Nachas

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

In our world, much of our lives revolve around our children. Our schedules conform to the school schedules and we do whatever we can to ensure and enhance our children’s growth and education. The mountains and vacation destinations emptied out as the summer people packed up and returned to the city life they had escaped from, because school was about to begin. The summer came to a quick conclusion because our children’s chinuch takes precedence over all else.

It’s been a long time since I began my schooling career at age four at Yeshiva of Spring Valley’s Pre-1A. I don’t remember what the first day was like and how long it took to get adjusted to my new life, so personal experience is not what prompted me to write about “the first day of school.”

It was something else. It was a letter from my grandson’s morah last year. The letter portrayed, for me at least, the greatness of those among us who dedicate their lives to the chinuch of our children — and grandchildren.

My grandson, who is now five years old, attended Yeshiva Nachalei Torah last year for kindergarten. The Lakewood school is run by Rav Meir and Rebbetzin Leah Pincovics. Mrs. Pincovics is the morah of the kindergarten class. The amount of information that she imparts to her young charges — and the geshmak they have in learning — is phenomenal. My grandson had a great year there, but his parents decided to send him to a different school for Pre-1A/Primary.

When he came home from the first day of yeshiva, there was an envelope waiting for him on the kitchen table. It was a letter addressed to him, handwritten by Morah Leah in various magic marker colors, wishing him hatzlocha in Primary and expressing confidence that he will shteig and become a big talmid chochom. She also wished him a kesivah vachasimah tovah, and to top it off, she included a candy in the envelope.

I was very impressed. Here she was setting up her school for opening day, writing a letter filled with love to a little boy who had left her school, giving him chizuk on a day she knew would be hard for him. Such dedication to the craft of chinuch deserves to be appreciated and applauded, as it reminds us why mechanchim are heroes of Jewish life. I decided to write about mechanchim and children and the first day of school.

As the school year begins, a familiar scene unfolds across our communities: freshly pressed uniforms, crisp notebooks, name tags on knapsacks, and the hum of school buses pulling up to yeshivos and Bais Yaakovs. Behind this back-to-school energy lies something far more delicate: the quiet, inner world of our children’s emotions.

For many children, especially the younger ones, these first weeks of school are filled with uncertainty. Everything is new. A new rebbi, a new morah, new kids, and new expectations. A classroom filled with pressure and unknowns. Even the most confident child can feel overwhelmed. The comfort of last year — the familiar routines, the teacher who they came to love and who loved them back, the classmates they trusted and made friends with — vanished overnight. Even the most confident child can suddenly feel small again.

And some, especially those who struggle socially or academically, walk into that classroom carrying invisible worries heavier than their backpacks.

The children sit on the edge of their seats, unsure of what is expected of them. Some look around the room at all the strange faces and wonder if they’ll be able to make friends this year. Some are already quietly comparing themselves, asking: Will my rebbi like me? Will I understand what he teaches? How will I ever adjust to this?

Children are people just as grownups are. They have feelings and emotions, fear and trepidations. Every year is a new beginning and each grade is a new world. They finally got comfortable in last year’s environment and made it work for themselves, and here they have to start all over again.

They dare not express their fears, as they don’t want to be perceived as babies. They want their parents to be proud of them and they want to be proud of themselves, but those first days and weeks of school can be crushing.

This is a time when our children need us — and their teachers — more than ever.

As parents, we have a sacred task: to provide emotional support, encouragement, and a sense of security. A calm conversation at the breakfast table, a validating conversation at bedtime, a reassuring word when they come home after school. These small gestures build emotional resilience and security, and can shape how a child experiences the school year. Our children don’t need us to fix everything. They need us to see them, to believe in them, and to give them the strength and support they need to move forward.

We need to let them know that everyone makes mistakes and that’s okay, because it is part of the learning process. We need to make sure that they know that growth takes time and effort, and that they shouldn’t become disheartened along the way.

But this journey doesn’t happen in a vacuum.

Standing quietly but powerfully at the front lines of this transition are the rabbeim and moros who devote their lives to chinuch. In our world, a teacher is never “just” a teacher. For their students, great teachers are a living embodiment of Torah, yiras Shomayim, and middos tovos. Every lesson they teach is not just about knowledge. It’s about identity. It’s about building bnei and bnos Torah who carry the spark of mesorah within them.

What makes a teacher great?

Great teachers see the potential in every student, even when those children can’t see it in themselves. They make students believe they can. They listen when no one else does. They notice when something is wrong. They find ways to reach the quiet ones, the struggling ones, and the ones who act out because they’re hurting.

Great teachers don’t just teach. They care.

This kind of dedication often goes unnoticed. It happens in early mornings and late nights filled with grading, planning, and worrying. It happens in classrooms. It happens in the moments when a teacher chooses kindness over frustration, encouragement over criticism, and hope over resignation. It happens when teachers bring out the greatness that lies inside every child and perfects the diamond they have been entrusted with, enhancing it, polishing it, and causing it to shine.

Being a rebbi or morah, or generally being involved in chinuch, is not just a job. It’s a calling. And those who answer that call do so not for fame or fortune — there is little of either — but because they believe in the power of chinuch and the importance of every child.

It’s not just their ability to explain a Rashi clearly or organize a creative project for parshas hashovua, which is of course of primary importance. It’s their sensitivity to the children sitting in the corner with fear in their eyes. Great teachers sense the nervous child who’s unsure of himself. They notice the teary eyes, the clenched jaw, the child who’s desperately hoping to be seen and appreciated.

They ensure that the better students excel and don’t become bored, and at the same time gently guide those who are falling behind. They speak words that build and encourage and don’t break.

Being a good mechaneich goes far beyond the lesson plan. It’s about connection. It’s about patience. It’s about showing up physically, emotionally and mentally every day.

Mechanchim and mechanchos give not only their time and energy. They give their hearts. They teach with love, with devotion, and with the unshakable belief that every child has greatness inside.

This mesirus nefesh is real. It is the rebbi who davens at the kever of the parent of a yasom who isn’t doing well in yeshiva. It’s the morah who checks in with a shy girl at recess because she noticed she hadn’t spoken all morning. It’s the teacher who davens with her names of her students on her lips, asking Hashem to give her clarity, confidence, and connection.

A remarkable rebbi — and there are many — has a student who is awkward socially and academically, who is dismissed by others as a “lost cause.” But the rebbi doesn’t see a loser in front of him. He sees a neshomah. Each day, he finds different ways to encourage that neshomah and help it grow, study and fit in, enabling it to blossom. Rabbeim and moros don’t only teach Torah. They make children. They fashion them into vessels capable of learning and understanding and growing in Torah and life.

That’s chinuch. That’s greatness.

Behind every report card, every kriah breakthrough, every improved middah, and every step forward is a rebbi or morah who gave of themselves, quietly, consistently, and wholeheartedly. So many go far beyond the call of duty. They give up their own time and family hours to prepare lessons or reach out to parents. They buy supplies with their own money and have a steady supply of treats to entice children to learn and behave and mature to the point where they no longer need enticements.

Teachers don’t ask for kavod and too often don’t get what they deserve.

As parents and as a community, we must recognize what they are doing. We must express our hakoras hatov, not just with thank-you cards at the end of the year, but by displaying respect, giving them chizuk throughout the year, and letting them know in tangible ways that they are appreciated. Now, too, as school begins again, it’s the perfect time to stop and appreciate those who step into the sacred role of melamdei Torah l’amo Yisroel day in and day out.

They are also people, and everyone, no matter what they do, can use chizuk, especially when they are taken for granted. 

As this new school year unfolds, let us remember what matters most.

To every rebbi and morah entering this year with a full heart, thank you. Your job is sacred. Your impact is immeasurable and eternal.

And to all the parents sending children off to school — sometimes teary-eyed and sometimes with a broad smile — know that your love, encouragement, and calm presence are the most powerful tools you can give them.

Let us remember that every child walks into school carrying hopes and fears. That what they need most is a warm smile, a safe environment, and someone who believes in them, at home and in the classroom.

Let us remember the greatness of our teachers — their patience, their passion, their mesirus nefesh, and the quiet heroism they display every single day.

May this school year be filled with hatzlocha and growth in yedias haTorah, emunah, middos and everything else.

And let us daven that rabbeim and moros be blessed with health, strength, siyata diShmaya, and nachas from their students. May their efforts bear fruit in ways they may never even see, and may we, as parents and a community, merit to have our efforts repaid with much nachas and joy.