As the school year begins, we will once again — and rightly so — talk about violence, safety and relationships between boys and girls. We will ask boys to respect boundaries, avoid violence and know how to accept “no.” We will teach girls to recognize dangerous situations, set boundaries and protect themselves.
But there is one question we rarely ask: What kind of space are we giving our boys?
What kind of space are we giving our boys?
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As adults, we tend to look at teenage boys through the lens of what they might do. We warn them not to hurt others, not to be aggressive and not to cross boundaries. Those are, of course, important messages. But alongside them, we do not always teach boys what they should do.
How do you talk about fear? How do you say, “I was hurt”? How do you cope with rejection? How do you ask for closeness? How do you tell a friend, “I’m having a hard time,” without worrying that the response will be ridicule?
In many ways, even in 2026, we still offer boys a fairly narrow emotional range.
We say we want sensitive men, but we are often uncomfortable when that sensitivity appears before us in practice. A boy who cries too much may cause concern. A teenager who struggles, feels hurt, needs reassurance or expresses fear may hear — in words or without them — that he needs to pull himself together, get over it and be strong.
Sometimes even we, the parents and educators who want to raise a different generation, continue to carry those same old ideas about masculinity. Teenagers pick up on that message very clearly.
They are growing up in a reality that even we adults are struggling to process: the years after the COVID pandemic, a war that entered both the living room and the cellphone at the same time, prolonged uncertainty, loneliness, a violent and cynical public discourse and an online culture that rewards strength, confidence and visibility.
Amid all this, they are expected to figure out who they are, learn how to navigate relationships and find their place in the world.
But what happens to a teenager who is afraid and does not have the language to say, “I’m scared”? What happens to someone who has been hurt but does not feel permitted to say, “I was hurt”? What happens to anger when beneath it lie humiliation, loneliness, rejection or insecurity that no one ever taught him to recognize?
That is precisely where we need to be present — long before a crisis occurs.
When teenagers are given genuine space to talk, without judgment and without being labeled in advance, they repeatedly surprise us with their depth, sensitivity and ability to listen. Those capacities are already there. The question is whether we give them room to develop.
And this is not a conversation that should be held only with boys.
We also continue, sometimes without noticing, to send girls messages that reinforce traditional ideas of masculinity. On the one hand, we tell them they should expect their partners to be sensitive, attentive and respectful. On the other, the culture around them still often teaches them to be drawn to images of strength, toughness and control, while at the same time recoiling from a boy who expresses vulnerability or insecurity.
None of this is an attempt to remove responsibility. A teenager who hurts someone must take responsibility for his actions, just as we expect of anyone else. But if we truly want to confront violence rather than simply respond after it has already happened, we need to broaden the conversation.
Today, more and more educators, facilitators, therapists and organizations are bringing new tools into the education system: honest conversations, experiential workshops and spaces that allow adolescents to develop empathy, listening skills and the ability to see the person in front of them.
That change does not happen in a single meeting. It is a gradual process.
If we manage to do this, perhaps we will not have to encounter some of our teenagers for the first time only when they reach a point of crisis.
We will meet them much earlier — at a stage when there is still room to talk, listen and learn a different way of relating to others.
- Itamar Blutner heads the education division and the Hibur program at the No2Violence Association, a nationwide educational program that teaches intimacy and relationships during adolescence.