Missing the Mark to Find the Target: The Transformative Power of Failure

When James Dyson set out to create a better vacuum cleaner, he didn’t succeed on his first try—or his hundredth. In fact, it took him 5,126 prototypes and nearly five years of persistent effort before he finally developed the technology that would revolutionize the industry. But he didn’t view each “failed” prototype as merely a setback; instead, he saw them as essential steps toward his eventual breakthrough. “I made 5,127 prototypes of my vacuum before I got it right,” Dyson has said. “There were 5,126 failures. But I learned from each one. That’s how I came up with a solution.”

This pattern—where failure becomes not just a predecessor to success but its very foundation—echoes an ancient wisdom found in the Torah’s description of Temple offerings. As Rabbi Ephraim Mirvis, Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth, points out in his commentary on the Torah portion of Tzav (Leviticus 6:1–8:36), there is a fascinating detail: the Korban Olah (burnt offering) and the Korban Chatat (sin offering) were both brought to precisely the same place on the altar. As the Bible states:

At first glance, this shared location seems perplexing, even contradictory. These two offerings represented opposite ends of the spiritual spectrum. The burnt offering symbolized spiritual aspiration and complete devotion to God—it was entirely consumed by fire, rising upward as a “sweet savor” to the Divine. Its very name, olah, means “that which ascends.” The sin offering, in stark contrast, represented human error and moral failure—it was brought specifically to atone for sins committed unwittingly. To place these polar opposites in the identical sacred space would be like housing champions and disqualified competitors in the same winner’s circle, or displaying masterpieces alongside failed attempts in the same museum spotlight.

This physical proximity reveals a profound spiritual truth. Rabbi Mirvis notes that the word “chatat” itself comes from a root that means “to miss the mark.” These offerings weren’t just neighbors on the altar; they were partners in a single spiritual journey.

“Sometimes the Chatat paves the way towards achieving the Olah,” Rabbi Mirvis explains. Our failures, when properly understood and addressed, become stepping stones to our greatest successes.

This wisdom extends far beyond religious ritual. In recent years, Silicon Valley has embraced this ancient principle with the mantra “fail fast, learn quickly.” Companies like Amazon and Google build failure into their innovation process, knowing that each unsuccessful experiment contains valuable data for future success. At Amazon, failed products like the Fire Phone provided crucial insights that later informed the development of successful products like Echo and Alexa. Google’s X lab (their “moonshot factory”) actually establishes clear metrics for when to shut down failing projects, recognizing that learning from failure is an essential part of their innovation process.

But the teaching goes deeper than pragmatic strategy. King David wrote in Psalms:

Our moments of rejection, failure, and sin don’t just precede success—they can become the very foundation of it.

This understanding transforms how we view our mistakes. In traditional Jewish communities, the High Holiday period begins with a month of self-examination, continuing through Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year) and culminating in Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement). This intensive process of teshuvah (return or repentance) isn’t merely about feeling bad for wrongdoings. It’s about recognizing that confronting our failures honestly becomes the very catalyst for spiritual elevation.

As Rabbi Mirvis teaches, “We are able to move forward, not despite our failings but because of them.” By recognizing where we went wrong and learning from both our mistakes and those of others, we create a foundation for future achievement.

We often assume that people who achieve greatness do so because they have fewer flaws than others. The truth is often the opposite: they’ve developed a different relationship with their failures. They’ve learned to bring their Chatat and their Olah to the same altar.

Consider your own life. What failures have you tried to keep separate from your successes? What if those very setbacks contain the seeds of your greatest contributions? What if the places where you’ve missed the mark reveal precisely where your unique gifts might be developing?

The ancient wisdom doesn’t just suggest that we can move from failure to success. It reveals something more radical: our failures and successes are not opposites but partners in the same sacred dance. The place of our greatest weakness often marks the site of our greatest potential strength—if we have the courage to keep showing up at the altar with both our misses and our aspirations.

This doesn’t mean we should celebrate failure for its own sake. Rather, it invites us to recognize that growth rarely follows a straight line. As we navigate life’s complexities, perhaps we can remember James Dyson’s 5,126 “failures” and that ancient insight about two very different offerings brought to the very same place. In doing so, we might discover that the distance between our lowest moments and our highest potential is not nearly as great as we once imagined.

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