January 6, 2011. Give me some of that old time Religion

I gather many people contract an illness and find God. Well unless he or she are on the E Train, there is little hope of that for me.

It's not that I don't believe. It's that I don't know.

I certainly don't believe in the vengeful God espoused in the First Testament and by such self appointed leaders as Robertson and Falwell. I also don't believe in a God that only looks after those who repeat the same empty words each day and night.

Don't get me wrong. I am Jewish and proud of it. That is my heritage. It has taught me respect of others, to honor family and how to tell a joke, among other things. By the way it also makes a great hot dog.

I also respect and envy those people who are truly religious. I'm not talking about those fakes who claim that they speak for God, and all those who dare to have an original thought be damned. I'm talking about those who are accepting and respectful of others.

I remember in Hebrew School, if someone was out of line, it wasn't unusual for the Rabbis to take a belt to him. We weren't even 13 yet. These people belonged in jail not in front of the Torah.

I have no problem with people who speak to God. I have no problem with people who think God speaks to them. My problem lies in those who think that God speaks through them. That illusion has done more damage through history than anything other than the tea party movement.

So you'll never catch me in a healing service. But, if the opportunity presents itself like Koufax and Greenberg before me, out of respect, I won't play in a World Series game that falls on Yom Kippur.

November 19, 2010

I went back to the Gym today. The Gym that I use is associated with New York Institute of Technology (NYIT), and is situated on their beautiful campus on the Northern Boulevard in Old Westbury. The Gym is used by Parkinson's patients and the Physical Therapists are experts on Parkinson's Disease. They are also wonderful people! I've come to count them among my friends.

I've spent my life doing the least possible. I was a very bright, but very lazy student. Although I always played hard, I never prepared. Never stretched, always pulled muscles. So it's no surprise to me that I've been remiss in my exercise.

My therapists tailor part of the session to my talents. I tap a basketball against the wall, as if I were tipping in a rebound. I also throw a ball against a "pitchback." When I do these activities, I don't have Parkinson's Disease. Whether it's adrenaline or "muscle memory," I feel like that kid in the playground. What a wonderful feeling.

I don't envy kids today. I grew up in a young neighborhood. The weather warmed and we would get as many as possible for softball. It cooled down out came the football, the basketball and my favorite, my hockey stick. Today kids play video games on "playdates." Mention stickball and you get a blank stare. Gone are the sandlots. Part of the blame is greed.

I loved baseball. First came watching, then playing it. In 1965, I ran home from school to see Sandy Koufax pitch in the World Series. The game lasted a little more than 2 hours, leaving time for my friends and me to play ball.

If a Jewish kid from Brooklyn can make it, why not one from Queens? I was almost 9. My older brother who was 13, would tell me to watch his curveball, "It falls off the edge of a table!" He was right, it did. Today the series starts at 8:00 P.M. Because of the way that the game has changed, it invariably lasts almost 4 hours. Nine year olds can't stay up for that, and are missing, what I consider cherished memories.

The Jewish Kid from Queens never followed in Koufax's footsteps. This is something that can't be blamed on laziness, I wasn't that good. Though for about 10 minutes today, in the Gym, I was Koufax. I was again that little boy.