Is limitless ambition the engine of growth, or the greatest risk for organizations?
There are moments when an organization feels ready to take off: a new product, a newly opened market, a highly motivated team. In such moments, it is easy to believe the sky is the limit — perhaps that there is no limit at all. Yet this is precisely where the danger begins.
In the biblical portion Terumah appears one of the Torah’s most profound images: the cherubim above the Ark of the Covenant, described as “spreading their wings upward.” Rabbi Isaac Arama, author of Akeidat Yitzhak, saw in this a reflection of human longing — the desire to reach toward the source, toward wholeness, toward the highest possible state. Like the cherubim, human beings seek to rise, grow and move beyond what they are today.
But in the same breath, the Torah adds a critical detail: the wings also “cover the Ark.” They do not detach from their base. Despite the upward aspiration, they remain grounded and bounded. Arama emphasizes that human action takes place within a hierarchy, within a system — and there are limits to what can be attained.
This built-in tension between ideal and reality lies at the heart of leadership.
Arama’s message is not against ambition, but against the illusion of omnipotence. Spreading wings is essential — but only if we remember what they are meant to cover. Aspiration does not erase limits; it unfolds within them.
Modern management often celebrates vision, disruption and thinking without constraints. Philosophers such as Nietzsche praised the will to break boundaries, while existential thinkers emphasized humanity’s responsibility to shape meaning. Contemporary organizational theory likewise speaks of transforming reality and accelerating growth.
Yet Arama introduces a necessary brake: ambition that ignores its limits quickly turns into hubris.
The classic managerial failure is confusing vision with invincibility — leadership that begins to believe it is the source, that the market will align, that risks will resolve themselves. Business history is full of organizations that grew too fast, expanded too far and ignored structural limits — until they shattered.
The model of the cherubim suggests another formula: spread wings, yet cover the Ark. Set bold goals, but manage cash flow; speak of purpose, but measure performance; dare greatly, yet recognize risk.
This principle is visible in the economic and policy arena as well. The reassessment of U.S. steel and aluminum tariffs following negative consequences shows how sweeping policy, born from ambition to reshape reality, encounters market complexity. The adjustments that followed reflected not weakness, but recognition that economic policy requires continual calibration — a balance between vision and reality.
The same is true in investing. I once invested in a company experiencing extraordinary growth. The numbers were phenomenal and the sense was that the opportunity could take us far. But growth outpaced the company’s ability to build a stable managerial and organizational foundation, and ultimately it could not sustain its rise. It was a reminder of how easy it is to fall in love with growth — and how much harder it is to examine the foundations.
Humility, in this sense, is not weakness but a control mechanism. It is knowing you aspire upward yet remain within the system, not above it. Recognition of limits is precisely what enables stable growth rather than dangerous overreach.
I recently encountered a beautiful idea in VeTen BeLibenu, drawn from the daily Zohar: when a good or proper action is accompanied by love, it receives life. Emotional connection is what allows action to truly rise. The same holds in organizations — not merely executing tasks mechanically, but cultivating meaning, joy and connection among people is the spirit that lifts the whole.
Lately I have felt drawn to writing poetry. I am only at the beginning of this path, learning and discovering, and one poem that emerged from these reflections is titled Roots with Wings:
A person walks on steady ground
With open eyes toward the horizon ahead
Some days they simply hold on tight
And some days they learn to rise slowly
For there is a root seeking hold
And a wind that opens movement
Between the place I came from
And the space I will reach tomorrow
This column is not a call to narrow dreams, quite the opposite. It is a call for disciplined aspiration. Mature leadership does not abandon height; it simply remembers there is ground.
Because the difference between an impressive takeoff and sustainable growth is not altitude, but the stability from which one rises.
And the question every leader, investor and manager must ask is simple: Where are we spreading our wings, and are we still covering the Ark?
First published: 07:33, 02.19.26