“Baseball,” said the late great baseball player and manager Leo Durocher, “is like church. Many attend, few understand.” I think what he meant was, whether we root for the Mets or Yankees, Cubs or Marlins, it is in the friendly confines of a baseball stadium, as much as in a house of prayer, that we try to learn about life and ourselves. Having lived in Los Angeles, then Chicago and now New York, I know first hand that the seemingly straightforward game of baseball puts one in touch with the full range of the human experience. I was there as Kirk Gibson pumped his fists, limping rounding the bases with a game-winning two-out home run. As a Cubs fan, I have witnessed, more times than I care to count, heartbreaking defeat snatched from the jaws of certain victory. Devotion, be it from a bleacher or a pew, has its breaking point, and every Cubs fan knows what it means to have their faith tested.
If this is true of fans, then how much more so it is true of those who play the game. George Will is credited with saying “Baseball, it is said, is only a game. True. And the Grand Canyon is only a hole in Arizona.” If you play baseball, or if you did as a kid, then you know that as important as this building may be for the cultivation of character, so too is a baseball diamond. Think about it: where else do you learn about loyalty, commitment, faith and mental endurance as on the field? Nobody goes through life without facing disappointment – to not be picked, to be cut, to live through a blown call. When it happens first on the field, well then you also learn that each one of us can bounce back. All of us have been disappointed by the failures of colleagues and friends, but if you play a team sport, then you quickly learn that every one of us is capable of making an error, and even after flubbing a play, a person is still a teammate. We all may know, in theory, that small sacrifices are sometimes necessary for the greater good, but the place I learned to sacrifice, to take one for the team, was not sitting at a desk, but with cleats on my feet. It takes no great wisdom to utter “practice makes perfect,” but that aphorism only becomes attitude when we put it into effect between the lines. It is only a matter of time before we have a setback, a strikeout or a season-ending loss. But those who play the game know that hope springs eternal. There is always next year and no matter what happens, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright, the band is playing, men are laughing and somewhere children shout.
The story of Adam Greenberg, our guest this Shabbat, is a story that has yet to run its course. I distinctly recall the excitement we all felt in Chicago when this short Jewish kid named Greenberg was called up to the majors. He was bursting with talent. The boys wanted to be like him, the girls loved him, and with a name like Greenberg, they could all bring him home. I distinctly remember the shock wave rippling through the community when you were felled on your first pitch in the majors, against the Marlins. Our thoughts, our hearts and our prayers were with you then and have been ever since. We have watched, with both concern and admiration, as your journey moved forward. From team to team, trying to get your stride. The sweet redemptive feeling it must have been to stroke a single off De Los Santos last year, leading the Bluefish in several categories. And throughout you have worn your Jewishness with pride, playing for the Israeli Team in the World Baseball Classic, a run that we watched with great excitement. And then, most recently, this past Tuesday, you were extended a one-day contract with, poetically, the Marlins, thereby securing your stats and status in the Major Leagues.
The most important thing we can say about your story, Adam, is that none of us know what the next chapter will bring. There is still more to tell. But no matter where it leads, your story inspires, because it goes to the core message of the Jewish fall classic, this festival of Sukkot. Sukkot teaches that life is as fragile as it is unpredictable. None of us knows what is lurking around the corner. And yet, as Ecclesiastes counsels, despite the uncertainty, despite it all, we eat our bread, we drink our wine and we reach out to squeeze each day of our lives for everything it offers. Time and chance may indeed befall us all, yet we choose life. We fill our days with purposeful living and with relationships of meaning. It is only ever a matter of time before we are knocked down, but you Adam have taught us how to pick ourselves up and for that we are grateful.
My colleague Rabbi Joe Potasnik shared with me the story of an alumnus of a major university who returned to campus years after graduation for the chance to meet the university president. This particular man had done well for himself. As he was introduced to the now elderly president, he took him aside and said, “Sir, I will be forever grateful to you for the words you whispered to me on my graduation day as you handed me my diploma. Over the course of my life there have been ups and there have been downs, and thank God things have turned out all right for me. But in the dark moments, it was the wisdom you shared with me that day that has sustained me throughout.” The university president was at a loss. He turned to the man saying, “Son, I am humbled by your kindness, but I have presided over decades of college graduations, every graduation with thousands of graduates. I have handed more diplomas to more people than I can count. Embarrassed as I may be, I must admit, I don’t remember. Please tell me – I need to know – what was it that I said to you?” The man looked at him and replied, “You said to me, ‘Keep moving.’”
Adam, your story, your courage, inspires us all, because it goes to the core of who we are as Jews and who we all aspire to be as human beings. We know that life is delicate and nobody knows what tomorrow may bring. But we pick ourselves up and we keep moving. Every year, we end the Torah with the death of Moses, and every year we begin again in the Garden of Eden with creation – the promise of a new beginning again and again and again. Your message, your example, teaches us what this season and this holiday teach, what Ecclesiastes knew so long ago, as Yogi Berra once said, “It ain’t over till it’s over.” And until it is, we will keep moving, dusting ourselves off, choosing life and stepping right back up to the plate.
[Please rise to welcome Adam and sing “Take me out to the Ballgame!”]