Marking The Finish Line Or Laying The Track: Crafting Critical Systems In Pursuit Of Our Goals

Parshas Mishpatim 5786

Warning: I’m about to get meta. I’d like to write about why I write. 

To be sure, I see great value in a weekly blog. Considering that I’ve decided to dedicate my life to the careful articulation and communication of Torah thoughts and ideas, the written word is another critical tool in the rabbi’s toolbox to achieve that goal.

More than that, I enjoy it. Yes, there’s the very messy and often frustrating process of seizing upon a worthwhile idea, and struggling with the words needed to adequately and lucidly relate it. It’s hard work, but what emerges after the struggle is something I’m always proud of, and becomes another installment in an ever-growing catalogue of carefully constructed ideas to later peruse, and often reuse. 

Yet none of that is why I write these words. What brought me to the Bala Cynwyd public library, away from any other distractions, hidden away from talmidim and colleagues, to feverishly type away at my laptop is actually something else entirely. 

The very first bit of instruction laid out in Pirkei Avos—that great collection of ethical guidance from our greatest Chachamim—is to be deliberate in judgment. Bar Kappara, as told by the Gemara Sanhedrin 7b, wondered how the earlier Sages arrived at this notion, and realized it emerges from the beginning of our parsha. Specifically, the juxtaposition of the beginning of Parshas Mishpatim with the end of Parshas Yisro. 

Parshas Mishpatim opens with the declaration, “ואלה המשפטים—And these are the judgments,” words that, looking back to the end of last week’s parsha, come on the heels of the instruction to ascend the mizbe’ach in the Mishkan via a ramp, rather than stairs. Bar Kappara explained that just as the ramp forces the Kohen to ascend in a slower, more deliberate manner, so must judges act in rendering a judgment. 

Being careful and cautious is obviously good advice. When we are slow and deliberate, we expose ourselves to less risk of error, and moreover, the very act of moving slowly rather than rushing invites us to be in the moment, to appreciate the task at hand, to recognize the gravity of what we’re doing, rather than merely “getting it over with.” 

But then, why not a sign? What if we stuck with stairs, but simply posted a speed limit so that Kohanim were reminded to ascend and descend slowly? Short, shallow stairs, permitting the Kohanim to remain fully covered—as per the direct instruction of the pasuk itself to not ascend via stairs so as to not expose themselves—and proper signage to remind them not to take two or three steps at a time in their zeal to finish the avodah? Why reconfigure rather than just remind?

In his book, Atomic Habits, James Clear cautions against psyching yourself up to achieve your goals through sheer inspiration or motivation alone. “You do not rise to the level of your goals,” he cautions. “You fall to the level of your systems.” Exactly right. If you’ve ever tried to lose weight, you know all too well the folly of keeping junk food around the house, insisting you’ll just maintain the willpower needed to avoid it. A goal is great for providing general direction, for stretching the tape across the finish line, but it is the systems we employ that lay out the track that will guide us there. 

Why does the Torah call for removing the stairs leading up to the mizbeach? Because if we’re trying to remove haste, if we’re calling for slow, methodical steps, then we need a system that will permit nothing less. Don’t install a staircase and insist you’ll use it properly; install a ramp so you have no choice otherwise. 

What actually brought me to the library to write this article was not the pride I knew I’d feel in completing it, or even in the responsibility I feel to to the people who would read and gain from it. It’s something else entirely: a system. The article goes out with the shul’s weekly newsletter. The newsletter goes out Thursday night. So I need to write on Thursday afternoon. And in my heart of hearts, I know that absent that system, for all the value I find in writing, I just wouldn’t do it.

Which may well mean that Bar Kappara’s drasha offers an additional layer of guidance to the judges, or, more broadly, to anyone who ever finds himself in position to make any sort of judgment. Don’t just be deliberate. Institutionalize deliberation. Find those mechanisms that will force you to deliberate the way that you should. Make it habitual. Systematize it.

Are there those things in life that for all the value you see in them, for all the attempts you’ve made to pursue them, just seem to be chronically elusive? Perhaps there’s too heavy a tilt towards motivation alone. The belief that “It’s really important to me, so of course I’ll do it!” The value we place on a goal is almost never sufficient to achieving it. We need systems.

Sometimes those systems can be habits we’ve formally committed to. “I don’t go to sleep until I’ve done the dishes,” or, “I leave my phone in another room during dinner.” Or we may need other people involved to ratchet up the pressure, whether a deadline that others are conscious of, or a chavrusa who you know is waiting for you. And sometimes, we just have to remove the problematic device altogether, throwing out the junkfood, or buying an alarm clock with no snooze button.

“You do not rise to the level of your goals, you fall to the level of your systems.” If we find that time and again we’re moving too fast, we may not need more reminders, more commitments, or more motivation. We may just need to replace the stairs with a ramp.