K'Gananim b'Gan Hashem
As Gardeners in the Garden of God:
Hasidic Thought and its Implications for
Teacher-Student Relationships

							Asher Friedman  
							Mentor: R. Jeffrey Saks 
							ATID Spring 2001 

				
K'gananim b'Gan Hashem
As Gardeners in the Garden of God:
Hasidic Thought and its Implications for Teacher-Student Relationships
By Asher Friedman

Asher Friedman is completing his semikha studies and an MA in Jewish Philosophy through Yeshiva University. This year, he will study at Yeshivat Har Etzion in Alon Shevut. He taught last year at BMT. 

				    Project Description 
This project explores the dynamics of teacher-student interactions through the prism of hasidic thought. Arguing that how we relate to our students has as much impact as what we teach them, the author turns to the psychologically rich works of hasidut for models of growth-oriented relationships and shows how these principles can be implemented and actualized by contemporary teachers, both inside and outside the classroom. 

					Abstract 

	This paper demonstrates that many elements of the hasidic world view carry profound implications for the formation of a philosophy of education, particularly with regards to the nature of the relationship between teacher and student. The author claims that hasidut, if analyzed in terms of its basic assumptions about human psychology and the dynamics of interpersonal relationships, makes claims very relevant to issues facing contemporary educators. The author begins with a brief study of the educational philosophy proposed by Rav Klonymous Kalman of Piasezna, one of the first hasidic thinkers to systematically describe hasidic thought in terms of its implications for the attitudes and methodologies of teachers.  The educational methods utilized by Rav Klonymous Kalman directly flow from certain assumptions about reality, assumptions rooted in the hasidic world-view. The author points out that many contemporary orthodox educators utilize innovative techniques without inquiring as to whether the values these techniques carry as baggage are reconcilable to a Jewish world-view. If how we teach is as important as what we teach, if a teacher's attitude transmits subtle yet powerful lessons to the students about the nature of growth and learning, then this is a significant problem. In contrast to these educators, the rebbe developed an educational methodology that is a direct corrolary of his overall world-view, rooted in the kabbalistic thought of hasidut.  
	This paper focuses on explicating the rebbe's basic assumptions about education in terms of their roots in hasidic thought and in terms of the precise way in which they play out in teacher-student relationships.  
	The author suggests that an understanding of how hasidic theory yields an educational philosophy and, in turn, an effective methodology, is important for two reasons: Firstly, it demonstrates that teachers need not resort to using piecemeal assortments of educational techniques that may or may not reflect a Jewish world-view, but rather may build an educational theory of practice from a uniquely Jewish system of thought. In this sense, Rav Klonymous Kalman's work is an important model. Secondly, it is the author's belief that his own study of hasidic texts and his integration of hasidic concepts into his own world view has significantly aided him in developing an 'educational intuition' that has guided him in his dealings with students. Throughout the paper, the author cites examples culled from his own interactions with students that serve to demonstrate this claim.  
	After briefly introducing Rav Klonymous Kalman's educational philosophy, discussing the issues involved in 'translating' theories from one cultural language to another, the author provides a short introduction to hasidic thought, focusing on the idea of a 'kabbalistic psychology', the hasidic assumption that the cosmic processes of G-d's interaction with His creation are reflected in the internal psychological processes of the human soul. The author then moves to the main body of the paper, an analysis of the implications of this 'kabbalistic psychology' for our understanding of the dynamics of the relationship between teacher and student.  
	The author shows that hasidut's optimistic view of the human soul yields powerful implications for the attitudes that teachers develop about their students. Hasidic thought assumes that the human soul is essentially an emanation of the Divine, and therefore a source of infinite potential growth. No matter how evil or corrupt a person may appear on the surface, the possibility of growth is always present. Thus, teachers must always view students in terms of their potential selves as well as their actual selves. A student's character traits may manifest themselves in negative ways, but contain the potential for positive manifestations as well. For example, if a student with an explosive temper learned to channel his emotions, they could be used to attain passionate levels of avodat Hashem instead. Students often develop unrealistically negative self-images, and it is often crucial that teachers independently assess students for positive qualities in order to help them grow. The author suggests that teachers keep lists of students' positive character traits in order to facilitate this focus on their potential. 
	While an awareness of a student's dynamic potential for growth is crucial, the author shows that hasidic thought also maintains that teachers must cultivate an awareness of the student's actual locus along the developmental continuum of growth. A person cannot grow so long as he maintains an unrealistically positive sense of self. The first step of growth is always an honest recognition of the gap between where one is and where one could be. Furthermore, if a teacher sets the conceptual and spiritual level of his expectations of his students unrealistically high, his methods will be completely ineffective. 
	The author maintains that in order to relate to students where they are, as opposed to where they should be, the teacher must implement tsimtsum, constriction. Tsimtsum, a kabbalistic concept used to describe G-d's self-constriction in creating the physical universe, is extended by hasidut to describe the human act of constricting one's own self in order to make room for the Other. The author claims that to truly love requires an act of tsimtsum, an act that expresses a love sensitive to the needs of the beneficiary. The unique qualities of the recipient determine the shape and nature of the act of giving. In the realm of education, tsimtsum is the ability of the teacher to recognize the more constricted intellectual, moral, and spiritual levels of his students and to work with them in their own terms. Tsimtsum applies to the particular way in which we teach concepts to our students. Well-educated adultsare used to thinking in abstract terms, but students encountering philosophy or gemara for the first time often have difficulty dealing with conceptual thinking, and the teacher must learn to present ideas in a format suitable to the students' level and to tap into the students' own motivations for study. 
	The author then proceeds to demonstrate how other hasidic concepts contribute to the fashioning of a useful understanding of the teacher-student relationship. Yeridah l'tsorekh aliyah, descent for the sake of ascent, suggests that for a teacher to connect with his students, he must find some element of their own struggles within himself. This act of cognitive and emotional descent creates a feeling of solidarity and identification between student and teacher that gives the student the self-confidence to commence growth. Furthermore, hasidic thought assumes that people respond reflectively to the emotions of others. When the teacher manifests love to the student through his descent, self-love and love for the teacher are ignited within the student, aiding the growth process.  
	Despite the power of tsimtsum and yeridah, the teacher ultimately must pull away from the student in order to prevent the student from becoming passive and dependent. Furthermore, the teacher, when descending to the level of his students, must maintain a double-minded awareness of his own more advanced spiritual state. Without this, the teacher will lack the capacity to guide his students beyond their current level.  
	In conclusion, the author emphasizes that the adoption of elements of the hasidic world-view has positively impacted on his own intuitive ability to relate to his students and encourage their growth. The adoption of an educational system that flows from a consistent and uniquely Jewish world-view has the added advantage that it transmits Jewish values subtly through the educational techniques themselves, a result that is impossible to accomplish if one's educational methods are learned primarily from non-Jewish educational theorists. 

Introduction 
Fathers and teachers must know that their task is to educate and reveal children of the Lord and giants of Israel. They must see the children sitting in front of them as great souls still immature; their task is to get them to grow and flourish. A teacher is a gardener in the garden of God, assigned to cultivate it and guard it from harm. 
		-- Rav Klonymous Kalman of Piasezna

	My own fascination with the interplay between hasidic thought and the art of teaching began four years ago, as I embarked on my first summer as a teacher at the NCSY Kollel in Efrat. A friend recommended that I prepare for the experience by reading Rav Klonymous Kalman of Piasezna's "A Discussion with Teachers and Parents". The Rebbe's deep belief in every child's potential greatness inspired me, and his theories about the nature of adolescent spiritual growth resonated with my own experiences in working with teenagers. Over the past several years, my continued work with Modern Orthodox youth has served to intensify my conviction that the educational philosophy implicit in the hasidic world-view, and made explicit by Rav Klonymous Kalman, can be profoundly useful in developing an educational vision for contemporary teachers.

Why turn to hasidic thought for guidance in shaping our approach to education? Contemporary Orthodox educators often utilize innovative techniques, without inquiring as to whether the values these techniques carry as baggage are reconcilable to a Jewish weltanschauung. In the words of Seymour Fox, 
[T]he means and techniques that have been adopted by Jewish education are often imported indiscriminately from general education. Since the means of education are not neutral, it is quite possible that some of the means employed for Jewish education cancel out whatever there is in Jewish education that is related to "authentic" Judaism.
If how we teach is as important as what we teach, if a teacher's attitude transmits subtle yet powerful lessons to the students about the nature of growth and learning, then this is an issue that must be grappled with.  
	It is easy to underestimate the power of seemingly neutral educational decisions to transmit messages and values to our students. For example, over the past 50 years, standardized testing has become a pervasive component of almost every western educational system. On the surface, this trend seems to be a sensible pragmatic decision -- it is far easier to maintain consistent educational standards if disparate schools all subject their students to the same tests. But let us consider the impact that this approach has had on the way our students relate to the learning process. Accompanying the proliferation of standardized tests has come an abundance of test-preparation courses that teach wealthier students the 'tricks' necessary to achieve high scores. Teachers face intense pressure to focus their classes on those subjects and types of questions that might appear on the tests. What message do the students receive from this? They learn to view the process of learning as a 'game', replete with tricks and strategies necessary to achieve 'right' answers. The pursuit of knowledge has become the pursuit of the multiple choice answer which is least likely to be incorrect. Thus, a seemingly innocent, pragmatic educational method transforms the way our students view the fundamentals of education. Almost no educational decision is value-neutral, and therefore we educators would do well to ensure that our teaching methodologies reflect a world-view compatible with the Judaism we intend to convey to our students.  
	Teachers need not resort to using piecemeal assortments of educational techniques that may or may not reflect a Jewish world-view, but rather can and should build an educational theory from a uniquely Jewish system of thought. In this sense, Rav Klonymous Kalman's work is an important model -- Rav Klonymous Kalman didn't merely describe a random assortment of effective methods of education. His educational methodology directly flows from certain assumptions about reality, assumptions rooted in the hasidic world view. 
	This paper will focus on explicating how certain basic assumptions about education flow from their roots in hasidic thought and exploring the precise way in which they play out in actual teacher-student relationships. Although this essay utilizes the contributions of many hasidic thinkers, Rav Klonymous Kalman's systematic vision underlies much of what is written here. The Rebbe demonstrated the relevance of hasidic thought to educational practice for his own generation, and this essay is in many ways an extension of his work.  The Rebbe's essay alludes to concepts that require elaboration, both to understand their cosmic implications in terms of their roots in hasidic thought, and to determine precisely how they should be applied to the contemporary teacher-student relationship.  
	I believe that my own study of hasidic thought has significantly aided me in developing an 'educational intuition', one that has guided me in forming positive, growth-oriented relationships with my students. Many of the examples that I cite in this paper are based on my own experiences, not because I see myself as an exemplary teacher, but rather because I believe that some of my intuitions about how to work with students have been shaped and bolstered by my study of hasidut. A study of how these intuitions play out in the course of my interactions with students is therefore useful in analyzing the relevance of the hasidic world view to modern educators.  
	This essay is fundamentally not about particular techniques; rather, it aims to provide a way of organizing our thinking about ourselves as teachers and about our relationships with our students. Of course, every teacher and every educational situation is different and therefore it is unlikely that any reader will implement the principles discussed in this paper exactly as I did. For example, a teacher in a large school with a packed teaching schedule will have far less ability to create the types of personal relationships with students described here. However, even such a teacher may find his own way to implement these ideas, though in a different form.  
	To move from the abstract realm of hasidic thought to the pragmatic realm of the classroom, we must develop an educational philosophy grounded in theory but developed to the extent that its implications for educational practice are clear. In our case, we will build an understanding of the nature of the teacher-student relationship based on the theoretical teachings of hasidut, yet formulated in terms that can be implemented by contemporary teachers. 
	The final section of this introduction, Hasidut: Theory, contains an introduction to certain fundamental elements of the hasidic world-view that underlie the concepts that will be discussed in the body of the paper. In the body of the paper, we will examine the multiple facets of the teacher-student dynamic, and show the systematic nature of hasidut's strategy for encouraging positive growth within the context of that relationship.  
	Each of the following sections can stand on its own, but is best understood as a component of a dynamic system, impacting on and impacted by those facets preceding and succeeding it. In the first half of the paper, The Dynamic and the Static Self: The Teacher's Image of the Student, we will explore the implications of hasidut's optimistic view of the human soul for the teacher's image of the student. Hasidic thought emphasizes that people are capable of dynamic growth and change, and therefore views individuals in terms of their potential and not merely in terms of their actual state. However, a teacher should not lose track of the student's static self either -- growth begins from an accurate awareness of a person's actual level of development. 
	The second half of the paper, Constriction, Descent, and Ascent: the Teacher's Approach to the Student, explores the implications of dealing with the student ba'asher hu sham, in terms of his actual locus along the spectrum of personal development, as opposed to where we expect him to be. This requires change on the part of the teacher in order to bridge the gap between his own intellectual and spiritual level and that of his students. At the end of the paper I have added an appendix, a selection of hasidic texts representative of the ideas discussed. 

Hasidut: Theory 
The secret of life is flow, and everyone must receive the influx of life in the same way as he must give of the flow of life; and he who does not receive and give at the same time is a fruitless tree. 
	 -- R Zvi Hirsch of Zyditchov 	 
The following section provides a brief introduction to some of the metaphysical assumptions that underlie the hasidic concepts discussed in this paper.  

(1) Hitkal'lut: Complex Monism 
	The hasidic world view can best be described as one of 'complex monism'. Monism is an assumption that all of existence, as disparate and diverse as it seems on the surface, is ultimately connected back to one source -- therefore all things are ultimately similar. The statement of the Zohar that 'leit atar panui minei', 'there is no place empty of Him', became a central tenet of hasidic thought -- God pervades all of existence.  All things are essentially interrelated and interconnected. The unique formulation of this idea in hasidut merits careful study: 
In the Zohar it is written . . . "Anyone who performs a single commandment is considered as if he performed all 248 positive commandments, for there is not a single commandment that does not include within it all 248 commandments." . . . In any place that I grasp at and hold a small portion of Unity, I grasp all of Unity . . . Since the Torah and mitsvot emanate from His Essence blessed is His name, which is the True Unity, if so, when a person fulfills one mitzvah properly and lovingly . . . and grasps through this mitsva a portion of Unity, if so, then he has grasped all of Unity.
A useful model for understanding this approach to Ahdut Hashem is the mathematical concept of fractals. Fractal theory suggests that the same structure present on a macro-level can be found on a micro-level as well. Any portion of the whole contains, on some level, the information-content of the entire entity. According to hasidut, a single thought in the mind of a single human contains within it all of the worlds, all of the realms of existence. In other words, a deep understanding of anything yields a comprehension of everything. 
	 For our purposes, the significance of this idea is that hasidut assumes that all things are ontologically connected. On the social level, this means that human beings are not separate atoms that occasionally interact, but are, on a deep level, manifestations of a greater unity. On the psychological level, this implies that to know some fact about the outside world entails a process of knowing oneself, and the process of knowing oneself entails a process of knowing the outside world.  

(2) Theological psychology 
	Every fragment of existence is related to existence as a whole because all of existence flows from one Source. In that sense, not only does every fragment yield insight into the nature of the whole of created existence, but also into the nature of God Himself. In particular, hasidut assumes that human psychology is reflective of the nature of God's interaction with His creation. The system of sefirot that describe the inner workings of God's emanations carry clearly anthropomorphic associations -- for example, the second, third, and fourth sefirot are called Hokhma )Wisdom(, Binah )Understanding(, and Da'at )Knowledge(. Hasidut assumes that understanding the kabbalistic dynamics of God's unfolding emanations yields direct insight into the workings of the human psyche, and vice versa. In Norman Lamm's words, 
The Kabbalah tended to describe the divine structures in human terms . . .  [The hasidim], for whom the kabbalistic doctrines were a given, reverse[d] the order. [They] describe[d] man's personality in terms of divine sefirot. Thus, whereas the Kabbalah elaborated an anthropological theology, [they] offer[ed] a theological anthropology, or kabbalistic psychology.
Thus many of the hasidic texts that we will examine will be written in kabbalistic terminology, yet will have direct implications for our understanding of psychological dynamics.  

(3) Transformative Relationships 
	Hasidut assumes that all relationships and events are transformative -- our task in life is to gather insight, self-growth, and enlightenment from all of our interactions with the outside world. No encounter is by chance; every event demands a growth-oriented response. Thus the question of change and influence, and the focus on inner growth of the individual )which borders on the anomian( in the context of a growth oriented community )which by definition must maintain standards( are central in hasidic thought. Since teaching involves the construction of a specific type of change-oriented relationship with students, hasidic thought has much to contribute to our understanding of the educational process.  
	 
(4) Rebbe and Hasid 
	Hasidic thought deals thoroughly with the tensions inherent in the relationship between the rebbe and his hasidim, between its emphasis on the elite bnei aliya and the hamon am )masses( whom it refused to abandon, and the varying needs of each class. In the end, these tensions were resolved by resorting to the concepts described above. The rebbe and his hasidim are inherently connected on the deepest levels, to the extent that if the masses sin, the tsadik is held to blame. The image used to describe the relationship between the masses and the tsadik is that of a human body, with the tsadik as the head and the masses as the feet. While on the surface this seems to be a demeaning model, it actually represents a very progressive turn. Tsadik and hasid are really one and the same -- they are part of the same body, and it just so happens that they play different roles within that body. But they are equally dependent on each other. In this sense, the hasidic view of the masses is fundamentally optimistic. They play a crucial role in the relationship with the rebbe.  
	Although it goes without saying that the teacher in the contemporary Orthodox day school or yeshiva is far removed from the role of rebbe in pre-war Poland, there are certain elements that the roles share in common. Both rebbe and contemporary teacher attempt to create transformative relationships with those  entrusted to their care, and both serve the role of counselor and spiritual guide. For this reason, the hasidic perspective on the rebbe and his relationship with his hasidim will shed light on the relationship between teachers and students in the contemporary school. 

Part I: 
The Dynamic and the Static Self -- the Teacher's Image of the Student 
A person has three beings. The first being is the way in which a person perceives himself, the second is the way in which a person is seen by others, and the third being is prior to the first, and it is the being by which he was created by Him who created him. If a person merited and did not damage the being which his Creator made him, then that being overwhelms the other two, and then even his shadow inspires grace and beauty. 
	-- S.Y. Agnon

	Are children like blocks of granite that need carving and shaping, or are they like seedlings that contain within themselves the potential to sprout and blossom if nurtured properly? In other words, do we make our successful students who they are, or is a successful education one that facilitates their own inner growth? Of all questions that a teacher must pose to himself, perhaps this one has the most profound implications for his approach to education. We, who are entrusted with children and told to make them grow, must face this question, for it asks, what is the source of growth? A teacher may side with one extreme or find some middle ground between the two approaches, but no teacher may evade this basic attitudinal choice. As we shall see through the course of this paper, many of our basic educational strategies depend on this issue.  
	Rav Klonymous Kalman seems to firmly adopt the position that children, in the end, contain within themselves the seeds of their own growth. A teacher cannot shape a student into some pre-conceived mold, but rather engages in 
stimulating the growth and development of what each child is suited for by his very nature. This quality may be found in him only in very small measure, in total hiddenness; the task of the educator is to uncover it . . . Such an educator must adapt himself attentively to the student, must penetrate into the midst of his limited consciousness and small-mindedness, until he reaches the hidden soul-spark. Then he can help it emerge, blossom, and grow.  
	This perspective, so powerfully expressed by the Rebbe, is rooted in hasidic assumptions about the nature of man. In hasidic thought, man's soul is, in essence, an emanation of God, a nitsots Eloki. No amount of sin or corruption can completely eradicate this Divine spark, and therefore the potential for teshuva and growth is never lost. A good educator will sensitize his students to their own inner greatness. Rabbi Dr. Abraham Twerski, scion of a hasidic dynasty, relates that his father never punished him as a child. When little Avraham misbehaved, his father would shake his head gently and say, "That's nisht pas," "That behavior doesn't befit you." Instead of criticizing his son, the elder Twerski elevated Avraham's sense of self-worth by pointing out that he was too good for certain types of behavior. 

Ratzo (Surging Forward) 
And when a man wishes to walk on the path of teshuva, he must become an expert in walking, and he must possess two realms of expertise, that is, expertise in ratzo (surging forward) and expertise in shov (standing still)  . . . 
		-- Rav Nahman of Breslov
	Rav Nahman of Breslov most profoundly expresses the relationship between our awareness of this potential greatness within man and spiritual growth. In a homiletical essay on the words 'azamra lEilokai b'odi,' (Tehilim 146:2) Rav Nahman calls the true self the 'od', the source of infinite 'moreness' -- a fount of growth and potential that will yield greatness if only tapped properly. People despair when they lose sight of their od, when they feel trapped in their current mode of being, when their failures are taken to be definitions of their true selves.  

	It is easier to relate to others as static rather than dynamic beings, but this imprisons them in a pseudo-self that is incapable of change for the better. Through the process of searching out the od m'at tov, the small indications of potential beauty and goodness that can be found in any human, we realize that they are not static, they are not imprisoned in their perceived flaws, but contain the potential for infinite growth.  

	The cost of viewing students statically in terms of their perceived qualities, instead of their dynamic potential for growth, was dramatically, though accidentally, demonstrated in a school in England about a decade ago. A mistake  was made in filing the results of an IQ test administered to the students. Those students who actually scored higher than average on the tests were listed as below-average, and those who had scored below the average were listed as above average. A half-year later, when the mistake was finally discovered, the school readministered the test. Those students who had been treated as if they were above average in intelligence scored significantly higher than they had the first time, and those who had been reported to be below average scored far lower than they had the first time around. Teachers' assumptions about their students actually determined the students' success.  

	When asked how they handled their 'above-average' students, teachers responded, "For some reason our methods weren't working, so we had to change our methods." It was clear to the teachers that the students could grow, the only question was how to nurture that growth. They modified their teaching methods, and enabled these weaker students to flourish.  

	If we relate to someone as if he is potentially great, he will perform accordingly. A student at Rav Steinsaltz's high school, Mekor Hayim, explained to me, "Why do we do everything so intensely here? Rav Zinger (the rosh yeshiva) told us that each and every one of us has the potential to be a gadol. How could we waste that potential?"  

	According to Rav Nahman, it is not sufficient to passively accept the idea that every human being possesses potential greatness. Rather, one must actively search for signs of that greatness: 
Know, that you must judge everyone favorably. Even if he is completely wicked, you must seek out and find within him some small goodness, for within the realm of that goodness, he is not evil. By this means, by finding goodness within him and judging him favorably, you truly raise him up to favor, and it is possible to help him return in teshuva.  
Rav Klonymous Kalman saw the teacher as a guide who could help the student isolate and intensify his own strengths, both actual and potential. Students don't possess negative midot -- rather, they possess characteristics that have great potential for either positive or negative expression, and need guidance in learning how to best develop their unique qualities. If they don't receive this guidance, then their midot may be expressed negatively. 

	In order to help a student, a teacher must be able to see him not just as he is now, but as he could be. Thus, the teacher should see the student's midot not only in terms of their current expression, but in terms of their ideal expression. For example, when a teacher works with an angry student, he should visualize in his mind the potential hitlahavut (passion) this student will express in his avodat Hashem, once he learns to direct his energies productively.  

	Thus, in order for a student to become aware of his own strengths and potential for greatness, an awareness that requires an ability to transcend his current situation and project far into the future, the teacher must develop this awareness himself. If a student is consistently treated as he is and not as he could be, his behaviors will be constantly  reinforced and he will never reach a point where he can imagine other possibilities, and certainly will never be able to take active steps toward growth.  

	In order to be able to focus on a student's potential even when most of his behaviors are negative, a teacher should take the time to sit and think about each of his students individually, and recall particular moments when the student did something that displayed his potential. Often, we teachers become entrenched, losing the ability to see our students as they truly are. In order to break free of this limited perspective, we would do well to turn to other teachers  for insight into our students. It is also helpful to try to observe our students outside of the classroom. The student who in the classroom is silent and passive or wild and disruptive may behave very differently when they are in more supportive environments, such as his home or the basketball court. 

	A recent experience demonstrated to me the importance of this approach. 'Mark', a student of mine, was a problem case from the very beginning. He came to yeshiva with a long history of evading responsibility, obnoxious behavior towards authority figures, and a generally rebellious attitude. Things didn't change when he arrived at BMT. Told to cut his hair by the rosh yeshiva, he responded sarcastically, and the conversation ended in a shouting match. As the year went on, he teetered on the edge of being expelled. I deliberately avoided the role of disciplinarian and therefore was able to cultivate an amicable relationship with him. Mark and I had many conversations in which he brought his complaints about the yeshiva to me and I tried to encourage him to act in a more mature way in his dealings with authority figures. I found these conversations frustrating and wasn't sure if they really accomplished much. About half-way through the year, it dawned on me that much of Mark's problem stemmed from his own miserable self-image, and that during our conversations I had bought into his feelings about himself instead of assessing his qualities on my own. I realized that Mark had a static perspective of himself, full of despair and lack of self-worth. Unless I developed my own dynamic image of him, there would be no chance for growth. Thus I stepped back and wrote a list of his positive qualities and various glimpses of his potential greatness that I had seen in my dealings with him. The list read as follows: 
Mark  
intellectually curious - wants to know why learning is important 
read Iyov and Ezra out of his own motivation 
wants to grow (in an unfocused way) + talks to people who he thinks can help him 
feels emotions very intensely 

Although the struggle continued for the rest of the year, this list helped me to focus on an awareness of his potential for growth during my frustrating dealings with him. It might be helpful to keep such a list for each of one's students, so that in case of crisis one will be ready to approach them from a dynamic perspective rather than their depressed, static self-images. When students cease to believe in their own od, it is our duty to believe in it for them.  

Shov (Standing Still) 
	Despite this emphasis on dynamism and potential growth, Rav Nahman does not suggest that we lose sight of the actual state of the student. In fact, elsewhere he suggests that teshuva is impossible so long as one denies his current condition. A certain awareness of one's locus in the realm of self growth is necessary before willful movement is possible. Rav Nahman describes a mode that he dubs 'dom l'Hashem,' 'stillness before God,' in which one fully acknowledges his low state of affairs to himself. There, in the depths of depravity, 
even to the depths of hell, even then he must not despair about himself forever, and he must constantly search out God, blessed is He, and strengthen himself wherever he may be, with whatever means he has available, for even in the depths of hell God is present, and even there he may attach himself to Him, blessed is He. 
The realization that God is present everywhere, even in the lowliest realms of existence, gives one the confidence to face one's actual state and prepare to move. We tend to deny to ourselves and to others our actual condition because we lack the conviction that it is possible to change. Thus I pretend that I am someone that I am not, for to face the person that I actually am would mean to face the depths of despair. The first act that we are enabled to perform when we attain a belief in our od, our potential for growth, is the courage to accept the reality of our situation. Only then can we begin to grow.  

	Lack of faith in our potential for growth is not the only reason that we fail to accept our current state. Another factor is the reality that growth is a slow, energy intensive process. Instead of facing the gap between where we are and where we can be as a challenge, we relax, imagining ourselves to be far more advanced than we actually are. Few of us are truly ready for the hard work and long journey entailed in the process of growth.  
	Rav Klonymous Kalman attributed the problems exhibited by the children of his generation to this weakness: 
The simplest and most important reason [for adolescent rejection of the Torah lifestyle] is that today's youth consider themselves grown-up before their time . . . an atmosphere of foolishness has surrounded the young people of our time, in which they have come to think of themselves as grownup and independent -- in their opinions and in their desires -- though their mind is still upside down and their desires unripe and bitter.
	According to the Rebbe, the source of rebellion is the insistence of adolescents on viewing themselves as fully developed adults, instead of acknowledging that maturation is a developmental process and that they have much more growth ahead of them.  

	We educators have a responsibility to recognize our students' stage of development even if they aren't willing to do so themselves, and we must deal with them accordingly. I have seen an educator in a post high school yeshiva become infuriated by his 18 year old students who sleep late, drink in bars, and show no enthusiasm for textual learning. Should it surprise us that a boy who has slept late, imbibed liquor, learned passively )if at all( in school throughout his adolescence, continues his behaviors once he arrives in the Holy Land? The teacher's anger is a sign that he is not ready to work with his students where they are. We cannot resent the state of our students; rather our job as educators is to work with them as they are.  
	Awareness of a student's place does not imprison him there, as long as it is coupled with awareness of where he can go. A teacher must juggle an awareness of the student's spiritual-developmental stage, with a sense of the student's trajectory, his potential growth.  
In the following section we will examine in detail how teachers can go about achieving this juggling act, based on the hasidic concepts of tsimtsum and yerida l'tsorekh aliya.  

Part II: 
Constriction, Descent, and Ascent: the Teacher's Approach to the Student 

	We are used to the idea that education entails change on the part of the student. In Western education, the student's knowledge base and skills sharpen and broaden. In other educational systems, the student's world view and self image grow more effective and harmonious with the world around them. But hasidut stresses that change on the part of the teacher is also an inherent element in the process of education. If both teacher and student remain static, a chasm lies between the two that permits no communication. The student's ability to traverse the gap is limited, and therefore it remains to the teacher to constrict himself, to move towards the student. 

	In the following sections, we will explore the dynamics of this constriction and movement on the part of the teacher. 'Tsimtsum,' 'constriction,' describes the teacher's cognitive self-constriction for the sake of enabling students to comprehend ideas and grow spiritually in a way compatible with their current developmental level. 'Yeridah l'tsorekh aliyah,' 'descent for the sake of ascent,' refers to the empathic, loving, 'descent' on the part of the teacher, a movement that stresses the inherent similarity between teacher and student. We will then explore the way in which the teacher's loving descent enables the student's capacity for both self-love and love of others, through an emotionally reflective process referred to in hasidic thought as 'k'mayim hapanim l'panim,' 'as the face is reflected in water'. Next, we will examine the phase in which a student's interests are best served if the teacher begins to retreat from him, opening up a space for him to initiate his own growth. 

Tsimtsum 
God, blessed is He, constricted )tsimtseim( His brilliance, just as a father constricts his intellect and speaks in baby-talk with his infant child . . . This [Divine] constriction was for the sake of Israel. Love motivated this tsimtsum…. When a father sees his son playing with nuts, his love motivates him to play with the son, even though from the father's perspective it is childish behavior. Nevertheless, out of his love for his son and his desire to derive pleasure from him, he constricts his mature intellect and immerses himself in childishness, so that the child can cope with it. But if the father dealt with him based on his own intellectual level, the son would not have been able to tolerate it, and the father would not have derived pleasure from him.  
		-- The Magid of Mezritch

	Lurianic kabbala sees deep paradox in the reality that God created the physical world. How can the many come from the One? If God is infinite, how can the finite world exist? If God pervades all of existence, how is it possible that we each have independent consciousness, capable of desiring that which is contrary to the will of God? In response to these paradoxes, the Ari hakadosh, Rav Yitshak Luria, proposed a new model for understanding creation. God did not create anything outside Himself. Rather, with an act of tsimtsum, of self-constriction, He made space for the finite within the Infinite. In this ultimate act of love, God reduced Himself to make room for others, to make room for those who would receive His love. 

	Hasidut, with its emphasis on understanding kabbalistic concepts as psychological realities, gave a prominent place to the concept of tsimtsum. Tsimtsum is the act of constricting one's own self in order to make room for the other, a holding-back that is in reality the greatest act of love. Some people give because they feel an inner drive to share their love with others. To repress this drive hurts, and therefore they dedicate themselves to showering love upon others. This mode of love is insufficient. To truly love requires tsimtsum, an act that expresses a love sensitive to the needs of the beneficiary. The unique personality, strengths, and flaws of the recipient determine the shape and nature of the act of giving. In the realm of education, tsimtsum is the ability of the teacher to recognize and accept the more constricted intellectual, moral, and spiritual levels of his students in order to work with them in their own terms.  

	An excellent example of tsimtsum is Rav Klonymous Kalman's own work. The Rebbe felt that ideally a young child should be treated as a tabula rasa and only after a certain process of maturation should he be given autonomy and responsibility for his own growth. However, he recognized the mindset of his generation's children and adapted his educational strategy to it. He abandoned his own ideal conception of education because he realized that children were not equipped to handle it.  

	Rav Aharon Lichtenstein demonstrates a similar readiness to be metsamtsem his ideas. He told me once that he indicated in an article that for certain adolescents, it would not serve them well to make intensive gemara study the focus of their limudei kodesh. "But," he remarked, "I wrote the article not with ink, but with blood." The lamdan par excellence recognized that some students are not ready to engage in d'var Hashem through gemara and therefore advocated a more suitable curriculum for them, despite his own passionate commitment to Torah sh'b'al peh. 

	Aside from its implications regarding broad educational policy, tsimtsum applies to the particular way in which we teach concepts to our students. Well-educated adults are used to thinking in abstract terms, but students encountering philosophy or gemara for the first time often have difficulty dealing with conceptual thinking. A mentor of mine gave me the following guidance as I prepared to teach a course on Jewish philosophy: "If you wish to teach a concept for which you cannot think of an analogy or story to illustrate it, you have no right to teach it. Your inability to develop a mashal that will speak to the kids indicates that you don't fully understand the idea yourself." Rav Klonymos Kalman demonstrates this principle in all of his works -- it is difficult to find a page in any of his books that doesn't contain some powerful image or parable to illustrate his conceptual points. Tsimtsum requires that we translate our ideas into the conceptual language of our students. The Magid of Mezritch compares this process of tsimtsum to pouring a liquid through a funnel. The essential idea remains the same, but it is funnelled so that it flows in a stream thin enough that the student is able to receive it. 	 
	The teacher must enter the world of his students to understand how they think and what type of formulation they most easily understand. We expect students to invest themselves in our conceptual constructs and world views -- is it not proper that we should do the same? We were once children, therefore we are capable of regressing to the thought patterns of youngsters. If one of us must build a bridge to cross the conceptual gap between mehaneikh and hanikh, we mehankhim should bear that responsibility.

	In addition to accounting for differing intellectual abilities and levels of conceptual thought, tsimtsum also entails the recognition of different motivations for study. While the teacher may be driven by sheer love of talmud torah, he may have students unready to respond to such a motivation. The teacher must discover what drives the students, not just because using appropriate motivations enhances class participation, but because students fully engage their intellects in a problem only if it promises some insight into an issue they are grappling with. The Ba'al Shem Tov used the following analogy to illustrate this point: 
A king wanted to teach his son numerous realms of wisdom. He hired many wise men to teach him, but the prince failed to grasp any of the lessons, to the point that they despaired of ever teaching him. Only one wise man stayed with him. One day, the prince saw a young woman and desired her for her beauty. The wise man complained to the king about this, and the king replied: "If so, since he has desire, even if it is for physical pleasure, this will be the key to his attaining all of the wisdoms." He commanded that the woman be brought into the courtyard of the king, and he commanded her that if the prince approached her, she should tell him that she would not speak with him until he had learned one realm of wisdom. She did so, and then added that he must learn another realm, and another, until finally he had attained all realms of wisdom. At this point, he no longer desired the woman.  
At different stages of development, different existential challenges prompt us to seek out understanding. A sensitive teacher will begin with the question: "What are my students interested in? What subjects do they inquire after of their own volition, and how can I incorporate those subjects into my teaching? 'David', a particularly cerebral student of mine, thanked me in the following way for guidance during his year in yeshiva: 
I really appreciate how you took the time to help me explore my interest in kabbala. I think I gained some real insights into myself through our discussions, and after reading and not really comprehending the book you lent me, I understand why I'm not supposed to study it intensely until I'm older and have studied more torat hanigleh first. Rabbis always used to tell me that I can't learn kabbala until I'm older, but they could never explain to me why. You showed me why. Thanks. 
I recognized that David had a genuine curiosity about kabbala, and decided to give him a taste. He now has a limited grasp of what it's about, and more importantly, an appreciation for its depth and complexity. This exposure reinforced his natural desire to understand esoteric realms of thought as opposed to dampening it, and will hopefully carry through to continued study in the future. 

Yeridah L'tsorekh Aliyah -- Descent for the Sake of Ascent 
There once was a prince who became insane and imagined that he was a turkey. He sat naked beneath the table and refused to eat anything but grains of barley. The king summoned wise men and doctors, none of whom were able to help the prince. One day, a wise man came and said, "I will help him." He climbed under the table, undressed, and ate barley grains. Gradually, gradually, he said to the prince, "Could we perhaps eat other kinds of food here together? Could we perhaps put on pants together?" Gradually, he raised him back to his former state. 
		-- R. Nahman of Breslov 

	On one level, tsimtsum is a cognitive act -- it is a teacher's willful constriction of his intellectual, emotional, and spiritual state in order to translate his wisdom into a language comprehensible to the students. It is an imaginative act, almost empathic in nature -- the teacher must leave his own conceptual system and temporarily place himself in the conceptual 'shoes' of his students. 

	But if tsimtsum is to be more than a mere pragmatic act of translation, another ingredient is required: love. When God created the world, His first act was tsimtsum, a constricting of His self. His second act was to return, filling  the newly created void with His constricted presence. God descended to dwell in the physical world, and this second act was the telos of the first. So too, when we translate our ideas into terms that our students can relate to, we build a bridge between ourselves and our students. But the bridge has not yet filled its purpose until we lovingly cross it.  

	This crossing of the bridge, this descending into lower worlds, is termed in hasidic thought 'yeridah l'tsorekh aliyah', 'descent for the sake of ascent'. Connecting with a person on a lower spiritual level always entails a descent, a real lowering of one's self. As the Baal Shem Tov puts it,  “If a person wishes to help a friend who is stuck in the mud, he must get himself a little dirty, and thereby he will be able to come close to him and rescue him. But if he stays where he is, he has no way of rescuing him.” If a student faces a spiritual difficulty, one cannot help him, or even understand him, until one has found that same difficulty in himself. In the words of Rav Yosef Yitzhak Schneerson, the sixth Rebbe of Lubavitch: 
When hasidim enter into yehidut (private meeting with the Rebbe) and reveal the things that plague their hearts in their innermost being, each one according to his state, then each thing they tell me I must find in myself in its subtle form, or in the subtle form of the subtle form. It is impossible to answer him and give him something to mend his ways and truly order his life until one mends this matter first in oneself, and only then can one give an eitza (advice) and a tikun (strategy for repairing the flaw).     

 When an adolescent comes to us for help with his personal struggles, we have the ability to connect with those struggles because we, too, faced similar issues in our own adolescence. We have confronted those challenges, and our personalities were shaped by that very process. No matter what spiritual level we have attained, we contain within ourselves the "subtle form," or the "subtle form of the subtle form" of our previous lower levels.  
	When a student comes to a teacher for help, he will often tremble in anticipation -- will my rebbe think less of me when he hears about what's going on inside of me? Will he understand? As long as the student views the teacher as towering far beyond him, there is little chance that he can be helped. When the teacher descends, and faces the same inner difficulty that the student faces, the relationship is transformed momentarily. For that one moment, the two are on equal footing, each struggling with the same challenge. This moment of solidarity gives the student a new sense of his teacher. He is not merely a great man, but he is a great man who achieved greatness by growing past personal struggles. This moment of identification with the teacher gives the student renewed confidence in his own ability to grow, to become like his teacher.  

	We despair when we recognize our flaws and assume that it's impossible to grow past them, that anyone who has made certain kinds of mistakes is beyond hope. Salvation occurs when we see someone else who shares this flaw, and yet is able to grow -- it suddenly dawns on us that one can be under the table and yet wear clothes, one can be under the table and eat normal food. By realizing that others, who have not surrendered to their condition, share our flaws, we are freed from despair. 

	Such an experience with one of my own teachers had a profound impact on the course of my spiritual growth. During my first year in Yeshiva University, I was revisited by a host of spiritual crises that I had earlier dealt with during my years in Israel. I was wracked by doubt -- doubt in the existence of God, doubt in the possibility of free will, and underlying it all, doubt in myself. In despair, I turned to a mentor of mine who had helped me deal with issues of belief and faith the year before in Israel. When I mustered the courage to describe to him all of the terrifying uncertainties I suffered, he replied, "Asher, do you remember those classes that I gave two years ago about belief in God? During those few months that I gave that class, I happened to be engaged in some of the most difficult struggles with my own doubts that I've ever faced." The sudden realization that I was not alone in my struggles, and that my mentor actually identified with my own difficulties, transformed my perspective on the challenges that lay ahead of me. I still had to resolve my doubts, but the awareness that such a great man had faced similar problems and dealt with them healthily buoyed my faith in my ability to do the same.

	The feeling of solidarity accomplished by yeridah l'tsorekh aliyah can be expressed in other ways, as the following case reveals: 
	'Eran' was a funny, good-natured boy, who, half-way through the year, completely stopped coming to class. One day, I wandered down to his dorm room, to see how he was doing. Heavy-metal music was blaring on the stereo, and he was lying in bed reading a novel. We had a very good, intimate talk about some self-growth issues that were worrying him. Not once did I mention my class. We agreed to talk more the following night. The next night I came by and he was in the shower, and I yelled into the bathroom that I had come by to say "hi". The next day Eran attended class for the first time in months, and participated heavily. But this pattern did not continue. Once again, Eran stopped attending class, and I assumed that his renewed interest represented a temporary phase and nothing more. I next saw him about a week later at a Shabbat meal. "Rabbi, what happened?" he exclaimed. "Why didn't you come back down to my room?" Shocked that our conversation had meant so much to him, I proposed that we meet in my apartment the following day. At that meeting, Eran took some tremendously courageous steps in self-growth, all the while expressing fear that continued growth would mean that he would have to 'stop having fun' and focus his energy on improving his own character. I sensed that his recognition that I was there to help him begin his journey gave him the confidence to plunge ahead. 
	In Eran's case, yeridah l'tsorekh aliyah transformed his attitude towards self-growth. He recognized that most rabbis entered student's dorm rooms only for disciplinary reasons, such as wake-up and curfew. The fact that I came to talk with him about issues that were on his mind indicated my concern for him. Furthermore, I was willing to descend to his environment -- we spoke with his music playing in the background, in his room. It was very clear to both of us that I had entered his territory. Yeridah l'tsorekh aliyah helps our students grow because it is a profound expression of our love, our willingness to move from our own places of comfort to be with them in theirs. 

K'mayim ha'panim l'panim 
	What happens when a student feels his teacher's love in the form of yeridah l'tsorech aliyah? From the perspective of hasidic thought, the idea that 'every action prompts an equal and opposite reaction' is as true in the realm of interpersonal interactions as it is in the physical world. "K'mayim ha'panim l'panim, kein leiv ha'adam l'adam," "As water reflects one's face, so too does the human heart reflect the heart of another human" (Mishlei 27:19). This pasuk, central to many hasidic discourses, refers to the reactive, reflective nature of human relationships. In the Ba'al Shem Tov's language: 
When a man stands next to water, his reflection appears large upon the water. When he leans closer to the water, the reflection becomes smaller. As he comes closer and closer to the water, the reflection becomes smaller and smaller, until his face actually touches the water, at which point the face in the reflection meets the face of the man. So too with regards to the heart of one man to another. When a man views himself as great, his fellow responds by bloating his own ego, and when a man humbles himself before his fellow, his fellow humbles himself as well, until he can constrict himself no further, at which point his fellow will follow suit [and through this process their friendship is strengthened so that nothing may break it]. Then equality is created between them, and they are made to be equal, and this is what it says regarding Moshe, "And God spoke to Moshe face to face, as a man speaks to his friend." . . . Since Moshe constricted himself before the Creator, blessed is He, the Creator, too, as it were, constricted Himself before Moshe and spoke to him face to face . . .
This movement of 'leaning forward' is associated with self-constriction. The student senses the love expressed by the teacher's risky, willful descent, and responds with love and a courageous willingness to take risks to continue the process of growth begun by the teacher. 

	The Baal Hatanya points to God's descent to the depths of Egypt as the paradigmatic example of His infinite love for His people. When a Jew meditates on God's love for him, he automatically reflects that love with an up-welling of his own love. Once Eran )the boy in the story recounted above( felt my love,  he opened up and began his journey of growth. To invest courage and energy in the process of growth demands enormous self-love, a commodity that many teenagers sorely lack. The realization that a teacher is willing to lovingly extend himself for their sake can be the spark that ignites self-love within students. 

Retreat and Pursuit 
Despite the power of tsimtsum and yeridah l'tsorekh aliyah to encourage self-love and growth, the teacher ultimately must pull away from the student in order to prevent the student from becoming passive and dependent. In the following teaching, the Magid of Mezritch continues the metaphor of a father discovering his son playing childish games, but this time the father retreats from his son instead of descending toward him: 
"Mashkheini aherekha narutsa" "Draw me, we will run after You"  (Shir Hashirim 1:4) 
This is analogous to a father who sees his son playing childishly with small children. The father walks by him so that his son will see him. When the son sees his father, he drops his childish games and runs after his father, calling out, "Father!" When the father sees his son running after him, he turns and continues walking, which prompts the son to scream even more, "Father, Father!" and to swiftly run until he reaches him.  
	In the beginning, when the father revealed himself to his son, he did so so that his son would see him, abandon his childish games, and chase after him. This would give the father intense joy in the realization that his son is wise, and there is nothing more important in his eyes than coming close to him. When he sees his son abandoning all of his childish activities and chasing after him, the father hides his face and continues on his journey so that the child will despise his childish activities and yearn for his father even more . . . The great pleasure experienced by the father and son could not have occurred without . . . the father constricting his love and continuing on his path . . .  
 Undoubtedly, the intense love shown by the teacher for his student when he descends to him is crucial for the possibility of growth. The student feels a bridge built between his world and that of the rebbe, and the self-worth necessary to be able to begin to cross it. But as long as the rebbe remains with his student in the depths, as long as the father plays childish games with his son, the son feels no incentive to move, to transcend his current level. At the proper moment, the rebbe takes a step back, and the gap between them reappears. Now it is the talmid's turn to traverse the chasm, to join the rebbe on his level.  

	At first, our students may resent our withdrawal. Accustomed to passivity, they are bewildered by our invitation to cross the gap themselves. 'David', whose story appears above, once asked me an excellent question about the  parashat hashavuah. I acknowledged the brilliance of the question and asked him what he thought the answer was. "But Rabbi, I don't know anything -- why don't you tell me? You're supposed to have all of the answers!!" I refused  to share my own theory with him. Finally he came up with an answer which, although not my approach,  solved the problem. This was one giant step across the chasm.  

	When a teacher descends to his student and then hides himself, he thrusts the student into an active role. The student, to maintain his connection with his teacher, must shake off his learned passivity and chase after him. This new-found active mode of being can be exhilarating for students, and teachers can incorporate it into the structure of the curriculum. The learning environment can be structured in a way that allows both students and teachers to become mekablim (receivers) at times,  and to be mashpi'im (givers) at times.  Occasionally the teacher must constrict himself, thrusting the student into the role of the mashpia. As the Baal Shem Tov homiletically explains: 
How could Yitshak, who symbolizes the sefira of Gevura [stern, rigid, judgement], the mode of constriction, be born to Avraham, who symbolizes the mode of Hesed [overflowing lovingkindness]? The answer is that "Avraham gave birth to Yitzchak," Gevura is derived from Hesed, so that there might be constriction in the world, so that it might be that one being might be lacking and another will fill its need, and it will be that "olam chesed yibaneh," and lovingkindness will be drawn into the world.

	 One of my most successful lessons utilized this approach. One day, as I was about to teach Masekhet Makot to a group of 17 year old boys at the NCSY Kollel, I realized that my understanding of the sugya was faulty. I did not have the time to retrace my steps and discover my mistake before class time, so instead, I went before my class and admitted to them that I had made no headway in the sugya and that I needed their help. I split the class into two teams, and gave them one hour to learn the gemara and rishonim in groups. Then each team would be responsible to present their understanding of the sugya to the rest of the class. The team that presented the clearest understanding of the sugya would win a free pizza (of course, in the end, both teams won). The boys spent the next two hours engaged in intense talmud torah, relishing their new roles as teachers.  

	In another case, a friend of mine, a social worker who recently made aliyah, saw a client who suffered from low self-confidence. In order to reduce the boy's feelings of intimidation and feelings of incompetence, he created a therapeutic alliance, with a twist. He asked the boy to help him! My friend was still struggling to acquire his Hebrew language skills, and asked the boy to teach him a new word each time they met, and to correct him whenever he made a mistake. In this way, he helped transform the boy's self image. The boy now saw himself as capable of helping others and was therefore one step closer to attaining the confidence he needed to help himself.

Double-mindedness 
After a long day of counseling his hasidim, the Ba'al haTanya finally retired to his study and removed his long coat. His gabai was astonished to see him completely drenched in sweat. "Rebbe, are you ill? Why are you so full of sweat?" he asked. "Yechidut )private consultation( with my hasidim is an exhausting task," the Rebbe replied. "When a hasid comes in, I first have to take off my coat and put on his to understand his problems. Then I need to take off his and put on mine to deliberate on a solution. Then I need to take off mine and put on his in order to formulate a response, and then I need to take off his and put on mine in order to deliver the eitzah (advice)." 

	Charisma is the ability to speak the language of one's students -- to answer their unspoken questions and to respond to their suppressed fears. This demands that one intimately know his students' basic needs and  world-views. But the danger is that during this 'descent' to the constricted perspective of the students, the teacher may actually begin to identify with it, and lose the crucial ability to return to his more enlightened state. Less common, but even more destructive, is the case of the teacher who possesses tremendous charisma precisely because he is in many ways no more enlightened than his students.  

	In both of these cases, the teacher is unable to guide his students on their journey of spiritual and emotional growth, and likely will cause them to remain entrenched in their current state. The Baal Shem Tov and his students describe the solution to this danger: 
"Anochi eired imcha mitzraima, v'anochi a'alcha gam alo . . ."  
"I will descend with you to Egypt, and I will surely raise you back up." (Bereishit 46:4) 
"Anochi", which refers to the Shechina, is a ladder with its base fixed in the ground, and its top reaching the heavens. An analogy that explains this image can be found in the holy Zohar: If a person descends into a pit, he must take with him a ladder, so that he may return and ascend.  
The meaning of this mashal is that the Shechina is a ladder. . .Yaakov was probably terrified of the descent to Egypt, the deep pit, lest he be lost there forever, God forbid, without ever being able to ascend. His fear clearly reflected his inner fear of being stuck in the depths of the klipot. When he attached himself to this basic inner fear, which is itself the Shechina, he found himself connected to the Shechina. God said to him, "Do not fear, for I, who am the Shechina, will descend with you." In other words, your fear lest you [permanently] descend from your [enlightened] level, which in itself is the Shechina, will descend with you.  
According to the Ba'al Shem Tov, if one is to 'descend', he must first construct a 'ladder', a cognitive device that will allow him to return to his previous level after accomplishing the goal of the descent.  

	In the case of my student 'Mark', I faced difficulties in helping him deal with his problems because I failed to prepare a 'ladder' back up to my own perspective before descending to his perspective. I assumed that his poor self-image reflected reality, instead of independently assessing his strengths and weaknesses,  and therefore, I too became convinced that he had no way out of his situation. Only when I pulled back and realized how inaccurate and unhealthy his self-image was, was I able to descend again and begin to help him deal with his situation. 

	An effective 'descent' involves a double-mindedness on the part of the teacher. While constricting his mind to the level of the student, the teacher maintains a subtle consciousness of his own, more enlightened, perspective. Thus, like the Rebbe who exhausts himself exchanging his clothing with that of his hasid's, he flits back and forth between his mature understanding of the situation, and the more constricted views of the student. He may quickly pull back and analyze his own empathic understanding of the student from a more expansive point of view, and then return once more to the student, counseling him in language and concepts that he can understand. 

	Failure to build a 'ladder' before the descent not only impedes the growth of students; it also can be severely damaging to the teacher. A few years ago I was  
invited to attend a Jewish Alcoholics and Chemical Dependents and Significant Others (JACS) shabbaton as a rabbinic observer. I spent the entire shabbat sitting in recovery group sessions, listening to life-stories full of pain. In order to connect with the recovering addicts, I had to descend within myself and find places within my own personality that were addictive. But I didn't know that I had to build a ladder, a constant voice in the back of my head reminding me of my own personal strength and stability. For a week afterward, my sense of self collapsed -- I was overwhelmed with a new image of myself as a potential addict. I had so fully identified with the people I was with that I was unable to find my way back up. 

Futile Relationships 
Rav Levi Yitshak of Berditchev once sent a hasid away in the middle of a yechidut (counseling session). The hasid had been illicitly involved with a woman, and, as the hasid put it: "We waited until after she had completed her seven clean days." The hasid then went to Rav Shneur Zalman of Liadi, who was able to help him. The passionate Rav Levi Yitshak could not empathize with one who had been deliberate in his deviation from the law, while at the same time trying to satisfy the law. Had the man sinned in a moment of passion, he could have helped him.

	Although teachers should be ready to devote their love to students who are ready to grow, they must also be able to discern those students whom they are unable to help, and avoid spending energy on them. Even though every student has enormous potential for growth, it may be that a student is not ready to receive his teacher's Torah, either because the teacher is unable to invest  himself in this particular student )their personalities are too different( or because the student is antagonistic to the teacher. In such a situation, a teacher must train himself to pull away, to stop investing in the student. He must remember that there are other teachers who may be more able to work with this particular student, and his futile attempts are expenditures of limited emotional energy that could be more effectively directed to other students. In hasidic thought, revealing one's esoteric wisdom to a student unable to receive it is compared to shikhvat zera l'vatalah, wasting seed, both because it is a wasting of wisdom and of relational energy. In such a situation, a frustrated teacher will often have enough insight into the student's needs to know which of his colleagues would be more able to connect to him. Instead of wasting his energy on students he is not able to work with, he can refer them to teachers who will connect with them. 

Influencing students' views of their relationship with Rebbe 
I heard from the Magid  who said in the name of our master and teacher Rav Dov z"l, that at the time that he desired to leave the Besht z"l, he would not consent to this, and would delay him for some amount of time. The Magid asked him why he delayed him, and the Besht responded that his mind is like a gushing spring, and as people draw more and more water from it, the spring gushes more and more.

The above story conveys two separate ideas. The first, and more obvious, is that a teacher's creativity depends on his relationship with his students. Anyone who has taught a class knows that teaching forces one to attain a level of clarity and depth of understanding rarely achieved when learning on one's own. The second point, however, is more subtle but equally important. The Baal Shem Tov deliberately set up a situation in which he would have to express his dependence on his student, Rav Dov. He wanted Rav Dov to recognize his own important role in the relationship. 
When a student realizes that he contributes to his teacher's learning, it enhances his own self image and begins to shape his own internal self-image as a productive thinker. 

	A colleague (and Rebbe!) of mine, Rav Mordechai Machlis refers to all of his students as his teachers. Whenever he speaks to a student, he asks what 'teaching' he has to offer today. If the student is learning something from a sefer, Rav Machlis asks him to teach him something from it. At first this is shocking and somewhat humorous to the students, but over time, this role reversal has a significant impact on their own confidence, feeling of competence, and desire to learn Torah. Another mentor of mine, Rav Shalom Carmy, accomplishes the same goal. Rav Carmy includes a footnote expressing his gratitude to particular students in every article he publishes. His e-mail address list is entitled "hamishpahah halomedet" to emphasize the collegiality he feels with his students. 

Conclusion 
	In the course of this paper we have seen that, in the eyes of hasidut, we teachers are 'gardeners in the garden of God,' entrusted to nurture our students with love, charged with the task of bringing forth their unique beauty. Ultimately, our students will learn to become gardeners of their own, but each must first  discover that he possesses a garden to tend. It is this awareness that we teachers should cultivate in our students -- that they are people of value, that they are full of potential greatness, that they are loveable and capable of loving. To transmit this belief to our talmidim, we must tend to a duty which is so often overlooked in the hustle and bustle of teaching -- we must believe it ourselves.  
	Every teacher and every educational context differs from the next, and therefore it is up to the reader to determine how these ideas may best be implemented in his classroom. Some teaching environments lend themselves more readily to the cultivation of the types of relationships described in this paper. Most of the examples in this paper were culled from my own experiences at the NCSY Kollel and at Beit Midrash l'Torah. In both cases, I lived on the same campus as my students and therefore had the ability to cultivate closer relationships with them than would have otherwise been possible. But a teacher need not live with his students to develop deep connections with them. And even a teacher with very limited opportunities to interact informally with his students can adopt and communicate the attitudes described here. Students certainly sense, from classroom exposure alone, whether their teacher values them and their ideas, whether he has faith in their potential greatness. Ultimately, these subtle attitudes may have the greatest impact on the growth of our students. 

Shevah vHoda'ah 
This project is, on one level, the product of a year of thoughtful discussions, reflection, and reading. On a more important level, though, it is the product of all of the accumulated insight and wisdom that I have gained through all my relationships with  family, friends, mentors, and students that the Ribono shel olam has blessed me with. But a few friendships have had a direct impact on this project: 

Jeffrey Saks has been a great friend and mentor. For all of your insight, for helping me to sharpen my often murky ideas, and for your encouraging conviction that vision can and should be actualized in practice, thanks! 

Menachem Kallus and Uri Etigson, each in his own insightful way, opened the gates of hasidut for me.  

As a high-schooler, I needed a mentor's encouragement, and two of my teachers filled that need: Mrs. Roberta Sternthal and Rav Mordechai Scher. Thank you. 

Rav Shalom Carmy and Rabbi Alan Stadtmauer have each impacted on my life for the better in more ways than they can possibly know, and epitomize (in different ways) many of the ideas contained in this essay. Thank you. 

My mother, R. David Ebner, R. Tzvi Blobstein, Yoel Finkelman, Dodi Tobin, and Uri Etigson all discussed different elements of this paper with me and shared much insight. 

Finally, I'd like to thank all of my students. "Mitalmidai yoter mikulam," doesn't refer to informational knowledge, but rather to transformational awareness. This project was an excellent opportunity for me to reflect back on my first year of intense involvement in teaching, and I truly have learned deeply from my students. 

Works Consulted  

S.Y. Agnon,  "L'ahar Has'udah." Lifnim min HaHoma pp. 291-298. (Jerusalem: 	 	Schocken Publishing House Ltd., 1975). 

Elliot Aronson, Nobody Left to Hate: Teaching Compassion after Columbine 
	(New York: W. H. Freeman and Co. 2000). 

Elliot Aronson, The Social Animal (San Fransisco: W. H. Freeman and Company 	1972). 

Alan Brill, notes from his oral lectures on Polish Hasidut (Bernard Revel Graduate 	School). 

Martin Buber, Tales of the Hasidim (New York: Schocken Books Inc. 1991) 

Stephen R. Covey, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People (New York: Franlin Covey Co.) 

Paul de Vries, "Sixth-Grade Dunce" The New York Times (June 18, 2001).

Rav Dov Ber of Mezritch, Or Torah (Brooklyn, NY: Kehot Publication Society 1972). 

Lawrence Fine, "Rav Kook and the Jewish Mystical Tradition" Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook and Jewish Spirituality, ed. Kaplan and Shatz) New York: New York University Press 1995), pp.29-30.

Seymour Fox, "Towards a General Theory of Jewish Education" in David Sidorsky, 	ed. The Future of the American Jewish Community (New York: Basic 	Books 1973) pp.260-270. 

Norman Lamm, The Religious Thought of Hasidism: Texts and Commentary) Hoboken, New Jersey: KTAV Publishing House 1999) 

Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, "The Source of Faith is Faith Itself" Jewish Action (Fall 	1992) pp.79-80. 

Rav Nahman of Breslov, Likutei Moharan 

Parker Palmer, To Know as We are Known:Education as a Spiritual Journey) San Fransisco: Harper and Row 1993.

Neil Postman, The Disappearance of Childhood (New York: Random House, Inc. 	1994). 

Mordekhai Rotenburg, Hasidut uPsykologiyah Yehudit (Universitah Meshuderet) 

Jeffrey Saks, "Melamdim and Mehankhim: Who are We?: Implications for 	Professionalizing Orthodox Jewish Education" [www.atid.org/journal.htm] 

Jeffrey Saks, "Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik On the Brisker Method" Tradition: A 	Journal of Orthodox Jewish Thought Vol. 33:2 (Winter 1999). 

Zalman Schachter Shalomi, Spiritual Intimacy: A Study of Counseling in Hasidism 	(Northvale, New Jersey: Jason Aronson Inc. 1991). 

Rav Klonymous Kalman Shapira, A Student's Obligation, translated by Micha 	Odenheimer. (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson Inc. 1991). 

Rav Shneur Zalman of Liadi, Likutei Amarim 

Zalman F. Ury, "Does Moral Education Have a Chance?" Ten Da'at  (Cheshvan 5749). 

Rav Yisrael ben Eliezer, Ba'al Shem Tov al haTorah 

Afterword: 
Perhaps the most difficult part of this project was deciding what not to write about. Hasidut is such a plentiful source of fresh ways of viewing age-old issues, and so little of the vast riches in hasidic works has been mined, that it took me a long time for me to settle on this topic. In the end I chose one narrow aspect of hasidut's approach to education. One topic in particular that I would like to continue studying is hasidism's theory of knowledge. I believe that the western definition is worn-out and insufficient for the complexities of our world, and hasidut's transformational, relational approach to knowledge may be a very powerful substitute. A new approach to the goals and process of attaining knowledge would have many educational implications, curricular foremost among them.