I believe I am not the only one who sometimes feels like no matter how he tries, it just doesn't go. I know
כִּ֤י שֶׁ֨בַע יִפּ֣וֹל צַדִּ֣יק וָקָ֑ם/A tzadik falls seven times and gets up
Which means that part of the process of becoming a tzadik is to fall. I get that. But let's do a calculation. Fall twice a day, times six days per week (I got Shabbos off), times 52 weeks per year, times 30 years comes to a grand total of just under 20k tumbles, give or take. Even if math is not your strong suit, that is pretty clearly more than 7. Falling over and over again, though, kinda sounds like just constantly stumbling, as described at the end of that same verse:
וּ֜רְשָׁעִ֗ים יִכָּשְׁל֥וּ בְרָעָֽה/and the evildoers will stumble upon evil
I once asked my rebbi about what to do about constantly being a failure. He looked at me (always a warning sign) and asked why I thought I was a failure. I explained the situation to him. He asked, "Are you still alive?" "Umm... yes; therefore?" "Well, if you are still alive, then you must be accomplishing whatever HaShem wants for you to accomplish." I didn't have an answer, but I also really, really didn't understand.
Our protagonist had done something grand in the service of a powerful king that was just over the top. The king wanted to reward him, so he was given the key to the royal treasury and told he would have access to the treasury for two hours. During that time, he could take out anything he wanted, and as much as he wanted. No restrictions. This was a very powerful king, and his treasury was filled with gold, silver, and precious gems.
The man prepared for himself two enormous bags—you know, the kind the airline will definitely forbid you to bring along—and showed up on the appointed date at the appointed time. He entered the treasury and filled both bags to overflowing with gold, silver, and precious gems. Then he headed home. When he got to the outer doors, though, the guards started yelling at him, "How dare you brazenly steal from the king!" He tried in vain to explain, but his protests fell on deaf ears as they grabbed his bags, emptied them on the floor, and then threw his empty bags back to him. Seeing there was no way to reason with them, he reentered the treasury, refilled his bags, and again attempted to head home. The guards again angrily confiscated all his wealth. So he went back again. And again. And again. And again. As the two hours were coming to an end, he tried one more time; his sixth and final attempt.
He came out, saw the guards, and felt a pit in his stomach as he braced to again have everything confiscated. This time, however, the guards showed him a friendly countenance. Not only did they let him go home with his two filled bags, but they had also taken care of the treasure he had brought out in his first five attempts and packed it into boxes for him. They helped him load up his cart, and he headed home full of joy about his new affluence—literally a king's ransom.
The man returned to the palace to thank the king for his great kindness. He was curious, though, and asked—with all due respect—why his highness had told the guards to stop him from leaving the first five times but then changed his mind and allowed him to keep everything. "My dear, faithful servant, I never changed my mind. You performed a great service and deserved all the reward you now have. I knew, however, that once you filled your bags, you would already feel wealthy and would not want more. Therefore, I had the guards take everything and leave you with nothing. I wanted you to feel that you had nothing so that you would again bring out all the wealth you could carry. But doing that, I ensured that you actually were properly rewarded for your service to the crown."
Before moving on to the more or less painfully obvious נמשל, consider this: What if our hero just left in frustration after the first, second, third, fourth, or even fifth attempt? He still would have gotten the treasure he had collected; he still would be fabulously wealthy, but he would have felt devastated at not trusting the king. The loss of the last five, four, three, two, or one boxes of treasure would be nothing compared to the relationship with the king that he had abandoned. But how did he know to keep going back? How did he not give up?
Simple: He still had the key, and the guards didn't stop him. Obviously his time was not up.
That's what my rebbi meant: Are you still alive? Then your time is not up. You still have the key—Olam HaZeh—so go get more treasure: Torah and mitzvos.
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