The one thing Hashem actually wants from your Mitzvos

Ever watch someone drag themselves out of bed for Shacharis — but then leap up at 2 a.m. for a ski trip? Same person. Same body. Completely different energy. That gap between the sluggish shuffle and the eager sprint tells us something powerful about ourselves — and about what it really means to do Mitzvos with enthusiasm.

During the Three Weeks, as we reflect on what we've lost and what we're striving to rebuild, there's no better time to ask: How am I doing what I'm doing? Because it turns out, Hashem cares about that question — a lot.

The Mishna's four-animal blueprint

In Pirkei Avos (5:20), Rabbi Yehuda ben Teima lays out a remarkable instruction: "Be bold as a leopard, light as an eagle, swift as a deer, and strong as a lion — to do the will of your Father in Heaven."

Four animals. Four qualities. One message: doing Mitzvos with enthusiasm isn't a bonus feature. It's the whole point.

Think about it. The Mishna doesn't say, "Make sure you check off all the Mitzvos on your list." It says be bold. Be light. Be swift. Be strong. Every one of those words is about how you show up — not just whether you show up.

This is the Torah's way of telling us that going through the motions isn't enough. The energy we bring to a Mitzvah matters as much as the Mitzvah itself.

Hashem doesn't need your Matza

Here's a thought that might stop you in your tracks: Rachmana liba ba'i — Hashem wants your heart.

He doesn't need you to eat Matza. He's infinite. He gives you the opportunity to do Mitzvos — but you're not doing Him a favor.

So when we rush through Bentching — mumble mumble mumble, done — or drag ourselves to Davening like we're carrying the weight of the world, we're missing something essential. We did the action, sure. But we left our heart at home.

Imagine a parent asks their child for a bandage urgently. The kid peels themselves off the couch, shuffles over at glacial speed, slaps the bandage on the table, folds their arms, and says, "Anything else?" Technically, the job got done. But would you call that a loving response? That's what a Mitzvah without enthusiasm looks like. The form is there. The soul is missing.

The amusement park test

People who say "I can't get up in the morning" somehow manage to be at the bus stop at 2 a.m. — gear packed, boots laced — for a ski trip. People who claim they have no energy will wait in line for an hour to be hurled upside down at 100 miles an hour on a roller coaster.

So the issue isn't ability. It's desire.

When something matters to us, we find the energy. When a best friend comes to visit, you don't say, "Tell him I'm in my room." You run to the door. You want to show that person they matter.

Now flip that lens onto your Avodas Hashem. When you pick up your Siddur, is there any of that same excitement? When you have the chance to do Chessed, does your heart beat a little faster — or do you check your watch?

We only put off things we don't want to do. So if we're constantly putting off Mitzvos, or rushing through them just to check the box, it's worth asking ourselves an honest question: Do I actually care about this?

The battle between dirt and flight

So why is it so hard? Why do angels move as quick as lightning with zero hesitation, while we can barely peel ourselves off the couch?

The answer is beautifully simple. You're made of two things.

Your body is made from the earth. And dirt — with all due respect — doesn't go anywhere. Unless there's an earthquake, dirt stays exactly where it is. That's the physical side of a person: heavy, sluggish, resistant to change.

But then there's your Neshama. Your soul wants to rise. It wants to soar, to reach, to connect to something higher.

Every single day, you're living in the tension between those two forces. The pull of the earth saying, "Stay put, it's comfortable here." And the pull of the Neshama saying, "There's so much more."

That's why the Mishna uses the image of an eagle. A bird is physical — it has a body, weight, mass. But it flies. It defies gravity. It lifts itself above the limitations of the ground.

Kal k'nesher — be light as an eagle. You have that same ability. Every time you push yourself to do a Mitzvah faster, with more energy, with more heart than your body wants to give — you're overcoming your "dirt." You're becoming a little more like the person Hashem created you to be.

The fire that came ten minutes late

A man owned a factory and showed up to Shul ten minutes late every single day. One day his factory caught fire. By the time the firemen arrived, the building had burned to the ground. The owner was devastated. The fireman shrugged and said, "What do you want from us? We were only ten minutes late."

When we show up late — to Davening, to a Mitzvah, to the things that matter most — we're telling Hashem, "This isn't urgent to me."

The Three Weeks remind us that the Beis Hamikdash was destroyed, in part, because of how we related to Hashem and to each other. Rebuilding starts with genuinely caring about the Mitzvos we do — and the way we do them.

Five ways to bring Zrizus into your day

Jump out of bed for Modeh Ani. Before your feet hit the floor, say the words with real feeling. Hashem just gave you another day — that's worth getting excited about.

Pick one Mitzvah this week and do it like it's your best friend's birthday. Choose a Bracha, a Tefillah, or an act of Chessed and bring the same care you'd bring to finding the perfect gift for someone you love.

Set a Zrizus alarm. Choose a daily Mitzvah you tend to delay — Bentching, Mincha, learning — and set a reminder five minutes early. Use those minutes to show up with intention.

Catch yourself mid-shuffle. The next time you notice yourself dragging through a Mitzvah, pause. Take a breath. Ask yourself: "If Hashem were standing right here — which He is — how would I want to do this?"

Talk about it at the Shabbos table. Share the amusement park idea with your family. Ask everyone: "What's one Mitzvah you want to do with more excitement this week?" Making it a family conversation turns personal growth into something shared and lasting.

Spread your wings

The Three Weeks are a time of reflection — but reflection doesn't have to mean heaviness. It can mean clarity. It can mean choosing, with fresh eyes, to care more deeply about the things that truly matter.

You are not just dirt. You have a Neshama that wants to fly. Every Mitzvah you do with heart, with speed, with joy — that's you spreading your wings. That's you defying gravity. That's you becoming the person who doesn't just go through the motions but brings the fire.

Rachmana liba ba'i. Hashem wants your heart. So the next time you reach for your Siddur, or bentch after a meal, or have the chance to do Chessed — don't shuffle. Soar.

Want to bring these ideas alive for your whole family? Torah Live's videos, games, and interactive challenges turn the Three Weeks into a time of real growth — with content that's 100% clean, engaging, and built to inspire. Sign up for free and turn your family's screen time into soul time.