Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

“Rabbi, where am I going wrong?” That was the beginning of our second follow-up conversation. (Shared here with permission.)

It all began when he came to speak about his struggles with food. He described all of the usual suspects: over-eating, guilt, indulgence, Shabbos and Yom Tov.

For better or worse, I have some experience in these areas. Baruch Hashem, I've had some success, and this fellow wanted to understand what had worked for me.

We began by discussing the nature of this Yetzer Hara, noting that all such desires are similar. The same principles that enable us to control of our desire to overeat can also be used to make progress in other areas. Ultimately the mental-muscle that we are trying to develop is self-control. But that's never the whole story, because, as we all know will power can only get us so far.

The major work comes in learning about ourselves, and creating healthy habits. We need to start noting our triggers (stress, anxiety, exhaustion etc...) and actively making changes so as to avoid the spaces, places and circumstances where we fall into our most negative habits.

We spoke about personal accountability and the importance of resisting the urge to blame others for our failures.

Most importantly, we spoke about how to contend with failure, and the need to practice forgiveness. Long term, this is the area in which we are most likely to trip up. Everyone is convinced that they will be able to conquer their Yetzer Hara – until the first time that we fail.

In that moment, all bets are off. We risk spiraling into patterns of guilt, hopelessness and negativity. All of this leads to further diminishing of our will-power and self confidence. The more we fail, the more difficult it is to get up again.

To this end, as much as we are working on our challenges, we need to be working just as hard on self-compassion and forgiveness. Shlomo HaMelech in his wisdom summarizes the roller coaster of growth and failure in one Pasuk (משלי כד:טו):

כִּי שֶׁבַע יִפּוֹל צַדִּיק וָקָם -Tzadikim fall seven times, and (still) get up.

The Jew that I was speaking to was well aware of all of these points. He was ready to do the work, and ready to pick himself up again when he failed...

But weeks has gone by; weeks of struggling, ups and downs, and yet, he felt that no progress had been made. The numbers on the scale showed little change, and more importantly, he felt that he had not developed any greater self control.

He told me that he had begun to track his caloric intake. He pulled out his phone and showed me the app. His records were detailed and accurate, which is when he looked at me exasperated and said “Rabbi, where am I going wrong?”

It was then that I noticed something curious. Every few days, there was nothing recorded in his app. I asked him what that was about. He told me with a strange mix of sheepishness and pride that those were the days that he had failed; “but” he added quickly “I never let it get me down! The next day, I made sure to get back on track!”

That was the missing link. In that moment we both knew that he was suffering from toxic positivity.

A positive mindset ensures that we can get over failure and recommit ourselves to our goals. Toxic positivity, on the other hand, is an attempt to pretend that failure never happened. In fear and concern for getting trapped in our failures, there is a Yetzer Hara that convinces us not to think about it at all. “Hashem loves me no matter what! I'll do better next time.”

This attitude is as admirable as it is destructive. Forgiving ourselves is essential to growth; but we can only forgive ourselves if we acknowledge our shortcomings, analyze the causes and commit to implementing meaningful change.

Toxic positivity is a new(ish) term, but the challenge of dealing with the deep discomfort that we feel when working through our problems is as old as humanity. Indeed, it plays a central role in our Parsha.

In the aftermath of the Meraglim, Moshe announces that tragically, the entire generation is doomed to perish in the desert. The had spurned the Land of Israel, and in turn, they would not be able to enter it.

As they heard the news the nation wept. They could not accept that their dream since Yetzias Mitzraim would never be realized. A group of soldiers arose early the next morning, they scaled the cliff overlooking the Land of Israel and declared:

הִנֶּנּוּ וְעָלִינוּ אֶל־הַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר־אָמַר ה' כִּי חָטָאנוּ -“We are prepared to go up to the place that Hashem has spoken of, for we have sinned!”

But Moshe cautioned them:

וְהִוא לֹא תִצְלָח. אַל־תַּעֲלוּ כִּי אֵין ה׳ בְּקִרְבְּכֶם... -This will not succeed. Do not go up, Hashem is not in your midst.

The endeavor did end well. Those Jews went defiantly to battle, while Moshe and the rest of Klal Yisrael remained in the camp. The armies of Amelek descended upon the fighters and crushed them. Forever more, they are known as the Ma'apilim – the defiant ones.

But there is something strange about this story. These Jews should be viewed as heroes and role models! Once they heard the terrible and devastating curse of the Meraglim, they committed to fixing it. “We do want to enter Eretz Yisrael! We will fight for it with Mesiras Nefesh!” Not only were they willing to charge into battle, but they did Teshuva: כִּי חָטָאנוּ – we were wrong!

Why did Hashem not accept the Teshuva of these brave souls? Why did Moshe not advocate for them? Why did Hashem abandon them to the enemies?

Thirty-eight years later, when Moshe Rabbeinu relates this story to the next generation, the Alshich (דברים א׳:מ״א) explains the depth of the issue:

You imagined that it would be simple to fix the problem. You should have cried, and prayed, and pleaded with Hashem. But instead, you said simple declared כִּי חָטָאנוּ – we messed up. This is not Teshuva. There was no humbling, no acquiescence nor acknowledgement as would be fitting for one who is doing Teshuva in earnest.

This “Teshuva” was the ancient equivalent of the modern fake-apology: “My bad.” It's the Teshuva of a one kid yelling “I said I was sorry!”, while still holding their sibling's toy (and the sibling is crying on the floor.) This is the Teshuva of “I don't really want to deal with it or even think about it. I'm annoyed that this has gotten in the way of life, and I wish it would all go away.”

There is no room for real growth without real regret.

The Sfas Emes (שלח תרנ”ג) explains even deeper, that toxic positivity hinders our capacity for actual positivity. These Ma'apilim didn't want to face the root of their failure, and thus powered on with an attitude of “we'll succeed or we'll die trying,” which is tragically, exactly what happened.

At this point we should ask what was the root cause of all the failure in the desert? Each event seems so different, yet there is a single thread that connects them all from the Misonnenim to the Meraglim and the Ma'apilim. The Chidushei HaRim explains: רק כל החטא הי' מה שחשבו שהוא לרעתם – Their sin was in thinking that the entire process was to their detriment; that Hashem wasn't doing this for their ultimate benefit.

Perhaps, we could argue, they never fully recovered from the abuse of their Egyptians overlords. They never graduated from slaves to children; and could never offer themselves compassion when they struggled. In turn, they never granted Hashem the benefit of the doubt when He challenged them.

In their pain and anguish, they thought Hashem was being cruel to them. They imagined that when life got tough, it was because they deserved to be punished. Thus, the root of their sins was ultimately their inability to see that all of their challenges were really Chasdei Hashem.

If we look at the pesukim carefully, we find that the Ma'apilim didn't ever do Teshuva for thinking that Hashem hated them. They simply dug in deeper and said “we must try harder to impress Him! We must convince Him that even if Eretz Yisrael is terrifying, we will fight for it!” There is no greater recipe for failure. When Moshe Rabbeinu told them not to go, they saw this too as further encouragement: “We must prove ourselves!”

There is profundity and nuance in the tragedies of our parsha. The Torah is teaching us that the resilience offered by toxic positivity is barely even a thin veil for the negativity it tries to conceal. In truth, Hashem wants us to be able to face our failures bravely, and know that the challenges that we have are part of the process of growth. Of course, we should never get stuck in them, but we ignore them at our own great peril.

There is, however, a very simple fix to all of this, and I suggested it to the Yid with the food journalling app: Simply begin recording everything – the good days and the challenging ones. Take note of them. Ask the tough questions: Why did I fail today? What can I do better next time? Ask Hashem to help you understand and succeed. And then try again.

“Baruch Hashem”, he tells me, “things are going a lot better.”

That's all Hashem is looking for from us: To face our failures head on, know that it's all part of His process, and ask Him for help.