Weekly Letter from Rabbi

Matot-Masei

Dear friends

Every World Cup produces its own stars.

Usually, they are remembered for spectacular goals, breathtaking saves or moments of individual brilliance. Yet, if there is one lesson that seems to emerge from every major international tournament, it is that championships are rarely won by the most gifted collection of individuals. More often than not, they are won by teams that function as genuine units.

When England manager Thomas Tuchel announced his World Cup squad, some supporters questioned why several highly talented players had been left at home. His explanation surprised many people.

“I think from day one we were very clear that we are trying to select and build the best possible team, which is not necessarily to select and collect the 26 most talented players. Teams win championships. It’s as simple as that. What we are trying to achieve in the summer can only be achieved as a team.”

Tuchel returned to the importance of team spirit when explaining why he selected players such as the 36-year-old Jordan Henderson, now in the final stages of his career.

“Some of them are part of a leadership group that took ownership and set the standards high.”

According to Tuchel, the strongest team is one made up of players who are willing to accept whatever role is required, to put the team’s interests ahead of personal ambition, and to contribute even when they are not in the starting eleven. So far, this philosophy has taken the Three Lions all the way to the quarter-finals.

It is a philosophy embraced by many of the world’s most successful coaches. James Kerr, in his bestselling book Legacy, about New Zealand’s legendary All Blacks rugby team, summarised it perfectly:

“A collection of talented individuals without personal discipline will ultimately and inevitably fail.”

Modern psychology has reached remarkably similar conclusions. For more than three decades researchers have studied the relationship between team cohesion and performance. One of the landmark studies, conducted by Professor Albert Carron and his colleagues, analysed dozens of sporting teams and identified a clear pattern: the more united the team, the greater its chances of success. Subsequent research has consistently confirmed that cohesion is not merely the by-product of success; it is one of its principal causes.

In other words, talent wins matches.

Unity wins tournaments.

Football history provides countless illustrations.

France arrived at the 2010 World Cup with some of the finest footballers on the planet. Yet internal conflicts became so poisonous that the players refused to train, the squad split into rival factions, and the tournament ended in humiliation before they had even escaped the group stage. England’s own so-called “Golden Generation” boasted names such as Beckham, Gerrard, Lampard, Rooney and Ferdinand. Looking back, many commentators concluded that although England possessed world-class individuals, they never truly became one team. Fierce club rivalries and competing egos often proved stronger than the shirt they all wore together.

By contrast, many of the great surprise stories in international football have been built not on superior talent but on extraordinary togetherness. Morocco’s remarkable run in 2022, when they became the first African and first Arab nation to reach a World Cup semi-final, together with their run to the quarter-finals in the current tournament, captured the imagination of millions, not simply because of their football, but because of the visible unity between players, coaches and supporters. Every tackle, every celebration and every embrace conveyed the same message: no individual was bigger than the team.

Perhaps this is why supporters so often fall in love with underdogs. We instinctively admire a group of ordinary people who become extraordinary because each is prepared to sacrifice something for everyone else.

These and countless other examples demonstrate what can be achieved when everyone plays for the team rather than for himself. It is a lesson not only for football teams but for every organisation, every family, every congregation and every community.

Both Torah portions this week teach precisely the same lesson.

In the first, we read that after G-d informed Moses that he would not lead the Jewish people into the Land of Israel, He instructed him to appoint a successor.

Moses did not ask for the strongest military commander or the most brilliant scholar. Instead, he prayed:

“May the Lord, the G-d of the spirits of all flesh, appoint a man over the congregation.”

Rashi explains that Moses was asking for a leader who could relate to every individual according to his own character and temperament. Joshua was chosen not merely because of his wisdom, but because he possessed the rare ability to unite people of very different personalities around one common purpose.

The Midrash adds a fascinating detail. Joshua’s greatness did not begin on the battlefield. It began years earlier through quiet acts of service. He was the disciple who faithfully arranged the benches in Moses’ study hall, prepared everything for his teacher, and never sought recognition for himself. Leadership, the Torah teaches, begins not with prominence but with service.

Perhaps that is why Joshua succeeded where others might have failed. He understood that a nation is not built by stars but by servants; not by individuals seeking their own glory, but by people prepared to dedicate themselves to something greater than themselves.

The second Torah portion of this week, which also concludes the entire Book of Numbers, ends with a passage that at first glance appears to be of little significance.

The kinsmen of Zelophehad, a member of the tribe of Manasseh who had died without leaving a son, approached Moses and the tribal leaders with a concern regarding the inheritance of Zelophehad’s daughters. Earlier in the Book of Numbers we read how these remarkable women had petitioned Moses for the right to inherit their father’s portion in the Land of Israel. Moses brought their case before G-d, who upheld their claim and instructed that they should receive their father’s hereditary holding.

Now a new problem arose.

Zelophehad’s relatives pointed out that if the daughters married men from another tribe, their land would eventually pass to their children and become part of another tribe’s inheritance. Gradually, the ancestral territory of Manasseh would diminish.

At G-d’s instruction, Moses advised the daughters that, ideally, they should marry within their own tribe so that no inheritance would pass from one tribe to another. The daughters accepted this advice and married men from the tribe of Manasseh.

And on this seemingly ordinary note, the Book of Numbers comes to an end.

At first sight, this appears to be little more than the successful resolution of a potential legal dispute between the tribes. Why, then, has the Torah chosen this episode as the closing scene of an entire book?

Behind the legal details lies a deeply moving human story.

Contrary to what many assume, the daughters of Zelophehad were under no legal obligation to marry within their tribe. Moses’ actual words were:

“Let them marry whom they think best; only they should marry within the family of their father’s tribe.”

The Talmud explains that the opening phrase – “Let them marry whom they think best”, granted them complete freedom to marry into any tribe. The second phrase was not a command, but advice.

That changes everything.

These were not passive women who simply accepted whatever they were told. Earlier they had stood courageously before Moses himself to demand that justice be done and that their father’s name should not disappear from Israel. They knew how to defend their rights.

Now they faced a different challenge.

By following Moses’ advice, they dramatically reduced their chances of finding suitable husbands. They could easily have argued that they had every right to marry whomever they wished. They could have placed their own interests first.

Instead, they chose to play for the team.

They understood the importance of preserving the inheritance of their tribe and willingly accepted a significant personal sacrifice for the sake of the wider community. The Talmud tells us that this sacrifice was not merely theoretical. Finding suitable husbands within such a limited circle was far from easy. None of the sisters married before the age of forty.

Our contemporary culture, which understandably places enormous value on personal freedom and individual fulfilment, would probably find it difficult to appreciate the decision of five sisters who voluntarily placed the interests of their extended family before their own. Many today might see such a decision as weakness or as giving in to family pressure.

Yet if Zelophehad’s daughters were being interviewed today, I suspect they would say exactly the opposite.

It was their choice.

They chose to play for the team.

And I doubt they ever regretted it.

Perhaps that is why the Torah concludes the entire Book of Numbers with their story.

The central theme of this book is the transformation of a vast collection of former slaves into twelve tribes and one nation. What better conclusion could there be than the story of five courageous women who freely chose to place the good of their people above their own personal convenience?

The same challenge faces every synagogue and every community.

Like football teams, communities naturally celebrate gifted individuals. We admire the eloquent speaker, the generous donor, the gifted organiser or the beautiful voice leading the prayers. Yet no community is sustained by a handful of stars. It survives because dozens of people quietly accept responsibilities that often pass unnoticed. Someone prepares the kiddush. Someone opens the building. Someone visits the sick. Someone attends the daily minyan when there are easier things to do. Someone gives up an evening to sit on a committee. Someone simply turns up because the community needs another person in the room.

None of these actions makes the headlines.

Together, they make the community.

Modern society quite rightly places great emphasis on individual fulfilment, personal rights and self-expression. These are important values. Yet every enduring family, every successful organisation and every thriving congregation depends upon another value that receives far less attention: the willingness to ask not only, “What do I gain?” but also, “What can I contribute?”

Football tournaments come and go. The names of today’s champions will eventually fade into history. But the principle remains timeless. The stars may win the headlines. But it is teams that change history.

And communities flourish when their members choose, like Joshua and the daughters of Zelophehad, to place the good of the team above their own.

Wishing you a wonderful Shabbat

Rabbi Shalom Kupperman