1. There is one God and one power.

This idea is at the root of all others. Without this idea, the world is hard and cold and random. With it, there is hope and meaning and purpose. There is loving and giving and caring. It is the source of their recognition that there are moral choices to be made and their clarity on how to make them. This is the most essential foundation I can give them. It’s an idea that needs constant reinforcement in today’s society and one that needs to be reflected in our choices and attitudes.

2. We each have the opportunity to have a personal relationship with God.

Every night, when my children were small, we said the Shema (Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is one) with them. This was always followed by a long list of the people that love them, culminating in “And most of all, God loves you.” This deep, ingrained sense of being loved by the Creator of the world should help take them through life’s challenges.

I am always moved by the stories I have heard of the power of the Shema, the deathbed recognitions and recitals. But perhaps my favorite story of all is the one of Rabbi Silver after the Second World War. There were so many Jewish children hidden in convents without any papers to prove their origins. Rabbi Silver would walk up and down in from of these lost souls reciting the Shema. Whenever he saw a glimmer of recognition in a child’s eyes, he would mark them as Jewish and bring them home.

3. We all need something more important than our own lives to live for.

If we don’t have something bigger than ourselves, we will end up as very selfish, self-centered human beings. And very unhappy ones. Being involved in something transcendent lifts us out of our petty concerns. Our history is replete with tales of men, women and children who sacrificed their lives rather than giving up Torah, or circumcision, rather than converting or betraying their fellow Jews. Our ancestors knew that life was not about them and their individual concerns but about the Jewish People.

We pray not to be tested in these ways but the world still demands of us that we stand up for the Jewish people and the land of Israel and I want my children to be engaged in the fight – in whatever way is reflective of their individual strengths and talents. We were on a sabbatical year in Israel when Iraq invaded Kuwait. We stayed throughout the Gulf War, not because we were heroes (we didn’t pick up guns or work abandoned fields) but because I wanted my family to feel they were part of a people and that we don’t abandon our brothers and sisters when times are tough.

Related Article: 9 Lessons My Baby Taught Me about God

4. It’s better to give than to receive.

The old cliché may be trite but it’s true. I hope my children will recognize that. I believe that the moments of giving they experience will deepen and internalize this recognition. Even if they may sometimes be resentful, I know in the end they will appreciate that they have grown and benefited from every act of giving and sharing (even with their annoying younger siblings!). I want them to learn that a day spent giving to others, a day spent working for the community at large, leads to a greater sense of joy than a day spent at the spa (although once in a while, the spa is good too!).

When we send our kids off to school in the morning, we always tell them to “Have a good day. Remember the Almighty loves you (point 2). Learn Torah (Point 3). Do chesed – acts of kindness - (point 4) and be happy.” Being happy is connected to giving. That is how they will experience true joy. I hope to furnish them with enough appropriate opportunities to give that they will come to appreciate this idea on their own and search for more.

5. Be a mensch.

The Mishna states “If there isn’t derech eretz – basic human decency and consideration – there isn’t Torah.” I want my children to be polite (which in today’s society is no small accomplishment) but I don’t want it to be just the veneer of being civilized, something that is external only and slips off when I’m not watching or chastising! I want them to have a deeply internalized sense of respect and courtesy for others. I think that’s a crucial aspect of what it means to be a mensch. And I think being a mensch is no small goal or achievement.

The rabbi who officiated at our wedding, Rabbi Moshe Aharon Stern, of blessed memory, used to advise parents looking for prospective matches for their children, “Just look for a mensch.” He knew a mensch wasn’t so easy to find and he knew it was all that really counted.

Inculcating Values

Okay, nice thoughts, deep thoughts, but how do we inculcate these ideas in our children? We tell them stories, we learn with them, we point out instances of the Almighty’s hand in our lives. We introduce them to mentors and expose them to role models. We choose schools that embody these values and place them in communities with peers whose parents share these goals.

But the two most important actions we can take cannot be passed on to anyone else. Whatever we tell our children, I feel compelled to quote yet another cliché, “our actions speak louder than words.” Our behavior, our attitudes, our goals will have the strongest impact of all on our family. If these are the values we want to pass on, we have to do our best to embody them, to really mean it and make the (sometimes difficult) choices that reflect this.

And finally, we have to sincerely pray that our children realize these goals. Since God shares these goals, He will certainly help us succeed if we really try.

I’m almost 60 and I just started teaching Torah. I never expected to do this – but now I see that I can. In fact, I think I must. Let me explain.

I did not start out on the path of Torah. Growing up in Queens in the 1950s, my upbringing was secular: no God, no shul, no Shabbat. I wondered what my friends did in Hebrew school, but my parents didn’t send me, so that was that.

And that could have been the end of my Jewish journey. But in 1991, I became a father. Soon enough my four-year-old son was asking questions. Such questions! He’s a deep thinker and his questions exposed how little I knew: “Daddy, how old is the world? Will it exist forever?” Gulp!

I needed to learn – and quickly – so I could answer him. I started taking classes, and then more classes. Now I had questions of my own that needed answers! I was inspired by Torah tapes from the Chofetz Chaim Heritage Foundation, classes in the Florence Melton Mini-School, and articles at Aish.com.

That also could have been the end of the journey. But the more I learned, the more I wanted to know.

I began learning with a study partner through Partners in Torah. We learned the weekly Torah portion, then some Talmud, then some classic works on spiritual growth. Later, I found a second study partner, and then a third (including a 5 am weekly phone session with Rabbi Jack Kalla from Aish.com). My study partners were remarkably patient and generous, and the hours I spent learning with them were the high points of the week.

Then my shul launched a new study group on Shabbos afternoons to learn Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Fathers), the beautiful tractate of the Mishna dealing with ethical living and improving one’s character. I had never even heard of Pirkei Avot, but I already loved textual study, so I volunteered to lead the new group.

For the next two years, we slowly made our way through Pirkei Avot, covering one mishna each week. I prepared by studying Ethics from Sinai and other commentaries in English translation.

We made a siyyum (festive meal) when we completed the tractate. I felt a sense of accomplishment from being involved in something so meaningful. And that (last time, I promise) also could have been the end of the journey.

Can I Do More?

This past December I heard a powerful talk by Rabbi Shlomo Farhi at the Aish HaTorah Partners Conference. He mentioned a song with the chorus, “Avraham, are we the children that you dreamed of?” Would our forefather Abraham be pleased with the lives we are living today? The question unsettled something at my core.

Rabbi Farhi continued: When we pray, we often refer to God as “Elokay Yaakov,” the God of Jacob. Great, but what about us? What have we done to make Him our God, too? And is it enough?

Well, that did it. Wiping away tears, I tried to think about what else I could do. Slowly, it dawned on me that I can teach other Jews what I know, which is Pirkei Avot.

So I thought about the Jews I know who are not involved in some kind of regular learning. Then I asked four of them if they would be willing to learn with me by phone once a week. To my surprise, all four said “yes,” and they actually seemed excited about it!

Then I made a brief business visit to the home of a man I barely know. As I was leaving, I saw a baseball cap near the door that said, “Maimonides.” I asked about the cap.

He explained that he studied the Rambam’s “Guide to the Perplexed” back in high school and loved it. So I took a deep breath and asked if he’d like to learn with me. Once again, to my surprise, the answer was “yes.”

Related Article: Mutual Responsibility

So now I learn weekly with five individuals, and they stimulate me with great questions, and I work hard to find good answers. It’s my way of grappling with the challenge that Rabbi Farhi posed.

But this raises a question: Who am I to teach Torah? I’m not a rabbi, I never studied in yeshiva, and there’s so much I don’t know.

Here is the answer given by the Chofetz Chaim.

At Agudath Yisrael’s first meeting in the early 1930s, the Chofetz Chaim urged everyone to fulfill their obligation to do whatever they could to save their fellow Jews from the forces of assimilation that were raging through Europe during the era of “isms.” His urging met with protest. “How we can tell others to do what we haven’t perfected ourselves?”

The Chofetz Chaim responded with a parable. A traveler was invited by a wealthy man to have a cup of tea. When the guest looked into his cup, he saw sediment that had settled on the bottom. “Where is your water from?” he asked. When told that the town’s water came from a local river, he advised his host that the town needed a filtration system. The system was installed, and thereafter, the water was crystal clear. It worked well until a huge fire broke out some time later and burned down half the town.

The next time the traveler was in town, he heard what had happened and inquired, “Couldn’t you put out the fire?” The people replied, “It took a long time for the water to work its way through the filtration system, and there wasn’t enough filtered water available to quickly control the flames.”

“Fools!” said the traveler. “You don’t need filtered water to put out a fire!”

The Chofetz Chaim went on to explain to those who resisted his call to outreach, “There is a fire raging in Klal Yisrael. We must grab whatever water we have and use it to douse the flames. Every Jew, on whatever level he or she is on, has to use his own capabilities to help extinguish the raging flames around us.”

The question is not, “How can I teach?” The real question is: “How can I not teach?”

Thank you, Rabbi Farhi.

This article is dedicated in loving memory of the author’s father, Reuven ben Ya’akov z”l.

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