Timeless Torah

Do all parents practice psychology? Do we assume that children operate by one simple rule: external stimuli creates an appropriate response? In a nutshell, that reward and punishment are always sufficient to promote positive behavior?
True, this method is used to train animals. By rewarding hungry pigeons with food pellets every time the pigeon took a step to the right, B.F. Skinner eventually trained the birds to spin in clockwise circles. Indeed, most classrooms utilize similar behavior modification systems; star charts, weekly prizes, contests, honor roll, and more. The notion that behavior can be so reliably manipulated is especially attractive to Torah educators, who are faced with a number of instructional challenges: the sacred texts are in Hebrew and Aramaic, premium is placed on memory, and much of the oral tradition deals with abstract constructs. These factors can make Torah difficult, even intimidating, for some children.
Therefore, at the very outset, attempts are made to motivate children. One tradition is that on the very first day of a child’s schooling cakes are baked in the shapes of the Hebrew alphabet, the letters are smeared with honey, and we inform the child that, “Study of Torah will always be sweet in his mouth.”
This notion of offering incentives is even found in Jewish law. Maimonides states: When he (the child) is young, the father should give him nuts, honey, and dates. When he grows older…give him fine clothes...older/money…etc.
This unabashed use of bribes is astounding. One may even wonder whether it is ultimately counter-productive. The underlying assumption that we are all open to manipulation has serious setbacks and limits.
First, a child with absolutely no propensity for a certain task (i.e., a tone deaf child asked to master music) will not respond to any amount of rewards. In addition, the evidence has shown that animals only continue to ‘perform’ as long as they are rewarded. When those taper off, the animals drift back to their usual behaviors.
Another difficulty is finding the appropriate enticement. A teacher who offers a prize that the children don’t care about has reinforced the notion that the desired conduct is not worthwhile. Now, it will be even more difficult to motivate the child the next time. On the other hand, if the prize is larger than need be, it sends the message that the task is so onerous that it must be compensated for. In this case for sure, when the reward is removed the child is even less likely to opt for the desired behavior. Hence we see that from a purely pragmatic standpoint, it can be rather challenging to get a reward system to work at all.
There is a more daunting problem: when the reward succeeds. Research shows that when children are offered rewards, the learning is more shallow. This is the ubiquitous, “Is it on the test,” phenomenon. The students may in fact be motivated to memorize to earn the good grade, but they are less likely to find the work meaningful or to explore other aspects of the subject that were not required. Less creative thinking is generated, which works against deep learning. If the goal of schooling is to create lifelong learners, this method fails miserably.
Thus this approach cannot work without an intimate knowledge of the individual we are trying to motivate. Incentives are only effective long-term insofar as they inspire students to tap into their inner strengths to achieve goals that are actually in consonance with their true and inner desires. Manipulation by external, irrelevant, and non-meaningful rewards to the recipient are inherently doomed. In fact, our very history is a testament to the failure of this method.
Our people's greatest glory occurred from the moment we left Egypt and arrived at Sinai. Spirituality, freedom, nationhood, purpose, and intimate relationship with G-d were all bestowed upon us in the space of less than two months. Yet, forty days later, at the first challenge, they made the Golden Calf. Why? Because these ‘gifts,’ while overwhelming, were not what they truthfully valued. To all appearances, they ’behaved’ as if they were lofty Jews, but in fact the lowly cravings of slavery still held them fast. And so, on the 17th of Tammuz, the first tablets were smashed, and the Jewish journey took an unexpected twist.
An old chassidic anecdote describes a Jew traveling by horse and buggy to be with his teacher for the High Holy Days. To be precise, there are altogether three making the long and arduous journey to Mezeritch: the horse, the wagon driver, and the chassid. The horse, of course, follows the road only to avoid being whipped by the coach driver and because he will be fed oats at the end of the trip. He knows nothing of any Rebbe. Similarly, the driver has taken to the highway because he too will be paid well when he reaches his destination. The Jew however has uprooted himself for spiritual reasons: so that he can study and learn from his mentor. They are all motivated by different things, and yet it is only when all three join together, that they can reach the holy Rebbe in Mezerich.
So it is with us in our passage through life. There is a ‘horse’ within each of us, motivated by the mundane, like physical pleasure and fear of pain. There is a ‘driver’ that rises above the animalistic: financial reward is human, yet unremarkable. Then there is the sublime part of us: the inner ‘student’ on his way to the master. True, everyone’s input is required, the chassid must compensate the driver, the driver must feed the horse, and the horse must pull the passenger. But we will not get to Mezeritch if we allow the horse to lead. It is the chassid inside of us who must dictate the destination.
This week we relive the tragic events of Tammuz and the three weeks of sadness that it ushers in. For too many years, we have allowed the ‘prize’ that appeals most to our ‘horse’ to determine our behavior. The ‘reward’ has lost its glamour, and our youth have stopped responding. Their inner spirit is loud and demanding: “We Want Moshiach Now” it proclaims. This is not just another trophy, or even, the ultimate treasure, but the revelation of our true values. As such he is not a prize (the noun), he is what we inherently prize (the verb).