Balance in Chinuch

Balance in Chinuch

Rabbi Yehoishophot Oliver

Our sages say: “Avraham—Yishma’el emerged from him; Yitzchak—Esav emerged from him; Yaakov—his bed was complete.”[1] 

Chassidus explains that although Avraham’s avodah (divine service) was chessed, kindness,[2] and it was a pure and holy chessed, it lacked the balance that only gevurah, strictness, can create, and so it was susceptible to being overcome by its evil counterpart—unholy chessed. Likewise, the avodah of Yitzchak, pure and holy gevurah,[3] lacked the balance that only chessed can create, and so it was susceptible to being overcome by its evil counterpart—unholy gevurah (for more on the way attributes can exist in both a holy and unholy form, see here).

This is the reason that Avraham’s avodah was incomplete, and therefore Yishma’el, who personified evil chessed, emerged from Avraham. Likewise, Yitzchak’s avodah was incomplete, and therefore Esav, who personified evil gevurah, emerged from Yitzchak. Only Yaakov, whose avodah was tiferes, “harmony,” which combines and balances chessed and gevurah, begot children who were all righteous—“his bed was complete.”[4]

Chinuch (education)—and any relationship, for that matter—requires the unconditional love and permissiveness of chessed and the rigorous, harsh discipline of gevurah. But as valuable as each of these approaches is, adopting either one to the exclusion of the other is unhealthy. Although following the opposite approaches of chessed and gevurah simultaneously may be challenging, they must be both be incorporated—and carefully balanced.

Most people are naturally inclined to be lopsided in their approach—some incline to excessive chessed, others to excessive gevurah. We can learn from Avraham and Yitzchak that when one follows one’s nature and goes to extremes in either approach, failing to practice chessed when gevurah is necessary, and vice versa,[5] and failing to create the proper balance between these two approaches, it may well lead, despite all one’s worthy intentions, to a most tragic outcome, may G–d save us.

The parent and educator are faced with the task of going against their nature, and when necessary, practicing chessed despite their natural inclination to gevurah, or vice versa. Ultimately, they must strike a balance between chessed and gevurah, and in a way that is tailor-made for each individual child, and this is the key to their success in the chinuch of their offspring and students.

(Of course, all the above constitutes a very general statement. In any given chinuch situation one must assess how to strike this balance correctly, based on the general guidelines laid out in Torah, and the advice and guidance of rabbonim and mashpi'im, and that is a separate discussion.)

Adapted from the Alter Rebbe’s Likkutei Torah, Va’eschanan 5a. Cf. Torah Ohr, Toldos 20c.

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[1] See Toras Kohanim on Vayikra 26:42.
[2] Avraham is associated with love and kindness, as it is written, “Avraham, who loves Me” (Yeshayah 41:9). Moreover, “The divine attribute of kindness said before the Holy One: ‘Master of the Universe, since the days of Avraham, I have not needed to perform my job, for Avraham serves in my stead’” (Sefer HaBahir 191, cited in Pardes 22:4).

[3] The Torah associates Yitzchak with holy strictness and fear, referring to Hashem as “the fear of Yitzchak” (Bereshis 31:42). 
[4] For more on this topic, see Zohar 3:179b; Torah Ohr, Bereshis 17c.
[5] See a teaching on this matter from the Previous Rebbe in Sichos Kodesh 5741, Vol. 2, p. 805.



Dedicated by Shmuel and Sara Rochel Markel in honor of the birth of their daughter, Yehudis bas Shmuel Leib. Yegadluha leTorah, lechuppah, ulemaasim tovim mitoch harchavah!

Dedicated in the merit of a speedy release for the captives Yonasan ben Malka (Jonathan Pollard), Alan Gross (Aba Chonah ben Chava Chana), Sholom Mordechai Halevi ben Rivka (Sholom Rubashkin), and Zeva Rochel bas Chaya (Wendy Weiner Runge).


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Maintaining the balance II

Earlier we discussed the idea that serving Hashem requires that one constantly balance criticism and praise, a sense of lowliness and a sense of pride and joy, and so on.

One of the ways to attain this clarity is through attending a chassidishe farbrengen. This idea is reflected in the chassidishe saying that, like the Parah Adumah, a farbrengen “purifies the impure while contaminating the pure” (Yoma 14a).

Some people are “impure,” for they feel that they have degenerated so low through sin that there is no hope for them. They are “purified” and uplifted at a farbrengen to realize that Hashem loves them and wants them to return, and thus despite everything, their Teshuvah will be accepted, and they can rectify the damage that they have done.

Conversely, a farbrengen attended by those who imagine themselves “pure,” who are starting to feel complacency and pride at their great scholarship or outstanding accomplishments, has the opposite effect. Such people are “contaminated,” i.e., they are reminded of their shortcomings, and how far they are from where they should truly be.

Balancing the spiritual and the physical

There are two opposite ways of serving Hashem, expressed in the verse “and the angels rose (‘ratzo’) and returned (‘shov’).”

A Jew has an extra divine soul, the Neshama, which is entirely spiritual, and stems from G–d’s Essence. Even after it becomes vested in a body, it is “truly a part of G–d.”[1] The Jew also possesses a Bestial Soul, which pursues the body’s physical needs and desires.

The Neshama naturally regards the body and the Bestial Soul as restrictive and burdensome, and longs to transcend the limitations of the physical and revert to its original state of self-nullification in unadulterated G–dliness. This yearning is called ratzo, which literally means “rising up.”

However, the Jew is not meant to sever himself altogether from the physical. Hashem sent the Neshama down into the body for a purpose: to reveal G–dliness in the body, the Bestial Soul, and the physical world,[2] and this requires that one come into close and regular contact with the physical. In order to accomplish this, the person must disregard his ratzo desire to transcend the physical, and force himself to engage with the physical for the purpose of refining and elevating it. In so doing he implements the task of shov, which literally means “returning.” The implication is that one descends and “returns” to one’s G–d-given mission after experiencing the high of the ratzo.

Serving Hashem involves a constant, careful balance between ratzo and shov. Although they are opposite forms of divine service, they complement each other:

One who engages in shov alone and neglects the needs of his Neshama to be inspired and elevated above the physical, runs the risk that his involvement with the world will pull him down into decadence and sin. He is then not only unable to elevate the physical, but he becomes a slave to it. Ratzo enables one to function effectively in the world by elevating one above the natural desire for the physical felt by the body and the Bestial Soul.This enables the shov, which includes the involvement in the physical, to be carried out with the pure intention of fulfilling Hashem’s will, and not because one wishes to indulge the body and the Bestial Soul, or even satisfy their needs.

Conversely, one who engages in ratzo alone neglects to fulfill his purpose in the world. He deprives the world of the G–dliness that he is able to reveal within it, and, since his divine service lacks balance, he also runs the risk of falling from the peak of spirituality to indulgence in gross physical lusts that will greatly distance him from Hashem.

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[1] Tanya beg. ch. 2.

[2] Ibid. ch. 37.

Maintaining the balance

Generally speaking, we find two different and opposite messages in the holy books.

Sometimes we are told how great, special, and beloved to G–d the Jewish people are. At other times we are told how puny and insignificant we are, for our physical world is the lowest of the low compared to all the higher spiritual realms (Tanya, ch. 36), and how low we are on account of our bestial soul’s natural attraction to the physical, never mind our desire to sin (ibid., ch. 29).

Likewise in terms of our generation as a whole: Sometimes we are told how our generation is spiritually lower than all generations that preceded it, comparable to the dead skin at the sole of the foot. But at other times we are told how our generation is superior, for we are the ones to bring the final Redemption.

The same is true of our individual divine service. Some Torah sources convey how infinitely precious every Mitzvah is, and how much is accomplished spiritually every time we learn Torah, and do even the most apparently minor good deed. Other sources make us feel that no matter how much Torah we have learned and how many Mitzvos we have performed, it will always be insignificant when compared with how much more we could have accomplished, or the amount of Torah left to learn, or the number of Mitzvos left to perform, or the amount accomplished by others greater than us today, or by earlier generations.

In some sources we are told that we should recognize our good qualities, while other sources emphasize how we should feel inferior to everyone else.

Some sources put down even the greatest Tzaddik, while others express the inherent greatness of even the greatest rasha (wicked Jew).

Some sources emphasize that it is always possible to do Teshuvah (repentance) for “Nothing can stand in the way of Teshuvah” (cf. Talmud Yerushalmi, Pe’ah 1:1), while other sources imply that one’s Teshuvah is never truly complete (cf. Tanya, ch. 29).

So which is it? Are we supposed to feel high or low, proud or humble, worthy or worthless, special or insignificant?

The answer is both very simple and very complex: It depends. It depends on the person—on his current state, on his environment, his background, and his level. The key is to maintain a balance, and this is accomplished through giving the correct medicine for the correct disease.

This can even be understood in the way a Jew should conduct himself in the secular world:

A rich entrepreneur doesn’t need praise for his business acumen. He needs to be told that only G–d is “the one who gives you strength to perform deeds of might” (Devorim 8:18). The same goes for a brilliant general, or a famous musician.

In contrast, a person starting a small business, a young recruit into the army, or a budding pianist, needs encouragement. He needs to be convinced that G–d really has endowed him with the talents that he needs to succeed. And even if he won’t reach fame and riches, he will make a substantial impact upon others. However, if he compares himself to the people at “the top,” and considers (often rightly) how unlikely it is that he will reach their success, he is liable to feel discouraged, and give up altogether.

The same is true of serving G–d. The Jew who struggles mightily to attend a Minyan, but barely makes it, needs to be praised profusely for his efforts. If he is told that his accomplishments are pitiful, this may well cause him to feel like a failure, which will weaken him so much that he will lose his drive to go to the trouble to attend the Minyan.

Conversely, the Torah scholar who learns all day but starts to let it go to his head, needs to be denigrated. He needs to be made to feel how ignorant he is compared to other scholars, how he is only realizing a minute fraction of his true potential, and how his apparently trivial sins are much worse than the severe infractions of others (see Tanya, end ch. 30).

Moreover, even during the one day a person may experience different moods, and here, too, this advice holds. At one point he feels weak and unaccomplished—then he needs to be uplifted and supported. But later on, after he prays at length, learns in depth, or contributes to Tzedakah in great quantities (or all the above), and considers that most others are not nearly as assiduous, sincere, or generous, he should belittle himself and his good deeds, as explained above.

Unconditional Acceptance: A Delicate Balance

Unconditional Acceptance:

A Delicate Balance

Rabbi Y. Oliver

The Rebbe writes:

It is difficult to establish rules concerning your question whether to deliver a speech at [political] party meetings or for groups that are not G–d-fearing. 

On the one hand, it is proper to use every opportunity to influence diverse groups of our Jewish brethren, to draw them close to Judaism, Torah and Mitzvos.

On the other hand, one must exercise caution to ensure that one’s participation in their gathering not be interpreted as a form of endorsement of their views, or at least of their activities.

Practically speaking, you should make a point of negating the last concern, and lecturing in any place that is fit to sow a seed of Judaism and fear of Heaven. Most of the time this sowing leads to growth, whether on the spot, or at least at some later point in time.

Igros Kodesh, Vol. 4, p. 199.

The suggestion that you teach in a school with mixed classes and the like does not seem correct to me, for this lends endorsement [to such conduct].

Ibid., Vol. 18, pp. 10-11.

Spreading Yiddishkeit involves maintaining a delicate balance. Obviously, one should seek out every possible opportunity to exert influence on as many fellow Jews as possible, and in order for the listener to accept one’s message, one needs to be tolerant, compassionate, and even unconditionally accepting of him.

Nevertheless, one should ensure that the listener does not walk away with the impression that one’s accepting approach on a personal level also entails tacit acceptance and endorsement of his or her inappropriate behavior. How to make this point, however, depends upon the situation.

First and foremost, one should be mindful of the inherent need to project a clear moral standard and to prevent one's actions or words from being construed as being permissive. Then one can figure out how to go about doing so in one’s individual circumstances, or consult with a mashpia for assistance.