The pitch came, and with a kapitel Tehillim on my lips, I swung as hard as I could
IT was a beautiful day in May.
My walk took me past the baseball field at Tennyson Place. A group of yeshivah boys and their rebbi were playing. I heard the crack of the bat and saw the ball sail into the outfield.
Suddenly, I was no longer in Passaic. I was back in Brooklyn at Prospect Park. The year was 1972.
Our team was down by four. The bases were loaded, and I was at bat, the potential tying run. Our captain rallied the boys as they cheered me on…
With a jolt, I remembered my upcoming appointment. As I headed back to shul, my mind was still back in 1972.
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