After years of practice, the moment arrives. It is the time for which you have prepared, the shift to when all the practicing actually counts. You have become a performer, and performing is different from the practicing that precedes it.

As the head of a Jewish day school, I am in the business of practice. Chinuch, which we all understand as Jewish education for our children, does not translate as teaching or learning. That is limud. Chinuch means training. Specifically, it means training our children in the performance of Torah and mitzvot.

Training for the correct performance of Torah and mitzvot, like all learned skills that we wish to retain long-term, involves tremendous amounts of practice. We start this practice when children are very young. For the most part, children practice with enthusiasm and energy, without tiring of the daily, weekly and yearly repetition. Preschoolers love their weekly Shabbat parties. Elementary school students sing their daily tefillah loudly and proudly. Children gleefully play hand games to accompany their benching.

The constant repetition of practice has a purpose. Chinuch aims to instill long-term retention so that our children can grow to become capable members of the Jewish community. Jewish educators invest the time and energy in practice so that when our children reach the age at which the performance of mitzvot becomes obligatory, they are ready.

In Judaism, the trainee-to-performer shift occurs, as we all know, when children become bar or bat mitzvah. Until then, children continually add to their practice, with the motivation of a celebration to anticipate.

Initially, the bar or bat mitzvah child—our new performer—may experience anxiety converting practice into performance. Performance anxiety, however, is only an initial problem. By the 300th time donning tefillin or sixth time leining the same haftorah, a different problem arises. Over the course of adolescence and adulthood, the mitzvot are eventually done the same way so many times that the performance becomes boring. Gone are the joy, excitement and anticipation of practice. All that remains is the obligation to reenact the identical performance, over and over again, without new challenges to tackle. Once that realization sets in, the fun is gone. The training is there, but the struggle arises to motivate tasks that have become routine.

This all too common occurrence leads us to ask the question, does chinuch truly accomplish its goal when children grow up able to perform mitzvot correctly, but do so transactionally? Is not a practice filled with joy more valuable than a performance without it?

Our sages recognized this struggle between practice and performance. The Gemara teaches, גָּדוֹל מְצֻוֶּוה וְעוֹשֶׂה יוֹתֵר מִמִּי שֶׁאֵינוֹ מְצֻוֶּוה וְעוֹשֶׂה, one who performs mitzvot because of obligation is greater than one who does not. (Kiddushin 31b.) At first, this teaching seems counterintuitive. Shouldn’t the greater person be the one who delights in the mitzvot? How can it be that the person who unwillingly drags himself or herself to shul deserves a greater reward than one who arrived eager to daven to Hashem?

Of course, our sages are correct. Voluntary actions gratify our personal desires. Doing something because we want to is easy. Accomplishing obligations, perhaps that run counter to personal convenience or interest, involves selflessness and responsibility. Putting aside personal priorities is harder and worthy of reward.

The Gemara further teaches that even a person who performs mitzvot with the wrong motives garners a reward, as the person will gain understanding and ultimately perform the mitzvot for the correct reasons. (Pesachim 50b.) Again, despite all the time and effort put into practice, it is the performance that counts.

And yet, I think perhaps this teaching suggests a way to bridge the enthusiasm gap between practice and performance. If mitzvot performed properly but with the wrong intent can garner reward, then we can take risks. We can act like students and perform as though we are practicing. If we can free ourselves to perform imperfectly, then we open ourselves to the opportunity to try something new. And, just as for children in their training, new is exciting.

Take the risk of leading davening, try leining a different parsha, learn new songs or tunes to re-infuse your Shabbat table with joy. Change the routine. Rekindle the joy of practice in the fulfillment of obligations. There may be performance anxiety, but embrace it. Marrying the joy of practice with the performance of the mitzvot will make the performances more enjoyable, meaningful and fulfilling.

In truth, we should always perform with the freedom and energy of practice, because we are practicing. The life that we have in this world is one of practice. Rabbi Yaakov teaches, “This world is like an antechamber before the world to come; prepare yourself in the antechamber so you will enter the palace” (Pirkei Avot 4:16.). Our whole experience in our current existence is in many ways simply a practice round. Let’s embrace our own chinuch with enthusiasm. God willing, we all have until 120 to finish our training.

Rabbi Dani Rockoff is the head of school at Westchester Day School.