Parents often send me a note that perfectly captures what I try to accomplish as a b mitzvah tutor.

Recently, a parent wrote:

"When we began our daughter's bat mitzvah journey, she was feeling so negative about Hebrew and deeply anxious about performing..."

As I read the rest of the message, I found myself nodding along.

Not because that student's story is unusual! But because it's incredibly common.

Many students arrive at their first lesson carrying far more than a binder, a pencil and a water bottle.

They carry stories about themselves.

"I'm bad at Hebrew."

"I have a terrible memory."

"I'll get nervous."

"I'm not musical."

"I'm not good at this kind of thing."

"What if I forget it all?"

Sometimes those stories come from years of struggle in Hebrew school.

Sometimes they come from anxiety.

Sometimes they come from previous learning experiences that left them feeling discouraged, embarrassed, or behind.

Whatever the source, those stories have a way of becoming part of a child's identity.

And that's where my work begins.

Because despite what many people assume, my job is not primarily teaching Hebrew.

My job is helping students build a different relationship with challenge. And in particular, a different relationship with Jewish ritual challenge.

The Hebrew matters.

The Torah matters.

The prayers matter.

The trope matters.

But none of those things can flourish if a student doesn't believe they are capable of learning them, or if they have a grudge against (read: fear of) Jewish stuff.

This particular student began her journey feeling deeply anxious about Hebrew and performing in public.

As the year progressed, something remarkable happened.

Not overnight or magically (okay maybe sort of magically because of that Sabrina Magic).

It happened gradually.

She became more willing to engage, to try, to take risks.

More willing to believe that maybe she was capable after all!

The shift was so significant that halfway through the year she was moved from her school's remedial Hebrew program into the mainstream Hebrew program.

Her teachers noticed it.

Her parents noticed it.

Most importantly, she noticed it.

What changed wasn't her intelligence or even her abilities. It wasn't her potential.

Her abilities were there all along.

What changed was her confidence.

One of my core teaching philosophies is something I often summarize as:

Confidence before competence.

When students feel safe, supported, encouraged, and capable, they become willing to engage with the material, and to even practice.

When they practice, their skills improve.

When their skills improve, their confidence grows.

And around and around we go.

It's a beautiful feedback loop.

By the time this student's bat mitzvah day arrived, she walked onto the bima with confidence and self-assurance. Look at the pic for yourself! 
 
Family members who knew her history of anxiety were surprised.

Several reportedly asked whether she still struggled with anxiety because she seemed so poised and comfortable.

Of course she still experienced nerves. Everyone does!

The difference was that she now trusted herself.

She had developed the skills, preparation, and confidence necessary to carry herself through the experience.

That confidence wasn't an accident.

It was built.

Week after week.

Lesson after lesson.

Practice after practice.

One small success at a time.

But my favourite part of the parent's message wasn't about Hebrew.

Or anxiety.

Or public speaking.

It was this:

"After spending much of the year complaining about lessons and practicing for her bat mitzvah, last week she said, 'You know, I really miss Sabrina!'"

That made me laugh. And it made me miss her too. But that's how it goes. 

Growth can be uncomfortable.

Learning can be challenging.

Practice can feel tedious.

But relationships matter.

Connection matters.

Being seen matters.

Being believed in matters.

Long after students forget individual trope patterns or specific lessons, they remember how they felt.

They remember whether they were encouraged.

Whether they were supported.

Whether someone believed they could do hard things.

That's the part of teaching that means the most to me.

At the end of the day, I don't just want students who can chant Torah.

I want students who know they can climb mountains.

Students who trust themselves.

Students who understand that difficult things become easier with practice.

Students who leave with confidence they can carry into the rest of their lives.

The Hebrew is important.

The Torah is important.

But the confidence?

That's the real gift.

And that's the goal I aim for all along.