Tanya Chapter 24 - Being Human Is Where Holiness Does Happen

By Sori Magid:

I grew up taking in

black-and-white messaging—

either I was good

or I was failing.

Either I was holy

or I was too human.

Either I was strong

or I was broken by struggle.

Either I was close to God

or I had pushed myself away.

There was no room

for trembling,

for confusion,

for the slow and sacred work

of becoming.

So I tried to be perfect.

Quiet.

Put together.

Needing nothing.

But perfection cannot love.

Perfection cannot choose.

Perfection cannot return.

Then today

a teaching came again—

old words, ancient ink,

something about distance,

about choices,

about the ache of turning away.

At first I braced myself

for the old blade.

But it did not cut.

It opened.

And suddenly I heard:

Not that I am ruined,

but that I matter.

Not that struggle makes me filthy,

but that my choices are powerful.

Not that being human is failure,

but that being human

is where holiness happens.

The trembling hand that still gives.

The anxious heart that still prays.

The tired mother who softens her voice.

The one who falls down

and turns back again.

This is not outside the gate.

This is the gate.

I am not trapped

between perfect and bad.

I am soul and skin,

dust and breath,

instinct and longing,

earth carrying heaven.

I can separate.

Black-and-white religion often teaches:

If you struggle, you are bad.

If you fail, you’ve lost worth.

If you are human, you are a disappointment.

Relationship is earned through performance.

That creates fear, shame, and splitting: perfect or terrible.

What you’re describing in Chassidus lands differently because it often begins with a different assumption:

You already have a soul connected to Hashem.

Struggle does not erase essence.

Choice matters because you matter.

Distance is dynamic, not identity.

Return is always possible.

So when you heard that a person can “separate” through an aveirah, maybe today it didn’t mean you are ruined. It meant: your choices have real power. That is empowering.

I can return.

I can wander.

I can choose closeness again.

And maybe relationship with God

was never about perfection—

Maybe it is this:

to be fully human,

fully seen,

and still invited near.