I'm No Sandy Koufax, But My Memories Of Yom Kippur Are Just As Precious...

I'm not a practicing Jew, and blame that on my father. When I was twelve and enrolled in Hebrew School, the classes were one afternoon a week after school and on Sunday mornings from eight to noon. In the fall, on Sundays, my father would show up around ten o'clock to pull me out of class so I wouldn't be late for my Pop Warner football game. At one point, the teacher, Reverend Gould, was getting a little miffed that I was skipping class to play football...

One Sunday morning, in front of the entire class, he asked my father, "What is more important, Mr. LeVine, your son's Hebrew education or football?"

My father smiled, looked him in the eye, and said, "Football!" Then he looked at me and said, "Grab your stuff, and let's get goin'. You got a game today..."

I have three sons, and when some of my Jewish friends asked me, "Were your boys Bar Mitzvahed?" I answered, "Hell no! I couldn't afford it. I was busy saving up so they could go to a good Catholic High School," which all three of them did.

When I was a freshman in high school (1970), living in Norwich, Connecticut, and attending Norwich Free Academy, I was one of the captains of the freshman football team. I was also the running back who got most of the handoffs and returned kickoffs and punts.

One of our games fell on Yom Kippur, a high holiday during which Jews repent their sins by fasting all day and attending religious services. It's a day of atonement.

In 1965, Los Angeles Dodgers ace Sandy Koufax chose not to pitch Game 1 of the World Series against the Minnesota Twins because it fell on Yom Kippur, and being a good Jew, he wanted to observe it. Certainly, I was no Sandy Koufax, and neither was my father. He wasn't about to let me miss a freshman football game, so I'd have to repent my sins another day. He told me not to fast and to eat a good lunch.

When I got to school and headed for my first class, Nick DiStasio, our tight end, approached me hard and fast.

I can't remember ever seeing Nick without his black leather biker jacket. I assumed that when he was born, before being wrapped in a diaper, his parents put him in a mini leather biker jacket and that each year, they got him a new one. When I met him in eighth grade, he wore a good-lookin' leather biker jacket every day. 

He was a handsome kid like Vinnie Barbarino, the character John Travolta made famous on the TV show Welcome Back Kotter, and he spoke in a similar way.

By the time Nick caught up with me, he was out of breath, which caused me some concern. I immediately asked him, "What's up, Nick?"

He looked around to ensure he wasn't being watched, and when the coast was clear, he handed me a small, plain brown paper bag. In a curious tone, I asked, "What's this?"

He said, "I know they won't let you eat today, LeVine, so I made you a couple of sandwiches cause you're gonna need your strength for the game today."

It was quite a moment and an incredibly kind gesture. Realizing his sincerity, I looked him in the eye and said, "Thanks so much, Nick." I nodded approval, and then we both headed for first-period class.

I can't remember if we won the game, but I do remember enjoying those two tuna fish sandwiches for lunch on Yom Kippur...