The pasuk commences by stating that the following are the offspring of Aharon and Moshe, but goes on to list only Aharon’s sons. What happened to Moshe’s sons? Is Moshe considered a “father” to Aharon’s sons? Chazal (Sanhedrin 19B) infer from here that, Kol ha’melameid es ben chaveiro Torah maaleh alav ha’kasuv k’ilu yoldo, “Whoever teaches Torah to his friend’s child, the Torah regards it as if he had begotten him.” Thus, Moshe Rabbeinu became Aharon’s sons’ spiritual progenitor, because he taught them Torah.
This statement is not poetic embellishment. Chazal do not exaggerate. As such, the commentators offer their individual perspectives on chinuch which they derive from this Chazal. Clearly, if Chazal are comparing a melamed to a parent, they are, by inference, defining the essence of Torah chinuch. Torah is not merely information or instruction, it is recreating. Veritably, it does offer information and does give instruction, but it is for the purpose of rejuvenating a neshamah and helping it achieve spiritual vitality.
We see students who have dropped through the cracks of the system. They appear spiritually spent and desolated. Yet, there is hope for them. The Torah was given in the wilderness – a barren, lifeless desert, presenting little to no hope for life to flourish. Torah can flourish even in a spiritual wasteland. Even a desert can become fertile when infused with life-sustaining Torah. If it can “work” in a desert, it can, likewise, rejuvenate a child whose spirit lies dormant, waiting to be enlivened by authentic Torah. There is one caveat not to be ignored – it does not occur automatically or by osmosis. It requires the services of a loving, devoted melamed.
My take on Chazal’s message may be different and perhaps overly demanding, but I have seen too many potential “rejuvenates” fizzle out due to the lack of adherence to the following criteria. The word melamed is precise. It does not say kol ha’melamed, one who studies/instructs a child. It says melamed by design, because a melamed does not just study with a child – he molds, shapes, and forms him. A melameid does not seek to complete a syllabus – he seeks to create a talmid. Likewise, a talmid is not one who has heard a shiur; rather, he is one who has attached himself to a rebbe. This becomes a relationship of the heart – not merely the mind.
The phrase ben chaveiro is also deliberate. It could have just as well have said, ben acher, the child of another. Why the emphasis on chaveiro, my friend’s child? This is not just “another kid,” but the son of my friend – a term which implies affection, mutuality and closeness. One does not relate to a friend’s child with indifference. This natural warmth is born of a relationship that has endured both the peaks and valleys of life.
I think Chazal are revealing a prerequisite for Torah to recreate life: the rebbe/melamed must view the student as ben chaveiro, just as he would view his friend’s son – same relationship, same loving care, same aspirations for seeing him succeed. Sadly, this is not always the case. We sometimes witness students who attend diligently, who sit and listen respectfully, but nothing happens. They are not transformed. The Torah does not rejuvenate them. They are present, but the passion, the fire, has not been ignited.
Is it anyone’s fault? The word fault means blaming, placing an onus of guilt on someone. I do not think it is about guilt or fault. It is about attitude, which is difficult to circumvent. Perhaps I am going too far, but, unfortunately, it happens whether we want to accept it or not, and children and educators are affected by it. A Rosh Yeshivah wants to establish a Torah institution for elite students, refined young men who have exceptional aptitude and strive for greatness. Who would not want that? (I am focusing on male students, but the problem exists equally in the girls’ divisions as well.) Circumstances intervene. The roster of students who apply are not what he expected and certainly not what he wanted. What was he thinking? It takes years of diligent management and relationships to create the perfect model. Thus, his dream “A” yeshivah is now a “B.” His rebbeim have a similar issue. They convinced themselves that they were about to prepare the future Torah giants of the generation. Everyone does his job. The rebbe fulfills his contractual obligations. The Rosh Yeshivah acts his role. But deep within, they harbor disappointment (and, at times, resentment). These were not the talmidim that either had imagined.
Students are uncanny. Boys know when they are wanted. Girls are also acutely aware of what their mentors think of them (vis-à-vis themselves and their aspirations). Children possess a barometer for the authentic, and they can sense when they are cherished and when they are tolerated.
When Torah is transmitted under the cloud of, “I wished for better,” or “Why does this family send their brightest children to the competition?” then the life-sustaining force of Torah has not been properly conveyed. The material is the same everywhere. It is the heart behind the transmission that changes.
A rebbe who views his students as bnei chaveiro embraces them with filial love, and he does more than educate – he creates. He partners with Hashem in bringing spiritual life into the world. Likewise, when a student feels wanted, when he is valued not as a statistic, but as a neshamah that has the potential for greatness, he/she responds. The heart opens, the Torah enters, and a new spiritual life has been created.
In conclusion, if Torah is to be transmitted successfully from rebbe to talmid, it cannot travel through the medium of intellect alone. The conduit must be love. A rebbe must want to teach. He must yearn to give. He must view his talmid not as a seat in the classroom, but as a neshamah entrusted to his care. When a rebbe looks at his student as a son – when his concern is personal, when his simchah is genuine, when his pain is shared – the Torah he imparts is no longer information. It becomes a legacy. The talmid, for his part, must feel this love. A student possesses a finely tuned emotional sensitivity. He knows when a rebbe is authentic and when he his merely performing a role. Children know when a rebbe’s smile is patient and when it is pressured; when his rebuke is born of care, and when it stems from irritation. Torah transmitted “by rote” rarely penetrates. Torah conveyed with warmth imprints itself upon the heart. When affection frames discipline, it is not experienced as rejection, but as guidance. The talmid reciprocates not only with respect, but with trust. This trust is the soil in which Torah flourishes. When love is the medium of transmission, the message becomes eternal.
One of the most extraordinary mechanchim of recent times was Horav Dovid Trenk, zl. A legend in chinuch, he was recognized, appreciated, revered and emulated by mechanchim who sought the key to unlock the hearts of students who presented a challenge. That key, of course, was unbridled, unembellished love. In a masterful biography, aptly titled, “Just Love Them,” Rabbi Yisrael Besser does honor to the life of a Torah giant without peer. The volume is filled with anecdotes, vignettes from a life devoted to Klal Yisrael. But there is always one nekudah penimis, essential point, that defines and gives an article, a book, a program, an institution its identity – its mission statement. I personally was inspired by the following vignette which speaks to all of us.
Rav Trenk once shared with a friend a dream that he had the night before. He dreamt that the advent of Moshiach Tzidkeinu was a reality. He, for whom we had been waiting for so long, had finally come. Everyone was excited as they danced in celebration. Moshiach, however, appeared to be looking around, searching the crowd for someone. Finally, he asked, “Where is everyone? Where are the rest of the people?” “I had no answer for him,” Rav Trenk, said. “That is my function in this world, to see to it that when Moshiach arrives everyone will be there to greet him.” This was his calling: to see to it that every bochur has a yeshivah in which he will feel comfortable, so that he, too, could greet Moshiach Tzidkeinu.
