To understand the nature of Mussar (ethical self-improvement), we must first premise that the absolute opposite of Mussar is flippancy and levity (leitzanus and lack of seriousness)—levity and Mussar are literal opposites. The core purpose of studying Mussar is to train and habituate oneself to contemplate Torah matters and one’s ultimate purpose ("what is his duty in his world") with genuine gravity and seriousness. In these core matters—upon which a person's entire existence depends—one must reflect and deliberate deeply.
Is it not astounding that a person can journey through this world, passing through life as if in a dream, without ever entertaining a single serious thought regarding the purpose and essence of his life? While there are varying degrees of this state, the common denominator among most people is that they have never bothered to think with the necessary seriousness.
"Awake, sleeper, from your sleep, and slumberers, arise from your lethargy of temporary vanities!"
When a person awakens from his slumber and begins to think properly—especially if he reflects deeply on the ethical and spiritual parts of the Torah and the words of the Sages, which teach one how to think—he will realize that until today he was simply immersed in a deep sleep. He was like a dreamer, completely out of touch with the real world and living in a world of pure imagination. Suddenly, a totally different, absolute reality opens before his eyes.
These "vanities of time" are what cause a person to forget his duty and ultimate purpose. As Maimonides writes (Laws of Repentance 3:4) regarding the symbolic hint of the Shofar:
"Awake, you sleepers, from your sleep, and you slumberers, arise from your slumber! Examine your deeds, return in repentance, and remember your Creator—those who forget the truth in the vanities of the time and stray all their years in emptiness and breath which cannot profit or save. Look to your souls, improve your ways and your deeds, and let each of you abandon his evil path and improper thoughts."
The sounding of the Shofar is a Divine counsel from God to awaken those lulled to sleep by temporary vanities. While there are hidden, esoteric dimensions to this, the straightforward plain meaning (peshat) is clear: people are asleep, forgetting the truth because they are submerged in worldly distractions. They require an awakening to recognize the truth and remember their Creator. Therefore, God established a day of judgment each year, with the Shofar acting as the herald of that judgment. From this we see how the Torah devises strategies to awaken a person on Rosh Hashanah—the Day of Judgment and Coronation—and bring him into the real world.
The Renewal of Man on Rosh Hashanah
On Rosh Hashanah, the creation of the first man (Adam HaRishon) is renewed annually. Every Rosh Hashanah, God declares once again, "Let us make man." However, someone who forgets the truth, slumbers in temporal vanities, and lacks the proper clarity of mind to think as a human should, does not fall under the category of "man" (Adam); he is not part of the rational human being created on this day. When the Heavenly Court proclaims "Let us make man" on Rosh Hashanah, it means that on this day we must reconstruct ourselves to meet the true definition of a "man"—to begin thinking as a human being ought to think.
The term "vanities of time" (havlei hazman) shares an etymological root with breath/air (hevel). The pervasive atmosphere and hustle-and-bustle of the modern world cause a person to forget the truth. Esoterically, the atmosphere is filled with spiritually external, distracting forces (chitzonim) that obscure the truth. One of the inner functions of blowing the Shofar is clearing these spiritual distractions from the surrounding air. As explained in the Kabbalistic works (Sha'ar HaKavanot, Derushei Rosh Hashanah 7), the secret of the Shofar is the secret of holy breath (hevel d'kedushah). Blowing the Shofar releases a pure, holy atmosphere that dispels external distractions. This explains how the Shofar awakens memory of the truth: it surrounds a person with a atmosphere of holiness, removing him from spiritual haze and allowing him to think clearly.
This is similar to what happens when one enters the presence of a righteous person (Tzaddik). In their presence, one's thought patterns naturally shift toward higher, more elevated matters. This occurs because a elevated, holy atmosphere surrounds the Tzaddik. Naturally, each individual experiences this according to their own spiritual level—those who are more spiritually sensitive feel an immediate elevation, experiencing entirely different thoughts and refined feelings.
It is told of the holy Rabbi Mendele of Vorki (of blessed memory) that he would not speak at all during his public gatherings (tischen); he did not utter a single word or sing any melodies. He sat in total silence, yet he profoundly influenced those present simply by bringing a holy atmosphere into his surroundings. Such was his spiritual power that people achieved personal transformation just by being in his presence, without the need for spoken words. The Shofar operates in the exact same manner: it draws down a holy atmosphere through the breath that passes through it, inspiring a person to wake up and contemplate the true priorities forgotten amid daily vanities.
Overcoming Self-Contradiction and Spiritual Blind Spots
One must realize that "vanities of time" are truly meaningless, yet they exert a powerful force through which negative inclinations sway and mock a person. They can make someone forget the most basic truths—even concepts he utters and engages with hundreds of times a day. A person can say things without processing what he is saying, acting in ways that directly contradict his daily verbal declarations.
The "vanities of time" confuse a person so deeply that he fails to recognize how full of self-contradictions he is.
Because he is submerged in these vanities, he goes through life like a dreamer. Just as a dream is filled with absurdities—where one moment you are in one place and the next in another, or one person suddenly transforms into someone else—an unreflective life becomes equally fragmented and full of contradictions.
A person can study ethical teachings (Mussar) dozens or hundreds of times without ever internalizing that the lessons apply directly to his own life and behavior. For example, a person may pray three times a day, asking God: "Let my soul be as dust to all." Yet, when faced with the smallest test—if someone slightly offends or insult him—his pride is instantly triggered. He reacts defensively, insults the person back, and enters a feud.
Where was his prayer of "let my soul be as dust to all" when the actual opportunity to practice it presented itself? What happened to his original intention? This disconnect occurs because he is completely absorbed in worldly distractions, acting mechanically without reflection. In this way, a person’s day and night become filled with endless internal contradictions.
Similarly, a person might view himself as a man of truth, even while routinely uttering obvious falsehoods, exaggerations, or deceptive statements in daily conversation without noticing. If we were to carefully examine human behavior, we would see how foolishness distorts our path, leaving us subject to shame and embarrassment over our daily hypocrisies. It is only because God spares human dignity (kavod habriyos) that these flaws remain hidden from public view. Without this divine concealment, the extent of human inconsistency would be exposed.
The Pathways of Mussar and Hasidut
In truth, one should not dwell obsessively on human flaws. There was a major philosophical difference between the movement of Mussar and the movement of Hasidut regarding the most effective path to spiritual refinement:
The Mussar Approach: Focused more directly on uncovering a person’s flaws so he would not deceive himself, compelling him to confront his weaknesses head-on.
The Hasidic Approach: Focused less on dwelling on coarse flaws and more on expanding a person's innate good, elevating his soul above his shortcomings. Hasidut held that it is better to engage with the higher, holy dimensions of the human spirit—the divine soul (chelek Eloha m'maal).
While a person should not become fixated on his shortcomings, he must not deceive himself or ignore them entirely; he must remain realistic about his area for growth.
When a person lacks seriousness, it is primarily due to these worldly distractions. If spiritual matters had immediate, tangible consequences in the physical realm, he would treat them with absolute urgency. But because the consequences are spiritual, he treats them lightly, viewing Mussar study as something optional or inconsequential.
The Language of Pain vs. The Language of Reason
While this lack of seriousness has existed throughout generations, it is especially prevalent today, particularly among young men. In some circles, a spirit of flippancy and cynicism (leitzanus) causes people to laugh off serious matters as if they were irrelevant.
However, when a tragedy or illness strikes a household—may God protect us—a person’s attitude transforms instantly. Suddenly, he becomes deeply serious, seeking ways to improve his conduct, reciting Psalms, giving charity, and searching for merits. Many individuals have undergone complete life transformations and become genuinely devout through times of trial.
This raises a fundamental question: where was this seriousness yesterday? Before the trial occurred, the person studied the same ethical texts and Sages' warnings about the severity of these matters and their impact on his eternal life—such as the teaching that "Whoever is arrogant, his dust will not be stirred [at the resurrection]" (Sotah 5a). Yet those words had no practical effect on him at the time; no lesson inspired him to take on serious spiritual discipline. Only when suffering arrived did he wake up.
This behavior resembles an animal or a young child that only responds to a stick—they do not understand the language of reason until physical force is applied. As long as one appealed to his intellect, he deflected with humor, jokes, or mocking the speaker as being "too frum". Nothing moved him until forced by hardship.
Regarding this, the Sages stated: "Whoever engages in levity, suffering comes upon him" (Avodah Zarah 5b). As explained in Mesillat Yesharim (Chapter 5), a cynic can dismiss a hundred ethical rebukes with a single joke, but he cannot joke away suffering. If he refuses to understand the language of reason and ethical instruction, he will ultimately be taught through the language of hardship. A single cynical joke can ruin the effect of extensive study, but suffering cannot be so easily dismissed.
Internalizing Ethical Discipline
The Sages taught: "A single self-rebuke in a person's heart is greater than many lashes" (Berachot 7a)—and Resh Lakish stated, "greater than a hundred lashes." The true goal of Mussar study is to cultivate this internal awareness, allowing reason and intellect to guide a person far more effectively than external discipline or punishment. God endowed man with intellect so that he might evaluate his life with responsibility and gravity.
Great tzaddikim operate on a level where every insight gained in Torah study becomes an immediate personal obligation, driving them to integrate that truth into their daily character and behavior. In a broader sense, the core purpose of Mussar is to habituate a person to feel that spiritual principles are personally relevant, allowing them to shape his mindset and daily conduct.
Contemplating Eternity and the Transience of Life
If a person were to contemplate—even for a single moment—the profound weight of his actions during his brief seventy years on Earth and how they shape his eternal existence (olam ha-emes), the sheer weight of that responsibility might feel overwhelming. When these thoughts feel too heavy to bear, one must carefully balance his perspective to avoid spiritual burn-out, internalizing truth in manageable measures.
Life in this world is fleeting—here today and in the grave tomorrow, passing like a fleeting shadow. Yet, people often attend funerals or comfort mourners without considering that their own time will also come.
It is told that Rabbi Shalom Schwadron (of blessed memory) quoted the Mussar masters regarding how people react when witnessing others pass away: they often act as if death only applies to a certain "society of mortals" to which they themselves do not belong. Regarding this blindness, King Solomon wrote:
"It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for that is the end of all men, and the living shall take it to heart." (Ecclesiastes 7:2)
Attending a funeral should leave a lasting impression. In truth, a person busy with worldly affairs often forgets that nothing of his material pursuits will remain with him in the end. In the grave, money, honor, and physical pursuits hold no value. As the Mishnah states: "At the time of a person's departure, neither silver, nor gold, nor precious stones accompany him, but only Torah and good deeds" (Ethics of the Fathers 6:9).
If a person attending a funeral truly took the day of death to heart, recognizing that only Torah and good deeds possess lasting value, he would have learned a profound lesson in Mussar—one that no book alone could teach. Yet, people often attend funerals repeatedly without pausing to reflect, simply because they have not trained themselves to think deeply.
A person must shake off the slumber of worldly distractions and habituate himself to reflection. He must realize that during these few fleeting years in this world, he is actively building his eternal existence—shaping his ultimate standing forever through his adherence to Torah and fulfillment of the commandments.
