Gerry and Reuven Goldfarb
For Gerry,
athlete and scholar, attorney and activist,
my first teacher in baseball
“Blessed shall you be in the city, and blessed shall you be in the field.” —
Deuteronomy 28:3
“Baseball is good for ya, little reuben.” — Cinquefoil,
in Chapter 18 of Michael Chabon’s Summerland
My friend Shelley, a couples and family counselor, once told me about an experience he had had as a youngster in Hebrew School. The school he went to in the 1950s was orthodox and strict, with attendance in class and at Shabbat services closely monitored. One Saturday he was playing ball with some friends at a distance from shul, thinking that he was safe. But someone had seen him. When he returned to Hebrew School the following week, he was severely reprimanded for his malfeasance. In all innocence, he responded, “But I feel much closer to God when I’m playing ball than when I’m in Junior
Congregation.” Uh oh. The scolding he had received before was mild compared to the outburst that followed this heretical utterance.
For the summer after my father’s Bar Mitzvah (this would be 1920), my grandfather — Pop — had arranged for him to study Talmud with a respected teacher in the neighborhood, whom he paid in advance for this privilege. My father spent the summer playing ball with his friends. When Pop met the teacher around the High Holy Days, he asked about his son’s progress. The teacher replied, “Your son? I haven’t seen him since the end of school!” I am sure that Judgment Day was heavier for my father that year than ever before.
I take it as a given that this experience is fairly common. In fact, it reminds me of some stories that are told about the Ba’al Shem Tov2 and Reb Nachman3, both of whom at times preferred being in nature to learning in the beit midrash (House of Study) and often prayed outdoors. I suggest that there are some similar principles at work in both baseball and Jewish teachings. There is certainly a deep affinity between baseball and Jewish Americans that equals or exceeds the attraction that the national pastime has for members of other ethnic groups. While seriously underrepresented at the competitive level (even with such exceptions as Hank Greenberg, Al Rosen, Sandy Koufax, Ken Holtzman, Shawn Green, and other, more recent sensations, duly noted4), we have been disproportionately represented among the sport’s scribes, chroniclers, statisticians, agents, and owners. At an evening program I attended some years ago at Cody’s Books, entitled “On Writing Baseball,” noted critic and San Francisco State Professor Eric Solomon announced his plans for a book focusing on Jewish involvement with the sport, and his venture is far from the only one.
Numerous such books have appeared in the last half-century. However, distancing myself from this particular ethnocentric focus, my purpose in this article is not to dwell on the relative talent and frequency of Jewish ballplayers (a deservedly and thoroughly researched obsession), but to examine the resemblances between certain Jewish mystical and moral teachings and the folkways, rules, and logic of baseball, beginning with the remarkable congruity between the kabbalistic Tree of Life and the positions of a team in the field when an opposing player is at bat.
I will ask you to imagine the layout of a team — three outfielders, four infielders, and the “battery” (pitcher and catcher). That’s a total of nine players. Add the batter, and you’ve got ten players on the field at the time the ball is put into play, the same number of sefirot (Divine Emanations) that constitute the Tree of Life, a schematic drawing of the universe used by mystics to contemplate and comprehend the workings of God, the energy patterns set in motion by the Divine Will.
According to this analogy, or metaphor, God might have said, “Play ball!” instead of “Let there be light!” And you’ve heard of the seventh inning stretch? Does that sound like Shabbat to you? Well, in any case, along with a diagram of team positions, you will also need an image of the Tree of Life. Miriam Stampfer, with the help of MacPaint, has obliged me by creating a suitable baseball graphic, and Rabbi Sarah Leah Grafstein gave me a basic chart of the sefirot and their connecting paths, a schematic model of the Tree according to the system of the earlier kabbalists, which I have placed above it. The dotted circle, known as Da’at, or Knowledge, appears in its present location in versions of the chart that omit Keter. In my analogue, it represents shallow center field and reminds us of the range and mobility the center field position requires. In his translation of Sefer Yetzirah, Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan says that Da’at “is not a Sefirah, but merely the point of confluence between Wisdom and Understanding.” He goes on to explain that “in many ways, however, it behaves as a Sefirah, and it is thus often included among them.”5 In some versions of softball, as if following this very template, one fielder is assigned to short center and another to deep center. Baseball, however, retains its allegiance to the earlier model and expects one fielder to patrol both zones.
You can also think of Da’at as the zone where an infielder, usually the shortstop, runs to relay a throw from the outfield, as well as the place where three fielders — typically the second baseman, shortstop, and center fielder — converge to strive to snare a Texas Leaguer (a short pop fly). Kabbalistically, this is a place of transition, where the energies of the Upper Worlds are transformed — or stepped down, in electrical terms — to enter the world of duality, a situation, of course, that is fraught with all kinds of peril, a juncture at which collisions and breakages are liable to occur. Excellent coordination is required to avoid disaster, and agility and alertness are needed to capture the spheroid and convey it to its intended target. Here caution is married to daring.
Baseball Kabbalah
Thus, the Tree, with its ten sefirot, may be superimposed upon the players in the field, poised to begin their game. And this is the correspondence, at least the way I read it:
Keter/Crown (Fontanel)……………………………………………………………….Center Field
Chokhmah/Wisdom (Right Brain)…………………………………………………..Right Field
Binah/Understanding (Left Brain)…………………………………………………….Left Field
Chesed/Lovingkindness/Overflow (Right Arm)…………………………..Second Base
Gevurah/Strength/Discipline/Limit Setting (Left Arm)…………………..Shortstop
Tiferet/Beauty/Harmony (Heart)…………………………………………………………Pitcher
Netzakh/Victory/Endurance (Right Thigh)………………………………………First Base
Hod/Splendor/Grace (Left Thigh)………………………………………………….Third Base
.
Yesod/Foundation/Communication (Sign of the Covenant)…………………..Batter
Malkhut/Sovereignty/Groundedness (Feet)………………………………………..Catcher
Of course, what makes the game or the Tree interesting and relevant is the motion that develops when the system is activated. It is a dynamic system, responding to circumstances but guided by several underlying principles or rules. In the case of the game, the elaborate rules of baseball govern. In the Tree (or game) of Life, it is the complex laws revealed in the Torah. In both systems, actions take place along particular paths. In the sefirotic system, the paths between the sefirot are as important as the sefirot themselves. In baseball, the runners must proceed along certain predetermined base paths, until they either make an out or advance on a hit, force, error, sacrifice, fielder’s choice, stolen base, passed ball, wild pitch, or balk. In Kabbalah, there are 32 Paths of Wisdom, the ten sefirot and the 22 lines that connect them. In baseball, too, there are ten players on the field and complex interconnecting lines that manifest when the ball is put into play and the spheroid is hit, caught, or thrown from player to player. However, the paths between the bases are the most crucial ones.
Whatever the runners and fielders do, a scorekeeper records the results, an action analogous to Cheshbon HaNefesh (accounting of the soul), by which an ethical Jew periodically assesses his behavior. If someone scores a run, he comes home (Olam HaBah / the world to come) and receives a reward — a positive mark in the scorebook — and a warm welcome from his teammates and fans. If he is a great player, he may be admitted to the Hall of Fame, like a pious Jew or anyone replete with good deeds entering Gan Eden (Paradise). There, in the gallery of exalted heroes, his deeds are acclaimed by successive generations and compared with those of other standouts. There is similar hagiographic praise for the accomplishments of great prophets, sages, scholars, and rabbis in our sacred literature.6
Click here to read The Ten Sefirot by David Wolfe Blank
In both disciplines the concept of teamwork is paramount. A player who sacrifices himself for his team (Mesirat HaNefesh / selfless service, even martyrdom) or who leads his team (Admor / the leader of his generation) is equally praised. In Jewish terms this quality is alluded to in Pirke Avot / Ethics of the Fathers, in the words of Hillel, who said: “Do not distance yourself from the community” (II:5).
Now let’s take a look at some of these positions and see how they match up with the sefirot. In center field (Keter or Crown) you have some of the greatest players ever to play the game: Ty Cobb, Tris Speaker, Joe DiMaggio, Willie Mays, Mickey Mantle, and Duke Snider. Great outfielders are not only great hitters; they are also known for their great arms (and golden gloves), which they need for strong throws to the infield to catch runners or prevent them from advancing. Babe Ruth, Hank Aaron, Carl Furillo, Rocky Colavito, Frank Robinson, and Roberto Clemente, among right fielders, and Ted Williams, Stan Musial, and Carl Yastrzemski, among left fielders, are but a few of the many outfielders known for their all-round ability to access all parts of the field.
It is also interesting to note that right field and left field are so called because they are seen from the position of someone who is facing the field — whether as home plate umpire, catcher, or batter. The Tree is analogous to the back of an androgyne, so that its right and the left sides correspond to right and left field, an example of bilateral symmetry, although ballpark dimensions vary widely and are often far from symmetrical, unlike the infield dimensions, which are scrupulously identical, although the quality of the various surfaces (true also of the outfield) differs widely. Thus, although these structures complement one another, they are not mirror images, and the outfielders are “out there” in a free-ranging world of their own, essential and alert but patient, waiting for the time when they will be needed, yet all the while exerting an influence by their very presence — like the Partzufim, or Divine Personalities, described in esoteric kabbalistic texts and hymns.
But as we noted above, most of the action takes place in the infield, the world of the seven lower sefirot. There is constant interaction between the second baseman, or Chesed (Lovingkindness), and the shortstop, or Gevurah (Strength and Discipline, which includes setting limits), popularly known as “the keystone combination.” To see a pair of accomplished middle fielders turn a double play is a thing of rare beauty, like seeing a pair of skilled dancers execute a pas de deux with apparent ease and grace. The shortstop is often captain of the team (Pee Wee Reese comes to mind) or is the infield leader, calling out who should catch pop flies, and might also be the holler guy, the assertive one, maybe even the rally killer.
The pitcher, Tiferet (Beauty or Symmetry), is the heart of the team. It is he (or she) who initiates the motion by hurling the spheroid to the catcher, Malkhut (Groundedness / Responsibility) — with whom he has an intimate relationship (indeed, they are called “battery-mates”) — past the batter, Yesod (Foundation / Connection), who is standing there with a phallic club in his hands, whether he is a right-handed, left-handed, or switch-hitting player. Without making the analogy too pat, Yesod is related, among other functions, to the sexual or generative. Thus, the batter is trying to generate runs (offspring) to the orgasmic delight of his teammates (family) and fans (friends, clan, tribe).
Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig
Spectacular fielding third basemen, responsible for Hod (Splendor or Grace), such as Brooks Robinson, are famous for the tremendous agility they demonstrate in their extremely difficult role, which in kabbalistic terms corresponds to the priestly role of Aharon. The position is aptly named “the hot corner,” for the blazing line drives and hard grounders that are frequently hit there. Pie Traynor, Graig Nettles, and Mike Schmidt are still appreciated for the seemingly impossible plays they made. To see any one of them extend his body, while airborne, across the bag, to spear a liner, or to stretch and snare a ball deep in the hole and make the long throw to first from his knees, challenges the limits of what we had thought possible. It verges on the miraculous. For both the fire pan and the fielder’s glove often have prevented catastrophic losses. One of the most moving passages in the Torah is the description of Aharon HaKohen, the High Priest and the brother of Moses, rushing into the midst of his perishing people, his fire pan extended, on which the smoking incense burned. The Torah says, “He stood between the dead and the living, and the plague was checked”
(Numbers 17:13).
Of course, to compare physical agility and moral strength is also quite a stretch, but in both examples I think you will find a willingness to take personal risks and assume personal responsibility for the outcome of a crisis on behalf of the kehillah — the collective, the nation or the team, the group to which one is loyally committed. Such an example is inspiring, no matter what is ultimately at stake.
I trust I have by now sufficiently established the underlying similarities between these two models for life, one considered a game, “the national pastime,” and the other an all-embracing lifestyle, if followed to its full extent. I’m sure you can think of numerous additional applications. Some that have come up in discussions so far have been in response to questions: What about the umpires? Easy. They’re Dayanim (rabbinical judges). That’s why they wear dark colors. Managers? Rebbes (spiritual guides). Coaches? Gabbais (assistants). Batboys and equipment managers? Shammeses (maintenance men). Substitutes? Batlanim (benchwarmers). The opposing team? The Sitra Achra (the Other Side).
But it is well-known that with no Yetzer HaRa (“Evil Urge” — libido or E´lan Vital), life would be static. In Genesis Rabbah (IX:9), a midrashic commentary on the Torah, Rav Nahman says in the name of Rav Samuel that “were it not for the will to evil, men would not build homes, or take wives, or propagate, or engage in business.” He goes on to quote from Ecclesiastes (Kohelet), whose authorship is traditionally assigned to King Solomon: “I considered all labor and all excelling in work, that it is a man’s rivalry with his neighbor.” (Kohelet IV:4)7 Thus, even within a team, according to Clem Labine, the great Dodger reliever, “harmony was not always a good thing: a little tension, a little edge was useful, if only to show that things matter. Labine liked the idea of a team that sustained a manageable degree of anger — ‘It shows you’re not lethargic about what you’re doing’ — so long as it did not flare [up].”8 Without this intensity, this drive, the mainspring of activity would be paralyzed.
And this game, while at times slow moving, is fraught with anticipation and filled with continual mental references to precedent. Thus the master strategists — managers, pitchers, catchers, and hitters — are always weighing the consequences of a particular deed, like the mitzvah mavens (those who perform righteous acts) of old, the sages of the Talmud. Yet temptation and risk-taking are intrinsic to the game. The overweening urge to prevail over one’s opponent, to win, might sometimes obscure one’s better judgment. Yet often, playing the percentages, maintaining a steady, conservative approach, does not result in the desired breakthrough to victory, either. Likewise, in true Gnostic fashion, the home team becomes the “other side” for the visitors, or to their opponents when they go on the road. This is quite in accord with the nature of “Ivri,” the original name for Hebrew, which means “from beyond” or “the other side,” referring to Abraham and his clan, those Hebrew and Aramaic-speaking associates who came from the other side of the Euphrates River with him. In due course, we have allies and enemies, who have transmogrified into philosemites and antisemites. The word “fan,” of course, comes from “fanatic,” which is derived from fanum or temple. Thus, the first frenzied fans were religious fanatics. Richard Grossinger aptly named his 1985 anthology The Temple of Baseball.9 He borrowed the title from a column by my friend Lowell Cohn, in which he recounts an interview with former Los Angeles Dodger second baseman Jim Lefebvre who, to his own surprise, uses the term to describe Yankee Stadium.
Evil changes shape and turns into its opposite. The game itself is a paradox, charged with ambiguity, uncertainty, and perennial, unanswerable questions, such as, “Would old-timers be able to compete with today’s players?”
This kind of question parallels the suspicion voiced by numerous commentators that Noah, ish tzaddik tamim b’dorotav (a pure and saintly person, in his generation) (Genesis 6:9), would not have been so special in Abraham’s time. There are also the “What ifs?” — the dangling sense that if a certain course of action had not been followed, then everything would have turned out differently. There are often excruciating post-game analyses as detailed (though not as weighty) as the debates about blind curves in Jewish history. Baseball is a game that offers life-like analogies while Judaism is a religious civilization that strives to close the gap between metaphor and reality, so that Malkhut Shamayim (the Kingdom of Heaven) may exist here, in our earthly life.
I would like to conclude with a conversation I had with Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi at the 1989 P’nai Or Kallah, a week-long gathering of representatives from dozens of Jewish renewal communities that took place at Bryn Mawr College in early July. Reb Zalman, who was then turning sixty-five, had his two young sons, Barya and Yotam, with him. Lately he had begun playing ball with them and, apropos of this, remarked to me, “You know, I used to think baseball was a silly game — ” “Oh no,” I broke in, “it’s the American Kabbalah!” “But now,” he went on, “I’m beginning to like it.”
First addendum: At a 1999 Oakland A’s game, a 6-2 victory over the Boston Red
Sox, my youngest son, Elishama, noticed a painted jersey on the outfield wall in right, with Joe DiMaggio’s name and number (5), clearly visible. He asked whether major league baseball had retired the Yankee Clipper’s number, and I replied that I had heard no such thing. Jackie Robinson’s #42 jersey appeared at its left, and Elishama suggested that this was probably a commemorative gesture in honor of the 50th year since Robinson joined the Dodgers and integrated the game; Robinson, however, broke in with the Dodgers in 1947, although his best year, when he batted .342 and won the National League’s Most Valuable Player Award, had indeed occurred 50 years before, in 1949. Other jerseys, on the left field wall, honored Rollie Fingers and Catfish Hunter, two A’s players from the 1970s championship teams who had won election to the Hall of Fame. We observed that no Philadelphia A’s were so honored here, although many of them were also in Cooperstown. Then it hit me. Joe had died this year; therefore, for the rest of the year, perhaps until his Yahrtzeit (the anniversary of someone’s death), his painted jersey would remain in place. In synagogue, that very morning, I had noticed the plaque affixed to the chapel wall, to the right of the ark, on which were visible the names of congregants who had died within the year, a reminder of past distinction, and a focal point for those saying Kaddish, the Mourner’s Prayer, in their honor. Another cultural parallel, another spiritual motif.
Second addendum: In the course of attending a couple of post-season games this past year, I noticed more parallels.
- The Rules of Major League Baseball — the authoritative guide for determining how an umpire should rule on every conceivable play — is matched by the Shulchan Aruch (“Set Table”), the authoritative Code of Jewish Law, which serves as a guide to the conduct of observant Jews. Depending on circumstances, both codes permit considerable latitude in many areas where the law, or rules, are applied. The rabbi must exercise his own discretion in interpreting the law. The umpire, too, is often called upon to make a “judgment call.” Simply calling a runner safe or out and calling a pitch a ball or strike is in many cases exceedingly difficult. Likewise, deciding whether a chicken is kosher (fit for consumption) or not is but one of many areas where the decision of the rabbi can be influenced by numerous factors inherent in the situation. In both cases the ruling is binding, and appeals are rarely successful.
- Superstition. A baseball player will often wear the same socks or the same shirt, use the same bat, wear the same hat or medal, hitch his pants the same way, chew the same brand of gum, or practice any of a hundred variables so long as doing so seems to bring good fortune to his game. Likewise, there are many well-known folk customs, perhaps derived from centuries of countering bad luck in foreign lands, such as spitting three times (or simulating spitting by saying “poo-poo-poo”), saying kayn ayin ha-rah (“against the evil eye”) or “God forbid!” and numerous other practices that have even become enshrined in Halakhah (law), though perhaps beginning as minhagim (customs), such as Tashlikh (the symbolic casting of sins into a body of water on Rosh HaShanah), covering mirrors after a death, and so on. Timely spitting seems to be one custom to which both traditions adhere. And both practices might have similar folk origins.
- An intense interest in numbers. The compilation, analysis, and general obsession with statistics is a well-known and often remarked upon aspect of baseball culture. This interest, originally developed to evaluate skills as measured by an objective standard, has evolved into using the information thereby obtained for strategic purposes, known as “playing the percentages,” the most prominent example of which is assuming that the percentages favor a right-handed batter when the opposing pitcher is left-handed and favor the pitcher who is right-handed in a match-up with a right-handed batter. The statistics supporting this conclusion encourage managers to carry out a pattern of substitution, most notably in the use of pinch-hitters and relief pitchers.
In Judaic lore, each Hebrew letter is assigned a number, and words therefore have a numerical value. Words and names and phrases with identical numerical values are assumed to have cognate meanings. This form of seeking out similarities or equivalents in apparently dissimilar or unrelated places is known as the science of Gematria. [In this connection, I recently learned that the number of stitches in a regulation hardball is 216, the numerical equivalent of Gevurah!]
It is important to note one significant difference, however. The assigning of relative degrees of excellence to players based on their statistics, such as batting average, fielding percentage, earned run average, and won-lost record does not have an exact counterpart in Jewish life. Although a somewhat mechanistic scale of values has evolved, whereby the performance of mitzvot (commandments) is contrasted with the commission of avayrot (misdeeds), the true calculation of excellence is understood to lie beyond human understanding. The True Judge, alone, is deemed qualified to determine a person’s worth, which is based not only on actual deeds but also upon the opportunities to serve with which one has been blessed, one’s inner intention, one’s love for God and God’s creation, and one’s dedication to the purposes for which he or she has been given life. In baseball, too, it must be said, outstanding numbers are frequently outweighed by the possession of certain “intangibles,” which often determine the value of a player to his team and the reputation he thereby garners in the annals of the game.
For biblical corroboration, see Psalm 147:10-11 — “Not in the strength of the horse does He desire, and not in the thighs of man does He favor. HaShem favors those who fear [stand in awe of] Him, those who yearn for His kindness.” This passage reminds us that victory is not always achieved through the obvious and outwardly impressive attributes of strength and power. Many a team seems superior on paper but stumbles as Goliath did when he was faced by the redoubtable and resourceful David. (For the full story, see I Samuel, chapter 17.) Also see http://winningwriters.com/past-winning-entries/champions-hebrews-1-philistines-0
The attempt to assign value to a player based on salaries, bonuses, and incentives also has a counterpart in Jewish lore. Reb Nachman’s allegorical fairy tale, “The Master of Prayer,” mocks — yet has compassion for — the community whose members assign rank and status to individuals based on the amount of money each possesses. Their distorted sense of values is attributed to a great storm (in kabbalistic terms, Shivirat haKaylim, “the shattering of the vessels”) that scattered the once unified human family across the world, an uprooting which in turn led to confusion and a diminution of standards. As the story progresses, however, the Master of Prayer gradually joins forces with the similarly exiled
Warrior and other dispersed members of the King’s court and restores proper perception of the truth to all of erring mankind.
I have come to regard this essay as my attempt to reconcile these contrasting paradigmatic figures, demonstrate their essential unity, and point to their common source. If, along the way, you have enjoyed a few smiles and flashes of recognition, I will consider our exchange another step toward Tikkun Olam — repair of the world.
Third addendum:
And finally, inescapably, I must make mention of the uncanny correspondences between the Hebrew calendar and its Holy Days cycle with the baseball season. Spring Training begins in March, and the final exhibition games are played in early April, followed by Opening Day. Nisan, the first month of the Jewish year, also begins sometime in March, and Passover, the first major festival, usually occurs in April, although occasionally it begins at the end of March. It is typically preceded by a thorough house cleaning, the main point of which is to get rid of bloat — chumatz — identified as any of the five species of grain that rise, like dough, upon contact with water: wheat, rye, barley, oats, and spelt — and the primary leavening agent itself, yeast (and baking powder). Likewise, major league rosters, swelling at 45 players, must be trimmed down to 25 by Opening Day. The superfluous grains and their byproducts are sent elsewhere, such chumatz being either burned or sold to a non-Jew (that is, someone who is not obligated to observe these ritual stringencies). Players who do not make the final cut are either sent to a team’s farm club, traded, sold, or released outright. Like chumatz, they can also be bought back.
The fifty-day interval between Passover and Shavuot (the next major Holy Day) is a time of self-scrutiny, as the psalmist says, “teach us to number our days, that we may get us a heart of wisdom” (90:12). We count the omer — in ancient times, by waving an omer (a sheaf’s worth) of barley meal in the six basic directions: south, north, east, up, down, and west — and today by counting with a blessing. This is a way of keeping track of the shifting permutations of days and weeks and the specific qualities, based on the sefirot, that are associated with them. The driving purpose of this daily counting ritual is to refine our midot — personal attributes that can be elevated into virtues or diminished into vices — in order to merit receiving the Torah, the gift with which Shavuot (the Festival of
Weeks) is today chiefly associated.
The first two months of the baseball season are also a time for close examination, during which the manager and his coaching staff and the owners and their front office personnel wonder whether the team has the right combination of players and the right chemistry to go all the way. If not, adjustments can still be made, that is, until the trading deadline (July 31st).
By mid-summer the season has begun to take its toll. There might be injuries to key players and other unexpected setbacks, even the firing of managers or the release of players who can no longer contribute or who do not perform as well as expected. Such deleterious trends and patterns of weakness in the lineup are noted by fans and scribes, who protest some decisions, recommend or applaud others, and watch with increasing concern as the clubs jockey for position.
In Jewish lore, the midsummer crisis centers around the three weeks that encompass the fast days of the 17th of Tammuz and the 9th of Av, which generally occur starting anywhere from late June to mid-July and conclude by mid-July to mid-August. It is a time when previous national disasters are recalled and collective responsibility assumed for the internal dissension that allowed these calamities to occur. There is a special focus on avoiding backbiting, rumor-mongering, and gossip, all of which tend to embarrass individuals and fracture group esprit.
In the home stretch, September and October, the pennant races heat up. Every play counts, and every player becomes even more aware of the possible consequences of a misplay, error, or temper tantrum leading to an expulsion, suspension, or benching. Fracases between teams and teammates are more likely to break out, and umpires’ decisions on close plays are more hotly disputed. Yet some teams jell, and the early claims of good chemistry are proven true — or, in some cases, disproven, if, for example, some prima donna cares more about his own records than the team’s success.
Jews are entering the last month before the great accounting that takes place on Rosh HaShanah (Head of the Year) — also known as Yom HaDin (the Day of Judgment), Yom Teruah (the Day of Sounding the Shofar), and Yom HaKesah (the Day of Concealment) — referring both to the barely visible New Moon and to the Judgment itself). In Elul, the month that precedes our New Year, we seek to mend our frayed relationships, straighten out past misunderstandings, and heal interpersonal wounds. To do so requires a considerable measure of humility, expressed as a willingness to acknowledge one’s own failures, faults, and flaws. Likewise, our relationship with the Sovereign of the Universe is often in need of renewal. Fortunately, this time of year is considered ideal for a sincere approach. Many beautiful interactions occur as people meet one another with open hearts and approach God in a spirit of repentance or t’shuva, meaning “return” to the path of righteousness. There is even a well-known saying, “The King is in the field,” to describe God’s closeness and easy access to the true penitent.
On Rosh HaShanah, we are taught, God inscribes our names in the Book of Life, if we merit it, or in the other book, if we do not, for the coming year. During the Ten Days of Teshuvah or Yamim Noraim, the Days of Awe, which fall between Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, there is still time for the inscription to be emended. On Yom Kippur, however, the written
Judgment is sealed — made permanent — although some say the sealing is not final until Hoshana Rabbah, the seventh day of Sukkot (which I’ll get to in a minute).
And what is happening on the diamond? Final determinations are also being made in the standings. Some teams are out of contention, others are still in the throes of the race or barely hanging on, and a lucky few may have already clinched their division title or a wild card position. The playoffs generally happen around this time, and by Sukkot, the fall harvest festival that follows Yom Kippur by four days, the World Series combatants have emerged from the scuffle. Here’s a stretch: the distinguishing features of Sukkot are 1) the construction of a Sukkah, a temporary shelter with a permeable roof, and 2) “bentching lulav,” the holding together of the “four species” (arba minim) and, after saying a blessing, shaking them in the same six directions referred to earlier. These species consist of a palm branch (lulav), a citron or etrog, three branches of myrtle (hadas), and two of willow (aravah). To my conceptual vision, the lulav resembles a bat, the etrog a ball, and the five combined branches of the other two species the fingers of a glove. Okay, it’s a stretch. But do you really think it’s only a coincidence that the World Series is often played at precisely this time of year? And sometimes in a stadium with a retractable roof?
What is a coincidence? And what is a meaningful coincidence? C.G. Jung used the term “synchronicity” to refer to otherwise apparently unrelated events that occur simultaneously, and healers, kabbalists, and holistic thinkers alike often remark, “There are no accidents.” Their point? There is a link, there is a connection. And while I agree that these circumstances may only demonstrate parallel evolution, with no demonstrable causative influence, that is exactly my point — there is an underlying pattern of which these instances are examples.
Baseball today is likewise usually played in an enclosure that is exposed to the elements. Like the sukkah, it has certain minimum required dimensions but no fixed shape. Thus, unless cookie cutter models are used, no two are alike and each has its charms and its peculiarities. And like the 360° lulav shaking, which, ideally, takes place in the sukkah, the ball can travel in all directions — in the air, on the ground, in fair or foul territory, that is, in front, behind, up, down, and to either side. And, of course, a ball hit into foul territory can still count for something. It can be caught for an out and even result in a double play if a runner is caught off base. It can count for a strike, and even if there are already two strikes on the batter (who cannot strike out on a foul ball — unless it’s a third strike bunt), the foul ball at least adds to the pitch count and could therefore lead to a pitcher being replaced sooner. Every action counts.
Before and after each time the lulav bundle is extended, it is held close to the heart. The team that plays with heart and determination is more likely to win and better able to bear loss. “Ya Gotta Have Heart,” the signature song of the
Washington Senators in Damn Yankees, the Broadway musical and movie based on Douglass Wallop’s novel, The Year the Yankees Lost the Pennant, bears this out.
Want more? Chanukah, the Festival of Lights, occurs in December, a couple of months after the baseball season has ended. But memories of the season just past are still fresh. They fire the embers of discussion in the Hot Stove League. It’s also the time of the Winter Meetings, where baseball executives talk business and prepare for the next season. During Chanukah, according to some, the sealed judgment can still be opened and revised. In January or February, as the sap rises, Tu b’Shvat, the New Year of the Trees, is celebrated, and players and their teams buy new equipment, among these items being the bats that are made of carefully chosen and aged billets of ash. According to the Beth-Luis-Nion Celtic Lunar Tree Calendar, Nion, the lunar month that overlaps February and March (and coincides with Spring Training) is represented by the ash tree.
One might even go back to the poet and mercenary Archilochus of Paros (ca. 680 – 640 b.c.e.) — may we regard him as the first known free agent? — and his epigram,
“My ash spear is my barley bread,
My ash spear is my Ismarian wine,
I lean on my spear and drink.”10
Here’s a memory. One of the most exciting World Series games ever played occurred on Simchat Torah, 5746 (October 25, 1986), between the Boston Red Sox and the New York Mets. Simchat Torah, in the diaspora, is the ninth day, as it were, of Sukkot, but actually it is an extension of Shemini Atzeret (the Eighth Day of Solemn Assembly), for in Israel, the two days and their ritual observances are combined. It is an extra day devoted to rejoicing in the Torah with a series of seven hakafot, circle dances that culminate in the reading of passages from the concluding section of the Torah. In traditional congregations, the complete conclusion and the beginning are only read the next morning. However, in some communities, the end and the beginning are both read at night.
On that memorable evening, my community, the Berkeley, California-based Aquarian Minyan, was holding a Simchat Torah retreat at Camp Lodestar in the Sierra foothills. The Red Sox and the Mets were playing their sixth game, with the Red Sox leading three games to two. Someone at the retreat had a radio, and between hakafot, he checked the score. Our group would dance ecstatically for perhaps 15 or 20 minutes and then pause. During these brief intervals, our friend would report on the progress of the game. I think we were all rooting for the Mets, as most of us had closer ties to New York than to Boston. 11
As the tense, close game proceeded, we began to speculate that when the Mets fans in their countless synagogues concluded their services — which they were likely to do well before we would, as it was three hours later on the east coast, their focus on the game might shift the balance and push the Mets to victory. The Mets did win, in a completely unexpected way, on Mookie Wilson’s ground ball, the culmination of a ten-pitch at-bat, which rolled under first baseman Bill Buckner’s glove and through his legs, in the bottom of the tenth inning. But whether this outcome was due to a sudden surge of fan attention, or for some other reason, I cannot say. The next day’s game was rained out, and the Mets won the seventh game, 8-5, taking the Series, four games to three. The date was 24 Tishrei/October 27.
This year [2005], 19 years later, through a computer from my home in Israel, I watched the Chicago White Sox beat the Houston Astros in four straight games. I watched the final innings in the early morning hours of 24 Tishrei, which once again fell on October 27th, as the civil and religious calendars coincide every 19 years.12
When I started to write about these correspondences, I was elaborating on a flash, a sudden insight. I hadn’t yet realized how far-reaching and intricate the parallels between these analogical realms were. Therefore, I approached the subject light-heartedly, as much interested in creating a humorous effect as in the substance of my comparisons. The frisson of humor that accompanied my investigations leavened the search and increased its appeal to those who heard it. I even wrote a disclaimer to the essay, advising its readers not to take it all too seriously. In “A Caveat to ‘Baseball Kabbalah,'” I explained:
“I wrote this extended comparison and analysis a bit tongue-in-cheek. I don’t mean to imply that every analogue is filled with deep significance, nor do I mean to claim to have proven that these correspondences necessarily possess some overarching cosmic meaning. Nevertheless, I feel that the preponderance of apparent linkages — in schematic layout, in numbers, and in assumed and expressed values — is no mere accident. Rather, these seem to emerge from some vast and perennial underlying pattern. I hope, therefore, that through example and humor, I have established some connection, some relation, between these worlds.”
This belated display of caution is evidence of my concern that taking this comparison too literally could eclipse the charm of the original idea and possibly lead someone to regard it as flippant or even heretical. So let me clarify my point, one more time: it’s all a metaphor; it’s poetry; it’s a game, but one with high stakes. You can learn from one to live the other. Baseball models something that Judaism manifests, and Judaism models something that baseball manifests. Both reflect seasonal patterns in strikingly similar ways and exemplify fond hopes, great dreams, and joi de vivre, even though the kavanah — the intentionality — that each brings to its practice and discipline reflects its particular contrasting reasons for existing: victory on the field for one, redemption of the world for the other. Yet those who immerse themselves in either of these paths — players, fanatics, and worshippers alike — are blessed with moments of transcendence and vindication, a reward for their commitment and justification for all their toil and pain.
* * *
This essay has the privilege of being included in a volume entitled, What is Jewish About America’s “Favorite Pastime”? edited by Marc Lee Raphael and Judith Z. Abrams. It was published by William and Mary Press in the summer of 2006. To order the book, write to http://www.wm.edu/religion/publications.php. More recently, the first section was published in The National Jewish Post & Opinion, on July 9, 2008 / 6 Tammuz 5768, Volume 74, Number 21, edited by Jennie Cohen. Earlier versions and excerpts can be found on various websites, such as HavurahShirHadash.org and AscentofSafed.com. This version, completed on May 16, 2012 / 24 Iyar, 5772, incorporates the most recent changes (see later).
— RG
* * *
Endnotes:
1 Thanks to Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group for permission to reprint this essay, which originally appeared in Worlds of Jewish Prayer: A Festschrift in Honor of Rabbi Zalman M. Schachter-Shalomi, edited by Shohama Wiener and Robert Esformes (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, 1993). A nearly identical version appeared earlier in my community’s newsletter, The Aquarian Minyan Tz’Khok /Laughter (Berkeley, California, 1990, pp. 2-3). These early versions have been further developed and greatly expanded.
2 The Ba’al Shem Tov (literally, Master of the Good Name), Israel ben Eliezer (1698-1760), known to history as the founder of the Hasidic movement or, in Professor Arthur Green’s memorable phrase, “the figure around whom the Hasidic movement crystallized.”
3 Reb Nachman — Rabbi Nachman of Breslov (1772-1810), the great-grandson of the Ba’al Shem Tov and a profoundly influential Hasidic Master in his own right. He taught that sparks of the primeval creation lay slumbering in every blade of grass and could be raised by sincere prayer. How many prayers have been uttered (or muttered) in the field! — From the neophyte’s, “Please don’t let it be hit to me,” to the batter’s, “Please let me get a hit,” to the pitcher’s competing plea, “Just let me get this guy out!” The pastoral environment itself supports the yearning of its (albeit temporary) residents and is uplifted along with them. We are told that “Isaac went out to meditate [or supplicate] in the field” (Genesis 24:63), just prior to the arrival of his bride, Rebecca. Reb Nachman uses the central verb, lasuach, which also means, “to speak,” as a proof-text for hitbodedut, his recommended form of prayer and meditation: talking directly to God.
4 Shawn Green retired prior to the 2008 season with 328 homers to his credit, only three fewer than Hank Greenberg’s lifetime 331. Among his Jewish successors in the national pastime are Kevin Youkilis, a Boston Red Sox stand-out and a leading 2008 MVP candidate (retired); Ryan Braun of the Milwaukee Brewers, the 2007 Rookie of the Year and 2011 MVP; Ian Kinsler of the Detroit Tigers; Isaac (Ike) Benjamin Davis, now of the Oakland A’s; Sam Fuld of the Oakland A’s, and several others. The number of high-profile Jewish players in the game today is likely greater than in any previous era.
5 Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan, trans., Sefer Yetzirah: The Book of Creation — Revised Edition (York Beach, Maine: 1997), p. 25.
6 We are told, for example, that during the lifetime of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, the Talmudic Sage who is traditionally credited with authorship of the Zohar, no rainbow appeared because his merit was sufficient to sustain the world without God or humanity needing any further reminders.
7 Cited by Nahum N. Glatzer, Hammer on the Rock: A Midrash Reader (New York, 1948, 1962, 1977), p. 15.
8 Michael Shapiro, The Last Good Season: Brooklyn, the Dodgers, and Their Final Pennant Race Together (New York, 2003), p. 53.
9 Richard Grossinger, ed., The Temple of Baseball (Berkeley, 1985).
10 Translated by Guy Davenport and cited by C. K. Williams in his superb book, On Whitman. The current use of maple wood bats, contrary to the long-established use of ash wood, has led to innumerable broken bats and serious injuries to players and spectators alike. The Torah is quite specific about which wood is used for which purpose. I favor banning the use of maple. If there’s a shortage of good ash, let’s subsidize the tree farmers who grow and harvest it. Whitman himself enjoyed “a good game of base-ball” (see “Song of Myself,” section 33, from Leaves of Grass, 1855, below).
11 Despite the hilarity of this occasion, there is also great pleasure to be gained by staying within the sanctity of the day and waiting until after the conclusion of the festival to receive news of sporting results and other secular events. That is how I have presently organized my life.
12 For more information on this topic, see my essay, “Your Portion in the Torah.” To discuss any of the ideas implicitly or explicitly stated in this essay, or any of the illustrative examples, feel free to send a note to my email address, poetsprogress@gmail.com.
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Biographical note:
Reuven Goldfarb grew up in Brooklyn and rooted for the Dodgers, under the
tutelage of his older brother Gerald, z’l. Their Manhattan-born father, Samuel, was a Giants fan, and Reuven’s son Yeshayah now works for the team as Vice-President of Baseball Operations. Two of Reuven’s poems, “Cheering Gino Cimoli” and “Ozzie Smith Retires,” appeared in Spitball: The Literary Baseball Magazine, and another, “Champions: Hebrews 1, Philistines 0,” won an Honorable Mention from WinningWriters.com in its tenth and last War Poetry Competition. “A Child’s Religion is His Baseball Team,” an excerpt from a longer poem, appeared in Sport Literate in April, 2016, alongside his wife Yehudit’s baseball poem, “The Deep Blue Sky.” He and she play softball with the Tzfat Crazy Hops in the local soccer field, cheered on by a herd of goats. Reuven co-founded and edited all eleven issues of AGADA, the illustrated Jewish literary magazine (1981-88), and has published dozens of poems, essays, and stories in other venues. He and Yehudit presently live in Tzfat, known for over four centuries as a center of kabbalistic study.
*For more about Yeshayah (and his parents), open http://www.jweekly.com/includes/print/59830/article/unknown-hero-helps-make-giants-world-series-champions/
* * *
EARLY BASEBALL REFERENCES
O I say you Joe
Throw us the ball
Ive a good mind to go
And leave you all
I never saw such a bowler
To bowl the ball in a tansey
And to clean it with my handkercher
Without saying a word
That Bills a foolish fellow
He has given me a black eye
He does not know how to handle a bat
Any more than a dog or a cat
He has knockd down the wicket
And broke the stumps
And runs without shoes to save his pumps
— William Blake, “An Island in the Moon” (1784)
[Okay, it’s about cricket. But still…]
* * *
“…on November 10, 1813, young Hawthorne was hit on the leg while playing ‘bat and ball’[7] and became lame and bedridden for a year, though several physicians could find nothing wrong with him.[8]
— From the Wikipedia article on Nathaniel Hawthorne
Sources cited for this information are Miller, Edwin Haviland. Salem Is My Dwelling Place: A Life of Nathaniel Hawthorne. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 1991, and Mellow, James R. Nathaniel Hawthorne in His Time. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1980.
* * *
Approaching Manhattan up by the long-stretching island,
Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my countenance,
Upon a door-step, upon the horse-block of hard wood outside,
Upon the race-course, or enjoying picnics or jigs or a good game of base-ball,
At he-festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license, bull-dances, drinking, laughter,
At the cider-mill tasting the sweets of the brown mash, sucking the juice through a straw…
* * *
Far from the settlements studying the print of animals’ feet, or the moccasin print,
By the cot in the hospital reaching lemonade to a feverish patient,
Nigh the coffin’d corpse when all is still, examining with a candle;
Voyaging to every port to dicker and adventure,
Hurrying with the modern crowd as eager and fickle as any,
Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife him,
Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone from me a long while,
Walking the old hills of Judaea with the beautiful gentle God by my side,
Speeding through space, speeding through heaven and the stars,
Speeding amid the seven satellites and the broad ring, and the diameter of eighty thousand miles,
Speeding with tail’d meteors, throwing fire-balls like the rest,
Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in its belly,
Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning,
Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing,
I tread day and night such roads.
— Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself,” section 33, from Leaves of Grass (first edition, 1855)
* * *
Having developed this analogy so far, I have a new concept to add. This insight came to me during a Shavuot retreat at Elat Chayyim in the Connecticut Berkshires last week.* The idea begins: baseball fans have a way of keeping score that goes beyond the runs, hits, and errors totals you see on the scoreboard. By assigning a number to each field position and therefore each position player, fans can indicate in a square box on their scorecards what happened on each play.
These are the number correspondences: pitcher – 1; catcher – 2; first base – 3; second base – 4; third base – 5; shortstop – 6; left field – 7; center field – 8; right field – 9. (If you already know how to do this, you can skip the remainder of this paragraph and all of the next four.) Suppose the batter hits a fly ball to center field. If it’s caught for an out, the fan enters a number 8 in the box in the row next to the batter’s name and in the column corresponding to the inning. If the ball lands fair and the batter reaches first base safely, but advances no further on that play, the person scoring draws a single horizontal line in the box. If the fielder makes an error on the play, the scorer writes E-4 and indicates by darkening in the lower right hand corner that the batter reached first base on an error. If he reaches second base, the upper right corner is darkened; if third base, the upper left, and so on. If he hits a double the box receives two such horizontal lines; if a triple, three; and if a home run, four. If the batter hits a fly ball or a line drive to any player, and it’s caught on the fly, the batter is out, and the number of the fielder responsible for the out is inscribed in the appropriate box.
If the batted ball hits the ground, in fair territory, before it’s caught, the fielder generally throws the ball to the person covering the base ahead of the runner. (The batter becomes a runner after hitting the ball into fair territory.) If such a ball — called a ground ball because it has struck the ground before being caught — is snared by an infielder, and no one else is on base at the time, the general procedure is to touch first base while holding the ball. Usually, only the first baseman is in a position to do that before the streaking runner reaches the bag, so if the ball is caught by another infielder, he (or she) throws it to the first baseman. If the first baseman catches the relay and is able to step on first before the runner does, the runner is out.
If the third baseman has caught the ball and thrown it to first, one writes 5-3 in the box. Short to first is 6-3; second to first, 4-3; pitcher to first, 1-3; catcher to first, 2-3. Sometimes the first baseman must travel far from his base to capture the ball. In that case, another player, usually the pitcher, covers his base for him. A successful play in such a case would be recorded as 3-1. However many players handle or even touch the ball before a successful put-out, they are all noted in the scoring. Even if a batted ball is merely deflected off the pitcher’s glove before reaching the shortstop, who then makes a successful throw to first, it is recorded 1-6-3.
A double play can occur when a runner on first base is “forced” to run to second if a batted ball hits the ground in fair territory. (The batter is also forced to run — to first.) If an infielder catches the grounder, he will usually attempt to throw to the player covering second — or touch the base himself if he’s close enough — after which he or the other player will throw the ball to first and hope it beats the runner there. Depending on who has handled the ball, such a play might be scored 6-4-3 or 4-6-3 or 5-6-3 or 5-4-3 or 1-4-3 or 1-6-3 or 2-4-3 or 2-6-3. Thus, there are many possible combinations wherein defensive players attempt to complete one or more put-outs. The path or paths the ball takes in these fielding maneuvers correspond to paths between sefirot on the Tree of Life. This is a subject that can be explored in depth another time.
Outfielders might also attempt to put out a runner by throwing the retrieved batted ball to the base ahead of a runner (or throwing a caught fly ball to the base ahead of a runner who has “tagged up,” i.e., touched his base after the catch and then run to the next one. In this case, and in any case where the runner is not forced to advance, but is attempting to stretch a single to a double or a double to a triple or a triple to an inside-the-park home run or simply to “take an extra base,” such as going from first to third on a teammate’s single, touching the base is not sufficient for a put-out; he must be tagged, that is, touched with the ball by a fielder or by the fielder with his glove while the ball is in it before the runner touches the base — and stays on it. If he leaves the base he can still be tagged out. Only the runner running to first can overrun the bag. But if he takes a turn, i.e., if he makes a turn toward second, he is fair game and can be tagged out — if he is caught before returning to first base or successfully advancing to second. He might be trapped in a run-down, with the ball being thrown several times between fielders before he is tagged out. If he is especially agile, he might succeed in evading the tag and return or advance safely to base.
The point I wish to make, however, and I hope that digression was useful to those for whom this game remains somewhat of a mystery, is that there seems to be a discrepancy between the numerical progression of the sefirot from Keter to Malchut and the numbers assigned to position players. One discrepancy is obvious. In scoring, the batter has no number; only the defensive players do. But I have identified him with a Sefirah, of which there are ten.
So I thought to myself, I would like to match up these numbers and see if there are any correspondences. Here’s what I found:
Sefirah Position
1 – Keter CF – 8
2 – Chochmah RF – 9
3 – Binah LF – 7
4 – Chesed 2B – 4
5 – Gevurah SS – 6
6 – Tiferet P – 1
7 – Netzach 1B – 3
8 – Hod 3B – 5
9 – Yesod Batter – 0
10 – Malchut C – 2
There is only one correspondence. Chesed / Lovingkindness is the fourth energy center, proceeding from Ain Sof — the limitless / the infinite — according to this system. Second base is the position to which it numerically corresponds. We have a saying, perhaps a truism, in Yahidut / Judaism, that derives from Psalm 89:3: “The world was established through Chesed.” Rashi opines that God at first intended to create the world with the strict attribute of Justice, but He foresaw that the world would not endure if He did so. He therefore chose to create the world, by which is also meant the universe, through Chesed. Rav Chesed (great kindness) is one of the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy that G*d ascribes to Himself (Exodus 34:6-7). Chasadim Tovim (beneficial kindness) is prominently mentioned in the Shemoneh Esrei / Amidah, the central prayer of the Jewish liturgy (along with the Shema). G*d’s Chesed is lauded in our Siddur (prayer book) very frequently. That Chesed should be the attribute that links the scorecard with the Sefirot is quite remarkable, in my opinion. I make the connection with good sportsmanship, a quality that is highly prized in baseball culture. Despite the competitive nature of the game, nice guys (who can also play) are greatly admired. The universal regard in which the late, great Tony Gwynn was held became overwhelmingly evident in the numerous personal tributes that followed his recent death.
What’s the connection between second base and Chesed that has me so excited? Why should you care? What makes this coincidence significant? I’ll answer you. They match up because this position player, more than most, depends on agility, not size or strength, to accomplish his mission. His throws are the shortest of any player on the diamond, yet his leaps and twirls and relays are crucial, as is their timing. Compared to other players he is lightweight, yet his precise movements and timing tip the balance in many a game. Likewise, a timely — even a random — act of kindness can compensate for previous omissions or errors, promote forgiveness, and change history. Chesed — we might call it positivity — perhaps more than any other trait, can leverage desired outcomes and bring all to a graceful, thankful, and joyous conclusion.
To cite two recent examples of accomplished, game-changing second basemen, consider Marco Scutaro (especially in 2012) and Joe Panik (this year, 2014), of the San Francisco Giants World Series championship teams.
The following editorial, written after a fan-initiated altercation on a soccer pitch, well describes my own feelings about the purpose and benefits of sports.
Not Good Sports
One of the nobler aspects of sport is its ability to simulate the euphoria and heartbreak of real life without imposing actual consequences. Fans’ hopes and aspirations are played out in a parallel universe — whether on the soccer field, the basketball court, or the boxing ring. The exultation of victory and the despair of defeat feel real but are tempered by the realization that this is, in the end, just sport.
The human inclination to be clannishly aggressive is sublimated in sporting events that are governed by clear rules and are settled not by brute force and violence but by virtue of skill, team effort, perseverance, stamina, and an enigmatic and irreducible spirit that separates the winners from the losers.
But all this is true only as long as a healthy distance in maintained between sport and reality. Fans, players, referees, coaches, and all others involved must not allow their emotions to get the better of them.
— Editorial, The Jerusalem Post, November 5, 2014
After a hard-fought late season game between the St. Louis Cardinals and the Los Angeles Dodgers (within the last five years), players from both teams spontaneously mingled on the field in a rare and amazing display of mutual appreciation and respect. During World War I, on Christmas Day, 1914, hundreds of German and French soldiers came out of their trenches and mingled on the field of battle. See <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_truce>. This connection happened several times, and on subsequent Christmases as well. Such acts of friendship and camaraderie alarmed the officers, who strictly forbade soldiers to fraternize and ordered them back into their positions. These examples suggest to me that peace and amity are the natural conditions of human society — the default or re-set position — the real basis for all relations. According to Shimon HaTzaddik, Chesed is one of the three things on which the world depends, along with Torah study and prayer. (Pirke Avot, I:2) If the sefirot and the enumerated player positions were a stack of computer punch cards, Chesed is the slot that would go all the way through.
The Grateful Dead sing, “Think this through with me, let me know your mind, Whoa, oh, what I want to know is, are you kind?” (“Uncle John’s Band,” track one of Workingman’s Dead [1970], lyrics by Robert Hunter and Jerry Garcia.) Near the end of his life, Aldous Huxley said to his friend Huston Smith, “It’s rather embarrassing to have given one’s entire life to pondering the human predicament and to find that in the end one has little more to say than, ‘Try to be a little kinder.’” And the Dalai Lama? “Kindness is my religion.”
Why did Avraham’s servant, Eliezer, choose Rivka for Isaac’s wife? Her kindness and generosity convinced him that she was the right person to perpetuate Avraham’s legacy of Chesed. Boaz said to Ruth, “This last kindness of yours is even greater than the first.” Their descendant, King David, wrote and sang, “Ki l’olam chasdo” / ‘For His kindness endures forever.’ What does the Talmud say? “The highest form of wisdom is kindness.” — Berakhot 17a
David Friedman, my friend and teacher in Tzfat, a respected kabbalist and renowned artist, points out that the size and position of the moon relative to the size and position of the sun enables solar and lunar eclipses to occur during which the disk of one exactly effaces that of the other. When the moon’s orbit directly intervenes between parts of earth and the sun, we can see the sun’s corona. Were the moon’s relative dimension any larger or any smaller, that effect would not appear. The mathematical unlikelihood of this occurring suggests to him a providential sign from the creator, as if to say, “I am here.” Sometimes it is referred to as “G*d’s seal.” To me, the coincidental link between the multiple manifestations of Chesed suggests the same thing — a sign from G*d — a wink from the Eternal One.
— 11-12 Sivan, 5774 / June 9-10, 2014, Waltham, MA;
12 Cheshvan, 5775 / November 5, 2014, Tzfat, HaGalil HaElyon (Upper Galilee) / Shevet Naftali / Medinat Yisrael
*I think it’s relevant to note that Reb Zalman and his son Yotam, now an engaged man and a rabbinical student at Hebrew College, were both present and teaching at this retreat. (Close readers of this essay will remember that I mentioned them on p. 7, at the original ending.)
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SUPPLEMENTS
FROM THE SOURCES:
Patach Eliyahu
“Elijah began speaking and said: Master of the universe, You Who are a Unity, but not in the sense of disparate parts; You are supreme over all exalted ones, more hidden than all hidden ones; no intelligence can have any perception of You. You produced ten emanations that we call ‘Ten Sefiros,’ by means of which to direct hidden, unrevealed words. Through them You conceal Yourself from human beings, but it is You Who connects them and unites them, and because You are within them, anyone who causes these Ten Sefiros to diverge from one another is regarded as if he had caused a divergence within You. These Ten Sefiros proceed according to their fixed order: one long, one short, and one mediating [between them]. It is You Who regulates them, but nothing regulates You — not above, not below, and not from any side. You made ‘garments’ for them from which souls flutter to human beings. You have fashioned many ‘bodies’ for them, which are called bodies only relative to the ‘garments’ that cover them. They are entitled as follows: Chesed [Kindness] is the right arm; Gevurah [Power] is the left arm; Tiferes [Splendor] is the torso; Netzach [Eternity; Triumph] and Hod [Glory] are the two thighs; Yesod [Foundation] is the end of the torso, which is the symbol of the sacred covenant; Malchus [Kingship] is the mouth, which we refer to as the Oral Torah. Chochmah [Wisdom] is the brain, meaning inner thought; Binah [insight, understanding] is the heart within which is the understanding heart — and regarding the last two Sefiros is written: The hidden mysteries belong to HaShem our God — Keser [the Supreme Crown] is the crown of kingship, and concerning it is said: He Who declares the outcome from the beginning….”
— Tikkunei Zohar,
from the translation by Rabbi Nosson Scherman
in The Complete ArtScroll Siddur, Nusach Sefard
(Brooklyn, New York: Mesorah Publications, Ltd., 1985), pp. 10-13
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Below the sefirotic realm is the lower world, or the world of separation, our most immediate reality. What is the relationship between these two levels of existence? In the first place, the kabbalists describe the unfolding that occurs in the upper world and the creation of our world as two aspects of the very same process. Creation takes places simultaneously on two levels, the material world constituting a visible, physical manifestation of a process that occurs in a concealed manner in the realm of the sefirot. The essential difference between the two realms is that whereas in the world of unity there is potentially perfect harmony and integration, the world of separation is characterized by a degree of flaw and materialization. Nevertheless, insofar as the lower world was created as a result of the emanation of divine life from above, it corresponds to and parallels that world in its essential structure. The morphology or physiognomy of the two are the same even if they are qualitatively different. Every thing in our world has a counterpart, a correspondence, in the world of divinity above. The earth, moon, sun, stars, rivers, oceans, mountains, trees, and all of the processes of nature of which they are a part, reveal to us the processes of dynamic life that occur on the sefirotic level.
Not only does everything in the material world mirror a spiritual reality above but everything in our created existence is invested with a degree of divine vitality from the sefirot. There is a continuous flow and divine nourishment from one realm of existence to the other, endowing all things in the lower world with life. In order to express this relationship, Kabbalah employs a range of images, including that of a cosmic chain of being in which everything is linked to everything else. All the elements of existence — from the most deeply concealed to the most visible — are intimately and inextricably bound to one another. All things ultimately originate from the inner recesses of the mysterious ground of all being, Ein-Sof.
Human beings have a central place in this mythological scheme. For the kabbalists, the human personality represents the totality of the sefirotic structure. That is, it is a microcosm of the divine world. Even more, human beings are directly imbued with divine life. This is especially true of the soul, the neshamah, which is regarded as deriving from God. The soul, then, establishes a direct link between the sefirot and each person. On the basis of this conception, the kabbalists taught a remarkable idea, namely, that human deeds have an effect upon the upper world. Every action reverberates on the level of the sefirot.
— Lawrence Fine, Physician of the Soul, Healer of the Cosmos: Isaac Luria and His Kabbalistic Fellowship, (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2003), pp. 56-7
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CODA: Carmen CI
Multa?s per gente?s et multa per aequora vectus
advenio? ha?s misera?s, fra?ter, ad i?nferia?s,
ut te? postre?mo? do?na?rem mu?nere mortis
et m?tam ne?qui?quam alloquerer cinerem.
Quandoquidem f?rtu?na mihi te?te? abstulit ipsum.
Heu miser indigne? fr?ter ade?mpte mihi,
nunc tamen interea haec, pri?sco? quae mo?re parentum
tra?dita sunt tr?sti? mu?nere ad i?nferia?s,
accipe fra?terno? multum ma?nantia fle?tu?,
atque in perpetuum, fra?ter, av? atque vale?.
— Gaius Valerius Catullus (84 – 54 BCE)
By ways remote and distant waters sped,
Brother, to thy sad grave-side am I come,
That I may give the last gifts to the dead,
And vainly parley with thine ashes dumb:
Since she who now bestows and now denies
Hath ta’en thee, hapless brother, from mine eyes.
But lo! these gifts, the heirlooms of past years,
Are made sad things to grace thy coffin shell;
Take them, all drenched with a brother’s tears,
And, brother, for all time, hail and farewell!
Translated by Aubrey Beardsley (1896)
By strangers’ coasts and waters, many days at sea
I came here for the rites of your unworlding,
Bringing for you, the dead, these last gifts of the living.
And my words — vain sounds for the man of dust.
Alas, my brother,
You have been taken from me. You have been taken from me,
By cold Chance turned a shadow, and my pain.
Here are the foods of the old ceremony, appointed
Long ago for the starvelings under earth:
Take them; your brother’s tears have made them wet; and take
Into eternity my hail and my farewell.
Translated by Robert Fitzgerald (1952)
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Man cannot redeem a brother, nor give to God his ransom.
Too costly is their soul’s redemption and unattainable forever.
— Tehillim, 49:8-9
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Distributed to Kallah Workshop in “Baseball Kabbalah” attendees, by email or in person, on Thursday, July 14, 2016, and two weeks later, on July 28, 2016, by email, to them and to those who wished to attend but could not find the location. Several minor changes have been made in this edition, including the quote from Lawrence Fine, the poem by Catullus with its two translations, and an excerpt from Psalm 49, above.
I have omitted a section of baseball-related family photos because of its size, and am sending “The Neighborhood Play” and “Baseball Poetry Supplement V”
as separate files.
Yeshayah Goldfarb
Reuven Goldfarb grew up in Brooklyn and rooted for the Dodgers, under the tutelage of his older brother Gerald, z’l. Their Manhattan-born father, Samuel, was a Giants’ fan, and Reuven’s son Yeshayah now works in its front office. Yeshaya began his career with the Giants as a scouting intern and video assistant in 2001 and was hired full time after the season as Assistant, Baseball Operations. He was promoted from Senior Director, Minor League Operations and Quantitative Analysis to Vice President of Baseball Operations. Two of Reuven’s poems, “Cheering Gino Cimoli” and “Ozzie Smith Retires,” appeared in Spitball: The Literary Baseball Magazine. He edited all eleven issues of AGADA, the illustrated Jewish literary magazine (1981-88), and has published dozens of poems, essays, and stories in other venues. He and his wife Yehudit presently live in Tzfat, a mountain village in northern Israel, known for over four centuries as a center of kabbalistic study.
