It was a good evening for a ball game. The sun was just starting to set over the trees in left field, and the air was warm, with a wisp of a cool breeze. It was a beautiful spring night, with a hint of the summer to come.
Shlomo Kreindler had been overwhelming batters since the third inning. His teammate, Rob Drescher, had pitched the first two innings and had allowed three runs, but since Shlomo had taken over the pitcher’s mound, he was completely dominant. In his first three innings, he had struck out four batters, caused two harmless pop-ups in the infield, and induced two grounders for easy outs. Shlomo was one of the top-rated pitchers in the sixth grade. His team, the Young Israel Yankees, had produced five runs in the game, and now they had their opponents, the Pathmark Pirates, at their mercy.
The first batter in the top of the sixth inning was Reuven Blau. Shlomo knew he was a good hitter, but he also knew from pitching to him previously that Reuven needed the ball high, near his chest, to get a good piece of it. Shlomo kept the ball low and inside, and Reuven went down swinging.
The next batter was Gamliel Gordon. Shlomo tried to throw him a fastball on the outside corner of the plate, but Gammy read the pitch from the moment it left Shlomo’s hand, and swung hard. He made contact and hit a clean single to short center field. Marty Zuckerman then surprised Shlomo with a bunt, and the ball dropped motionless a few feet in front of home plate. The Yankee’s catcher, Avi Ben Zvi ripped off his mask and went for the ball, but Marty beat the throw to first. Now the Pirates had runners on first and second with one out.
Ben Jacobowitz strode to the plate with his bat on his shoulder. You could almost hear the groan from the Pirate’s bench as he took some practice swings. This was not whom you wanted at bat when the game was on the line.
Shlomo looked down at the pitcher’s mound beneath his feet and smiled. Ben was one of his closest friends since, well, since he could remember having friends. They had played more board games together on Shabbat afternoons than any two people in the history of the world. But Ben was not exactly an athlete. The little league season was already five games old, and Ben had a batting average below .100 (for those of you not in the know, that’s bad). Ben simply swung at everything. The last time he had seen first base, it was as a pinch runner when David Schorr pulled a groin muscle sprinting on a blooper to third. Then Ben had been given the signal to steal second base, and that didn’t go so well. (It’s too painful to tell the story. Take my word for it.)
Now Ben stood in a batter’s stance at home plate, and Shlomo stared him down like a hawk eyeing a rotting carcass. Shlomo put the ball behind his back and went into his windup. He knew what he had to do.
Shlomo’s first pitch was high and outside. Ball one. Avi caught the pitch and threw it back to Shlomo, but the look on his face showed he knew something was up. That pitch was simply too far outside for a pitcher with Shlomo’s accuracy. Shlomo’s second pitch was in the dirt in front of home plate. Ball two. Avi corralled the ball and tossed it back to the pitcher’s mound, but he threw it a little harder than usual. He didn’t like what Shlomo was doing. When the third pitch was way outside for Ball Three, Avi called time and strode to the mound for a conference.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“What?”
“I know he’s your friend, but this is not the time to be nice.”
“Come on, Avi, he needs a break.”
“Shlomo, we need this out. If you put him on base, you’ll have to pitch through the top of their order with the bases loaded. Don’t do it, man.”
“I have to. It’s an act of chesed.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not. I have to do this.”
“You’re the opposing pitcher. You don’t have to be a ba’al chesed just at this moment.”
“Oh, but I do. You see, chesed can come through in the most unexpected places.”
By now the umpire was signaling them to end the conference, but they just went on.
“Take this week’s Parsha, Emor,” Shlomo said. “There’s chesed hidden throughout the text.”
“I guess now I have to ask where,” the beleaguered catcher said.
“Funny you should ask,” Shlomo responded. “Right in the middle of the laws of Korban Todah, the thanksgiving offering, the Torah interjects that you may not slaughter a mother ox, sheep, or goat on the same day as its child. Clearly this is to teach us to be kind.”
“Okay, sure,” Avi agreed.
“Then in the middle of describing the laws of the holiday of Shavuot, the Torah takes a detour and suddenly discusses the laws of pe’ah and leket, leaving the corners of the field and the gleanings of the harvest for the poor. For what good reason are these laws placed here?”
“Okay, why?” Avi asked. The catcher’s job is to always return the pitcher’s throw.
“Because Hashem is telling us that even in the middle of our harvest celebration, when it would be easy just to think of ourselves, we have to think of the underprivileged, and those who can’t hit a baseball if their lives depended on it.”*
By now the umpire was really enraged. Before he could eject them from the game, Avi turned and headed toward home plate.
“Fine. Do what you have to do,” Avi said.
Ben stepped back into the batter’s box, and Shlomo went into his windup, but the Ben Jacobowitz who was waiting for the next pitch was a different batter than the boy who had placidly taken three balls earlier. His coach had gotten him all fired up, telling him how Shlomo was on the ropes, and Ben wanted a hit. He swung wildly at the first pitch, which was quite high and far outside. Strike one.
Shlomo stared at his friend, trying to communicate telepathically and tell him not to swing—that a walk is as good as a hit—but Ben did not receive his mental message. Shlomo’s next pitch was in the dirt in front of home plate, but Ben swung at it like a golfer. Strike Two. The count was full. Avi chuckled under his breath.
Shlomo stared down at his feet, contemplating his next move. What could he possibly do to get Ben to first base?
Shlomo wound up and pitched a slow curve ball at the plate. It hit Ben in the left shoulder and knocked him to the ground. Ben stood up and glared at Shlomo, but Shlomo looked away, at a point far on the horizon, where an airplane was making its final approach to Teterboro Airport.
Avi would never let him hear the end of this, but it was the only way to guarantee Ben would get on base. For as any baseball fan knows, a batter who is hit by a pitch is awarded a free trip to first base.
Ben stood up and hobbled to first, to the applause of every player and fan at the field. Shlomo hoped he enjoyed his moment in the sun, for that was the last easy base he would ever give Ben.
And years later, when practically no one on the face of the planet could still remember the score of that game, or what team they had been on that season, Shlomo would still be assuring Ben that his wayward pitch had been an accident, and Avi was still sworn to secrecy. And Shlomo could only hope that somewhere up there, his act of chesed ranked somewhere between kindness to the poor and not slaughtering an ox.
*Thank you to Nechama Leibowitz for quoting this idea from the Keli Yakar (about pe’ah and leket, not baseball). Nechama Leibowitz, New Studies in Vayikra, Haomanim Press, page 446.
Larry Stiefel is a pediatrician at Tenafly Pediatrics and has sat through more T.B.O. games than any one human being should in one lifetime. He is author of the parsha story blog ThemaggidofBergenfield.com.
By Larry Stiefel (This story is dedicated to all the children and parents participating in T.B.O., the Teaneck Baseball Organization, especially Josh Stiefel and the Century 21 All-Stars.)
