The Virtue of Failure
Recently, American tennis player Amanda Anisimova suffered a devastating defeat in the Wimbledon final, losing 6-0, 6-0 — a result so extreme it prompted a New York Times piece titled Why Amanda Anisimova’s Emotional Post-Match Interview Was a Masterclass in Handling Failure. Despite the embarrassment of the loss, Anisimova’s honest and vulnerable response was praised as courageous and even inspiring.
Amy Edmondson, a Harvard professor who studies human failure, calls this “intelligent failure” — the kind that happens in new territory, in the pursuit of growth. “The most successful organizations,” she writes, “are not the ones that never fail, but the ones that catch and correct.” Failure, when approached with honesty and humility, becomes a step toward excellence.
The Talmud offers an even stronger message.
The Talmud (Gittin 43a) teaches: “A person does not truly understand the words of Torah unless he has first stumbled in them.” Rashi explains that this is because stumbling breeds humility — and humility is the key to Torah understanding. It’s no coincidence that Moshe, the greatest transmitter of Torah, is described as the most humble man on earth.
This idea is beautifully symbolized in the fact that the broken tablets — the ones smashed by Moshe after the sin of the Golden Calf — were kept alongside the whole tablets in the Holy Ark. Simply, as a warning of what can go wrong, but also as a reminder that failure is not the opposite of holiness — it’s part of the process.
As we finish reading the book of Bamidbar, Numbers, this week, and reflect on the forty years in the desert, many, if not all, of the Jewish people’s failures can be understood through this lens.
Why are we so afraid to fail?
Because failure threatens the ego. We equate failing with being a failure — as if our worth is defined by our wins. We may even avoid taking risks entirely, choosing the safety of mediocrity over the risk of greatness.
But the Torah’s wisdom invites us to reframe failure. Failure is not shameful. It is necessary. The real danger is not falling, but refusing to try, to stretch, to stumble, to grow. Humility is not self-deprecation. It is the courage to say: “I’m not perfect — but I’ll give it everything I’ve got.”
May we have the humility to risk failing, and the strength to grow from it.
Shabbat Shalom
