Oct 214 min read

Beyond Discomfort: Seeking Growth in Comfort and Challenge

Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Sukkos: Finding Balance Between Challenge and Comfort

In the personal development world, there's encouragement to "seek discomfort." This message urges us to step outside our comfort zone and do something that scares us. In this article, I want to explore where this applies, as the sentiment seems to encourage constantly looking for what's uncomfortable, suggesting that growth comes through discomfort. However, is comfort so bad? Also, what kind of discomfort should we seek for growth?

Where did this all begin?

Over the past two years, I've been living in Crown Heights, the headquarters of the Chabad-Lubavitch Hasidic movement. During the Jewish New Year and holiday season, 770 Eastern Parkway—the main shul, or synagogue—is where hundreds, if not thousands, come to pray. In anticipation, one might hear, "People fly in from all around the world to pray by the Rebbe, and you're not going to pray there?!" I remember hearing this for the first time last year and feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety build up in me. As per the topic of this article, I'm into growth and expansion, so I went all in.

Often, in my experience, when someone describes something that seems uncomfortable, the actual experience turns out to be not as bad as anticipated. However, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur at 770 were by no means an exaggeration. It was packed tight! There was no room to move.

Nevertheless, I cherished the experience and the growth it brought. I successfully stepped out of my comfort zone and felt satisfied with the result.

For Rosh Hashanah this year, I decided to return to what's called "the washing machine" and embrace the discomfort. However, on the second day of the holiday, I prayed at my yeshiva. This revealed aspects of the holiday prayers I couldn't physically perform in the tight space of 770. These included sitting, grabbing my tzitzis, bowing, stepping backwards and forwards, standing still with my feet together, and even kneeling on the ground—a special part of the holiday prayer. The physical comfort at the yeshiva enhanced the main purpose: prayer. Instead of responding to physical pressures, I could concentrate more deeply on the prayers themselves and work through inner discomfort in the spirit of Rosh Hashanah (self-reflection, introspection, and resolution).

After praying at the yeshiva on the second day, questions arose: Is comfort so bad? What kind of discomfort should we seek for growth? What am I truly looking for?

As Yom Kippur approached, I realized my thoughts were less about the holiday's purpose (teshuva, or return, and resolution) and more about how I'd pray in 770.

Ultimately, I decided to pray at the yeshiva this year and truly appreciated it. The physical comfort allowed me to pray with greater concentration, enabling me to confront "spiritual discomforts"—how I may have distracted myself from what's important and improvements I want to make in my life.

The lesson became clearer on Sukkos, four days later. At a holiday kiddush (festive meal), I shared with a close Rabbi my reflection on seeking discomfort for growth, yet experiencing more growth through comfort during Yom Kippur prayers. He helped me make a subtle, yet powerful shift in approach. One shouldn't actively seek tests or challenges. In fact, we pray every morning, "ואל תביאנו…ולו לידי נסיון" (do not bring us to tests). However, we learn that נסיון (nisayon, test) shares its root, נס, with the word meaning "to lift up." Tests lift us up and help us grow. The key takeaway is that a person should be ready for a nisayon but need not seek it out. For instance, one wouldn't intentionally expose themselves to illness to build immunity. While sickness may develop antibodies, it's not a reason to court illness. The true intention isn't to "seek discomfort," but to "seek growth" through challenges that help us develop.

Ironically, this lesson of seeking growth is inherent in the holiday of Sukkos. After spending the first half of the month in physical and spiritual introspection, Jews are commanded to go outside—both physically and spiritually. We dwell in sukkahs (huts) and outwardly manifest the inner growth achieved from Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur. The mitzvah (commandment) is to remember how G-d protected us with the "Clouds of Glory" after the Exodus. However, Sukkos often falls just before winter, making nights in the sukkah potentially cold, rainy, or windy. So why do we do it? Because G-d commands it. We're not seeking discomfort; we're seeking the Divine Embrace of the sukkah even when it's uncomfortable. By entering the sukkah—which the Arizal likens to a chibuk (hug)—G-d shows us He's with us in everything we do.