Finding Jewish Pride in America's Pastime - B'nai B'rith International

Finding Jewish Pride in America’s Pastimes
By Daniel S. Mariaschin
Executive Vice President, B’nai B’rith International

My lifelong love of sports was rekindled last summer as I carefully scanned dispatches from the Jewish Telegraphic Agency and other sources for articles about Jewish athletes en route to the Olympic Games in Beijing. Israel, of course, had the longest list, but there were other Jews of note and consequence.

Sports can offer a much-needed diversion, as the Jewish world focuses on threats from Iran, a possible new Israeli government, general uncertainty in the Middle East and elsewhere, and vexing economic issues.

American swimmers (and Michael Phelps’ swimming teammates) Jason Lezak, Ben Wildman-Tobriner, and Garret Weber-Gale—and aquatic sport phenomenon Dara Torres—all made their marks at the 2008 Games. The crop of Jewish swimmers carried the torch from Mark Spitz, arguably Judaism’s greatest athlete and one of the most decorated Olympians of all time.

Why was this important to me? In the scheme of things, at first glance, it shouldn’t be. But on second thought, as the “people of the book,” we have many, many accomplishments to be proud of, from science to medicine to culture to…well, so many fields that one can lose track.

Jewish accomplishments in athletics are part of this great ethnic mélange, and, while our numbers may not be preponderant, in many cases our athletes’ performances have been outstanding—and fill one with pride.

Take as an example swimmer Torres, a 41-year-old mother who was given little chance of making the Olympic Games, let alone making a silver-medal showing. Or Phelps’ courageous swimming mates who, though they swam in his shadow, were key to him reaching his record eight gold medals.

Sports have always instilled in me that extra pride in the accomplishments of our people, though, as a participant, I was never quite the superstar.

I don’t remember the exact year I became a sports fan—more specifically, a baseball fan—but I’d have to trace it all back to around 1954. We were living in Englewood, N.J. Our next door neighbors were staunch Dodger fans, so I often heard the names Snider, Robinson, Reese, and Campanella.

That spring, my sister, then in the sixth grade, attended a New York Yankees game on a class trip. She brought me back a souvenir, and I was hooked on the Bronx Bombers for life.

After we moved to New Hampshire in 1955, the summer before I entered the first grade, the “Red Sox Nation” was limited to five-and-a-half of the six New England states; Connecticut south of Hartford was Yankee country. You can imagine how much of a fish out of water I was growing up amongst so many Red Sox fans, but I gave as good as I got: The Yankees won pennant after pennant in those years, as the Red Sox struggled in futility.

I was crazy about baseball. In the interest of full disclosure, I wasn’t such a good player. In my four years in Little League, I played right field, and for good reason: It seemed no more than six balls were hit there in a 14-game season. The coaches figured it was a safe place for me.

For me, the real magic was sitting by our old General Electric radio in the kitchen on summer nights, twisting the dial until the signal of WMGM in New York came in clearly, listening to Mel Allen, Red Barber, and Phil (Scooter) Rizzuto do the play-by-play for my beloved Yankees. I also couldn’t wait for the newspapers, to see the box scores and check on the standings.

So what, you ask, is the Jewish dimension in all of this? Allen plays an important part in this story, because I had heard he was Jewish, and I idolized him. His lilting Alabama drawl, his gentlemanly approach to criticism, and his “How ’bout that!” catch phrase made the game come alive. Since I wasn’t an athlete, I became more a student of the game.

I went to the public library and checked out every book on baseball. I came across Hank Greenberg’s name, but it wasn’t until Sandy Koufax became baseball’s best pitcher that the critical mass of my interest in baseball—and Jews in baseball and all sports—started to coalesce.

I swelled with pride at Koufax’s extraordinary accomplishments. He was a superman and, for my generation, an indispensable element in establishing our positive self-image.

Like Greenberg, Koufax was not religiously observant. But his sitting out a World Series game in 1965 because it fell on Yom Kippur spoke volumes about identity, dignity, and principle.

Aviva Kempner, in her documentary “The Life and Times of Hank Greenberg,” and Jane Leavey, in her biography “Sandy Koufax: A Lefty’s Legacy,” provide the background detail on these two outstanding ball players and the High Holidays.

An anecdote from the classic 1965 Yom Kippur game:

With Koufax unavailable, manager Walter Alston turned to future Hall of Famer Don Drysdale. Drysdale, however, pitched terribly and, in the third inning, Alston walked out to the mound to bring in a reliever. When he got there, Drysdale said to Alston, “Bet you wish I was Jewish.”

In the years leading up to Koufax’s decision, I was constantly researching the history of Jews in baseball, seeking to find additional names in a limited category.

In the pre-Google era, I ferreted out the likes of the Sherry brothers, Larry (who played mostly with the Dodgers) and Norm (Dodgers and Mets); White Sox and Indians pitcher Barry Latman; Mike Epstein, who played for the Senators and Orioles; and the great Cubs hurler, Ken Holtzman.

Today’s list contains two of this year’s all-stars: Boston Red Sox Gold Glove first baseman Kevin Youkilis and Texas’s hard-hitting second baseman Ian Kinsler. A few years back, the Red Sox—a perennial rival of my Yankees—had four Jews on its roster.

In my search for Jewish sports heroes, I found I was not alone. Over the decades, around the dinner table, at conferences in far off cities, at what represents the “water cooler” in today’s offices, I discovered a legion of Jewish kids (now adults) who did the same thing.

It didn’t end with baseball—professional football was always a challenge, although there have recently been a few of us in the NFL, including Texans quarterback Sage Rosenfels and former Patriots punter Josh Miller. Hockey was also difficult, since there are so few Jewish players. But we always managed to either confirm—or guess—that certain players were Jewish.

Basketball was in a class by itself. David Vyorst’s wonderful documentary, “First Basket,” highlights many of the early Jewish stars of the game. It was a revelation for me to learn that, in the 1940s, Jews were a dominant force in the college and pro game. I had heard that I had a cousin who was a star basketball player. Only after he passed away did I learn the details:

Saul Mariaschin, out of Lafayette High School in Brooklyn, was named to the All-Ivy League team while attending Harvard and started at guard for the Boston Celtics during the 1947–48 season.

Jews are involved with sports in a plethora of other venues, from the “sweet science” (boxing) to the owner’s suite. Jews in athletics have been special, as most have carried themselves with dignity and respect for both the game and their faith.

Koufax refused to play on Yom Kippur not because he was religious, but because he wanted to set a good example for his Jewish fans, showing that High Holiday observance should be more important than even the World Series.

Looking for aspects of yourself in the giants that walk onto the field of play is a normal part of being a kid. For Jews, we have an extra element as we look for the proverbial needles in the haystack, the chosen few among many.

As someone who was stuck out in right field in Little League because the coaches wanted as few balls hit to me as possible, I have always found joy in watching other people I share a heritage with compete in athletics at an admirable level.

It always makes me feel like I’m rooting for the home team.