Mundialito Musings (Column 569)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

Dedicated to two anonymous Jerusalem Jews in black hats,

Beitar Jerusalem fans, who are likely no longer with us. May their memory be blessed!

Yesterday a sublime event of sanctifying God’s name occurred: Israel’s under-20 national team beat Brazil and advanced to the semifinals of the Mundialito. While we all rejoiced wholeheartedly, for the miracle that happened to us “in those days and at this time”, Rabbi Ilay Ofran came and, in a piercing column—in both senses—pricked a hole in the incendiary balloons of joy floating over our skies. A veritable Jewish Iron Dome. Thus it is described on the Srugim website:

Well, it turns out that liberal rabbis are also rabbis, and they too can protest desecration of Shabbat (God forbid). A rare voice in our parts. But upon further thought, two reflections arose in me about the matter. My thoughts sharpened precisely because of my great respect for Rabbi Ofran and the things he usually writes.

The feeling that arose in me was of overblown—and even odd—righteousness. True, Haredi and religious players did not participate there, and certainly if it had been on a weekday then the famed striker of Elitzur Kvutzat Yavne together with the center back of Shimshon Ponevezh would have starred in the match. But given that the match was held on Shabbat, it is still an impressive achievement: even without the above-mentioned stars and with the help of two cousins (as it was said: “No Arabs, no goals”)[1], and with God’s help of course, we managed to overcome the wicked Brazilians. That’s something! “And if it is empty, it is from you.”

What exactly is the problem?

As noted, this seemingly obvious protest strikes me as overly righteous. Indeed, Jews desecrating Shabbat is regrettable. It reflects a problematic reality in which most Jews are not committed to halakha. On the other hand, we all knew that this was the situation even before this match. Should every achievement attained by Shabbat-desecrators, or even achieved through actual desecration of Shabbat, merit the same reservation? I’m not even talking about the Eurovision, which was a disgrace on the human level (and not specifically the Jewish one. On this occasion, I join Gafni’s heartfelt call to collect money to buy clothing and hire a more reasonable and educational choreographer for Noa Kirel and her parents), but hey: our state sometimes operates on Shabbat as well. Religious coercion has yet to take over everything.

I’m not talking here about Maccabi Tel Aviv basketball games, where there is a majority of non-Jews (though perhaps one could discuss the halakhic status of a “fixed” situation, like throwing a stone into a group—considered half Jews and half non-Jews—but with a non-discernible minority perhaps there is room to be lenient), Africans-Ashkenazim who play for us, and their salary is certainly paid in a properly subsumed manner. On the contrary, those righteous gentiles spare the Jews from desecrating Shabbat (as our Gashashim—some of blessed memory and some, may they live—said about volunteering in the civil guard: “This isn’t a job for Jews”), and at most the gentile coach issues an amira le-nokhri there. But a double rabbinic prohibition (shvut de-shvut) for the sake of a mitzvah is permitted, and there is no mitzvah like sanctifying God’s name. But all that is in basketball. By contrast, on the under-20 national soccer team, at least for now, there is a majority of Jews (they haven’t yet hit upon the idea of mass naturalization; there is still room to “improve”), and there it would seem there is, indeed, actual desecration of Shabbat.

Consider, for example, the Saturday-Culture town-hall events (Shabatarbut), some of which perhaps allow participation by Shabbat-observers, but many of which do not. Many such events are conducted with desecration of Shabbat, and yet I assume that Rabbi Ofran, like me, would be glad to see more of them in our parts. At least I see this as a blessed activity (I believe that was also the spirit of the Gavison–Medan Covenant). It turns out that most Israelis see Shabbat as a day that isn’t entirely mundane, but not in the sense of the 39 categories of labor and their derivatives. For many, it’s a timeout for culture, sports, hikes, and other activities that generate the atmosphere of Shabbat in Israel. Some, after Kiddush and/or prayer, head out to these activities, and whether we like it or not, that is their Shabbat. This did not begin with this match. Sporting events often take place on Shabbat, and it is part of our lives.

Protesting such Shabbat desecration seems to me about the same as protesting Shabatarbut. I would be happy if all Israel observed Shabbat, but to protest Shabbat desecration in its halakhic sense is, in my view, disconnected. Most of Israel’s achievements were produced by Shabbat-desecrators, and some by people who publicly repudiate Shabbat. People who never mention Heaven, whose deeds are done on Shabbat and more. I’m not even talking about food and wine competitions where devourers of non-kosher fare win prizes at home and abroad, people whose wine is at least stam yeinam.

It’s interesting to compare this with another incident that actually stirred in me great appreciation and joy. Students from AMIT Modi’in withdrew from a prestigious robotics competition because participating would have forced them to desecrate Shabbat. This, by itself, sounds basic to me: that a religious student would not even consider desecrating Shabbat for some competition is truly elementary. But the manner in which they did so definitely constituted a sanctification of God’s name, and they rightly earned much admiration for it. Yet here we are talking about appreciating an act of sanctifying God’s name by students who are committed to halakha. I have no expectation, and certainly won’t launch a protest, when people who are not committed to observing Shabbat (among them the cousins, as noted) do not keep Shabbat and break into the dance of play. By the way, the game itself is perhaps a “bold step,” and even that is likely permitted (for the sake of oneg Shabbat), but it does not constitute outright desecration of Shabbat. Around it, of course, there is—yet that is true of almost any activity nowadays. Perhaps there is room to discuss mowing the grass as a psik reisha, or various rabbinic prohibitions and questions of “Shabbat character” (tzevi’on) (see the problems with those in Column 275), but when dealing with people for whom Shabbat simply is not part of their life picture, this looks like detached nitpicking. About the same as refusing to cross at a crosswalk on Shabbat because it causes a driver to stop the car and light the brake lights. We’re talking about a driver who causes 10,000 ignitions in the engine in a minute of driving and who, were he not driving, would likely be at a barbecue.

A nuanced view

Even if one wishes to express reservations about Shabbat desecration, I would have expected Rabbi Ofran to present a more nuanced picture. There is a very fine achievement here for the Israeli team in the sporting realm, only it was attained through Shabbat desecration. One could, of course, disqualify it under the rubric of a mitzvah achieved through a transgression (mitzvah ha-ba’ah ba-averah)—idea: propose to FIFA to annul wins achieved by Jews on Shabbat. True, this is something uncommon, and the sages did not decree in such a case. But perhaps we should forfeit them of our own accord, as the moralists recommended with regard to learned ideas that pop into your head during prayer?…—or at least spare the sanctification of God’s name and refrain from shouting “There is a God!” while doing the victory-splash in the municipal square fountain (Gashashim, there, there). But protesting the Shabbat desecration here sounds to me detached and off the mark.

Consider that instead he could have wished them (as the head of the Yeruham council did) to go from strength to strength, and just as they ascended to Liga Alef, they should continue and ascend to Liga Bet and then to Liga Gimel, and so on, up to Liga Qit 119b. The advantage here is that you present yourself as someone who understands nothing about this—just like rabbis have always done (“I heard there’s something called Facebuk, or something like that, that the young flock surf on, like the waves of the sea,” and so on in that vein)—and then you can talk about soccer without being suspected of heresy or time-wasting (God forbid).

This reminds me of a delightful story that happened to my buddy from the Midrashiya (one class above me). He girded his loins and donned military fatigues (which, as is well known, are like the High Priest’s vestments) and hitchhiked to Mount Hermon right after the Yom Kippur War. To our great good fortune, the diligent reporters of our young television filmed a segment featuring soldiers skiing in the snow on Mount Hermon, with the star of the piece being that very fellow, of blessed memory in my mind, a fresh 16-year-old sapling. When he returned to the closed institution where we were staying at that time in Pardes Hanna, his (Haredi) ram (homeroom rebbe) met him and said: “So-and-so, soldiers skiing in the snow, huh?!” Our hero didn’t bat an eye and immediately answered him in kind: “Listen, Rabbi, you won’t say that I was at Hermon in uniform, and I won’t tell that you watched television.” And here I am, the scamp and gossipmonger, revealing a secret that ancient days had covered.

On the grandfather syndrome and psychologism

This story reminds me of the well-known quip of Rabbi Ofran’s grandfather (the third Isaiah, of blessed memory) who said: “Twenty-two lunatics are chasing one ball. Why not give them another 21 balls so they’ll stop fighting?” I’ve heard many rabbis quoting this witticism as if it were a gem from a brilliant “Eretz Nehederet” or Monty Python sketch, and I’m sure that had they known its source they would not have let it cross their lips. I think in that period it was more popular in yeshivot than the Rambam’s “wonderful point” in his Commentary to the Mishnah, Keritot.

Is that famous disdain of the grandfather—for soccer and soccer culture—what is speaking through the grandson? Perhaps it’s a statement meant to express alienation, like the grandfather’s and all those who quoted him (as if to say: I’m not part of that lowly culture, though secretly I know it well and even take an interest in it—God forbid). This is indeed psychologism, and I tend to denounce that kind of explanation. But psychologism is objectionable only where it replaces arguments on the merits. Where problems arise in the argument on the merits, there may nonetheless be room to look for the key in psychology (Rabbi Ofran himself, as we recall, is a psychologist).

At my advanced age I no longer share that disdain, and perhaps that’s the psychological explanation for my reservation about Rabbi Ofran’s words. In my eyes, a sporting achievement is certainly an achievement and a source of joy, and sport is an arena in which admirable qualities and abilities are expressed. The mocking descriptions intended to broadcast ignorance or contempt (see above) are not my cup of tea. True, my main interest is basketball, and in soccer I’m merely an ignorant enthusiast; still, I certainly understand those who are interested and to whom it matters (see my words in Column 13, which, by the way, deals with the father of one of the players on the team that won yesterday: the former player Haim Revivo, may he live long).

Back to the dedication

As I write these lines I recall an incident from when I was about 16, during one of your faithful servant’s many escapes from the Midrashiya to Jerusalem (as it is said: “Our feet were standing within your gates, O Jerusalem,” but our feet were running from the gates of illustrious Pardes Hanna—see the film “The Midrashiya”, which, God willing and without vows, will be discussed again). On those evenings I was walking, a potential conscript in all innocence, on King George Street near the big intersection with Jaffa Street, and suddenly my breath was cut short. My fleshly ear picked up two middle-aged, respectable Jews in fedoras (then quite common. In retrospect I estimate they were about 60 or so, a bit younger than I am today) conversing learnedly and excitedly about Beitar Jerusalem’s win or loss the day before. I froze on the spot, thunderstruck. There are “uncles” who talk about soccer—and I knew it not?! It never occurred to me that anyone over 18 still dealt with such nonsense.

Apparently my mind had been fattened on sayings in the spirit of Leibowitz, and I saw in all this childish frolic. To this day I tend to belittle the phenomenon of fandom, at least the fanatical sort, and I regard it as somewhat childish, animalistic, and rather primitive. At least not something to talk about out loud (even if it nests quietly somewhere in the recesses of your heart—don’t tell anyone). But sport itself, and in particular the fine achievements attained in it, no longer receive that juvenile scorn from me. Well, I have recently reached the age of those two fellows (who are likely no longer with us).

Therefore this column is dedicated to their memory. May these words be a light for the elevation of their pure souls and stand for their destiny “at the end of days” (but not the extreme right, “La Familia,” heaven forfend), amen.

[1] I must say, the third goal—the one scored by a pure-bred Jew, Dor Turgeman is his name, which shall be known in Israel and the whole world—was truly one for the pantheon. Even an ignorant enthusiast like me (who, in the middle of the NBA Finals, found time to watch clips) understands that this belongs to Messi’s league. So the Jews do know better, after all.