Brick By Brick: Minimal Viable Progress and The Shira

Parshas Beshalach 5782

In his excellent book, “Essentialism,” author Greg McKeown notes that while big, splashy goals may be initially inspiring, we can soon drown in the sheer enormity of what we’ve set out to do. But rather than downsize the objective, he advocates to instead focus on what he calls “minimal viable progress.” In other words, to break down a bulky task or ambitious goal into a series of smaller ones. Creating a series of small wins invariably adds up to the larger goal, yet is psychologically more manageable. Don’t worry about erecting the building; just lay one brick at a time.

Just as the Plagues are about to be unleashed, Moshe Rabbeinu turns to the People and tells them that the redemption is at hand. Yet while they were initially willing to believe such promises when Moshe first returns to Egypt from Midian, they are now reluctant. At the beginning of Parshas Vaeira, the Torah records:

וַיְדַבֵּר מֹשֶׁה כֵּן אֶל־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְלֹא שָׁמְעוּ אֶל־מֹשֶׁה מִקֹּצֶר רוּחַ וּמֵעֲבֹדָה קָשָׁה׃

^{שמות ו:ט}

And so did Moshe speak to the Children of Israel, but they did not listen to Moshe out of shortness of spirit and difficult labor. 

^{Shemos 6:9} 

What is the nature of this “shortness of spirit” that precluded their ability to have faith in the redemption? The Meshech Chochma offers a fascinating interpretation, suggesting that the spirit of the Jews was “short” insofar as they could only wrap their heads around what lay immediately before them. When Moshe tells them that they’ll be leaving Egypt, they can process that sort of redemption easily enough. But when, at the beginning of Parshas Vaeira, he further shares that they’ll be transformed into a full-fledged nation and will even enter into and settle the Land of Israel, they are overwhelmed by the prospect. The scope of the project had just expanded to a degree that left them paralyzed by the enormity of what lay ahead.

When the Jewish People ultimately do leave Egypt in this week’s parsha, they sing the Shiras HaYam—the Song of the Sea, as they miraculously emerge from the Red Sea. This song is written differently from every other section in the Torah. In a style that is reminiscent of brickwork, each sentence fragment is divided from the next in a manner that makes each one appear “stacked” upon the two located on the line directly beneath it. The result is iconic and beautiful. But more importantly, it offers a fitting message.

In many ways, brickwork is a craft like any other. Individual steps must be taken to achieve a final goal.  And yet more than other crafts and modes of construction, there is a clear corollary between those individual steps and the finished product. Silversmiths and carpenters must also perform a series of smaller tasks to achieve the desired result, but those steps are seamlessly incorporated into the greater whole. 

Not so for brickwork, in which the structure created allows for every step of the process to be perceived, even after the project is completed. Whereas erecting an entire building may feel like a daunting task, when reduced to a series of small, manageable tasks, it is eminently doable. It is not an entire building, but one brick after the other after the other.

There is no need to shy away from ambitious goals, only to see the building for its constituent bricks.

Brickwork is not only an artistic style or a mode of craftsmanship, it is a mentality. Brickwork allows us to see that a finished product is simply the culmination of a long string of small tasks. It is the approach of “minimal viable progress” and can extricate a person from a state of paralysis as he looks to begin an overwhelming project. Building a nation and settling a land is nothing more than laying one brick after the other. There is no need to shy away from ambitious goals, only to see the building for its constituent bricks.

The celebrated novelist, Margaret Atwood, is, despite her professional achievements, also a self-proclaimed procrastinator. In an interview with Adam Grant, she made the insightful observation that people don’t procrastinate work, they procrastinate feelings. Even when pushing off that major project, we often don’t default to doing nothing, we simply get busy with other tasks—often real, bona fide work—that comes with less of a mental load and a more immediate sense of accomplishment. 

We know what we really need to be working on, but it feels overwhelming and scary. We’re afraid of staring at the blank paper or screen and the feelings of inadequacy that come along with it. Maybe it’s just too large an undertaking and we’re worried that we’ll flat out fail. Or there’s a lack of clarity as to how to see the project through and we desperately—if subconsciously—want to avoid the feeling of not being in control and having all the right answers at every step of the process.

So we push off, avoid, and procrastinate. Sometimes indefinitely. We stick to what’s comfortable and what we know. In other words, to those things that steer clear of real growth and development. 

How do we avoid falling into this abyss? By seeing the building for its individual bricks. An enterprise as a whole may well elicit feelings that we wish to avoid, but the smallest viable progress likely won’t. We don’t need to bite off a piece so large that we’re immediately engulfed by unpleasant feelings. Write one paragraph, not the whole report. Work for ten minutes, don’t block off the whole afternoon. Create an outline, not a finished product. As the smaller steps begin to mount, the feelings you’d been procrastinating may dissipate all on their own.

The Jewish People were also overwhelmed. They were afraid of entering into the unknown, to start a journey that would necessitate developing a new culture, adopting new laws, and building a new society. What the Jews did know was producing bricks and transforming those bricks into structures and cities. The arrangement of the text of the Shira is a powerful reminder that what felt so frighteningly foreign was actually wholly manageable, and, on the micro level, even remarkably familiar. We need not have precise clarity on what the final product will look like; only to determine where the next brick should be laid.