Imagine for a moment that instead of sending a dove, Noach sent an oriole out of the Teivah. The oriole would have started out, full of promise and hope, “this is the year I will be successful,” and then halfway through its journey, it would basically shut down.
It would come back to Noach who would ask what happened, and the oriole would explain that yes, it had Henderson, Holliday, Alonso, but what could you expect? The oriole had no pitching.
Noach would wait patiently until the oriole farm team would be ready, but unfortunately, Noach and his family would all die waiting.
It is playoff season and to the surprise of no one, the Orioles are nowhere to be seen. But today, I’d like to focus on another team – the Milwaukee Brewers.
The Brewers have a total of zero star players, they have no heavy hitters, their players make contact with the ball the least in the league, and yet, they are the favorites in the upcoming World Series. How is that?
What the Brewers do have is a team. A group of people who, IF they hit the ball, get single after single. They are so focused on the team over the individual that they have a little game called the Check Game; if a player boasts about his accomplishments, his name gets placed on a board with a check near his name. If the player defends his actions, he gets another check.
The Brewers philosophy of the perils of a star player and the value of teamwork is the overarching theme of our parsha. We’re introduced to Noach, an ish Tzadik, a righteous man, an all-star – but something is lacking. Our Sages famously contrast Noach with Avraham; while Noach minded his own business and stayed away from his evil generation, Avraham prayed for the evil people of Sedom. Noach’s selfishness ends in disgrace, Avraham’s selflessness gives birth to the Jewish nation.
Avi, our Bar Mitzvah boy, is a lot of things; he is popular, beloved by his siblings, artistic, a problem solver, and a really good baseball player. But when speaking to his parents, the one story that really stood out, is something that took place 4 years ago.
In the beginning of his baseball season, he broke his wrist. But here’s what Avi did that puts him in his own league. Avi showed to every single game his team played. He sat on the sidelines, in a cast, cheering his team on. Like your namesake, Avraham, you are a team player. And that is a precious characteristic.
In a generation in which we are hyper-fixated on our selves; self-actualization, self-esteem, self-image, it is refreshing to see a young man who rises above it and understands how we are all parts of a whole.
Nowhere does the value of togetherness come across stronger than the end of our parsha. We are introduced to a group of people who are building a tower “to wage against G-d,” whatever exactly that means, it is not good. And yet, our sages teach us that this generation did not get destroyed because they had achdus, they came together as a team.
I once heard a beautiful d’var Torah from your rebbe, Avi, Rabbi Dani Frank, on this week’s parsha. Rabbeinu Nissim of Geronda, in his Derashos HaRan quotes King Solomon who writes, “Two are better than one because when one falls the other picks him up.” That is the classic, simple understanding of why unity is valuable – we can help each other out. But Shlomo Hamelech continues, there is another, far more profound value in companionship – Gam im yish’k’vu sh’nayim v’cham lahem, “when two lie down together, they are warmed up.” When two people lie under the same blanket, their mere presence warms and supports the other. That is the power of unity. It’s not about what you do. It’s about being there. By sitting on that bench, Avi, you gave warmth to your entire team.
I sometimes think about this when I go to weddings. We have a mitzvah to bring joy to the bride and groom. I used to think this meant that I need to dance in the center of the circle, that’s how I bring joy to the groom. And so I would get in the middle, do a little dance, and then I’d slip away. The chosson does not need me dancing at the edge of the third circle; he doesn’t even see me. But that’s my 21st century mindset speaking; it’s not true. Gam im yish’k’vu sh’nayim v’cham lahem; imagine everyone would leave and you would only have the groom and one friend dancing in the middle. It may not be a homerun, but simply being there, one more body shuffling around the circle is a walk, and enough walks can get you to the World Series.
Rabbi Dovid Bashevkin, in his new book, I Read This Over Shabbos, traces the origins of the modern tragedy of Jews who are anti-Zionists. He tells the story of a reform rabbi by the name of Elmer Berger, who in 1963, sent a forty-three-page letter to the Assistant Secretary of State decrying the dual loyalty of Jewish Zionist Americans. He was arguing against the Law of Return, the right for every Jew to live in the State of Israel. He pleaded with the Assistant Secretary of State to not support the State of Israel. “Judaism,” he argued, “is a religion, not a peoplehood.” That is the root of Jewish anti-Zionism; the belief that we are individuals who identify with the Jewish faith.
But it’s simply not true. Noach was an ish Tzadik, a righteous individual, and that experiment failed miserably. Avraham was the father of a nation, and that is who we are; a people, a team.
There was a young lawyer who responded to Rabbi Berger with an in-depth treatise explaining why the Law of Return was necessary and moral. His name was Abe Foxman, the future national director of the ADL. But I believe Abe Foxman got something wrong. His argument was predicated on the fact that we are a nation in need of protection; we have too many enemies, for so much of history we have been persecuted. The Law of Return provides us with the protection that we deserve.
It may not have been his intent, but the influence of the ADL with its emphasis on fighting antisemitism left us with a warped understanding of what it means to be a Jew. Our entire identity revolved around antisemitism, our history consisted of Holocausts and persecution. And that’s a terribly narrow understanding of what it means to be a Jew.
There is a Gemara in Zevachim that tells us that not too long after the Jewish People left Egypt, animals started banding together; birds and monkeys, lions and bears. People started getting nervous; what’s going on? The Gemara tells us they went to Bilaam, their prophet, and asked him if another great flood, another Mabul, was on its way. He said, no. The animal kingdom banded together because the Torah was being given at Sinai.
Rav Meir Shapiro shares a beautiful explanation of this strange Gemara. Our sages are teaching us that there are two things that bring people together. Usually what brings us together is a calamity, a common foe, danger that can be better protected against with a group. That is the animal kingdom coming together during the flood. But that is a shallow unity. Real unity is Matan Torah, at Sinai, when the Jewish People came together for a shared cause. That is the unity of the Jewish People.
What brings us together as a people is not the fact that everyone is trying to kill us. What brings us together as a people is that we share a common dream.
Max and Sara Shapiro exemplify this definition of community. They are team players – Sara served for years on the youth committee, was a member of our hospitality committee. Max serves on CSS and is the vice president of our shul. But it’s much more than yelling Kiddush every Shabbos.
The Shapiro’s are driven by a sense of purpose; meaningful programming for the future of our shul, Torah study – Max is somehow learning the daf, the amud, and nach every day. They are the first to welcome a new person to our shul. Their Judaism is not one of fear; it’s motivated by growth, by goodness, and by G-d.
Avi, you’re becoming a Bar Mitzvah at a complicated time. There are people who look at the world around us and see a Mabul approaching. Their response is to build themselves a Teivah, to protect themselves and their families, and to close the door.
But our parsha challenges us to aspire to something greater. Noach built an ark to save his family. The Dor Haflagah came together and demonstrated the power of unity. But Avraham and Har Sinai taught us what that unity is supposed to accomplish – a nation united by a shared mission.
What does that look like?
Sometimes that means saying hello to a stranger at Kiddush. Sometimes it means finding time in a hectic schedule to help shape the future of your shul. Sometimes it means learning a little more Torah, or taking responsibility for someone who might otherwise be overlooked. And sometimes it means just showing up, and being part of the crowd.
None of these things will make headlines. None will earn you an MVP award. But they are how a community is built. They are how a nation is built.
Avi, as you become a Bar Mitzvah, may you continue to develop all your remarkable talents. I am sure you will hit many home runs, on and off the field. But above all, may you always remember what you already knew at nine years old: being part of a team isn’t about how much attention you receive. It’s about how much stronger the team becomes because you’re there.