RABBI DONIEL FRANK | Director, M.A.P. Seminars, Inc., Marriage and Family Therapist

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Life is dynamic. And as long as we’re “works-in-progress,†we remain alive and vibrant. That means that although we’ll always have some deficits in our personality, skills, or character, we do whatever we can to overcome them and strive to become complete people.

But sometimes we lock in our deficits and, to the extent that we do, stunt our growth.

How does this happen?

The Mishna in the fifth chapter of Pirkei Avos lists the three qualities that characterize students of Avraham, and the opposite traits that characterize the students of Bilaam.

R’ Chaim Shmuelevitz says that the Mishna deliberately uses the teacher-student paradigm to tell us that students of Avraham and Bilaam act the way they do because they’re their students – because the curricula in each of their respective schools teach them to behave in those ways. Therefore, Bilaam taught, as an ideal, that one should have an evil eye, arrogant spirit, and greedy soul. And that if he had seen one of his students acting in that way, he wouldn’t have corrected him. He wouldn’t have been embarrassed that his weakness spread to others. Instead, he would have praised him and given him a perfect grade on his report card, for that was the way he taught them to be.

Bilaam’s problem wasn’t so much that he had an evil eye. It’s that instead of working on his weaknesses, he institutionalized them, teaching them to his students as the proper way of life. That’s why they are described as his students, and not just as people who emulated his ways.

How does this carry over to us?

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Let’s assume for example, that I’m afraid of confrontation. If I don’t want to see my own problems – either because of my pride, or because I don’t want to discomfort myself to make any change, or if I don’t think I can ever change even if I wanted to – then the only way I can live with the weakness is to justify, and even glorify, it. And then avoidance becomes my ideal. So that when someone acts inappropriately towards

me or others, rather than constructively express my hurt or concern, which would involve a certain degree of confrontation, I frame myself as a man of peace. This perspective justifies my inaction and freezes me in a mode in which I will no longer feel compelled to develop into the kind of courageous and caring person that needs to take a stand. The effect is that I completely shut down that area of my growth.

The same is true with character deficits. If I don’t like to extend myself for others, I build a philosophy around

that as well. Why should I give someone a ride when, really, he could use the exercise. I convince myself that, in the “goodness†of my heart I allow him to walk, and in that way, avoid any need to stretch myself by going out of my way or sharing the private time I have in my car with someone else.

We have to review our philosophies very carefully. When they fit too well with our nature, when they seem to be just what our comfort zone ordered, then we have to wonder whether our philosophies grew out of our weaknesses, or whether we developed them independent of those weaknesses. The stakes of this introspection are high, for it can spell the difference between a person who is stuck in a rut and one who is alive and well. The choice is ours.

DEDICATED TO A REFUAH SHELAIMA FOR YITZCHAK ben DEVORAH