Finding the Roses Amongst the Thorns: The Sacred Mission of a Teacher

The first mention of Mount Sinai in the Torah does not occur amidst thunder, lightning, and the giving of the Ten Commandments. It appears much earlier, when Moshe, tending the sheep of his father-in-law Yitro, notices a strange and captivating sight. A bush is engulfed in flames, yet it is not consumed. Intrigued, Moshe turns aside to investigate. That moment of curiosity becomes the beginning of his prophetic mission and the first step toward the redemption of the Jewish people.

Rashi explains that the burning bush symbolized the suffering of the Jewish people in Egypt. The bush was aflame because the nation was aflame. They were oppressed, persecuted, and subjected to the cruelty of slavery. Yet G-d chose to reveal Himself specifically from within that bush to teach Moshe a profound lesson: although the Jewish people were suffering, they were not suffering alone. G-d Himself was with them in their pain.

This idea is one of the most comforting themes in Judaism. The Almighty is not merely present during moments of triumph and celebration. He is present during moments of anguish and despair. When the Jewish people suffer, the Divine presence suffers with them. G-d is not a distant observer. He shares in our struggles and accompanies us through our darkest moments.

Perhaps this is the first lesson every teacher must learn.

A teacher who wishes to influence a child must first demonstrate that they care about the child. Before instruction comes connection. Before education comes empathy.

Too often, educators become consumed with lesson plans, curriculum requirements, examinations, and academic goals. While all of these are important, they can sometimes cloud the most essential component of teaching: understanding the student sitting in front of you.

A child may be struggling with difficulties at home. Another may be wrestling with social challenges. A third may be quietly carrying anxieties that no one else recognizes. Students do not leave their emotional lives at the classroom door.

The teacher who truly succeeds is the one who understands that education begins with compassion. Just as G-d revealed Himself within the suffering symbolized by the burning bush, a teacher must be willing to enter the world of his students and appreciate their struggles. Children may forget many of the lessons they are taught, but they rarely forget the teachers who genuinely cared about them.

A second interpretation of the burning bush emerges from an intriguing Midrash. According to this tradition, the bush was not merely a thorn bush; it was a rose bush.

At first glance, the symbolism appears puzzling. Yet the message is strikingly beautiful. Although the Jewish people may sometimes resemble a bush filled with thorns, there are roses among those thorns. Their virtues, their goodness, and their hidden greatness make them worthy of redemption.

This interpretation invites us to look beyond the collective Jewish people and examine ourselves as individuals. Every human being contains both thorns and roses. We all possess flaws, weaknesses, and imperfections. Yet we also possess goodness, nobility, and untapped potential.

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik often spoke about the existence of a "ratzon elyon," a higher and nobler will that resides within every Jew. Beneath mistakes and shortcomings lies a sincere desire to do what is right. The challenge is whether we can harness and recognize it.

This is perhaps the defining difference between great teachers and mediocre ones.

The mediocre teachers see only the thorns.

They notice the child who talks too much, disrupts the class, struggles academically, or repeatedly makes poor choices. Their attention becomes fixated on deficiencies and failures.

The great teachers see the rose.

They look beyond the behavior and search for the potential hidden beneath it. They understand that children are not finished products. They are works in progress. They recognize that today's struggling student may become tomorrow's leader, scholar, or community builder.

Most adults can identify at least one teacher who changed the trajectory of their lives. Often it was not because that teacher possessed extraordinary brilliance or pedagogical techniques. Rather, it was because that teacher believed in them before they believed in themselves.

Teachers who find the rose within a child perform a remarkable act. They give that child permission to see himself differently. They help transform possibility into reality.

The burning bush reminds us that our responsibility is not merely to identify the thorns. It is to cultivate the roses.

A third interpretation sees the burning bush as a symbol of Torah itself.

Like fire, Torah provides warmth, illumination, and guidance. It lights our path and enables us to navigate a complicated world. Throughout our history, Torah has sustained the Jewish people through exile, persecution, and uncertainty. It has given meaning to our lives and strength to our communities.

Yet there is one critical detail in the image. The bush burns, but it is not consumed.

Torah is meant to illuminate, not destroy. It is meant to warm, not scorch.

No one has the right to use Torah as a weapon.

No one has the right to use Torah learning as proof of personal superiority. No one has the right to degrade another person because of differing levels of observance, religious practice, or background.

The Talmud teaches, "Yiftach in his generation was like Shmuel in his generation." Yiftach, whose background was far from ideal, nevertheless served as the leader of the Jewish people in his era. The Sages understood that human beings are incapable of fully judging one another. Only G-d sees the entirety of a person's circumstances, struggles, motivations, and opportunities.

This lesson is especially relevant in educational settings.

There are teachers who inspire students through Torah, and there are teachers who use Torah to judge, belittle, and condemn. The latter may possess knowledge, but they have missed the essence of what Torah seeks to accomplish.

Far too often, children hear disparaging language directed toward other Jews, other communities, or people whose level of observance differs from their own. At times, students themselves become targets of humiliation and ridicule, all under the guise of religious instruction.

Such behavior is not a reflection of Torah. It is a distortion of Torah.

When Torah becomes a tool for diminishing others, it ceases to resemble the fire of the burning bush. The fire of Sinai gave light without consuming. It elevated without destroying.

Teachers who humiliate a child in the name of Torah are not strengthening Torah; they are undermining it. A teacher who mocks others in the name of religious commitment is teaching arrogance rather than holiness.

Teaching is among the most serious responsibilities entrusted to any individual. Teachers possess an extraordinary ability to shape not only what children know, but who they become. Every word of encouragement, every expression of patience, every act of understanding leaves a lasting imprint. The same is true of every harsh remark, every humiliation, and every moment of insensitivity.

The educator holds in his hands the power to build or to destroy.

This reality was captured beautifully by the educator Chaim Ginott, who wrote:

"As a teacher, I have come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element in the classroom. It is my personal approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that makes the weather. As a teacher, I possess tremendous power to make a child's life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration. I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis will be escalated or de-escalated, a child humanized or dehumanized."

The image of the burning bush was the very first lesson that Moshe encountered before assuming the mantle of leadership and being a teacher, as the name Moshe Rabbeinu suggests. It was not a lesson about power, authority, or even scholarship. It was a lesson about people.

The bush taught him that G-d shares in the pain of His children. It taught him that even among thorns there are roses worthy of redemption. It taught him that the fire of Torah is meant to illuminate and inspire, never to consume and destroy.

Our children will not remember every Chumash lesson, every Mishna, or every date and detail they were taught. But they will remember how their teachers made them feel. They will remember whether they were treated with dignity, whether someone believed in them, whether their strengths were recognized, and whether Torah was presented as a source of warmth, beauty, and compassion.

For when teachers embody those values, they do more than teach lessons – they shape lives, nurture souls, and ensure that the eternal flame of Torah continues to burn brightly from one generation to the next.