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Where are the Heroes?

Many of the same people busy lauding Vin Scully for his 67 years of outstanding service and great storytelling are busy taking a dump on the values that made him great. Mr Scully is the quintessential American with values we should all emulate, so instead of just hashtagging his name maybe you should learn something. Vin introduced me to baseball. I listened to him every time I tuned in. I could've been doing my homework, staying up past my bedtime or listening through an earbud in my hood during class. But sometimes there was another gentleman in the booth who used to come in and take over, his name is Rick Monday. Nobody today really talks much about Rick Monday but he's a true American hero.

Rick Monday was playing for the Chicago Cubs in 1976. During this game at Dodgers Stadium two traitors ran onto the field with a flag doused in lighter fluid and were preparing to set it afire. When Rick realized what was happening, he sprung into action and prevented the flag from suffering a public disgrace. He has been a Dodgers hero ever since. I'm sure all Vin’s listeners’ hearts were beaming with national pride. Yes, all the Mexicans in LA too, that generation loved our country for the opportunities it afforded them.

An epidemic of treason is sweeping national sports and we must stop it. It's disgusting that it is happening and allowed to continue on full display by multi millionaire athletes. All the major sports leagues have monopolies and if the leadership decided to universally adopt policies that punish any disgrace to our flag or anthem by any player, employee or hired singer nobody could stop them. I believe if they fail to fine any offenders their sponsors should pull support and the public should boycott the games, memorabilia and whatever else. It's unconscionable that after months nobody has made a move,  not a fine issued, no public reprimand and nobody fired. This is the time to stand tall with your country and take pride and if you owners don't seize the moment you'll pass into obscurity and will have meant nothing because you were cowards. Be like Rick Monday and save the day!

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Drowning to Live

On Erev Yom Kippur 5773 I was drowning. Maybe in the figurative sense as well but I was actually drowning in the Atlantic Ocean.

I had gone to the beach to perform the mikveh immersion ritual whilst skipping the notoriously packed pre-Yom Kippur mikveh facilities in town. Halacha doesn't dictate which body of water I choose to immerse myself and the logical choice for some is to choose a quiet beach to perform the ritual and possibly be alone with their thoughts before the Awesome day.

I had elected to join a car of young men my age and as soon as we got to the water we each scattered to dip in privacy. The eerily empty beach wasn’t cause for concern and somehow the heavy gusts of wind and chilly temperatures never concerned us. The whole excursion was a spontaneous decision and nobody could possibly have thought to check the tide reports. There were no lifeguards and save for one gentleman casting fishing line we were all alone, which was fine for us.

The water was chilly and choppy and I was having trouble getting my entire body below water so I swam a little further out. I ditched my trunks and proceeded to dip...I didn't notice it yet but I was already in trouble. (I consider myself a very good swimmer. I graduated to the deep part of our pool around the age of 4 and I've always had a passion for the activity and as odd as it sounds I never learned tide patterns and safety techniques in the ocean.) I was treading for several minutes, drifting further and struggling with the choppy water all in the effort of getting seven complete dunks. I barely managed two dunks and I was working on the third when I realized I was completely exhausted.

The only way to describe the feeling of being trapped on all sides by a choppy ocean is pure helplessness and true respect for how dangerous water really is.

A Father's Love

This was shared with me today, methinks it's worth sharing.

Every year when my father would give us the Erev Yom Kippur bracha, he would always start it off by saying "don't worry I won't mess up your hair". Then he would give us a bracha and I could tell he meant every word of it and every time he would cry. Today the same thing happened but this time I'm in Israel. He called me and told me to feel his hands on my head and like every year before, "don't worry I won't mess up your hair". We both laughed for a second but then things got serious. He gave me the bracha and as usual poured his heart into it, crying to HaShem that the brachos should come true. The bracha is what every parent truly feels towards their child; that they should love and fear HaShem, that they should have righteous children who will do the same, and for a long life full of good.

Only recently have I started crying when he gives me the bracha because I look up to my father so much and I know how much he means what he's saying. Because my father used to be the chazzan, I would hear him literally crying his heart out every Yom Kippur to our Creator and it inspires me to do the same. But while pouring my heart out to HaShem, I also remember that He too is our father. He also sincerely wants the best for us, and I try to feel His hands on my head too.