By Romi Morales
Parashat Shemini invites us to closely examine an event as bewildering as it is shocking: in the midst of the celebration marking the inauguration of the Mishkan, Nadav and Avihu, the sons of Aharon, spontaneously approach to offer “strange fire” (an act that is not clearly detailed). The divine response is immediate and tragic: a fire descends from the heavens and consumes them. In an instant, the celebration turns into mourning, and Aharon—father, leader, and Cohen—chooses silence as his only response.
This event, without a doubt, leaves us with many questions: Is there room for punishment in education? If so, what role should it play? How far should we go in marking consequences, and when do those consequences become destructive? How do we find the balance between setting clear limits and cultivating relationships that educate through trust and love? While we do not aim to provide definitive answers, we invite you to reflect on this topic. If you’re interested, let’s begin!
Explaining the Inexplicable?
Much has been written over time to explain this episode. Some sages, like Rashi, interpret that the young men died because they acted arrogantly, made impulsive decisions without consultation, or entered the sacred space while intoxicated. Others, like Sforno, see in their actions a genuine spiritual desire that was misdirected. More contemporary thinkers, such as Nehama Leibowitz, highlight that the most unsettling aspect of the story is precisely its ambiguity: we don’t know exactly what they did, which forces us to acknowledge that even the best can make mistakes.
Some philosophers propose that Aharon’s silence is a way of holding space for pain without seeking to place blame. Bringing this idea into our own educational roles, one could say that the task of the educator is not always to deliver verdicts; often, it is to hold the learning space amid uncertainty and pain.
Is There Room for Punishment in Education?
Behaviorism, which emerged in the early 20th century, proposed various strategies for influencing people’s behavior and, consequently, for stimulating learning. While some tools aim to eliminate certain behaviors, others are designed to encourage them to recur. Among these strategies are positive reinforcement, negative reinforcement, and punishment. In this framework, behaviorist psychology asserts that there is indeed a place for punishment, and when applied correctly, it can be very effective.
On the other hand, from the perspective of positive psychology, Carol Dweck suggests that mistakes should not be corrected through punishment but rather through the opportunity to learn and grow. Along these lines, educational psychologist Melina Furman reminds us that limits are necessary, but they must serve the development of autonomy and critical thinking. An education based solely on rewards and punishments teaches obedience, but not necessarily reflection or responsibility.
Authors like Alfie Kohn offer a more complex perspective, arguing that rewards and punishments are two sides of the same coin: external control mechanisms that weaken intrinsic motivation. Others believe we shouldn’t even talk about “punishments” but rather “consequences,” since the educator’s intention is not to penalize but to show the real effects of our actions.
All of these perspectives highlight that this is not a simple topic, whether due to its complexity or its psychological, emotional, educational, and ethical implications. Given all this: what do we do when we need to set a limit? How can we intervene without breaking trust? Is that even possible?
Some Points to Consider
To educate is to build processes that contribute to the continuous improvement and development of a person. Therefore, setting limits must be part of that journey—not just a reaction to errors. Designing a process where boundaries are educational is not easy, but considering certain elements may help us do it more intentionally when necessary.
First, we must remember to establish rules of coexistence and work within the educational space. Some educators prefer to set rules on their own, while others see value in co-creating them with the group—thinking together about what we want to happen and what we don’t—making this an essential part of the process. Regardless of who sets the rules, what’s important is ensuring that everyone understands them clearly and shares a common interpretation.
Once that’s established, it’s essential to explain what will happen if the agreed-upon rules are broken. Ideally, there should also be space to reflect on why we acted the way we did—that is, to share the pedagogical reasoning behind the intervention. This step is particularly important for the educator, as it ensures that when a boundary is set, it comes not from fatigue, frustration, or personal anger, but as a predictable response based on established norms.
Needless to say, boundaries should be:
- Timely (the consequence should follow closely after the transgression),
- Proportional (neither too harsh nor meaningless),
- Enforceable (we shouldn’t declare consequences we can’t or won’t uphold),
- Impersonal (the consequence should address the behavior, not the person, allowing the learner to grow without being labeled), and
- Discussed (some educators invite the individual to reflect on what happened and share their perspective; others simply explain the sanction. Whether through both steps or just the latter, dialogue is an essential part of the educational process).
Finally, any sanction should be accompanied by the opportunity to repair—whether through an apology, an action for oneself or others, etc. Ultimately, consequences should be part of the process of learning and improvement.
In Conclusion
Parashat Shemini does not offer easy answers. It leaves us with a scene filled with questions, silences, and pain. An unexpected fire, two young lives cut short, and a father who remains silent. Perhaps, in Aharon’s silence, lies the deepest teaching: that to educate is not only to shape but also to hold—to hold another’s pain, their mistakes, their consequences.
Setting limits is not the opposite of love. Sometimes, it is its clearest expression. But if a limit is not accompanied by presence, care, and the hope of repair, then it stops being educational and starts to become exclusionary.
Some may believe that “fire from the heavens” can be an educational tool. Personally, I don’t believe in punishments from above, but I do believe in walking alongside someone when needed. And perhaps that’s the difference: God responded with fire. Aharon responded with silence. We, as educators, must find a third way—not the fire that destroys, nor the silence that paralyzes, but the word that guides, the gesture that supports, the example that teaches, and the boundary that builds.
