An Honest Question and a Thought-Provoking Answer
It happened at a public lecture given by a prominent rabbi in Israel. A man, distant from religious observance but clearly sincere, stood up and asked a question that was as honest as it was straightforward:
“Rabbi, can you explain why it’s forbidden to play soccer on Shabbat?”
The question wasn’t meant to provoke. It came from a genuine place of curiosity. But the rabbi’s response surprised everyone.
“Who said it’s forbidden to play soccer on Shabbat?” he replied with a calm smile. “On Shabbat, it’s permitted not to play soccer.”
At first glance, it seemed like a clever wordplay; a quip meant to sidestep the question. But the rabbi wasn’t evading the question. He was inviting the audience, and especially the man who asked the question, to see something deeper.
To understand this, consider the following scenario: A 50-year-old man sits down for what appears to be a serious conversation with his wife. She closes the door, speaks in a hushed tone, and delivers this dramatic announcement: “From this day forward, I strictly forbid you to suck on a pacifier!”
The man blinks. Confused. Even insulted. “Have you lost your mind?” he asks. “Why would you ban something I’ve never had the slightest desire to do? I’m not a child! I don’t need a pacifier!”
The idea of banning something only makes sense if the person has an affinity for it. The prohibition assumes a certain dignity, maturity, and inner world that can handle restrictions. You don’t forbid a pacifier to an adult, not because it's permitted, but because the very idea is absurd.
Now, take that analogy and apply it to Shabbat. Shabbat isn’t just a “day off.” It’s the spiritual summit of the week. It's a sacred bond between Hashem and the Jewish people. The question of whether one can kick around a soccer ball on such a day doesn’t really belong. If playing soccer is what excites you most about Shabbat, the rabbi’s message is simple: You’re allowed not to play soccer. But the real question is: do you understand what this day is all about?
The Power of “Forbidden”
The discussion reveals something profound about what it means to be Jewish. The concept of “assur” (forbidden) isn’t a burden. It’s a badge of honor.
When we tell a young boy, “Now you're bar mitzvah,” we don’t just mean he’s reached a legal age. We mean he’s grown enough that we can trust him with obligations. He’s mature enough to be told, “This is off-limits.” It’s not a punishment; it’s a sign of dignity. We don’t set limits for infants, because they’re not capable of understanding them. Only when someone is morally and spiritually developed enough do restrictions begin to carry meaning.
That’s also why halacha (Jewish law) maintains that a non-Jew who fully keeps Shabbat is liable, not because they’ve done something terrible, but because Shabbat is a sign of the covenant between Hashem and the Jewish people. It’s like someone who walks into a wedding and tries to recite the groom's vows. Without the relationship, it’s meaningless. The prohibition doesn’t apply to those outside the covenant. It's not because they’re excluded from punishment, but because they’re excluded from the meaning that makes the restriction possible.
To be able to be told “no” in the context of Torah is to be acknowledged as spiritually capable, part of something sacred, someone with the potential to rise to a higher level of human refinement.
So when we ask, “Why is something forbidden on Shabbat?” the deeper answer might be: “Because you’re worthy of being asked to rise higher.” Restrictions aren’t about repression. They’re about recognition.
The rabbi’s answer wasn’t a trick. It was an invitation. Shabbat isn’t about what you can’t do. It’s about who you are. The more we grow in our connection to it, the more we realize it’s not a list of limits, but a space for transcendence. Because Hashem only says “no" to someone He knows is capable of living a greater yes.
