By Romi Morales
Two children were playing, building a little house with Legos. First, they shared ideas about how it should look—what colors to use, how many floors it would have, and so on. Only once they both had a clear vision of the project did they start gathering pieces that had been scattered and began building. The first few minutes were filled with excitement and joy. However, as the project progressed, emotions started to shift. The pieces didn’t always allow them to create what they had imagined. Sometimes the structure collapsed when they tried to add new pieces, and the colors didn’t seem right. One of them suggested stopping, tearing everything down, and starting over. The other replied:
“No, let’s try a bit more. It’s true that our house doesn’t look like what we imagined, but we have to remember that we’re still in the middle of the building process: there are still pieces lying around, we haven’t added the decorations yet, we haven’t installed the doors and windows—we still have a long way to go. We’re in the middle.”
This little moment has stayed with me through many important times in my personal life and as an educator, especially in recent years when immediacy demands results now—something that, unfortunately, we cannot always deliver in education. Most of our educational efforts involve designing processes. The process is, if we draw an analogy with the name of this parasha, the desert, that is, what connects the starting point A (Egypt) to the desired destination B (Israel).
In the desert (Bamidbar), a group of recently freed slaves began to shake off the remnants of oppression and accepted, at Mount Sinai, a new worldview that demonstrated other forms of social organization—with new laws, standards, and cultural norms. In the desert, that group of people became a nation. In the desert, our people experienced both great moments of glory and deep downfalls. Mistakes were made there that would take a long time to correct. The desert often meant chaos, disorder, and instability. Yet each of those situations was essential to shaping the kind of generation needed to enter Israel.
For many, the desert represents desolation, emptiness, and danger. However, the Torah (and especially the fourth book that shares the name of this parasha) invites us to see the desert as a platform for change, transformation, and growth. In this sense, I found it extremely interesting to rethink the concept of the desert in the light of Lev Vygotsky’s theory of the Zone of Proximal Development (ZPD) within educational and learning processes. Interested? Let’s begin!
Real Development Zone, Proximal Development Zone, and Non-Learning Zone
Lev Vygotsky (1896–1934) was a Russian psychologist and theorist who, despite his short life, left a profound legacy in developmental psychology and the sociocultural approach to learning. One of his most important contributions is the concept of the Zone of Proximal Development (ZPD), which explains what a person can (or cannot) learn with the help of someone more skilled.
We can say that there is a Zone of Real Development, in which people feel comfortable because they know and master everything it includes. Being a known area, the possibility for growth is limited, and therefore, the margin for learning is virtually nonexistent. On the other hand, there’s the Zone of Non-Learning, or zone of frustration—a place where learning is too far from reach. Not even with assistance from someone more capable could one grasp these concepts. Between these two zones lies the Zone of Proximal Development, where the person steps outside the familiar and thus has a chance to grow. The key difference from the non-learning zone is that in the ZPD, learning is possible with guidance from someone more skilled.
When we analyze the development of Am Israel, we clearly see that, as a people, we have moved through these different zones—and that the desert zone (the ZPD) was essential for reaching our final destination: Israel. Continuing with this metaphor, we could say that while Bnei Israel were in Egypt, they lived in a situation that, although not comfortable, was familiar enough to master survival strategies (ZRD). When Moshe proposed leaving Egypt and heading to the Promised Land, it stirred great fear—understandably so, as the idea seemed overly ambitious. So much so, that even with Moshe as leader, it felt nearly impossible (ZNL). Hence the importance of the desert. Because it was precisely in this transitional space that Moshe could accompany Bnei Israel in taking small steps that allowed them to grow, learn, and become the ancient people we are today.
Being a Leader in the Desert, Being an Educator in the ZPD
Traveling through the desert isn’t easy—leading a large group through it is even harder. It means sustaining uncertainty, enduring the discomfort of navigating an unfamiliar and dangerous place, and offering support when things seem beyond repair. And educating is precisely that.
It means deeply knowing the people in our groups, understanding where each one starts from, and what tools they have to embark on the beautiful yet challenging journey of learning.
It means being and providing support in those first steps so that the other gains the confidence to try on their own—knowing that mistakes are allowed and that retrying is always an option.
It means teaching how to set goals: not too easy to cause stagnation, nor too difficult to instill fear. Goals must be achievable, allowing them—little by little—to move closer to their big dreams.
It means remembering that, at certain times, when in the middle of a process, it’s okay to doubt, to try, to fail—and that we, as educators, will be present and available to walk with them as they try again.
In Conclusion
Dr. Ann Masten, a child psychiatrist renowned for her studies on resilience in children, once said that all it takes is one stable, loving, and committed adult who believes in the child for them to flourish. Alevai—may we be that adult in the lives of our children and youth. So that when they face the deserts between who they are and who they dream of becoming, we can accompany them with patience and certainty. In other words, may we help transform the harsh desert into a zone of marvelous, dignified, and possible development.
