At my teacher and parenting training seminars, I share the following story—a moment of personal reflection that profoundly shaped my understanding of discipline, leadership, and the human heart.
In 1998, during a visit to New York for a conference, I had the opportunity to reconnect with former students from my 1978 class. They were now grown men, and our reunion was filled with warm greetings and shared memories. However, one student gave me the cold shoulder. I asked him his name, which I immediately recognized. Noticing his distant demeanor, I gently asked why he was so reserved towards me.
His response was unexpected and deeply revealing.
He recalled an incident from our classroom when I had organized a competition where students who earned 770 points would be rewarded with a trip to Great Adventure, a popular amusement park in New Jersey. At the time, he had boldly declared, “I won’t work for it, but I’ll end up going anyway.” To which I had responded, “You’ll see.”
When the day of the excursion arrived, he boarded the bus, hoping to slip by unnoticed. But I saw him, called him out, and made him step off. He pleaded with me, explaining that he had never been to an amusement park before and that all his friends would be there. Still, I stood firm—rules were rules.
Now, 20 years later, he told me that he had never forgiven me for that moment.
I pose a question to my seminar participants: Was my decision to not allow him to go to the amusement park the right one?
The initial responses typically revolve around authority —for example, “You had to show him who was in charge.”
But upon deeper reflection, I realized the painful truth: I was wrong.
If this student carried resentment for two decades, then my approach had clearly failed. A core tenet of education and parenting—one deeply rooted in Jewish thought—is that we cannot inspire good behavior by making a child feel bad. The Talmud teaches, “A person’s dignity should never be compromised” (Bava Metzia 58b). Similarly, modern psychology affirms that shame-based discipline often leads to emotional wounds rather than positive transformation.
In truth, my decision that day was not purely about teaching a lesson; at least in part, it was about asserting control, i.e., proving I was in charge. That realization was difficult to accept, but it led me to a critical lesson in leadership: Before disciplining a student, a child, or an employee, we must ask ourselves: am I doing this for their growth or to affirm my authority?
But the story doesn’t quite end there. I reminded this young man of another moment from our shared past, one he had forgotten. A few months after the trip, he had been expelled from school, and despite his father’s prominent role in the community, his family refused to intervene. In desperation, he’d turned to me and I personally advocated for him, ensuring his return to school.
As I recounted this memory, I saw his eyes fill with tears. He hugged me and said, “Now I forgive you. I see that you truly did care about me.”
This experience reinforced a profound truth: discipline is only effective when it is rooted in genuine care. As the verse in Proverbs reminds us, “Train a child according to his way; even when he grows old, he will not depart from it” (Proverbs 22:6). Effective guidance requires more than enforcing rules—it requires ensuring that those we lead feel seen, valued, and understood.
The next time we find ourselves in a position of authority, let us pause and ask: Am I acting from a place of care, or am I simply asserting power? The answer to that question will determine whether our discipline fosters growth—or leaves scars that last a lifetime.
R' Lieder
