My dad has been called a deeply religious man, and it's true. He took his Judaism seriously and believed with something like a perfect faith.
He embraced some of America's secular religions as well. Patriotism comes immediately to mind. So does baseball.
When we learned in early March that my dad probably wouldn't be around for much more than another year or so, and also learned that our sister and her family would be coming here from Israel for Passover rather than us all going over there, my brother Ethan and I had the same idea: let's try to go to a Yankees game. So last night that's just what we did — nine of us, including four of our sister's five young sons, and their dad, and Ethan’s wife and ninth grade son (I omit everyone's names so you don't feel you need to keep everyone straight…).
My dad couldn't make it. Baseball is something we bonded over as father and son. My dad was a Brooklyn Dodgers fan as a kid but lost the scent for the game after his Dodgers moved to California. Around thirty years later, I came along. When I became a real fan in 1974 or 1975, I chose the Yankees, and my dad started rooting for them as well. Along with my Pop (my dad's dad), we went to spring training every year when the Yankees still trained in Fort Lauderdale, and we made it to anywhere from five to eight games a year for a few years in the late 70s and early 80s. Those were the years of the return to dynasty, and also the years when the stadium and everything having to do with the Yankees operation came to be known as the Bronx Zoo. Trips to the South Bronx in the late 70s were full of possibility.
The last game we went to with my dad was last summer. July 5th. Here are two pictures from that game.
My dad loved being at the ballpark, and Yankee Stadium in particular, where his Rabbi growing up used to take some of the kids to games. He loved being with people. He loved the pennants and the flags. He loved the colors and the noise. He loved the seventh inning stretch and “Take Me Out To The Ballgame" and “God Bless America." He loved that you could now buy decent kosher food at the game! He was in his element.
Last night was the only weeknight of chol ha moed this year (the less stringently observed middle days of Passover). Jewish schools are on vacation, families are in from out of town, and I'd say almost ten percent of the crowd last night were observant/Orthodox Jews. If you have that many Orthodox Jews in one place and it's time to pray, they will find each other and pray. And so for the evening prayer service of maariv, all we had to do was descend one flight of stairs from our cheap but perfectly good upper deck seats and join the minyan underway near section 321 during the seventh inning stretch.
Immediately to our left was a Halal Guys, which my dad would have loved — a real “Only in America” moment.
I'm saying kaddish for him everyday now. Some days the ritual feels more meaningful than others. Last night it felt very meaningful. He would have absolutely loved us saying kaddish for him at Yankee Stadium. He deserves to have kaddish said for him at Yankee Stadium — where the greatest players ever all played.
Have a good weekend.
Matt
❤️