Ismar Schorsch is Chancellor Emeritus, the Jewish Theological Seminary.

The word empowerment in an educational setting has an edge to it. Lifted from the argot of politics, it challenges the hierarchical structure of the educational establishment, demanding something formerly withheld. At the risk of being a troglodyte, I would contend that while marginally appropriate, the term misconstrues the Jewish educational enterprise at the heart of which has always been the intent to empower our children.

To empower means to gain control or even mastery. At its best, Jewish education is engaged in a twofold labor: to help the next generation at an early age to gain a degree of competence in the doing of Judaism and at the same time to begin the arduous process of shaping their character. Though obviously intertwined in a value-laden religious culture, the cognitive task is the transmitting of knowledge and skills while the characterological is the cultivation of a moral compass. In the formulation of curriculum, each deserves its own space.

The importance of competence is brought home to me graphically at the morning minyan, which is often a haven for those in mourning. Yet how often is the mourner unable to recite unaided the kaddish in the original Aramaic. Instead of providing a tad of solace in a communal setting, the recitation of the kaddish fills one with fear of embarrassment. This all-too common experience underscores for me the larger truth that none of us derive much pleasure from trying to do what we don’t do well. We don’t relish working in the garden if we don’t have a green thumb or playing tennis if we are only duffers. Competence is the prerequisite for enjoyment, and its absence is the glaring reason so many Jews find Judaism to be an ordeal rather a boon. Ideological estrangement often masks pervasive ignorance. Surely a fundamental task of Jewish education is to open the reservoirs of meaning in Judaism for a lifetime of spiritual sustenance by giving youngsters access through the attainment of competence. The drudgery of learning is the unavoidable portal to soaring self-expression. Form is what bestows raw content with beauty and longevity.

The teaching of knowledge and praxis is, to be sure, not wholly a cognitive process. In a richly Jewish summer camp setting, youngsters live experientially 24/7 what is learned cerebrally in the classroom. Judaism springs to life in multiple forms in a venue ideal for holistic education. Proficiency comes with practice and inspiration with being part of something greater than the self. Camp reinforces the centrality of community and peoplehood in a living Judaism. How sad that synagogues often fail to nurture the skills, commitments and emotions of the youngsters when they return home!

In regard to the task of character formation, I should like to invoke as a goal the still valid fourfold prescription of Ben Zoma. I do so because, to my mind, each of his counter-intuitive declarations describes the ideal dispositions of a single personality and not four that are unrelated. I read them as an analogue to the four sons of the Haggadah, who represent for me the different stages in the life-trajectory of each one of us. A state of incompleteness sets in if our development is arrested prior to culminating in wisdom. For the sake of brevity, I omit citing the biblical verse which Ben Zoma brings to buttress each proposition, though they are crucial to his argument. His ideal type is grounded in Scripture and is not a human construct.

Who may be considered wise? One who learns from everyone.
Who is mighty? One who conquers every evil impulse.
Who is rich? One who is content with one’s lot.
Who is honored? One who is honored by others.

Together, these character traits add up to a wholesome individual whose ego is in tow and whose footprint is modest. The struggle to achieve such equanimity is internal, with our own innate demons. If there be a flaw in God’s creation, it is in the excess of ego with which each one of us is bedeviled. Uncontrolled, it erupts consistently as a destructive force. For Reb Levi Yizhak of Berdichev, the first stage of creation for us as for God is contraction of the self (tzimtzum), a process that not only vacates space occupied by the self, but also allows for the concentration of creative powers. To dominate ourselves and be open to others may enable us eventually to become God’s partners in advancing creation. Forging a temperament of a self-transcendence is paradoxically indispensable for attaining moments of transcendence.

In sum, I submit that it is incumbent upon us as Jewish educators to also inculcate our young charges with a center of gravity that will enable them to withstand the static, distractions and seductions of a world in turmoil, for only then may they reach the full potential of their humanity.