Fewer Orders, More Identity: The Secret to Healthy Jewish Education | In Light of Chassidus

00:00 Have you noticed that when we’re busy educating our children—our children, our students—we’re very, very busy giving instructions? Most of the time is taken up with instructions and tasks, from when we see a child in the morning until we send him off to school, or later in the evening, when he comes back from cheder or school and we see him for the last few hours of the day. The same goes for a teacher in cheder, a melamed, and so on. We’re very, very busy with commands, instructions, and tasks: You have to do this. You have to do that. You’re not allowed to do this or that. This, yes. That, no. No, yes, you must. And usually, in most of the arguments and quarrels, we’re busy handing down instructions, commands, and tasks. In Jewish religious education, in Torah and mitzvos, we’re also—if anything—even more occupied with constantly guiding and educating them, telling them what the Torah says, what’s permitted and what’s forbidden, what’s obligatory and what isn’t. And the truth is that sometimes, if someone were looking on from the side, it might seem as though my entire relationship with the child is a relationship of commands, of tasks, of do’s and don’ts. Is that really the essence of education? Sometimes we cause—and we see this in our times, which are especially sensitive—that all this focus on obligations, yes and no, and tasks naturally leads to a kind of rebelliousness in children: “No, דווקא not that,” and so on, in all sorts of ways, especially as they grow older. What is the right, healthy approach to a healthy education? Today I want to share with you a wonderful explanation, a wonderful sicha that we had the privilege of hearing from the Rebbe in 5748, on Shabbos Parshas Shoftim. It’s a sicha that gives us an entirely different, new, fundamental perspective on the essence of education. I think that if we can absorb and connect with what the Rebbe explained to us then about the way we look

02:35 at education, it will open a new window for us and give us a completely different attitude toward everything education means. The Rebbe spoke about something very interesting, also connected with this time of year, the month of Elul. There was a question about education and a question about the month of Elul—two interesting questions that are similar in content, with explanations that overlap and complement one another. The question the Rebbe asked about education was seemingly very simple: Why isn’t education a mitzvah? We all know—look in the Shulchan Aruch, in the works of halachah—that the obligation to educate a child is rabbinic. There are some specific aspects that are mitzvos. For example, with Torah study, “You shall teach them diligently to your children,” there is a mitzvah to teach Torah. But when it comes to educating a child, I’m not talking about Torah study as a value in its own right. I mean training a child to observe mitzvos, getting him accustomed to them, and keeping him away from transgressions as well. Most halachic authorities rule that this is not included among the mitzvos; it’s only rabbinic. And the simple question is: Why? This is such an important thing. After all, a child can’t suddenly reach bar mitzvah age and, in a single day, know how to put on tefillin and wear tzitzis and get used to doing so, along with all the other mitzvos, all at once. With education, it’s obvious that you have to start getting him accustomed to these things several years earlier: to say brachos, to daven, to say Shema, to wear tzitzis, and so on. As he approaches bar mitzvah, there’s tefillin—but it doesn’t all happen overnight. Why isn’t it a mitzvah? The Rebbe spoke about this during that period, at several farbrengens on the subject. He also explained it from the halachic perspective. I won’t go into the whole discussion now. I’ll go straight to the deeper, inner explanation in the light of Chassidus, which gives us

04:51 a new window onto the entire subject of education. So the question was: Why isn’t education considered a mitzvah? Why is there no command in the Torah? The Torah commanded a Jew to perform 613 mitzvos. How can it be that there’s no command in the Torah telling us to educate a child, to train him to observe the mitzvos? And what was the question about the month of Elul? That’s interesting too, and similar. We know what the Alter Rebbe explains about Elul in the famous maamar “Ani Ledodi Vedodi Li.” It’s based on the verse “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine” in Shir Hashirim. Earlier great Torah sages already wrote that “Elul” is an acronym for “Ani Ledodi Vedodi Li.” It appears in the works of great Torah sages of earlier generations. It means that in Elul, as the Bach says, we return to Hakadosh Boruch Hu out of love. That’s the idea of “I am my beloved’s”: a Jew should draw close to Hakadosh Boruch Hu out of love. The Alter Rebbe then gives his wonderful explanation of the month of Elul. What is the essence of the month? He gives the example of a king who, before entering the city, goes out into the field. Then every person in the field can go out to greet him, and he welcomes everyone graciously, with a kind and smiling face. There’s all the joy surrounding the king drawing close to the people and the people drawing close to the king. That is the essence of the month of Elul. The twenty-nine or thirty days of Elul are a time when Hakadosh Boruch Hu draws close, giving every Jew the opportunity and access to approach the King, draw close to Him, and make requests of Him. So the Rebbe asked a simple question. That would mean that Elul is an especially joyful month—as the Alter Rebbe himself says, it ought to be like a Yom Tov, a celebration all month long. But the question is more from a halachic standpoint. The Rebbe

07:00 asked: Why don’t we find this addressed in halachah? After all, the inner dimension of Torah does not come to tell us new things that, G-d forbid, have no place in Torah law. It is one Torah. In other words, the Alter Rebbe explains the essence of Elul because that really is the central point of the month. As we said, the theme of “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine,” and drawing close to the King out of love, appears in works of halachah too. Chassidus places greater emphasis on the example and parable that give us a special feeling for the month of Elul. The question is: Why is there no halachah, no ruling, or even a place where it’s explained that we should have a special joy in Elul, celebrate it in a special way, and feel the great joy of the King drawing close to us and of our going to the King? There are a number of Jewish customs, mentioned in halachah as well, such as blowing the shofar and saying the chapters of Tehillim. But where is the central theme of joy? There are no special laws for the month of Elul either. Then the Rebbe gave a wonderful explanation. He said this: A mitzvah means that a person is commanded to do something specific. That is, a person is told to do certain things—the will of the King. There are commands. A person is told, “You need to observe these mitzvos.” So there are 613 mitzvos, commands that Hakadosh Boruch Hu gave us, and through these commands we connect with Hakadosh Boruch Hu. We listen to His commands, do them, and fulfill them. But there is something beyond a command: a Jew’s connection with Hakadosh Boruch Hu by nature, as part of who he is. I am a Jew, and by being a Jew, I am connected to Hakadosh Boruch Hu. Let’s take a very simple and interesting example: kabbolas ol malchus Shamayim, accepting the yoke of Heaven. In other words, before a Jew comes to observe

09:21 Mitzvos. As it says in Maseches Berachos, before a Jew accepts the yoke of mitzvos, he must accept the yoke of Heaven. This matter of accepting the yoke of Heaven—or, to put it more broadly, believing in Hakadosh Boruch Hu, having faith—is, according to many great Torah sages, not a mitzvah. For example, the Rambam says that the mitzvah of faith is not a commandment to believe; it is to know what one believes. In other words, once you believe, you need to gain knowledge, to learn the details of Hashem’s greatness. That is how the Rambam explains the mitzvah of faith. The Ramban as well. The Ramban holds that “I am Hashem your G-d”—although it is one of the Ten Commandments, the first and most important, and Hakadosh Boruch Hu says to the Jewish people, “I am Hashem your G-d”—the Rambam argues that it does not count as a mitzvah. You cannot command someone, “I am Hashem your G-d.” That has to come from within a Jew before he is given any commands. It is something natural, something essential. It is our very essence, who we ourselves are. That is not something you need to command. There are things you do command. A command is an instruction, a particular action: do this and don’t do that. But some things have nothing to do with commands or instructions. They have to do with essence, with identity. I belong. No one needs to tell me, “You have to belong.” I belong—that is who I am. I am a Jew, and because I am a Jew, I believe in Hakadosh Boruch Hu. No one has to command me to believe in Hakadosh Boruch Hu. I am a Jew; I believe. Faith is part of the milk we were raised on, part of our essence, part of our DNA. It is our essence, our identity. So when we speak about educating a child, that does not mean only telling him what to do and what not to do. Of course, a child needs us to educate him

11:46 and guide him and explain to him what is permitted and what is forbidden, what he should do and what he should not. Of course. “A man is born like a wild donkey’s colt”; a child does not know what is good and what is bad. A young person cannot yet distinguish between good and bad. So the role of parents and teachers is to teach him about life: what is dangerous, what is good and what is bad—and, of course, about serving Hashem and observing Torah and mitzvos. What does Hakadosh Boruch Hu want, and what does He not want? But the essence of education is not “do this” and “don’t do that.” The essence of education is identity. As parents, we are meant to give our children a sense of Jewish pride, of Jewish identity. I am a Jew, and because I am a Jew, I live like a Jew. This is life itself. In other words, it is deliberate that the Torah did not establish education as a commandment. The Torah does not want education to become just another command, another action that one must perform, called “education.” Education is not a command. Education is essence. Education is identity. Education means conveying to a child who I am: “You have chosen us from among all the peoples”; “You have sanctified us from among all the nations of the world”; this aspect of being a holy people. The point is: I am a Jew, and because I am a Jew, my behavior needs to reflect that. My behavior grows out of that identity. Put simply, our children’s education is not about “forbidden” and “obligatory,” as though being a Jew were a collection of things one may not do and things one must do. That is an entirely different outlook. A Jew is part of a holy people. We are a holy nation. Holiness, G-dliness, Yiddishkeit—these are our life. And because we are Jews, a holy people, holiness calls for a special way of behaving, a way of behaving with holiness. From that flow the rules about what

14:16 is permitted, forbidden, necessary, and obligatory—but it is all founded on something essential. Accustoming a child to live like a Jew is the essential point of education: revealing to the child who he really is. That is our role in education. We need to make sure that, in our homes, Yiddishkeit is life. There is a Yiddishkeit of doing, and there is a Yiddishkeit of living. Yiddishkeit is life itself. This is life; this is how a person lives. One of the foundations of Chassidus is that living like a Jew is not merely behaving like a Jew. Being Jewish is life, a way of life, an essence, a soul. And if it is your life, then you do not need to be commanded to be a Jew. You do need commands telling you to do the things Hakadosh Boruch Hu wants, and so there are mitzvos. But being Jewish is not only about mitzvos; it is twenty-four hours a day. This essential point about education is also expressed in something remarkable that we see in the role of Jewish customs in education. The Baal Shem Tov placed great, great emphasis on this, as does the teaching of Chassidus: we educate children in the customs, sometimes emphasizing customs even more than halachos. Think of a child’s first haircut and putting on a kippah. The first things we give a child as part of his education are not necessarily mitzvos from the Torah. Many are Jewish customs, and it is precisely these that we emphasize, accustoming children to Jewish customs. The Rebbe once spoke about the Chabad custom at the Pesach Seder concerning the Mah Nishtanah, the Four Questions that every child is taught to ask. According to our custom, the Chabad custom, the first question concerns dipping—dipping in charoses and so on—not chametz and matzah, but specifically dipping. Chametz and matzah

16:37 are matters of Torah law. Dipping is only a Jewish custom. We dip the karpas, the vegetable, into salt water so that the child will ask. It is a custom, and it is precisely the first question. Why? First of all, because that is what the child notices: something different. But the deeper explanation is that Jewish customs express something far deeper in a Jew’s relationship with Hakadosh Boruch Hu. It is explained in the name of the Baal Shem Tov that Jewish customs have, in one particular respect, a source even deeper than a mitzvah. A mitzvah is a command: you are told that you must do such and such. With a custom, no one commanded you, but you feel that this is what you should do. That is the essence of a custom. A custom means there is no obligation here, no command. There is an inner feeling, received from our ancestors, our Rebbeim, and the tzaddikim, that this is how a Jew should live. Customs express something much more essential about a Jew’s identity than the tasks a Jew is required to perform. This is also explained in the name of the Alter Rebbe. We see something interesting regarding joy: rejoicing on a festival is a Torah obligation. All the festivals are “appointed times for rejoicing”; the Torah says, “You shall rejoice on your festival.” The rejoicing of Simchas Beis Hashoeivah comes from the words of the Prophets: “You shall draw water with joy from the springs of salvation.” It is not a Torah obligation; it is from the words of our Sages. And the rejoicing of Simchas Torah is not even a rabbinic obligation—it is a custom. Yet what we see is the reverse, seemingly the exact opposite. When it comes to the joy of the Jewish people throughout the world, in every community, it is just the opposite. The joy of a festival is fairly subdued. People drink wine and eat meat; as practiced according to halachah, it is all fairly subdued. Simchas Beis Hashoeivah already involves dancing and celebration, with greater joy. The joy of

18:59 Torah is joy without limits. In every community. A wonderful joy that breaks through every barrier. Seemingly, it should be the other way around. Rejoicing on a festival is a Torah obligation. The rejoicing of Simchas Beis Hashoeivah is only rabbinic, and Simchas Torah is only a custom. But no, because a custom expresses, in a certain sense, our essence, our identity. I am a Jew. So even when Hakadosh Boruch Hu does not obligate me or command me—even when the rabbis have not commanded me—there are things a Jew does because he is a Jew. That is how a Jew behaves. People often ask: Where does it say you have to wear a kippah? Is there a mitzvah to wear a kippah? There is a debate among the halachic authorities about the source for wearing a kippah. There is a great deal to say about it, but this is not the place; it is just an example. Nevertheless, we see that this very kippah reveals a person’s essence. He is a Jew, and he wears a kippah. That is how a Jew behaves, how a Jew walks, how a Jew lives. In educating our children, that is the message we convey. And that is why education is not a mitzvah, because education means identity. Education means essence. Education means accustoming a child to live as a Jew should. He eats like a Jew, sleeps like a Jew, gets up like a Jew, walks down the street like a Jew. He is different. “Their laws are different from those of every other people,” as even Haman understood. That is education at its core. When education reaches that core, then you don’t... then it becomes something else entirely. You feel something alive, something that breathes, something essential, something joyful. That is Yiddishkeit. Then the obligations and tasks, the prohibitions and mitzvos, take on an entirely different dimension. You no longer feel a struggle over what is forbidden and what is permitted, or over obligations and tasks. You feel something

20:57 else entirely. This is education that comes from a place of life, a place of essence, a place of holiness and purity. And this also explains the month of Elul. Why is there no mitzvah, no halachah, to be joyful in Elul? Because there is no need to command it. This is precisely what Elul is about: when a Jew reflects on what Elul means, no one needs to tell him, “Now be happy.” It bursts forth from a Jew’s very essence. Reflecting on the fact that the King is here with us—“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine”—touches our very essence. It is beyond a command, above everything. No one is obligating me. It is an inner feeling that bursts forth on its own. No one has to tell you, “Now you must rejoice.” I mean, I am with the King, so I am happy. The joy is natural, the joy is essential, the joy bursts forth on its own. And it is precisely this joy that is not confined by halachic instructions to do it this way or that way, because it comes from the soul, from the neshamah. This prepares us for the month of Tishrei, for Rosh Hashanah, for accepting the yoke of the Kingdom of Heaven. On Rosh Hashanah, a Jew comes and crowns Hakadosh Boruch Hu as King. Then comes accepting the yoke of the Kingdom of Heaven for the whole year, as explained in Chassidus, and Tishrei in general, with all the mitzvos we observe during that month. When, in Elul, a Jew draws close to Hakadosh Boruch Hu from this place—Elul is the month of “I am my beloved’s,” which, as the Rebbe explains, means awakening and revealing the “I.” Who is the real “I”? The real “I” is “my beloved’s.” That is my essence. No one has to tell me to do things. This is who I am: He and I are one. When that is how we feel in Elul, then the whole month of Tishrei as well—the crowning of the King, accepting the King, and all the festivals that follow—becomes something else

22:56 entirely. And it brings us into a year in which each and every one of us will truly be inscribed and sealed for good, a good and sweet year. May we have abundant nachas, genuine nachas—the nachas that everyone asks for, prays for, and pleads for—from our families, from our households, and from our students. May we truly merit to raise a generation whose service of Hashem is filled with joy. May it be a year of joy, a year of holiness, and a year of Geulah.