Rabbinic Reflections: Is less more?

Seven inning baseball games. Heresy or genius? I doubt two more innings would have changed the outcome in either of the double-header games the Phillies played against the Yankees. That does not answer the question, though. In fact, it seems that for now the only definitive statement one can make about Major League Baseball’s 2020 experiment is that the games are shorter.

Less is more, they say. Honestly, I usually agree. As I watch my colleagues prepare for the Jewish High Holy Days to be mostly virtual experiences, recordings, or livestreams, or Zoom conferences, most are trying to squeeze services that can be as long as four hours into two. I think it is the right move. I know when I ran elementary school classes online in the spring, Zoom-fatigue was more than real; it actively worked against what we were trying to do. In that environment, less was more.

When we focus, we can achieve more in less time. We can sometimes do more with less at our disposal, again because our attention is focused. The Hasidic tradition of Judaism elevated this focus as a kind of spiritual purity.

In one famous Hasidic tale, the Baal Shem Tov, founder of Hasidic Judaism, is leading prayers on Yom Kippur in the House of Study, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar. In the story, a man reluctantly brings his son who is known as dull, unable to learn and prone to playing a flute while shepherding. All-day long, the son longs to join the Baal Shem Tov’s prayers. Finally, at the close of the holy day, just before the Gates of Heaven are to be locked, the boy blows his flute (in other versions, he recites the letters of the Hebrew alphabet or whistles). The Baal Shem Tov suddenly feels the Heavens open to allow his prayers and those of the community to be heard. He praises the boy for playing with such pure feeling and intent. The boy’s simple action fulfills all that the complicated liturgy of the day is meant to achieve.

We know that there is often a simpler way to do things. We could fit the same learning into less time during the spring because we did not stop to line up or to have side conversations. Of course, we also had to create time for social interactions to keep those learning times focused. The point is that we did not just shorten the instructional time, we focused on its essence. We simplified.

As a fan of baseball, which Rabbi Solomon Schechter called America’s religion, I have watched the sport try to shorten games even as they take longer and longer. The seven-inning doubleheader games were like a throwback to my youth in terms of how long they took. The games were different, though, in how batters faced pitchers and how the bullpen got used. So, even as I truly enjoyed the game again, I wondered what might get lost.

Less is more. Less is also more responsibility. The gatekeepers who determine what to skip, what to focus upon, and how much of that process of choosing to share hold a great deal of power. Reading CliffsNotes is not the same as reading a book; reading an executive summary is not the same as reading the article; and reading a memo is not the same as reading the research. Less is more only when we can still access more when we need or want to do so.

Even that Hasidic tale of the boy with his flute can be more. The setting and the flute are references to the Temple and the permissibility of music and joy on what has come to be a solemn holiday. As we rightly simplify things to get through this pandemic, let us also remember how much more there is when we can handle it. That more will enrich us. For now, though, less is the more we need. Oh, and given the Phillies bullpen, seven innings seem like a great idea.

About Rabbi Jeremy Winaker

Rabbi Jeremy Winaker is the executive director of the Greater Philadelphia Hillel Network, responsible for West Chester University, Haverford, Bryn Mawr, and other area colleges. He is the former head of school at the Albert Einstein Academy in Wilmington and was the senior Jewish educator at the Kristol Hillel Center at the University of Delaware for four years. Rabbi Winaker lives in Delaware with his wife and three children.

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