be as soft and flexible as a reed, rather than as stiff and unyielding as a cedar" (Gemara
In fact, you might also have heard maintenance often requires only a fraction of the effort it takes to rebuild something from scratch. Consistent, scheduled actions (even if time-
consuming initially) are far less labor-intensive over time.
Part of learning meditation, exercise, or any skill is learning how to bring that awareness into daily life. Not only during the formal practice, but in the small moments of the day.
It’s a reminder to Use Tools, Not Used by Tools.
Small moments of awareness.
Small openings.
Small adjustments.
Just like turning the right screw.
And in a way, all of this returns to the idea of play.
When something becomes rigid, pressured, or heavy, it often loses its life.
But when there is play - curiosity, openness, flexibility - something new can emerge.
Play has no strict dimensions.
No rigid limits.
Just movement.
Maybe that’s part of what Hashem is asking from us.
Not to break open the entire wall.
Just to open the point of a needle.
A small opening.
One small step.
And sometimes that’s all it takes for something much, much, (much!) greater to open in return.
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