Are We in Control—or Just Playing Our Parts?
We’re told everything is in God’s hands. So if He already determined the course of our lives, what’s the point of putting in effort? Do our decisions and actions actually make a difference? Can we influence our destiny, or are we just puppets on strings?
A popular joke tells of a righteous, God-fearing man who prays every day to win the lottery. The angels plead with God: “He deserves it—why don’t You let him win?” God replies, “I’d love to, but first he has to buy a ticket!” (Of course, God doesn’t need a lottery ticket to provide for someone. This story is merely symbolic of a deeper point.)
This joke raises a serious question: if everything is preordained, to what extent—if any—are we expected to put in effort to shape our lives?
Two Popular (and Problematic) Views
There are two common responses to this dilemma:
1. The Fatalistic View: Everything is already written. No matter what a person does, it won’t change a thing. Destiny is fixed from birth, and effort is irrelevant. This deterministic view severs the connection between our actions and their outcomes.
2. The Self-Reliance View: Everything depends on you. Work hard, invest in yourself, and success will follow. If you fail, it’s your fault. You obviously didn’t do enough.
In truth, both approaches are deeply flawed.
Why These Views Fall Short
The fatalistic view undermines one of Judaism’s core principles: free will. If everything is predetermined and our actions don’t matter, how can we be held responsible for choosing good or evil? This view also promotes passivity. The Torah says humans were created “to work and to guard” (Bereishit 2:15). Man has to take responsibility and improve the world. Adopting a passive approach to life is mistaken.
Radical self-reliance is equally dangerous. It breeds arrogance and ignores how much lies beyond our control. When people believe everything depends solely on them, they’re crushed by failure. This leads to frustration, anxiety, and self-blame. It can even justify unethical behaviors like lying, cheating, or harming others to reach personal goals. It also places an unbearable psychological burden on people who feel their future depends entirely on their own efforts.
The Jewish Approach: A Partnership with God
Judaism offers a third, more nuanced view: everything is ultimately in God’s hands, but human choice plays a crucial role in shaping how the Divine plan unfolds.
As the Talmud teaches: “Everything is in the hands of Heaven aside for fear of Heaven” (Berachot 33b). Every event in our lives—our personality traits, financial status, intelligence, relationships, and daily circumstances—is orchestrated by Divine Providence. Some of these were decreed before birth; others are updated each year on Rosh Hashanah.
But there is one critical exception: our relationship with God. In matters of morality, faith, and mitzvot (Divine commandments), we alone hold the power. You can’t say, “If I’m meant to do good, it’ll happen on its own.” God leaves that part entirely up to us.
So Why Bother Putting in Effort?
From a Jewish perspective, our physical efforts are like a curtain behind which God’s blessings flow. They don’t cause the blessings. But they are the tools through which God chooses to deliver them. Even if everything is decreed from above, we’re still obligated to take action.
Why?
For several reasons:
1. Human effort is part of our spiritual journey. Ever since the sin of Adam, humankind has been under the decree: “By the sweat of your brow you shall eat bread” (Bereishit 3:19). Until that decree is lifted, work is part of life.
2. Effort reveals our faith. Saying we believe in God is easy—until that belief is tested. Will you risk losing income to avoid breaking a halachic (Jewish legal) rule? Will you insist on kosher food or modest dress, even when it’s inconvenient? God places us in real-world scenarios to test and develop our trust in Him.
3. God doesn’t want us to receive “free gifts.” There’s a deep human truth: we value what we work for. Someone who found a spouse after years of searching and rejection will cherish that relationship more and be less likely to wonder if they “could’ve done better.” Earned blessings carry more weight than unearned ones.
4. God wants nature, not miracles, to run the world. If blessings came in obvious, supernatural ways, belief in God would be too easy. There would be no room for doubt, no real test of faith. God “hides” within nature (in Hebrew, the word for the world, “olam,” shares a root with the word for concealment, “he’elem”), and He wants us to find Him there—through the normal course of life, not miracles.
But What About the Righteous?
There are rare individuals who reach deep levels of faith and spiritual refinement and live almost entirely through prayer and trust, without needing much physical effort. For them, practical effort takes the form of intense spiritual labor. But for most people, effort is required, not as a means of success, but as a test of faith, humility, and growth.
Can We Change Our Fate?
So can we influence our destiny? Can our choices affect the Divine plan?
Consider the debate around IQ. Some scientists claim intelligence is purely genetic, while others believe it’s shaped by environment and effort. The current consensus is that while potential is genetic, whether or not it’s realized depends on how you develop it.
A child born with an IQ potential of 150 (very high) might only reach average intelligence if he drops out of school and doesn’t develop his skills. Meanwhile, a child with a potential IQ of 90 might reach his full capacity—and function at a higher level—through enrichment and effort.
Similarly, God grants each person a tremendous spiritual “potential package” of blessings: joy, wisdom, self-confidence, emotional strength, good relationships, children, beauty, talent, and more. But how much of that potential becomes reality? That depends on us.
Our choices—both good or bad—open or block the channels of blessing. Sins act like blockages in the pipeline between Heaven and earth. The Torah makes this clear. Faithfulness to mitzvot brings blessing; turning away brings the opposite. God wants us to be motivated to choose well, so He links Divine response to human action.
God Wants Us to Participate
Think of it like a workplace. The boss alone decides who gets a raise—but he sets clear criteria. Your effort doesn’t guarantee the raise, but it impacts the decision. Likewise, God remains the ultimate decider, but our actions influence what He decrees.
God wants us to live in a normal, natural way. He wants us to apply for jobs, go on dates, and see a doctor when necessary. Sitting on the couch waiting for miracles isn’t faith—it’s avoidance. Unless you’re among the spiritual elite, you are expected to make real, physical efforts. Those efforts are the “delivery system” through which God sends you what He has already decided to give.
And yes, our actions can change what God decides. Every positive choice, every moral step forward, brings more blessing into our lives. Everything is decreed. But the decree itself is shaped by how we choose to live.
In Jewish thought, hishtadlut (personal effort) is not optional. It’s obligatory. A person who fails to make the necessary effort, in line with their own capacity and circumstances, risks both harm and the loss of their desired goal—not because of a lack of worthiness, but because of insufficient action.
As Rabbi Avraham, the son of the Rambam (Maimonides), writes: “Anyone who pins their hopes solely on miracles, without proper preparation, without Divine revelation, without genuine spiritual awareness, is yearning for something that is not suited to them.”
Likewise, the Sages taught in the Talmud: “We do not rely on miracles” (Pesachim 64b).
Faith in Hashem calls for trust and prayer, but it also demands that we do our part. Miracles, when they come, are a gift—not a plan.
How much does the effort we invest in something affect how connected we feel to it? Research by Professor Dan Ariely found that the more involved we are in creating or building something, the more attached we become to it—and the more valuable we believe it to be.
The study was named after the company famous for its self-assembly furniture, showing that people tend to think furniture they assembled themselves is more attractive than identical furniture purchased pre-assembled.
The same is true in life: when we take active steps to meet our needs, we appreciate the results far more. This is one of the reasons why hishtadlut—putting in our own effort—is so important.
The obligation of hishtadlut (personal effort) is not the same for everyone. It varies according to a person’s level of trust in God. The greater one’s trust, the less effort required.
For example, someone who works eight hours a day and feels they cannot make a living with fewer hours truly needs that amount of work to sustain themselves. But a person with deep trust in the Creator, confident that He will provide, may find that they can earn their livelihood with fewer hours and still be sustained. In such a case, a person should focus on strengthening faith and trust in God, rather than taking on more work.
Moreover, the balance between effort and trust can change even for the same individual. At times when a person feels a deep closeness to God, excessive hishtadlut may reflect a lack of trust. At other times, when that sense of closeness is diminished, extending greater effort may in fact be a necessary part of their service.
One of the great righteous figures of the era of the Mishnah was Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa. The Sages tell that one Friday, he noticed his daughter in tears after lighting the Shabbat candles. She had mistakenly filled them with vinegar instead of oil and was concerned they would soon go out, leaving the family in darkness for the evening.
Rabbi Chanina reassured her: “Why are you worried? The One who commanded oil to burn will command vinegar to burn.” In other words, by God’s will, even vinegar can give light.
His complete trust in Hashem was so powerful that the candles did indeed burn until the end of Shabbat, and the family used the flame to light the havdalah candle at the end of Shabbat.
The Torah states explicitly: “I am the Lord, your Healer” (Shemot 15:26). If so, why do we go to doctors at all? The Sages explain that the verse “And he shall cause him to be thoroughly healed” (Shemot 21:19) indicates that doctors were given permission to provide medical care and heal the sick and injured.
In other words, as part of our responsibility and hishtadlut (personal effort), we are obligated to maintain a healthy lifestyle and seek medical advice as necessary. Ultimately, however, the success of medical intervention and healing is decreed by God.
It is also important to note that doctors are supposed to provide medical care and instill hope in the patient—not discourage them or hinder the natural healing power that God has placed within us.
In Jewish thought, hishtadlut (personal effort) is not optional. It’s obligatory. A person who fails to make the necessary effort, in line with their own capacity and circumstances, risks both harm and the loss of their desired goal—not because of a lack of worthiness, but because of insufficient action.
As Rabbi Avraham, the son of the Rambam (Maimonides), writes: “Anyone who pins their hopes solely on miracles, without proper preparation, without Divine revelation, without genuine spiritual awareness, is yearning for something that is not suited to them.”
Likewise, the Sages taught in the Talmud: “We do not rely on miracles” (Pesachim 64b).
Faith in Hashem calls for trust and prayer, but it also demands that we do our part. Miracles, when they come, are a gift—not a plan.
The obligation of hishtadlut (personal effort) is not the same for everyone. It varies according to a person’s level of trust in God. The greater one’s trust, the less effort required.
For example, someone who works eight hours a day and feels they cannot make a living with fewer hours truly needs that amount of work to sustain themselves. But a person with deep trust in the Creator, confident that He will provide, may find that they can earn their livelihood with fewer hours and still be sustained. In such a case, a person should focus on strengthening faith and trust in God, rather than taking on more work.
Moreover, the balance between effort and trust can change even for the same individual. At times when a person feels a deep closeness to God, excessive hishtadlut may reflect a lack of trust. At other times, when that sense of closeness is diminished, extending greater effort may in fact be a necessary part of their service.
The Torah states explicitly: “I am the Lord, your Healer” (Shemot 15:26). If so, why do we go to doctors at all? The Sages explain that the verse “And he shall cause him to be thoroughly healed” (Shemot 21:19) indicates that doctors were given permission to provide medical care and heal the sick and injured.
In other words, as part of our responsibility and hishtadlut (personal effort), we are obligated to maintain a healthy lifestyle and seek medical advice as necessary. Ultimately, however, the success of medical intervention and healing is decreed by God.
It is also important to note that doctors are supposed to provide medical care and instill hope in the patient—not discourage them or hinder the natural healing power that God has placed within us.
How much does the effort we invest in something affect how connected we feel to it? Research by Professor Dan Ariely found that the more involved we are in creating or building something, the more attached we become to it—and the more valuable we believe it to be.
The study was named after the company famous for its self-assembly furniture, showing that people tend to think furniture they assembled themselves is more attractive than identical furniture purchased pre-assembled.
The same is true in life: when we take active steps to meet our needs, we appreciate the results far more. This is one of the reasons why hishtadlut—putting in our own effort—is so important.
One of the great righteous figures of the era of the Mishnah was Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa. The Sages tell that one Friday, he noticed his daughter in tears after lighting the Shabbat candles. She had mistakenly filled them with vinegar instead of oil and was concerned they would soon go out, leaving the family in darkness for the evening.
Rabbi Chanina reassured her: “Why are you worried? The One who commanded oil to burn will command vinegar to burn.” In other words, by God’s will, even vinegar can give light.
His complete trust in Hashem was so powerful that the candles did indeed burn until the end of Shabbat, and the family used the flame to light the havdalah candle at the end of Shabbat.
David had run his little grocery store for nearly twenty years. It wasn’t much — a narrow shop with crowded shelves, the scent of fresh bread in the morning, and the steady hum of a refrigerator in the back. But it was his, and it put food on the table for his wife and children.
Then, one morning, everything changed. A truck rolled up to the vacant storefront next door, unloading shiny new shelves and a state-of-the-art freezer. A large colorful sign soon followed: The Pantry Stop— Now Open!
By the afternoon, David’s heart was pounding. He recognized the new owner—a longtime acquaintance. And to make matters worse, it wasn’t just any store. The Pantry Stop sold exactly what David sold and much, much more.
For days, David barely slept. He pictured his regular customers walking right past his door into the gleaming new shop. He imagined empty aisles, spoiled produce, and the humiliating day he’d have to lock up for good.
Finally, unable to bear the anxiety any longer, David went to his rabbi.
“Rabbi,” he began, his voice trembling, “my friend opened a store exactly like mine, right next door! He’s stealing my customers — my livelihood! What will become of me?”
The rabbi listened quietly, nodding. Then he leaned back in his chair and said, “Tell me, David… have you ever seen what happens when you bring a new rooster into an established chicken coop?”
David looked puzzled. “A rooster? No… what happens?”
The rabbi smiled gently. “The old rooster will puff himself up, flap his wings, and attack the newcomer. He’ll peck at him, pull out his feathers, and chase him around — all because he thinks the new rooster will take away his food. But you and I know the truth: the farmer simply brings more grain. He makes sure there’s enough for both roosters. The old one doesn’t lose a thing.”
David frowned, still uneasy. “But Rebbe… what if there isn’t enough?”
The rabbi’s voice grew firm. “David, until now, who has been feeding you? Was it the shop across the street, or was it the Almighty? God has sustained you every day of your life. If He has brought another ‘rooster’ into your coop, do you think He forgot about you? No. He will provide for both of you. There’s enough grain for each.”
The words sank deep into David’s heart. He left the rabbi’s study calmer than he had felt in weeks. The worry didn’t disappear overnight, but he began to see his neighbor not as a threat, but simply as another part of God’s plan—a plan that always included his daily bread.
