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Vol. 70, No. 1 (Summer 2026) - Celebrating America’s Sestercentennial

Sports as a Safe Space and as a Defining Religious Moment During a Troubling Time for American Jews

 

Jeffrey S. Gurock

As Americans pause to celebrate the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, many of their fellow Jewish citizens worry whether their country will continue to live up to the promises of that iconic document. Challenges to the Jew’s place in society, and sometimes even their lives and sacred property, have emanated from a variety of militant groups and venues. Jewish defense groups, as is their wont and mission, have been quick and sure to quantify instances of Jew hatred. The Anti-Defamation League (ADL), for example, has gone so far as to create a website for individuals who have experienced “an incident of antisemitism, extremism, bias, bigotry or identity-based hate or discrimination to report it to ADL,” which will do its best, “to assess information…and, if available, offer support or resources.” ADL wants to know of even some personal incidents like a Jew wearing a yarmulka or Jewish star punched or cursed by a hater.1

Amid this contemporary crescendo of crises and concerns, there is, however, a safe space favoring American Jews within this country’s world of sports. There, protocols of tolerance support this minority group. Yet, even as today’s Jews have been “chosen-in”— they have been accepted as teammates more than ever before—questions exist about the extent to which those Jewish athletes, who are driven to achieve in this secular arena, still connect to their ethno-religious group’s past and future. The delineation of the complexities within this comfort zone is an important, but all too often unrecognized, counterpoint narrative to weighty problems in this troubling era for Jews. This sensitivity to Jews and Judaism was not the case a century ago.

Back then, in the 1930s—unquestionably, the most-widely remembered incident of disrespect and marginalization of a Jew in the sports stadium took place in 1934. Then, the Detroit Tigers’ management and its city’s rooting public pressured Hank Greenberg, their star first baseman, to play crucial games in a close pennant race on the Jewish New Year. He was told, in no uncertain terms, that he had an obligation to his local Detroit community—not the Jewish community—to be on the field during the High Holidays. The slugger was comforted somewhat by a local rabbi’s ambiguous statement: that while the decision was up to him—Rabbi Leo Franklin would not tell him what to do—he should search his soul and determine why he might don his uniform. For the rabbi, if Greenberg showed up because baseball was his “livelihood,” he should absent himself from “work” on the holiday. However, if “taking part in the game would mean something not only to himself but to his fellow players and in fact at this time to the community of Detroit” (emphasis mine), he should be in the lineup. Greenberg played on Rosh Hashanah. If he had any qualms about being at Navin Field on that holy day, he reportedly “brightened visibly” when was told after the game what the rabbi had said and stated, “I didn’t do the wrong thing after all.” Greenberg did absent himself eight days later during Yom Kippur, though it need be noted that by that time, his club had reduced the so-called “magic number” to secure the league championship flag to three with ten games to play. This calculus significantly reduced the pressure on the slugger. No matter: still Detroit’s Jews of that era hallowed Greenberg’s statement that day of Jewish identification at a time when their city was a hotbed of haters such as Henry Ford, Father Charles Coughlin, and the Ku Klux Klan, paradigms of hostility to this minority group. Greenberg made it clear where he stood when he showed up, for a while, at Detroit’s Congregation Shaarey Zedek and received a standing ovation from congregants. That moment, in a synagogue, was his public statement of identification.2

Thirty-one years later, as is also well known, when Sandy Koufax decided to stay away from the ballpark on Yom Kippur, neither his Dodger management nor the team’s fan base questioned his choice. Times were changing dramatically and favorably toward Jews. If anything, an increasingly culturally pluralistic America applauded Koufax linking himself that day to his Jewish religious ancestry. The historical record is unclear whether the self-effacing player stayed in his hotel room or quietly attended services on that holy day. No matter: To this day, many Jews have seen the Hall of Fame lefthander as a consummate ethnic role model. As one rabbi recently put it in 2024: “Koufax, more than any other Jewish ballplayer, symbolizes the American Jew who makes it, succeeds, is at the top of his field, but does not deny and even affirms his Jewish identity,”3

Meanwhile, also in recent decades, baseball owners have prayed not to be queried about the so-called “High Holiday Question.” For example, in 2004, Dodger outfielder Shawn Green could not make up his mind whether to play or sit out crucial games, waffling that “I’m totally committed to getting to the post season, and at the same time, I’m committed to my religion … I wish there was a solution but there’s not. I wish Yom Kippur could be in April.” Conflicted, Shawn Green opted to play Kol Nidre Night but did not suit up the afternoon that followed. That was his determination of the extent of his Jewish observance.4

For the record, the Almighty did not visit the so-called “Koufax Curse” on Green— the semi-serious superstition that a Jewish player who is on the field on Yom Kippur is doomed to fail. In fact, he hit the game-winning home run the night he played. But if the outfielder was spared divine retribution, he was called to task in some Jewish religious quarters for the alleged sin of promoting assimilation. To his critics, Green demonstrated not only a lack of self-respect but, arguably, symbolized the tenuous state of Jewish life and prospects for the future for failing to fully separate himself from a welcoming American crowd for at least for 24 hours a year. They wondered that if young Jews followed his lead, whether Judaism could survive in an environment where, above all, Jews desired to always be “chosen-in” and in all venues. But there was also pushback against these critics among those who praised him for struggling to balance assimilation and identity. For them, in an era where, increasingly, Jews were not religiously observant, Green was in his own way a role model. It was pointed out sympathetically that he involved himself in a myriad of Jewish causes and philanthropies—even if he had married out of the faith as so many of his co-religionists were doing. For these voices, Green’s behavior offered, if anything, a measure of encouragement about Jewish prospects for survival in a tolerant America as he found his own ways to connect to his community.5

While Jewish spokespeople of various opinions debated Green’s situation, the team owner wanted no part of this dilemma. Dodger owner Frank Mc Court made clear that it was “a personal decision and it’s his decision to make.” Mc Court’s equanimity was more than just a present-day reflection of American tolerance and acceptance; in this case, McCourt was part of a community which included Jewish owners—and from 1998–2015 had a Jewish Commissioner Alan (“Bud”) Selig. Much like other arenas in high level corporate life—sports is a big billion-dollar business— and American Jewish Lords of Baseball are insiders within boardrooms. Thus, theoretically, if these powerful Jewish sports moguls cared about the annual concomitance of the Major League post-season and Jewish High Holidays, they might modify the Major League calendar—but perhaps more importantly, this hands-off policy reflects a recognition of Jews as fans who want their holy days respected.6

This demeanor toward a minority group as consumer ticket holders dates to 1986 when religiously observant Jewish Met fans demanded that post season games themselves be moved away from Jewish holidays. Ultimately, the games went on as scheduled, but owners got the message that Jewish fans were worthy of courtship.

Baseball stadiums all over the country sell kosher hot dogs and knishes. Some proprietors have gone even further in catering to an even smaller cohort of American Jews: those who desire to recite the evening prayers while a night game is in progress. A designated area is set aside for these devotions and the spot is announced to the rooting public. However, in their zeal to reach out to Jews, one club inadvertently made the error of honoring a Christian possessed of a Jewish sounding name at a Jewish Heritage Day.7

The Yom Kippur dilemma has been largely resolved and infrequently discussed, except among those Jews who closely monitor the Jewish and baseball calendars. However, in recent years, attention has been drawn to a few college football players who define themselves as “Orthodox” and how they attempt to navigate their religious commitments and their desire to be part of the team whose games almost always take place on the Jewish Sabbath. In most cases, those in charge of sports programs warmly accept them. Thus, with the arrival of the semiquincentennial, Jews have begun to feel increasingly more at home in the athletic arena.

In 2020, media attention was focused for a moment when Sam Salz, who some three years earlier had “walked on” to the Texas A&M football team and was put into a game for one play. What was so unusual and intriguing was that Salz—a self-defined Orthodox Jew, who had attended a Jewish day school in high school and had never before played football—was fulfilling his dream of playing for a topnotch college team. To his mind, he was fulfilling his fantasy without violating the Sabbath. He navigated the apparent break with halakha (Jewish traditional strictures)—in this case “carrying in public precincts,” even if it was just a football—under the guidance and approval of the local campus Chabad rabbi who, on game day, welcomed Salz to services in the morning and early afternoon before the wide receiver walked onto the stadium gridiron. He wore number 39 on his uniform to remind him of the Mishnaic categories of work forbidden on the Sabbath, which he and his Jewish religious outreach mentor determined he was not violating.

Supporting his fidelity to the faith on an ongoing basis, the team, beginning with coach Jimbo Fisher, who “made arrangements to accommodate his Jewish observance, from exempting him from team travel and activities on Shabbat and other Jewish holidays to providing kosher food and his own kosher microwave in the team facilities.” Teammate Muhsin “Moose” Muhammed praised Salz’s work ethic, stating, “He has always been a good teammate, and he’s had a positive influence” at Texas A&M.

But Salz wanted more than just the chance to carry the ball for one fleeting moment. He saw himself, not unlike the Chabad rabbi, as an emissary for Judaism, teaching his teammates and all others on campus, who might ask, what the Jewish faith was all about and stood for. Looking ahead, he dreamed “to get ordained as a rabbi [and] a motivational speaker” believing that “there’s probably a Jewish kid, and maybe even especially an Orthodox kid, who wants to play football or wants to play sports and is sitting somewhere confused about what he should do, or who’s told that he’ll never be able to do it. Even getting to see me run down the field, successful play or not, could give him all the hope he wanted.”8

Five years later, in 2025, Zevi Eckhas, another self-defined Orthodox football player, possessed of far more athletic abilities, made a comparable splash when he explained to his fan base how his religious beliefs coincided positively with the demands of his sport. This starting quarterback for Washington State University told a reporter “I’m a big believer that everything that’s done through God…Every time I put on my pads and go outside and throw a football, I know that with God’s help, football and everything I do in my life is completely intertwined with my religion.” To publicly punctuate his beliefs, before every game, he went to the 18-yard line, kneeled and prayed to “just thank Him for all He’s done for me and continues to do.” Of course, the number 18—which in Hebrew is “Chai,” meaning life—has folk significance in Judaism. Privately, Eckhaus, who like Salz was a Jewish day school student and from an observant home, demonstrates daily his deep regard for the rules of Jewish tradition by putting on tefillin every day and studying mishnayos—a foundational Jewish legal text every week.

However, he openly admitted that “Shabbos is still tricky because we play on Saturdays… eating kosher is also hard because of the cafeteria and being at the facility most of the day.” [But] “I try to keep as much as I can with my religion.” Eckhaus did have his own “High Holiday dilemma” in 2024 when Yom Kippur fell on Saturday. As backup signal caller, he was not put in the game. However, he “was still present on the sidelines” while observing in his own way the fast day.” He recalled: “I did not eat or drink for 25 hours, and Coach Dikert even went out of his way to have a private room set aside for me after the game for me to finish out the prayers.”

Like Salz’s, Eckhaus’ teammates also have been “very accepting and welcoming of him.” He was quick to point out that he “even had two Palestinian offensive linemen in his college career and these guys”—who were positioned to protect him on the field—“were some of the nicest to me…There’s no bickering or tension around religion.” Undoubtedly, they did not react to his kneeling before games. Christian teammates often do likewise before and after games to thank the Creator.9

Meanwhile, just a few states over, in 2024, Jake Ratzlaff, the Jewish starting quarterback at Brigham Young University, offered a very different, and almost assimilatory message, when the media questioned him about his plans for Yom Kippur. He replied that he had no problem at all suiting up. He, and his family, offered explanations that suggested that Jewish religious commitments were not important to them even though his group identification was affirmed by the Star of David necklace that he wore on and off the field. The young man asserted that “it’s going to be a special day that there’s a Jewish kid playing football because if it makes headlines, that means I get to be another light for someone else and that means I have to win.” Clearly untroubled by his choice and driven toward athletic success, he implied that he hoped another Jewish athlete might follow in his cleated footsteps. When his decision did attract national attention, and ESPN queried his mother, she noted that within their own hierarchy of allegiances—to both faith and sport, as Jake was raised in both worlds—playing on Judaism’s holiest day was “the way he can best contribute to the community (i.e., the athletic community) that he is in right now.”10

Salz and Eckhaus have relied on the positive attitudes of their school’s coaches and administrations and the friendship of their fellow teammates to achieve their religious-athletic goals. It has remained for the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA) to codify such tolerance. The major case in point was their rulings—in place for more than a quarter century—supporting the unyielding fidelity to religious strictures of Yeshiva University, an Orthodox institution. First and foremost, although not all players are equally punctilious in their personal observances, the school cannot have their teams play on the Sabbath and Jewish holidays. Most notably and certainly problematic, when they have an outstanding team, they would have to back away from competition if a post-season game was set for Friday night—the beginning of the Sabbath—or Saturday during the day. The inclusive NCAA has gone along with a request for a time shift; thus, the Yeshiva tilts have taken place at Friday noon rather than at 8 p.m. Similarly, in the regular season, the local metropolitan area league, the Skyline Conference, has worked around Yeshiva’s unalterable calendar requests. The Maccabees—the team’s moniker—along with their sister squad, the Lady Maccabees, have been longtime members of that league. If anything, given the idiosyncratic nature of Yeshiva’s participation, when something special happens athletically at the Manhattan school, an intrigued journalist might pick up the story. Otherwise, the goings-on within this small college association do not make it to the papers.11

And then there has been the NCAA’s long-term nodding affirmatively to the unusual way Yeshiva athletes—men and women—dress on the court. According to the sports establishment’s rule book, basketball players cannot wear any “head decorations, headwear or jewelry” while playing. There are also protocols about the length of uniforms. However, it has been accepted that religious men and married women who always keep their heads covered and women who dress very modestly may do so when they compete. When, in 2001, Yeshiva first asked for formal relief for its women, its athletic director sagely cast his request as not a uniquely Jewish appeal. He noted strategically: “I would imagine that similar requests have been made for other student athletes of faiths that have similar restrictions” [Muslims, etc.] The NCAA agreed.12

In 2022, the management of National Basketball Association’s (NBA) Detroit Pistons drafted an outstanding Orthodox player for its “G League” minor league development team. From the very start, among all who were concerned, it was understood that if Ryan Turell made the club, he would be accorded his religious needs; much like Texas A&M privileged Sam Salz. Terrell possessed sterling credentials as an athlete. He was a three-time Division III All-American and in 2022 he was voted National Player of the Year at his level of competition. It was felt that he would fit in among a variety of NBA aspirants who hoped, through success on the Detroit Motor City Cruise squad, for a shot at the big-time league. Turell signed up; during his two years on the team, the owners followed through on their promises. For example, when a road game took place on a Friday night, Turell “walked back to the hotel, where he stayed for the remainder of the day of rest. He was provided with four kosher meals and a hot plate and a ride home after sundown Saturday.”13

Ownership’s responsiveness to Turell’s needs stemmed, to begin with, from their sense that he could contribute to the club’s success. But perhaps there were two additional elements in play. Generally, G league teams compete in front of, at most, half-empty arenas. But here there was the idea that Orthodox fans, both in Detroit and especially in Greater New York when the Cruise played the Long Island Nets, would attend in large numbers.14 Additionally, for more than thirty years, Jewish community leader and philanthropist William “Bill” Davidson had owned the Detroit franchise from 1974 until his passing in 2009. Though not Orthodox, Davidson was a deeply committed Jew who, in fact, endowed a School of Jewish Education at the Conservative Jewish Theological Seminary of America. Given the Pistons’ “Jewish tradition”, it might have been a nice touch to support Turell’s religious disposition. His teammates on the Cruise concurred with the owners’ apparent feelings. Turell “was grateful to have supportive teammates who respect[ed] his cultural and religious background…It’s really cool to have a locker room where we can share so many different cultures and backgrounds with each other—we’re all people.”

On the road throughout the country, Turell did not suffer catcalls from opposing players and their fans and he ignored some social media anti-Jewish slights. Wherever he appeared, there was acceptance—and even some fascination—on and off the hardwood.15

With Turell chosen-in, his fan base at Yeshiva was agog with happiness and expectations. Some of the faithful even dreamed that he might make it to the NBA. For them, it was the culmination of a series of seasons where the Maccabees won a remarkable fifty games in a row from 2019-2021, with Turell and a few other fine players in the lead. Their success attracted an uncommon amount of positive publicity in the Jewish and general press for a team that played and prayed. In some Orthodox quarters, it bespoke magnificently how one of their own kind within America could “balance the needs of their own professional careers with…commitment to religious observance and halacha [Jewish law].” However, “some folks fel[t] that a real kiddush hashem [sanctification of God’s name] would have been created had Turell refused to accept the offer to play in the G league, placing Shabbat observance ahead of his professional desire.” Some rabbis questioned whether playing basketball on the Sabbath, even if he is not driving to and from the games, is halachically permissible. A question was raised about whether the uniform he wore was appropriate Sabbath dress. The American world of sports had no problem at all with his sartorial getup in line with what other G players were wearing. But it was an issue for very strict constructionists of Jewish law. It is not known “if Turell asked an Orthodox rabbi about the permissibility of playing ball on Shabbat.” We may surmise that Salz’s Chabad rabbi in Texas would have told him to go ahead. Back in New York at Yeshiva University some religious leaders were not so certain.16

From a basketball perspective, Turell’s two years with the Cruise club were not crowned with great success: he averaged only four-five points and two rebounds a game. In 2024, he took his sports skills to Israel where he has played (to date, 2026) in its professional league.

Notwithstanding these tableaus of sports tolerances, and with all of the religious dilemma resolution that has sometimes followed, there are other instances when Orthodox Jewish teams still faced opposition to scheduling switches. When these problems occur, sometimes those affected, feeling entitled within American society and comfortable with the court system, have made their case with the help of gentile supporters. In 2012, for example, a Texas sports association took a decidedly negative stance on the Sabbath-sports question only to be upbraided by a variety of non-Jewish voices. In February of that year, a Jewish day school in Houston made it to the state semi-finals only to run up against an imposed Friday night start time. Their Christian religious school opponents indicated that they had no problem with an early tip-off time. But the Texas Association of Private and Parochial Schools refused the request—only to face criticism for its stance. For example, the coach of the professional Houston Rockets, Jeff Van Gundy, was among those who spoke to the New York Times and ESPN, calling for a change of heart. Far from quiet or intimidated, a group of school parents sought a restraining order from a local magistrate to allow the team to play before sundown. Wilting under criticism, the association folded and the game took place at the “right” time. The Jewish team lost the match, but a point had been made.17

Some years earlier, Amalya Knapp was disappointed that the national governing board of her chosen sport, gymnastics, would not count her fine performance on a Sunday toward earning a medal in the second part of a two-day championship meet because this Orthodox youngster had not competed on the Sabbath. A local Orthodox politician was ready and eager to press this issue and wrote to USA Gymnastics. He contended that its policies did not go far enough “to accommodate athletes from all religious and racial backgrounds.” Knapp’s parents were not interested in furthering a growing controversy in their New Jersey town over whether religious exemption has a place in sports. Rather, they saw the issue as a teaching moment for their athletically precocious seven-year-old about her need to balance being both an athlete and a Jew. In the end, Amalya chose to observe Jewish religious tradition and not compete. Her parents would encourage her to stick with gymnastics, taking ice skating lessons, and playing soccer, among other sports—but never on Saturday or Jewish holidays. Like so many contemporary Jewish athletes who care—each in their own ways—about their faith, she would seek her own safe space or comfort zone.18

Jeffrey S. Gurock, PhD is the Libby M. Klaperman Professor of Jewish History at Yeshiva University.

  1. 1 For a compilation of antisemitic incidents, see ADL.org/audit-antisemitic-incidents. On reporting incidents, see https://www.adl.org/report-incident. For an example of a recent physical attack against a Jewish visitor to New York, see “Tourist from Israel Sucker Punched during Unprovoked Attack in Midtown,” ABC 7 New York, October 29, 2025, https://abc7ny.com/post/midtown-tourist-attacked-rabbi-jerusalem-sucker-punched-during-first-visit-nyc/18088056/.

  2. 2 William M. Simons, “Hank Greenberg: The Jewish American Folk Hero,” Sports and the American Jew, Steven A. Riess, ed. (Syracuse University Press, 1998), 192-200.

  3. 3 For a comprehensive biography of Koufax, see Jane Leavey, Sandy Koufax: A Lefty’s Legacy (Harper Perennial, 2010). On the continuing question of whether Koufax attended synagogue, see Jacob Gurvis, “The Jewish Sport Report: Where did Sandy Koufax go on Yom Kippur when He Didn’t Pitch? An Investigation.” Jewish Telegraphic Agency (JTA), October 11, 2024. For a rabbi’s praise for Koufax, see Sarah Wexler, “Sandy Koufax as a Jewish American Sports Icon,” in Sandy Koufax Book (N.Y. Society for American Baseball Research, 2024).

  4. 4 On Green’s dilemma, see Murray Chass, “On Yom Kippur, Green Opts to Miss at Least One Game,” New York Times, September 23, 2004. For opinions for or against Green from Jewish sources, see Jeffrey S. Gurock, “Baseball, The High Holidays and Jewish Status and Survival,” in Marc Lee Raphael, ed., What is Jewish about America’s “Favorite Pastime”? (College of William and Mary, 2006), 32-33.

  5. 5 On the “Koufax curse,” see Armin Rosen, “The Koufax Curse,” Tablet, June 19, 2024.

  6. 6 On kosher foods and Jewish services at ball parks, see Jenna Weissman Joselit, “Home Plate and Hot Dogs are Like Ball and Glove when Summer Hits, Forward, July 12, 2002. On Jewish services, see Louis Berney, ”Worshipping More than Baseball at Camden,” Baseball Weekly, May 29, 1996.

  7. 7 On the mistake of honoring a Christian, see Joshua Yaffa, “Florida Team Strikes Out,” Forward, June 9, 2006.

  8. 8 “Texas A&M’s Sam Salz Cherishes his First Taste of College Football—and the Opportunity to Inspire Orthodox Jews,” Jewish Telegraphic Agency (JTA), November 22, 2024.

  9. 9 Shiryn Ghermezian, “Washington State University’s Jewish Quarterback Explains How Religion Fuels his On-Field Success,” The Algemeiner, December 2025. See also Joseph Straus, “Getting to Know Zevi Eckhas, the Bowl-Bound Jewish Quarterback who Prays at the 18-yard line,” Greater Houston Jewish News Media, December 4, 2025.

  10. 10 Phillis Cramer, “Israeli Deni Avdija Sits Out Yom Kippur NBA game; Jewish BYU Quarterback Suits Up,” Forward, October 14, 2024.

  11. 11 See Rick Rojas, “After Fasting and Before the Sabbath, Yeshiva Debuts in N.C.A.A Tournament, New York Times, March 1, 2018; “The Orthodox Jewish Hoops Team that has the World’s Attention,” New York Post, February 27, 2018. It is quite noteworthy, as another indication of tolerance toward religious minority groups, that the NCAA calendar accommodations have also been granted to Mormons, Seventh-day Adventists, and other Christian groups that adhere to their Sabbath traditions on Saturday.

  12. 12 See on Yeshiva-NCAA correspondence, Richard Zerneck to Amy Rule, October 25, 2001 and Barbara Jacobs to Zerneck, October 31, 2001, noted in Gurock, “Orthodoxy on Display in the Arena of Sports, 1920-2000,” in Jack Wertheimer, ed., Imagining the American Jewish Community (Brandeis University Press, 2007), 134.

  13. 13 “Ryan Turell–Men’s Basketball,” https://yumacs.com. On the Piston organization helping Turell observe the Sabbath, see Michael Feldstein, “Ryan Turell and the Challenge of Modern Orthodoxy,” Jewish Link, November 16, 2022.

  14. 14 Andrew Lapin, “‘Put in Ryan!’: Orthodox NBA hopeful Ryan Turell’s fan base turns up in Detroit,” Jewish Telegraphic Agency (JTA), November 21, 2022.

  15. 15 William “Bill” Davidson-Basketball Hall of Fame,” https://www.Hoophall.com. On Turell’s teammates’ positive attitude toward him, see Michael Sudhalter, “The 24-year-old California Native is Trying to Become the First Orthodox Player to Make the NBA,” The Detroit Jewish News, February 29, 2024.

  16. 16 On Yeshiva’s success on the court, see “The Longest Streak in Men’s College basketball,” ESPN, November 5, 2021; On the debate within Yeshiva University about Turell’s religious choices, see Feldstein.

  17. 17 “Jewish High School Back in Texas Tournament after Parents File Lawsuit,” Wall Street Journal, March 3, 2012. On a local court affirming the right of a Jew to wear a yarmulka while playing, see an Associated Press dispatch that appeared in the Gainesville Sun (January 11, 1983) and in many other American newspapers.

  18. 18 “Seven-year-old Gymnast Balances Religious Faith and Sports.” New York Post, March 5, 2011.