The zerizus of Pesach is the key to avodah

17 – The zerizus of Pesach is the key to avodah

We typically associate Pesach with emunah, as the Ramban teaches: “From the revealed miracles, we recognize the hidden miracles.” However, there is another fundamental aspect of Pesach that deserves our attention—Pesach as a time of zerizus.

Zerizus

Yetzias Mitzrayim was marked by swiftness—zerizus. We left in haste, fully prepared with belts girded and staffs in hand. Even the very essence of matzah reflects this urgency, as it is baked quickly before it has a chance to rise. If we focus on zerizus as a core avodah of Pesach, it opens a new way to connect to the chag—one that carries us all the way to the Kabbalas HaTorah of Shavous.

Why we need Zerizus

The Ramchal, in Mesillas Yesharim, teaches that avodas Hashem requires us to go against our natural inclinations. This raises a fundamental question: Why is this the default in serving Hashem? We normally view the Torah as asking from us a broad range of mitzvos—some that align with our natural tendencies and others that require us to rise above them. If so, why does the Ramchal assert that avodas Hashem i.e. mitzvos inherently demand going against our nature?

Furthermore, at the end of Perek Vav, the Ramchal states that people often know what they must do, yet laziness (atzlus) holds them back. If pressed, they will justify their inaction with ma’amarei Chazal, convincing themselves and others that they are not truly obligated. This seems paradoxical—how can the Ramchal say that a person knows his obligation while simultaneously explaining that his intellect rationalizes avoiding it? What, then, does he mean when he defines this person as one who “knows” his obligation?

The pshat in the Ramchal is that we are speaking about a person who intellectually knows what he must do, yet he rationalizes that he already understands Hashem’s true will—meaning, he convinces himself that Chazal and Hashem do not actually want him to fulfill those “apparent obligations.”

To summarize, the Ramchal is teaching us that we need zerizus (which we have only just begun to define) in avodas Hashem—because our natural tendency is to avoid our obligations by reassuring ourselves that we are already doing everything properly.

There is a deeper insight here which we will dive into now, which is that every aspect of avodas Hashem—every mitzvah, every facet of Torah—is inherently beyond us and against our natural inclinations! Even those mitzvos that we claim to “love” and feel drawn to are, at their core, still a challenge to our nature.

For example, a talmid chacham is called a “builder” because he is responsible for every detail of his learning, his sevaros, his lomdus, and his Torah just as a builder is responsible for every aspect of constructing a house. If even a single pipe leaks or a roof tile is missing, the builder is held accountable. The same is true in limud haTorah—every nekudah (point) matters, and there is no room for complacency. This example points to a demand of limud HaTorah which is above a person’s familiar sense of “I naturally love Torah!”

Every mitzvah is “way above us”

Rav Yeruchom noted that Aristotle posed a profound question: Why does the giver of tzedakah feel more love for the poor person than the poor person feels for the giver? Aristotle answered that while the poor person receives only ten dollars, the giver gains something far greater—a refined middah in his nefesh.

Rav Yeruchom found it remarkable that a non-Jew like Aristotle could grasp such a concept. Firstly, Aristotle understood that middos are acquired through actions. Secondly, he recognized that these middos are not developed in a vacuum—they emerge from the recipient and not out of thin air. Rav Yeruchom appended the Torah’s viewpoint to these two insights of Aristotle: “We understand that the Shechinah itself is present with the poor person, and the mitzvah of tzedakah is not just a moral act—it is an interaction with Hashem!” This is an aspect of the mitzvah which is way above us, and indeed, every aspect of every mitzvah is like this. 

When Klal Yisrael left Egypt and entered the midbar, they had no idea what miracles awaited them. They only knew that they were stepping into a reality beyond anything they could comprehend. The proper way to enter such an unknown world is with zerizus, the opposite of atzlus. 

Rav Yisrael Salanter defined atzlus not as simple laziness, but as atzlus hergeli—a person who remains confined within his own comfortable, habitual world, limited to what he already knows and understands. He is an atzel not because he sits idly, but because he sees everything through the lens of his own narrow perspective, his personal daled amos, his familiar “backyard.”

As an important side note; the taryag mitzvos ultimately correspond to the taryag aspects of each person’s essence. They are tailor-made to size for Klal Yisroel. However, the process always begins with interacting with the aspect of the mitzvah as it exists beyond our grasp, in a higher realm. To engage this aspect, which the Ramchal defined for us as “avodas Hashem” itself, we must engage with zerizus.

Defining Zerizus

The Mesillas Yesharim emphasizes that developing zerizus begins with working on our ma’asim—our external actions. This means that our behaviors shape our internal middos. Does this mean that if we want to acquire the midda of zerizus we must make sure that our physical actions are done speedily? This cannot be! After all, if we think about a watchmaker or a sofer writing a sefer Torah,tThese crafts require precision, patience, and steady hands. If either were to rush their work, they would destroy it. Clearly, zerizus cannot mean mere quickness.

Defining Zerizus with a personal example

I want to illustrate the concept of zerizus with a personal example. Whenever I try to hang a painting for my wife, it takes me multiple attempts. I keep misjudging the placement, drilling in the wrong spots, and by the time I finally get it right, the wall is riddled with holes—thankfully hidden behind the painting, so no one sees the mess. Believe me, I’m moving quickly, but I am far from a professional.

A professional approaches the task with precision. He understands exactly where the hole needs to go based on the hanging string, selects the right drill bit, and, with careful confidence, drills a single hole—efficiently and deliberately. 

The difference between us is not just skill, but approach. My focus is solely on getting the painting onto the wall, and I see the steps leading up to it as frustrating obstacles without standalone value. But for the professional, every step is meaningful—each measurement, each decision is an essential part of the process.

In other words, because I treated the process as an inconvenience, I was never truly a zariz. For the professional, it is not a matter of time to get the portrait on the wall, but rather a matter of important steps. This is the essence of zerizus: not speed, but presence. It means being fully engaged in the process, rather than merely enduring it to reach the endpoint. This experience of being constantly involved in an important endeavor will make an impression on us! 

To summarize: zerizus does not mean reaching the goal quickly—that would be batlanus. Rather, it means immersing ourselves in each and every step on the way to the destination.

Zerizus in Mitzrayim

This is exactly what happened in Mitzrayim. Each Jew was given his first mitzvah, and he understood that if he did not fulfill it properly, his very life was at stake. He had no knowledge of the ultimate outcome—the hashra’as hashechinah that would manifest in the midbar as part of the geulah. But he knew with absolute clarity: this is the step I must take right now. And he was fully engaged in that moment, in that avodah.

This is the essence of zerizus. The malachim (angels) embody this trait—they do what Hashem wills in order to hear what Hashem wills. Their entire existence is defined by an eagerness to act, a reflection of na’aseh v’nishma. And this very principle was already present in Mitzrayim, when Bnei Yisrael placed the blood on their doorposts. That act was the root of na’aseh v’nishma at Mattan Torah and the act in which we first committed to being fully immersed in Hashem’s will by doing His commands with the understanding only to follow later.

We all have a natural resistance to this mindset. Our default approach to any endeavor is to focus on the end result. But if we cultivate true zerizus, recognizing that each step holds significance even without seeing the outcome, we push beyond our comfort zone. And that is proper avodas Hashem.

On a deeper level, Yetzias Mitzrayim could never have happened if the goal had simply been “to leave Mitzrayim and get somewhere else.” If that were the focus, we would have remained trapped. The only way to leave was precisely how it happened—by engaging fully in each mitzvah as Hashem commanded in that moment, without yet grasping the larger picture. When each step is embraced as inherently meaningful, then and only then are we stepping out of our comfort zone and engaging with that which is beyond us.

Zerizus in Bein Adam L’Chaveiro

This approach transforms bein adam l’chaveiro (interpersonal relationships) just as it transforms bein adam l’Makom. Take, for example, a husband who arranges his day to help his wife rest, only to come home and find that instead of sleeping, she’s chatting on the phone with her sister. Naturally, he feels frustrated—he had a clear plan in mind, an expectation that his effort would lead to a specific result. Now that the result didn’t materialize, his effort feels wasted.

But zerizus teaches us otherwise. His avodah was never about the result—it was about fulfilling what Hashem wanted in that moment: giving his wife the space to rest. That remains true regardless of what she chose to do with it. A person with zerizus approaches each step as valuable in its own right, without needing to control the outcome.

In this mindset, instead of frustration, he stands open and curious—What does Hashem want from me now? He doesn’t cling to a rigid expectation but embraces the evolving reality with attentiveness. He is cognizant that something deeper is happening here. His avodah isn’t to force an outcome, but to engage wholeheartedly in each step as Hashem’s will—without needing to dictate the result.

Zerizus can be a profound shift in how we approach bein adam l’chaveiro. We help because someone needs help—not because of how we think things should play out. We give, we support, and we engage with sincerity, trusting Hashem to shape the results.

This understanding sheds light on the entire mehalech of Sefiras HaOmer leading to Shavuos. Each day was a step, a piece of avodah unto itself. The same was true in Mitzrayim—every day was an act of avodah, standing on its own.

The core message of Pesach is: We will run!—We will leave, even without knowing where we are going! Just as Bnei Yisrael left Mitzrayim without a clear picture of what lay ahead, so too, we do not truly know what life will be like when Moshiach comes, or at Techiyas HaMeisim. And if we do not know what it will be, then in truth, we cannot even say we “want” to be there—how can a person long for something beyond his comprehension?

But we do want to run—because we know our avodah is to keep working, to keep moving, to keep taking steps in Avodas Hashem. This is zerizus, connecting us to something which is way above anything we could imagine, and this is why it goes against our nature. By default, our nature only allows us to relate to what is already within our world, what we can grasp and anticipate. The only way to reach something beyond us is to run with zerizus—to engage fully in every moment of Avodas Hashem, without seeing the final destination.