From the "Frum Press"
Next week, or if you are reading this after or on the second days of yom tov, last week, is what we usually refer to as a long chol ha’moed. That means that the yom tov days fall out on weekends, providing us an almost full, uninterrupted week of intermediate days of chag where we do not deal with most of the Shabbos- or yom tov-like restrictions.
If yom tov falls out that way, then the number one
question is—what are we going to do with the kids who are off from
school all week? Back in the 1960s my parents apparently had the same
question and dilemma. For sports fans, Pesach generally occurs at an
interesting sector on the annual sports calendar. This year the
basketball playoffs are getting underway, and the always
well-anticipated baseball season is beginning.
Actually for New York Mets baseball fans, chol ha’moed
Pesach this year arrives as a bonanza of sorts. The Mets will be at home
at Citi Field for four consecutive games all against the San Francisco
Giants. A few days ago, we went ahead and bought 28 tickets for the
game. We are assured that they are fairly good seats with a good view of
the action on the field. While most of these kids and adults are Mets
fans—except for at least one—it will be even more enjoyable if the Mets
win.
Not that one thing has anything to do with the other but the Mets,
for the last year or so, are now owned by hedge fund kingpin, Steve
Cohen. And now for the first time ever there will be kosher for Pesach
food available at the usually kosher food vendors and stations sprinkled
around the stadium concession areas. How kosher will it be? Will it be gebrokts
or not? Those are issues we can deal with later. You can rest assured
that we will be bringing our own snacks to munch on, if needed, over the
evening.
My father was not a baseball fan like most of his kids were back
then. As you may know from a recent article that appeared here, he came
to this country from Belarus (we all know where that is now thanks to
Vladimir Putin) so baseball was not on his radar in any way whatsoever.
But he knew that my brother Yossi and I were avid fans, holding on to
the results of each game and studying statistics in the daily
newspapers on a regular basis. It must have been about 1963. We were
very young kids but chol ha’moed Pesach arrived and somehow, he bought tickets for the three of us to a Yankee game at the iconic stadium in the Bronx.
Maybe the Mets team, which came into existence in 1962, was too new
for him to consider, but then again perhaps he didn’t even know that the
National League added a team.
I suppose that it is important to note that the idea of a kosher food
stand at that point in time wasn’t even a thought in anyone’s head yet.
But my dad knew that because it was Pesach we couldn’t even buy
something packaged that might have been kosher or even a can or cup of
Coke.
So my mom packed up plenty of shemurah matzah and a
bunch of hard-boiled eggs in a large plastic bag. The Yankees were
playing the Baltimore Orioles. Mickey Mantle was in centerfield and
Roger Maris in right field. Elston Howard was the catcher and Tom Tresh
was the shortstop.
The Yankees won 3–2. Mantle hit a two-run home run in the first
inning but we missed that because we were trying to figure out where to
park. At least later I was able to say that I was at a game in which The
Mick homered.
The matzah and the eggshells made a big mess on us and on the
cement floor under our seats. I’m not sure which was a bigger mess:
cracking open peanuts at other games when it was not Pesach or those
eggshells and matzah crumbs.
We must have had drinks with us but if we did, I don’t recall what it
was. What you could consume on Pesach back then did not even have a
faint resemblance to what we dine on and eat today. Not even close.
The Mets website that reported on the kosher for Passover food says
that next week Citi Field will feature hot dogs, burgers, and sausages,
served with matzah or Pesach rolls. I know you probably have a lot of questions on the hechsher, what type of matzah,
and so on. For our part, we are going to have dinner before going to
the game. As a last resort, in case you miss dinner, there is always shemurah matzah and hard-boiled eggs—that’s the safe way to go.
Let me add a few things about that game we went to at Yankee Stadium
more than a half century ago. My father really did not care or
understand the nuances involved in a major league baseball game. It
seemed to me at the time that he was enamored by the large crowd, the
beautiful greenery of the expansive playing field, and more than
anything else, the possibility of his kids catching a foul ball.
We were sitting along the third baseline, about midway between third
base and the outfield. It was an area where it was not unusual for
right-handed batters to hit foul balls. At one point, shortly after our
arrival at the game, a ball was hit a few rows behind us. Everyone in
that area of the stands rose to their feet and made a collective noise
as if the ball was directed exactly at them. My dad liked that furor so
much that he cupped his hands around his mouth and started chanting, “We
want a foul.”
Oh my, I thought to my little self at the time, who in the world
screams out for a foul ball to hit? I nudged my dad and told him that
people don’t usually do that. Yes, it’s nice to catch a foul ball and go
home with a genuine souvenir but that is not the central focus of the
game, I gently explained. I told him we want base hits and home runs and
that is what we really wanted to see. He looked like he understood but I
could tell that he still wanted more foul balls and he really wanted
them for me and my brother.
Later on that year we went to another game and this one was in the
Polo Grounds where the Mets played before Shea Stadium was built. The
Mets lost 3–0. It was a game against the Cincinnati Reds and Joe Nuxhall
pitched a great game for the Reds.
Gil Hodges was playing first base for the Mets, Choo-Choo Coleman was
the catcher, and Duke Snider was somewhere in the outfield. And this is
the thing I remember most: 18-year-old Ed Kranepool was playing right
field. I was enamored by that because I thought that major league
baseball is played by grown men in their 20s and 30s, but there was a
guy on the Mets less than ten years older than me and he was on the
field.
It doesn’t matter to me anymore who wins or loses games unless of
course, FanDuel is involved—but that’s another story entirely. Part of
me still gets a slight lift when I hear that the Mets won a game. I told
my wife the other day that I’m looking forward to next week’s chol ha’moed
game at Citi Field, not because I need or want to see another game but
because I want to watch our grandchildren all together watching the
game.
I know that it will be more memorable if the Mets win. I’m not sure
where our seats are but I do hope that a ball is hit in our direction
and one of the kids catches it. But I won’t be yelling for foul balls
and I’m not going to be breaking up pieces of matzah or peeling any eggs.
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WOOOOWWW!! Totally no offense to anyone but I want to PUBLICLY thank the Master Of The Universe that He opened my eyes to appreciate the Avoda Zara/Bittul Zman/Leitzanus/Kalus Rosh/Chukas Akum/Nivul Peh/Pritzus/Waste Of Money, of this enterprise.
A major regret of my life is how much time I wasted on this frivolity in my childhood but it is never too late to do Teshuva.
