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| Double Take |

Play Ball

Who let the little kids steal all our bases?
Dovid: How can you take away our one kosher, healthy outlet?
Batsheva: Our children need the space that was created especially for them.


Dovid

One of the best things about our yeshivah’s location was the empty lot next door. It was the perfect spot for a late-night barbeque, kumzitz in the rain, or – of course – our daily game of baseball.

Some of the guys played occasionally, others were regulars. Then there were the mainstays – a few of us who showed up at the lot every bein hasedarim, no matter what, barring extreme weather. It was a great outlet, and it was exercise, too.

It was right before Pesach vacation that we noticed something. First there was a dumpster parked by the lot. Then a bulldozer arrived.

“What’s that for?” Shimmy asked. I shrugged as we made our way to our makeshift field. “Beats me.”

“Last game of the zeman, guys!” Ari yelled, swinging his bat as he dashed around. That guy had far too much energy. “Let’s make it rock!”

All thoughts of bulldozers aside, we set out to enjoy the game.

But as we headed back to yeshivah, hot and sweaty after a game well played, I looked back at the new additions beside our lot, and wondered.

Pesach vacation was great. It also flew by, and it felt like a few days, not a few weeks, when we headed back to yeshivah. A few of us shared a ride back from out of town, comparing notes on Yom Tov and grousing about coming back to yeshivah food. Soon enough we spied the familiar landmarks and then the yeshivah building itself. We piled out of the car, schlepping suitcases to the front door of the dorm building. I’m not sure who noticed first, but suddenly, the whole crowd of us had stopped short, and were looking and gesturing frantically towards the lot. Our lot!

“What – in – the – world?” spluttered Shimmy. “How did they do that?”

I took a step closer. That was a playground. In the middle of our baseball field. Swings and a slide and a cute little jungle gym in primary colours. New soft playground flooring had taken the place of our overgrown grass.

“How can they do that?” Ari gasped, jogging closer to the scene of devastation. “Wait – maybe we can still play – let me check...”

We dumped our suitcases and followed him.

“Ooookayy...” Ari told us, leaning on the swing post. “So we can still play. We just have to move to the edge of the lot, see? That stuff only takes up half the space, we’ll work it out, make the field a little smaller...”

“What field?” someone muttered sardonically.

“It doesn’t matter, we’ll figure it out,” Ari said impatiently. “But it’ll be fine, okay?”

“We’ll make it work,” I said, firmly. I didn’t say this out loud, but our daily games really fuelled me to keep learning. And I suspected I wasn’t the only one who found it hard to sit through three sedorim without some exercise. A good game was a good thing.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Ari said again. He sounded like he was trying to reassure himself.

It wasn’t fine, though.

 

Excerpted from Mishpacha Magazine. To view full version, SUBSCRIBE FOR FREE or LOG IN.

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