When Should You Be Tough with Your Child? What Does the Rebbe of Lubavitch Say?

00:00 One of the questions occupying many parents today—and teachers and educators as well—is the subject of discipline. How much should we use it in education, and should we use it at all? We know, as our Sages say, that with a child, “the left hand should push away and the right hand should draw close.” In other words, education needs both: the left hand that pushes away, representing firmness and discipline, and the right hand that draws close with warmth and love. Perhaps in earlier generations this was clearer. Or, to put it differently, earlier generations did not have such an aversion to the whole subject of discipline. Today, especially in our generation, we hear more and more about educating through love: that we should only draw our children close, love them, embrace them, and use no discipline at all. But it is hard to say “no discipline at all,” because when there is none—not at home, not at school, not in cheder, not in yeshiva, not in our institutions—we see the results. The children walk all over us. There are no boundaries, no rules, no incentives, and so on. We know that discipline is necessary. So the question is: How do we really understand this? What should proper education look like? When, how, and in what way should we use discipline for educational purposes? Today we will talk about this fascinating subject. We will look at the teachings of our Sages and see that there seem to be several contradictions about how and when to use discipline, and in what order. Then we will see the wonderful explanation of Chassidus and the Rebbe’s wonderful explanation of a healthy approach to education. We will also connect this to the present time, because, as the Rebbe always said, education is not only about educating someone else, educating children, because

02:29 education actually begins within. We are meant to educate ourselves, too. So this question applies to us as well: Is discipline necessary? How much? In what order? What comes first, and what follows? All these questions matter. And if we look more deeply today, we will see that discipline does not mean what people generally think it means. This idea of the strong hand, of discipline in education, has a much deeper, more inward meaning, which will shed light on the whole subject. So let us begin again with the words of our Sages. The Gemara in Sotah and Sanhedrin says—and this is also cited as halachah in the Shulchan Aruch—that when educating children, “the left hand should push away and the right hand should draw close.” What exactly is the message here? There are really three messages. First, the Gemara tells us that both are needed: there must be a left hand and a right hand. You cannot educate with just one hand. Education requires two hands—right and left, kindness and discipline. Second, our Sages tell us that pushing away—setting boundaries when necessary, giving guidance, reprimanding, whatever we call it—must be done with the left hand. What does “the left hand” mean? It is called the weaker hand, as the Torah says regarding tefillin. In other words, pushing away should be done gently; it should not be dominant. Drawing close—with kindness and warmth—should be done with the dominant hand, the right hand. Education should place the emphasis on the right, while still using the left, but as the left hand. Pushing away must be done with the weaker hand. But there is another message here that many people do not notice: the order in which our Sages say it. They first say that the left hand pushes away, and then that the right hand draws close. Our Sages put the left before the right.

04:37 Why is that? At first glance, it should be the other way around. We should begin with kindness and love, and only afterward introduce discipline. Yet here we are told: first the left hand pushes away, and then the right hand draws close. What is the reason for this? The truth is that everything has a source, and if we go back to the source, we find that the first and greatest educator is Hakadosh Boruch Hu Himself. We find the same thing in the creation of the world. Rashi discusses this at the very beginning of the Torah. Why does the Torah open with the name Elokim—“In the beginning, Elokim created”? Rashi tells us that the name Elokim represents the attribute of judgment. Only after the six days of Creation does the four-letter Name, representing the attribute of mercy, appear for the first time. Rashi asks why the Torah places judgment before mercy. He explains that at first, Hakadosh Boruch Hu thought to create the world with the attribute of judgment. He wanted a world governed by judgment. Only when He saw that the world could not endure on that basis did He join the attribute of mercy to it. Here too, we see something surprising and remarkable: the left hand, the attribute of judgment, came first, and only afterward was mercy added. And here too we have the same question: Why? At first glance, it should be the reverse—especially when we are speaking about Hakadosh Boruch Hu, whom we know to be entirely kind and entirely good. “Hashem is good to all”; “His compassion extends to all His works.” Especially since, as the sefarim explain, the whole reason for the creation of the world is that “it is the nature of the good to do good.” In His great goodness, Hakadosh Boruch Hu wanted to bestow goodness upon His creations. That is the reason

06:43 the world was created. So why did He first think to create it through the name Elokim, the attribute of judgment, and only afterward add the attribute of mercy? What is going on here? Now let us return to education, where we find similar apparent contradictions. On the one hand, as we said, our Sages tell us that the left hand should push away and the right hand should draw close. Right? So the order is to begin with discipline, with the left hand. But when we look at other teachings of our Sages, we seem to find the opposite. The Rambam, drawing on the teaching that a person should always study Torah even if not for its own sake, because through studying not for its own sake he will come to study it for its own sake, explains this in his halachic work, the Mishneh Torah, at the end of Hilchos Teshuvah, in chapter ten, and also in his commentary on the Mishnah, in the introduction to Perek Chelek. The Rambam explains that when teaching a child and seeking to educate him, we should do so with plenty of warmth, love, and rewards. We tell him, “If you learn, you will get sweets.” In his distinctive way, the Rambam describes how we first tell the child that he will get honey. Well, that was probably the chocolate of those days. Later, we tell him he will get shoes. As he grows older and chocolate no longer appeals to him, we offer him shoes. Later still, we offer him money. Only after that do we begin to introduce serving Hashem for His own sake. So we see that education begins specifically with warmth and love, with gifts and rewards. What is more, our Sages tell us about one of the great Amoraim. The Gemara says of Rabbah or Rava—there are different versions as to which of them it was—that when he learned with his students, before beginning the lesson, he would say something humorous,

08:47 He would tell a joke, say something humorous, something cheerful, and get the students laughing. Only afterward would he move to the stage of awe and reverence. “He sat in awe,” says the Gemara: you enter an atmosphere of awe and reverence, and then you begin teaching. So what’s going on here? What’s the order? How is education supposed to work? Where do we start—with chesed or gevurah? With love or with awe? With boundaries and discipline, or with affection, love, and closeness? What’s going on? In one of his farbrengens, the Rebbe gave a wonderful sicha on education and taught us a sound, clear understanding of the proper way to educate, based on the words of our Sages. The Rebbe said this: There are two different things here. There is the moment when the teacher stands before the student and gives him the message, when a father stands before his child and gives him an educational message. When you are actually teaching the child—whether you’re teaching Torah, healthy behavior, moral conduct, how to daven, yiras Shamayim, whatever it may be—then the order during the lesson is “the left hand pushes away, and afterward the right hand draws close.” We’ll explain why in a moment. But when we’re talking about the general atmosphere before teaching begins, we say it should be an atmosphere of joy, love, and closeness. Take a school, a yeshiva, or a Talmud Torah, for example. Before learning begins, when a child arrives at cheder or comes home, the general atmosphere at home—before the education, before the lesson, before getting into it—should be one of joy, closeness, and love. There is a loving relationship. The teacher looks at the student with loving eyes. The atmosphere

11:16 in the classroom is accepting. It tells you, “Oh, it’s nice to be here. It’s a pleasure.” And you create that through all sorts of things around the lesson: the principal’s “good morning,” the teacher’s “good morning,” a pat on the back when the child walks into school, a kind word: “How are you? How do you feel? You look tired. You look well.” Some personal word that gives him the feeling that you’re there with him, that when you look at the child, you don’t see someone who’s out to cause havoc. Sometimes we’re under pressure, we’re tense, wondering what will happen. We start the day already feeling as though there’s some hidden battle between teacher and student, between the parents and the children. The atmosphere is meant to be accepting, welcoming, loving, and supportive. That’s before the lesson. But in the moment itself, when you’re standing before the student or your son or daughter and trying to educate them, to convey a message, the order there is first “the left hand pushes away,” and afterward “the right hand draws close.” There’s a very deep reason for this. Why is it so? First let’s explain the simple reason. Then we’ll go back to the root of the matter, see how it works there, and learn from that how it applies to everyday life. We spoke about the creation of the world. Our Sages tell us that the true reason Hakadosh Boruch Hu created the world is His great kindness. In the well-known words of the verse, “For He desires kindness.” Hakadosh Boruch Hu desires kindness. Hakadosh Boruch Hu is good, and the nature of goodness is to do good. Hakadosh Boruch Hu wanted to do good for His creations, and therefore He desired to have a dwelling place in this physical world. It comes from the nature of goodness to do good. He wanted

13:21 there to be a world, and for a person in that world to come and choose to serve Hakadosh Boruch Hu. Through that, the person would earn his reward and fulfill the purpose of making the world a dwelling place for Hakadosh Boruch Hu. So at its root, the creation of the world comes from love, kindness, closeness, and attachment. But the actual creation, as we said, was “In the beginning, Elokim created.” The world was actually created through the Divine name Elokim. Interestingly, as we said earlier, Rashi addresses this at the very beginning of the Torah. Why does the Torah open with the name Elokim? Rashi says that Hakadosh Boruch Hu initially intended to create the world with the attribute of strict judgment, and only afterward joined the attribute of mercy to it. When you learn that Rashi, as the Rebbe once discussed, on the level of the plain meaning of the verse, it’s hard to understand. A child asks: Why did Hakadosh Boruch Hu want strict judgment first? As we asked earlier, I always knew that Hakadosh Boruch Hu speaks to us, that Hakadosh Boruch Hu loves us with everlasting love—an eternal love, a great love, a genuine love for every Jew. So why did Hakadosh Boruch Hu want to create the world with the attribute of strict judgment, and only afterward join the attribute of mercy to it? The Rebbe once addressed the answer to this question. Rashi himself answers it immediately on the first verse, “In the beginning, Elokim created the heavens and the earth.” Rashi says: Look at the word “Bereishis” and ask what it means. “At the beginning” of what? A word seems to be missing. “At the beginning of everything,” “at the beginning of creation”—some word is missing. One of the explanations Rashi gives right at the beginning of Chumash is that “Bereishis” means “for the sake of those called reishis”—for the sake of the Torah and for the sake of the Jewish people. The Jewish people are called reishis; they are the purpose of creation. The Torah, too, is called reishis and is the purpose of creation. And for the sake of the Jewish

15:23 people and the Torah, Hakadosh Boruch Hu created the world. The entire world and all of creation were created for the Torah and for the Jewish people. That is Rashi at the very beginning of his commentary on Chumash. In other words, Hakadosh Boruch Hu created the world with a purpose. What is that purpose? That a Jew living in this world should conduct himself according to the Torah and fulfill it, and thereby make this a world filled with light, a world of kindness, a world of goodness, a more refined world, a world of Geulah. That is the purpose of creation that Rashi teaches a five-year-old child beginning to learn the plain meaning of the Torah. So the child already understands: if we want a child to behave well and fulfill that purpose, rather than live without restraint, in disorder, following his wild nature—for “man is born wild”—then there has to be gevurah. There has to be discipline, boundaries, and rules. That must be the order. For a student to want to learn, you have to set boundaries for him so he knows: this school, this home, has rules and standards. In this home, we behave in a certain way, and the rules are real. They don’t zigzag—one day yes, the next day no. If the child wrinkles his nose and we immediately rush to accommodate him and change the rules, and the rules change every day, then he doesn’t know what we want from him, what comes first and what comes last, what’s right and what isn’t, what’s permitted and what’s forbidden. There have to be clear, firm rules and decisions. This is how we behave; this is what we do. Things are clear when there are clear boundaries. With the attribute of judgment, the child knows that things are serious here. So when the teacher stands before the child, he certainly begins with the lesson: Here we’re going to learn seriously. Now we’re going to convey a serious message. These things matter, and they are consistent. And afterward comes the right hand

17:17 Draws close. Yes, you can’t educate with severity and strictness alone. The student also has to understand what these rules are for and why they matter. And this is what Hashem tells us: “The sixth day. And the heavens were completed”—the initial letters spell the four-letter Divine Name. Shabbos brought a revelation of Hashem’s mercy, and that is why, after Shabbos, the Divine Name appears openly in the Torah. The point is for mercy to enter into strictness. In educating a student, after the initial firmness at the start of learning comes kindness: the student truly understands that it is for his own good, that this is how he grows and develops. That is the basic way of understanding “the left hand pushes away and the right hand draws close.” But the truth is much deeper. When we speak of gevurah, of real gevurah, it isn’t just boundaries or a firm hand. In Chassidus and Kabbalah, gevurah has a much deeper meaning. True gevurah means demanding that the student bring out his strengths. It comes from an inner faith in the deep capabilities the student possesses. That is something else entirely. Here we need to understand the true root of what we mean by gevurah. It is really not what people generally think. Gevurah means a firm hand, boundaries, being strict—but there is something much deeper to it. We can learn this from the first person we know of whose defining attribute was gevurah: Yitzchak Avinu. As is well known, when we speak of the patriarchs, we say that Avraham’s attribute was kindness and Yitzchak’s was gevurah. Now, when we look at the lives of Avraham and Yitzchak, Avraham’s attribute of kindness is clear: acts of kindness. “He planted an eshel in Be’er Sheva and called there in the name of Hashem, G-d of the world.” That was Avraham Avinu—all kindness. Where do we see Yitzchak’s attribute of

19:35 gevurah? There is a verse that says, “And the Fear of Yitzchak was with me.” Gevurah. Fear. There is a connection between the attribute of fear and the attribute of gevurah. But in Yitzchak’s life, where do we look for and find his gevurah? Chassidus explains, based on the Zohar, that we find it in the account of Yitzchak’s life: the digging of wells. Throughout Parshas Toldos, the Torah tells us how Yitzchak went from place to place and dug wells. One well, a second well, a third well—he dug wells. When you read the story, you say, “I don’t understand what this is about.” Avraham Avinu is busy doing kindness, bringing everyone close, giving food to the travelers, telling them about Hashem. That makes sense. What does Yitzchak do? He digs a pit, a well, and another well. A well of living water; here they quarrel, there they don’t; he makes peace. What is this all about? But when we look closely, we understand the depth of gevurah, the depth of Yitzchak Avinu. Digging a well means believing that there is living water deep inside this place. You look at the ground from the outside and see soil, dust, stones. That is what appears to be there. But you know that is not all there is. Beneath the stones, beneath the dust, something deeper is hidden. So I start digging and digging and digging. Sometimes you dig a meter and still find more stones, more dust, more dirt. That doesn’t put you off. You dig deeper and deeper, because I know that down there, beneath the surface—even if it takes many, many meters—living water will eventually burst forth from this place. That is healthy gevurah, true gevurah. The gevurah of Yitzchak Avinu, the gevurah we are talking about here, the “left hand pushes away”—the true meaning of that phrase—is not pushing away merely to set boundaries. It is the demand, the gevurah that says:

21:40 “I expect something of you.” Why do I expect it of you? Not because I want to make your life difficult, trip you up, or ask something unrealistic of you; not because I want to give you a hard test to show you that you don’t know the answer. Heaven forbid. Just the opposite: because I believe in your abilities. When gevurah comes after the love we spoke about earlier, the order is truly wonderful. The overall atmosphere is one of trust, of love, of the principle that it is the nature of goodness to do good. A healthy teacher, a healthy parent, looks at the child with love, closeness, and genuine faith. As we discussed in the previous lesson, it is an inner faith in the child’s abilities, in his tremendous strength: I know you can do it. And when that connection is there, then when I make a demand of you, when I show that gevurah and firmness, I say, “Keep going.” The child says, “Oh, this is hard. It’s uncomfortable. I have to work. Why do I have to toil over some Gemara, some complicated Tosafos, a difficult maamar, a difficult concept? I want something easier.” And you don’t give him something easier. Not because you are cruel, G-d forbid. On the contrary, it comes from a deep belief that inside him there is living water, tremendous abilities within this young person. Of course, we have to be careful here. As teachers and parents, we need to be realistic about our demands and pay attention. Sometimes we need to consult educators to make sure our demands are not excessive. Certainly, you need to know what you are asking for and why. But don’t be afraid to demand something of a young person, because you know he can do it. Then the order is wonderful. The order of education is, as we said, first of all, before learning. This is what the Gemara tells us about Rava: “Before he began the lesson”—before he started teaching,

23:48 when he entered the classroom, he had to create an atmosphere. That is the atmosphere before learning in the classroom, the general atmosphere of the yeshivah, of the school, of the education. So that was before the lesson. There were jokes, joy, closeness, hugs, love, a feeling that we are together. We believe in you; we’re not afraid of you. On the contrary, we love you. There is genuine, sincere love here. But once the learning itself begins, that is where gevurah comes in, where awe comes in, where “the left hand pushes away.” Here, “the left hand pushes away” means the teacher’s demand of the student: Make an effort. Set yourself aside for the sake of the learning. Want to learn. Take it seriously. We are going into the depths now. We are going to study a profound subject because I believe you have the ability. Don’t be afraid; go in and you’ll see that you can do it. Then you lead him inward, into the depth of the learning, and afterward you can move on to the attribute of love that follows: “the right hand draws close.” The right hand drawing close, after the left hand pushes away, means that the student accepts his teacher’s words and takes them seriously. He wants to delve into the subject, wants to understand it, and knows he has the tools and abilities. Then he will truly draw close to the learning and bring the learning close to himself. He will make the learning part of himself. That is the right hand drawing close after the left hand pushes away, and that is a healthy, proper order of education: how to educate a young person so that he grows up healthy. And if we look at the days ahead, which we are now approaching, we see something wonderful. This Shabbos is Shabbos Mevarchim Elul. Look at the occasions that are beginning now. First comes the month of Elul, the preparation. Then comes the month of Tishrei. Tishrei contains the great days; it is the seventh month. The first part of Tishrei is the Days of Judgment, the Days of Awe. The second part of Tishrei is the days of love, the days of

26:03 Joy—the days of “the season of our rejoicing,” Sukkos and Simchas Torah. So how do we put these stages in order? This is exactly what we’ve been discussing. Before Rosh Hashanah, before the Day of Judgment, the month of Elul is the preparation. As the Alter Rebbe teaches us, the king is in the field. The king is not yet inside the palace; he is outside, in the field. We have not yet begun the work. This time, when the king is in the field, is a time of closeness. We all know the Alter Rebbe’s teaching that in Elul, the month of mercy, the king is in the field and draws every person close. Anyone who wishes may go out to greet him, and he receives them graciously, showing everyone a smiling face. This is the embrace and love that Hakadosh Boruch Hu shows us in preparation for the month of Tishrei, the days of teshuvah. When Tishrei arrives, the first ten days are days of judgment—days of accepting the yoke of Heaven, days of awe, serious days when you need to take stock of yourself, do teshuvah, and devote yourself to Hakadosh Boruch Hu. After that comes the embrace of the days of joy, the days of love of Sukkos and Simchas Torah, when a Jew accepts the Torah and the mitzvos with love and joy. In this way, we receive a year blessed in every respect. And this, essentially, is the message the Torah teaches us about a healthy approach to education in daily life: “Educate a child according to his way.” Healthy education follows these stages, these three stages. Before learning begins, there needs to be closeness, love, and joy—a feeling of trust and love. In the first stage of learning itself, there is “the left hand pushes away,” for two reasons. First, to set clear boundaries so that we—the child—know that this is serious. Second, because it is specifically through firmness that we awaken and reveal the tremendous inner strengths, the emotional strengths,

28:11 that we believe the child possesses. And then comes love, once the child truly wants to learn, wants to receive, wants to grow and develop, and makes the learning part of themselves. May Hashem grant each and every one of us nachas from our families and nachas from our students. May it be a blessed year, a fruitful year of learning, a fruitful year of growth for each and every one of us, and may we already merit the complete Geulah through Moshiach Tzidkeinu. May you be inscribed and sealed for a good year—a good and blessed year.