Benedict Anderson, political scientist and scholar of nationalism, defines a nation as an “imagined community”; a group of people too large to have all met but with bonds—including any or all of blood, language, a common history, specific territory, and so on—that allows them to believe that they are travelling through history together. Coincidentally, in a week in which I have studied Anderson’s theory in two courses, I have confronted my own questions about which nation, or nations, I belong to.
On Wednesday, the Israeli baseball team played its first game in the qualifying round for the World Baseball Classic in 2013. While Israel has, in the past, patched together national teams to compete in small tournaments like the European Championships, nothing compares to the money, prestige, and media attention of baseball’s marquee international event. Qualifying meant a chance to compete with teams from the United States, Japan, and the Dominican Republic, as well as an opportunity to be crowned World Champions.
But this Israeli team was special. International baseball rules require not that a player be a citizen of a country, but that he have the ability to become a citizen of the nation he wishes to represent. Israel’s immigration laws, recognizing the fundamental Jewish character of the state, allow anyone with at least one Jewish grandparent to immigrate and become a citizen. This stands as a legacy of the brutal Nuremberg Laws of Nazi Germany, which used that criteria as an answer to the question, “Who is a Jew?”
Israel’s laws, therefore, mean that any Jew in the world can represent it in baseball on the international stage. Although the team does boast three Israeli-born players— pitcher Shlomo Lipetz made it into the ninth inning of the team’s first game—it is essentially a collection of the best Jewish baseball talent not playing in the Major Leagues. If Israel had qualified for the Classic (they lost an extra-inning thriller in the final game against Spain), these players would likely have been replaced by household names like Ryan Braun, Ian Kinsler, and Kevin Youkilis, who are all Jewish. This has led to a rallying effect from significant parts of American Jewry to get behind the Israeli team in its efforts to qualify.
As a sports fan, a political science student, and a Jew, this essentially consumed my life all week.
By Anderson’s definition, the Jewish people are a nation. Though these are baseball players I have never met and likely will never meet—Lipetz did accept my Facebook friend request (creepy or legitimate expression of pride? You decide)—I feel a historic connection to them and to their quest for baseball glory. This is not merely a religious connection. Orthodox Judaism—which recognizes only those with a Jewish mother as being “legally” Jewish—would not consider many of these players as “members of the tribe.” However, the fact that they have chosen to wear the Star of David on their hat is enough for me. They are representing me on that field because we are members of the same nation, connected by language, blood, a shared history, and a love of the game of baseball.
What I’ve learned, however, is that one person can have more than one nation. Whenever I go back home, my bed is covered with news clippings on the exploits of both Jewish and Canadian athletes my father feels I should know about. As fervent as I was in my support of the Israeli team, I closely followed the story of the Canadian squad as it successfully qualified from the Regensburg, Germany bracket. I share something with those players as well: two languages, a common history, and a love of baseball (and hockey).
Much has been made of the connections between sports and politics, and particularly nationalism. This week, my geography professor asked how many students supported their countries at the Olympics this summer and nearly everyone raised their hand. While Anderson might argue that nationalism is an “imagined” social construct, the responses of the students in that class and the thousands of American Jews following the Israeli baseball team confirm that the feelings associated with it are real, and that they can be positive. In an interview with the Palm Beach Post, Lipetz said that hopefully the efforts of this team will lead to “one less tank and one more baseball.” In our lifetime Shlomo, in our lifetime.
This time of year on the Jewish calendar, the High Holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, calls for one to reflect on her or his life and to take stock of how we can grow in the upcoming New Year. While I experienced this in synagogue, atoning for my sins and determining how to become a better person, one of my greatest revelations may have come in front of my television: I am a member of both a Jewish and a Canadian nation … and I love the game of baseball. And that is good.