ARE YOU FAN OR A PLAYER?

An old Jewish beggar was out on the street, begging with his tin cup.

A man passed by and the beggar said to the man, "Sir, could you spare a quarter for a cup of coffee?"

And the man said, "Where do get coffee for 25 scents?"

And the beggar said, "Who buys retail?"

Building a sanctuary is difficult enough. Getting people to donate has been, historically, even more difficult. That, however, was not the case concerning the construction of the first Temple the Mishkan the Jewish people built in the desert. 

The Torah in Vayakhel tells us that everyone contributed to the cause. “Every man whose heart uplifted him came, and everyone whose spirit inspired him to generosity brought the offering of the Lord for the work of the Tent of Meeting, for all its service, and the holy garments.

The men came with the women; every generous hearted person brought bracelets and earrings and rings and buckles, all kinds of golden objects, and every man who waved a waving of gold to the Lord…

The contributions were so generous, that an announcement was made, ordering the entire nation to halt their generosity. This was probably, the first and last time in Jewish history that people were asked to stop giving. Could you imagine if we had such a problem with our shul that we had to tell the people to stop donating…

But what is intriguing is that the Torah, in a very conspicuous way, highlights another group of donors. And it remains ambiguous.

After the Torah concludes its description of the fact that all of the people of Israel donated all the items, the Torah all of a sudden mentions another group of donors.

They took from before Moses all the offerings that the children of Israel had brought for the work of the service of the Holy, and they brought to him more gifts very early in the morning.

What do these last words mean? “And they brought an additional offering very early in the morning."

First of all, who were these generous donors to be deserving to be singled out from everyone else? The Torah cannot be referring to the general public, because they are already mentioned in the previous verses. Who is this new group suddenly being addressed here? And why should this group deserve special recognition for their contribution, when the entire community did the same?

Secondly, why does the Torah stress that they brought an additional contribution in the wee hours of the morning? Why did they bring it so early in the day?

The daughter of Rabbi Zusia, was engaged. As poor as he was, Reb Zusia and his wife scraped together enough money for a seamstress to sew a beautiful gown for the bride-to-be. 

After a month the gown was ready, and Reb Zusia's wife and his daughter went with a bundle of rubblles to the home of the seamstress to pick up the finished gown.

An hour later they came home empty-handed. "Where is the gown?" asked the Rebbe. Was it stolen, perhaps lost? Did the seamstress not finish the job?

"Well," said his wife, "When I came to pick up the gown, I saw tears in the eyes of the seamstress. I asked her why she was crying and she told me that her daughter, too, was getting married.

Then she looked at the beautiful gown that she had sewn for me and sighed, "if only we could afford such beautiful material for a gown."

Reb Zusia's wife continued. "At that moment our daughter, the bride, couldn’t resist and decided to let the seamstress have her gown as a gift!"

“I was delighted with her decision. I know that for our daughter, we can find friends who will help us weave a new gown, or we can even borrow a beautiful gown for the night.”

Reb Zusia was delighted. The mitzvah of helping a poor bride was dear to him and he longed for the opportunity to fulfill it. 

But then he added one question to his wife. "Did you pay the seamstress for the work she did for us?"

"Pay her? What do you mean to pay her," asked the wife, "I gave her the gown!"

"I'm sorry," said the Rebbe. "You said the gown was a gift. We still owe her for the four weeks of work she spent on it for us. When she was working on the gown, she did it with the expectation of getting paid. She probably had to refuse other jobs, relying on the money she would receive for this gown. We have no right to deprive her of that hard-earned money. The fact that we are giving her a gift is our positive mitzvah, but it does not exempt us from paying up!" 

The Rebbetzin agreed. She returned to the seamstress and gave her the full money for the gown. In addition to the expensive gift of the gown, she compensated the seamstress for her work.

This story can shed light on our previous dilemma as to who were these generous donors who brought their donations early in the morning and why the Torah singles them out.

Let’s review the verse carefully and it all becomes clear. “They took from before Moses all the offerings that the children of Israel had brought for the work of the service of the Holy Temple, and they brought to him more gifts very early in the morning.”

Who is the “they”? Who brought him these extra gifts? It is the people mentioned in the opening of the verse. It was the craftsmen and builders who retrieved all of the contributions, for they were to do the work. The Torah now adds that it was these men and women who volunteered to physically build the Tabernacle by tailoring, weaving, designing, and constructing. All of them also offered their contributions to the Tabernacle.

Which explains why the Torah feels compelled to make a point out of this. These laborers, the goldsmiths, carpenters, and artists could have easily absolved themselves from donating their wealth. After all, they have already made a far more generous donation. They offered their time, skill, and energy to build the entire Sanctuary! They have done their part already. “After all,” they could have justly said, "we are donating so many hours from morning to sunset weaving, tailoring, crafting; what else do you expect? We are not only donating silver and gold; we are donating time, energy, sweat, and labor.”

But they did not exonerate themselves. The Torah tells us that “ they brought to him more gifts very early in the morning.” They wished to have the merit to contribute to the Sanctuary not only through their physical labor and their time but also with the merchandise they owned.

What is more, and here is the most impressive part. Since they committed of their time to weaving tailoring and fashioning the various furnishing from sunrise to sunset, they didn’t want to interrupt their sacred duty, and thus, they brought their donations early in the morning, which means way early in the morning, before sunrise.

Such people are deserving of special recognition.

Why were they so generous? Because they were not searching for excuses to absolve themselves. If they were looking for rationalizations, they had plenty. They were committed to the project with their souls, hearts, and passion. They loved it. And when you love something, you do not look to do less; you look to do more.

Just as in a relationship. When you are having issues with your spouse, you might still be a mentch, and fulfill your duties, but you will get away with the minimum. But when your heart is aglow with love and passion Ah! Then you can’t do enough for your spouse. You want to add more and more.

Sometimes, in our communal involvement, some of us look to abdicate and relinquish responsibility and commitment; we look for every excuse to relieve ourselves from responsibilities. If we are giving some time to something, we say to ourselves: Why should I give my money? I already gave my time and effort.

But the Torah inspires us with another model a profile of people who care and are not searching to get off the hook. They give of their time, and they give of their wealth. Because it matters to them. They are not trying to fulfill a duty; they deeply care about the project and its results.

That is the type of activism, concern, and participation the Torah wishes to inspire us with.

A story:  The last trolley of the evening rolled by on Kingston Avenue on a chilly winter night in 1955 as a jolly young Shimshon Stock ushered a close acquaintance and his soon-to-be-Bar-Mitzvahed son into the Lubavitch synagogue, around the corner at 770 Eastern Parkway.

Inside "770", soon to become famous as Lubavitch World Headquarters, was the study and office of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, who a few years earlier had accepted the leadership of this small Chassidic community still struggling to recover from the ravages of Stalinism and the Holocaust. At the time, the Rebbe had only a handful of emissaries scattered across Israel, America, Europe, and North Africa; but he was already relentlessly and tirelessly building a global network of communities soon to gain worldwide renowned for its unconventional yet contemporary ways of reaching out to Jewish youth.

Shimshon, born and bred in the New World, was very much the "American Boy". Yet he had enjoyed a close and special friendship with the Rebbe. He now introduced his friend and his friend's son to the Rebbe, who greeted them with his comforting and warm handshake, requesting them to please take a seat.

The Rebbe briefly blessed the boy that he should grow to become a source of pride to the Jewish people and his family. As they turned to leave, Rebbe surprised the three Americans with the question he addressed to the youngster: "Are you a baseball fan?"

The Bar-Mitzvah boy replied that he was.

Which team are you a fan of — the Yankees or the Dodgers?"

At that time, the Brooklyn Dodgers were still playing in Ebbits Field, in Brooklyn, and this team must hold a special place in the hearts of all lovers of freedom.

The Dodgers replied the boy.

"Does your father have the same feeling for the Dodgers as you have?" No.

"Does he take you out to games?"

Well, every once in a while, my father takes me to a game. We were at a game a month ago.

"How was the game?"

It was disappointing, the 13-year-old confessed. By the sixth inning, the Dodgers were losing nine-to-two, so we decided to leave.

"Did the players also leave the game when you left?"

Rabbi, the players can't leave in the middle of the game!

"Why not?" asked the Rebbe. "Explain to me how this works."

The boy seemed a bit annoyed by the Rebbe’s ignorant questions.

There are players and fans, the baseball fan explained. The fans can leave when they like — they're not part of the game and the game could, and does, continue after they leave. If they don’t like how the game is going, they walk out. But the players need to stay and try to win until the game is over.

"That is the lesson I want to teach you in Judaism," said the Rebbe with a smile. "You can be either a fan or a player. Be a player."

The fan admires, encourages, and helps out when he can. But if things are looking hard, he can just get up and go home. The player, on the other hand, never leaves the arena of the game. Sunshine or snow, warm or cold, winning or losing, he lingers on. Why? Because it is HIS game. He’s not a spectator; he is a player.

And that makes all the difference.

The Jewish people survived and thrived, the Rebbe said because we were not fans of Judaism; we were players!

Today we need more Jewish players. Gentiles can be fans. Jews need to be players!

Shabbat Shalom and Chodesh Tov,

Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky