Over the last few days, despite being on vacation, I was also thinking about what to speak about back here in Paris. The problem was that I didn't know what would be the context that I would find myself in, and what would be the atmosphere. Would the big story be the end of the Olympic games, or a third world war? I still don't know, there's an uncomfortable anxiety that's wearing everyone down, and as usual, we don't know what to expect next.
There's also an ambiguity in the Jewish calendar this week. The parasha of Devarim is an exciting one. Among all the hundreds of verses in the book, perhaps the most interesting is the one that is the one that's not there. We don't find the famous verse “And God spoke to Moses saying” anywhere in the beginning of this book. Something powerful takes place in this final book, with the final speech of Moses: the possibility is opened up that human words can also be considered divine Torah.
At the same time, this parasha is always read before Tisha B'av, the saddest day of the Jewish calendar. On Monday night and Tuesday, we'll mark the destruction of the Temple as well as a string of other tragedies throughout Jewish history. The idea that hate and hopelessness and destruction are always possible is not too alien to us these days.
With this two possibilities in the air, celebration or anxiety, war or Olympics -- I would like to, nonetheless, start by saying something about the Olympic games, sports and Torah. I thought of five or six examples of sports in Jewish sources. Let me cite them, and we'll see what they tell us.
In the Tanakh (Shmuel Bet 2:14), in one of the descriptions of the wars between the house of David and the house of Saul, the young soldiers are asked to ‘play’, probably some kind of fencing or wrestling (they unfortunately end up killing each other!)
In rabbinic texts, we find a description of the daily sacrifices. The Mishna says that there used to be a race among the priests and that the first to reach the altar would be the one who would do the Terumat Hadeshen, a beloved part of the sacrifice preparations. There are two versions of the story of why this race stopped. In one, one of the priests broke their leg running, and the rabbis realised that this method was dangerous and introduced a lottery system instead. In another version, one of the priests stabbed another in order to win the race. Before he died, his father was worried that the knife should be removed so that it wouldn't become impure when his son died. This inversion of values, caring about rituals more than human life, as well as the violence inherent in competition, is brought as one of the reasons for the destruction of the Temple.
There is also a discussion of attending a gladiator tournament (Tosefta AZ 2:2). Most rabbis forbid even entering the arena for such an event, but Rabbi Natan permits it because it's possible to save lives by voting for the gladiator to be spared. There seems to be a deep mistrust of the Graeco-Roman sporting culture, and even being in attendance is enough to be implicated in what's happening there.
But there are some halachic texts that see sport in a more positive light. The Shulchan Aruch (Orach Chayim 301:2), discussing appropriate behaviour on Shabbat, says that it's forbidden to run on this day except to the synagogue. The idea is that it's a day of resting, not a day of rushing. But the halacha finishes with the words
בחורים המתענגים בקפיצתם ומרוצתם מותר וכן לראות כל דבר שמתענגים בו.
Young people who enjoy jumping or running are permitted to do so, and the same goes for going out to see other things they enjoy.
A difference is made between running in order to achieve something (whether reaching a destination, or even for health reasons), and the pleasure of running for its own sake. Fitness in itself is just another mundane task that we can avoid on Shabbat. In later literature about the permissibility of sports on Shabbat, this distinction becomes crucial. Personally, I've been asked about the permissibility of yoga on Shabbat (probably yes), cycling (it depends), and krav maga (probably no).
There's one final halachic text that makes me laugh every time I see it, and is actually geographically closer to the Paris Olympics than the others. In a commentary on the Talmud written in the 13th century by the disciples of Rabbi Samson of Sens (just an hour south of Paris), there is a discussion of damages caused as part of the performance of a mitzvah. They add
ויש ללמוד מכאן לאותן בחורים שרוכבים בסוסים לקראת חתן ונלחמים זה עם זה וקורעין בגדו של חבירו או מקלקל לו סוסו שהן פטורין שכך נהגו מחמת שמחת חתן
"This is similar to the custom of young men who attend weddings riding on horses in front of the groom, and jousting with their lances, tearing each other’s robes and injuring their horses. They are not liable for damages, because this is all for the delight of the groom and the joy of the wedding [which is itself a mitzvah].”
Here we see something of the joy of sporting, in the spirit that the Olympic Games claim to foster. We also sense the darker side of displays of strength, with the possibility of violence and damage.
I'm never comfortable with speaking about subjects in the format of “What does Judaism say about X” or “The Jewish attitude to Y”. Judaism and Jews are rich, complex, ancient and dynamic, there's very rarely a simple answer to any such question. If anything, we can point to a tension which is present in the Jewish sources, that manifests differently in each case. If I had to say anything about Jewish attitudes to sport, I think it would have to take the form of such a tension. On the one hand, there is an appreciation of the human body and its capabilities. Running, playing, competing; they can simply be fun, and they can be a Mitzvah, part of the commandment of joy on Shabbat or rejoicing at a wedding. There's also a deep-seated suspicion of sport and of displays of strength. Partly, they're associated with ugly violence, but there's also a heresy involved, the selfish overconfidence in one's own capacities.
In next week's parasha we will read a sharp critique of those who enter the Land of Israel and feel powerful and confident in their physical strength, proud of their accomplishments instead of being grateful.
וְאָמַרְתָּ֖ בִּלְבָבֶ֑ךָ כֹּחִי֙ וְעֹ֣צֶם יָדִ֔י עָ֥שָׂה לִ֖י אֶת־הַחַ֥יִל הַזֶּֽה׃
You who say to yourselves, “My own power and the might of my own hand have won this wealth for me.” (Deuteronomy 8:17)
It's this attitude of strength as a blindness to the wonderfulness and playfulness of the world that is critiqued throughout the Torah. When I think of the Olympic slogan, “Citius, Altius, Fortius” (faster, higher, stronger), and wonder whether it feels Jewish, the answer is -- sometimes. As an aspiration to feel the vitality of the human experience, yes of course. As a path to worship of the body, it's dangerously close to idolatry. We can imagine the builders and architects of the Tower of Babel with the same slogan. Or, to bring it back to these days where we mark the destruction of the first and second Temples in Jerusalem, the first as a punishment for bloodshed and the second as a punishment for unprovoked hatred, we can just about imagine the people yearning to be faster, higher, stronger than their supposed enemies.
Tisha B'av begins as a day of mourning and finishes as a day of hope. It is against all this history of misdirected strength that the prophets describe the future Temple. It won't be the result of a victory or accomplishment, but of confidence.
וַיַּ֜עַן וַיֹּ֤אמֶר אֵלַי֙ לֵאמֹ֔ר זֶ֚ה דְּבַר־יְ--הֹוָ֔ה אֶל־זְרֻבָּבֶ֖ל לֵאמֹ֑ר לֹ֤א בְחַ֙יִל֙ וְלֹ֣א בְכֹ֔חַ כִּ֣י אִם־בְּרוּחִ֔י אָמַ֖ר יְ--הֹוָ֥ה צְבָאֽוֹת׃
“This is the word of GOD to Zerubbabel: Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit—said GOD of Hosts.”
Shabbat shalom!