The Knicks and the Holiness of Teamwork (Korach)
Rabbi Menachem Creditor
That is a model we need. Even in competitive systems, there can be humility. There can be generosity. There can be shared purpose.
Which brings us to Parashat Korach.
Korach is the Torah’s story of what happens when people are not team players. Moses, Aaron, and Miriam each have a sacred role. The tribe of Levi has a sacred role. The community depends on people serving something larger than themselves.
Then Korach, Moses’, Aaron’s, and Miriam’s cousin steps forward with a slogan: “Is not the entire community holy?”
It sounds beautiful. It even sounds like Torah. Of course the people are holy. Of course every person matters. In fact this is the very language from Leviticus: “You shall be holy.” But Korach uses this familiar sacred language for self-serving purposes. Beneath his claim is not humility, not service, not shared responsibility. Beneath it is the demand: Look at me.
Korach gathers others who know how to get attention, including Datan and Aviram, figures later tradition sees as constant sources of conflict. They are the people who inflame, provoke, and destabilize. They know how to make noise. They know how to pull focus. They know how to turn a community away from its center.
And so the question of Parashat Korach is still our question: What do we do with voices that are loud, talented, and destructive? What do we do with people who are clearly in it for themselves, but who know how to command attention?
There is a midrashic teaching that Moses treated Datan and Aviram honorably, bringing them to the communal table over the years, in order to restrain their worst tendencies. That can be wise. We should not rush to turn opponents into enemies. Inclusion can sometimes soften conflict. Honor can sometimes prevent greater harm.
But Korach also teaches that inclusion without boundaries can become dangerous. Sometimes giving destructive voices a central platform does not moderate them. Sometimes this weakens the community’s core commitments. This proves true when Datan and Aviram leverage their communal position to support Korach’s demagoguery.
This is a pressing question for today’s Jewish community, for America, for Israel, and for our world of social media algorithms that reward outrage and make fringe voices sound central. How do we stay open without losing ourselves? How do we honor people without amplifying harm? How do we hold a wide tent without surrendering the values that make the tent worth holding?
There are no easy answers to this challenge. But we do know this: humility matters. Service matters. Shared purpose matters.
Which brings us back to the Knicks.
The Knicks feel like more than a sports story this week. Yes, there are stars. Yes, there were heroic moments. But what moved us was the team. The trust. The discipline. The lack of selfish drama. The tears. The sweet vulnerability. The love. The proof that every contribution mattered.
Moses, too, is remembered as the humblest of all. When Korach meets him with bombast, Moses falls on his face. He does not make leadership about himself.
That is the contrast.
Korach, Datan, and Aviram were in it for themselves. Moshe Rabbeinu was not.
So let us ask which voices we amplify. Let us ask what kind of leadership we reward. Let us build communities around humility, service, boundaries, and shared purpose. Let us remember that holiness is not a slogan. Holiness is how we show up for one another.
And today, with a full New Yorker’s heart: Go Knicks!
