I am often asked about extra stringencies, extra credit practices, prishut, chassidut, and various Kabbalistic behaviors. Sometimes there is a place for these things. That is the truth. But that place is far narrower—and far higher—than people tend to assume.

Judaism does not begin with mystical practices or spiritual flourishes. It begins with the 613 mitzvot, the basic halachot, and—most importantly—the ongoing work of refining one’s middot (character traits).

Chazal are very clear about this. The Vilna Gaon writes explicitly that the purpose of life is to correct one’s middot—and if a person does not work on them, then why live at all? This is not poetic language. It is a statement of purpose. We are placed into the world with flaws by design, and our task is not to bypass them, but to patiently work on them.

The Chazon Ish makes this same point repeatedly, especially in Emunah u’Bitachon. A life of Torah is not measured by how many spiritual “add-ons” one collects, but by how honestly and consistently one lives the Torah itself.

And then there is Mesilat Yesharim, which may be the most important sefer of all in this discussion. The Ramchal does not merely list ideals—he presents an ordered system, step by step, from beginning to end. Watch the structure carefully: nothing is skipped. Nothing is rushed. If someone claims to be operating on a later rung while neglecting the earlier ones, the book itself tells you something is wrong.

There are no shortcuts.

In fact, one of the most overlooked ideas in Torah is how the Yetzer Hara actually works. It does not usually try to convince a Torah-observant person to commit obvious sins. That would fail immediately. Instead, it often pushes people to do mitzvot in the wrong way, for the wrong reasons, or at the wrong time.

This is where many “extra credit” practices come in.

If a person convinces himself that he is already “holy,” then he no longer has to confront his impatience, arrogance, anger, dishonesty, or lack of empathy. Working on middot suddenly feels beneath him. That is not growth—it is escape.

And in practice, this is not theoretical. It is very common to see people who are meticulous about added stringencies while their character traits are visibly undeveloped. That should trouble us. Holiness that bypasses basic menschlichkeit is not holiness at all.

The Torah does not ask us to be dramatic. It asks us to be real.

Real avodat Hashem means following the mitzvot, learning Torah, keeping Shabbat, speaking honestly, treating people decently, and steadily improving who we are. That alone is more than enough work for a lifetime.

Yes—there are individuals who genuinely reach a level where going lifnim mishurat hadin is appropriate. But that is rare, and it requires near-completion in the fundamentals first. It also requires guidance from a qualified, intelligent, and grounded rabbi or mentor—not self-selection and not social imitation.

And there is a simple test:
If it involves ego, it is wrong.
If it is done publicly, it is almost always ego.
If it is talked about, advertised, or used as an identity—then it is no longer avodah.

True spiritual growth is quiet.

Life itself has many legitimate areas of focus. One year a person may need to work seriously on prayer—understanding the words, slowing down, turning routine into connection. Another period may require extra attention to relationships, neighbors, family, or patience. This is not inconsistency; it is how real growth works.

The goal is not to look holy.
The goal is to become better.

Follow the Torah.
Keep the mitzvot.
Work on your middot.
Everything else—if it ever belongs—comes later.