Caught On Shabbat at Yankee Stadium: A Personal Story

Do you remember the illicit embrace caught on camera at last summer’s Coldplay concert in Boston? Andy Byron, the former CEO of the tech company Astronomer, and Kristin Cabot, the company’s chief human resources officer, were embracing on the concert’s kiss cam; both were married to other people at the time. The incident gave me a shudder and sent me back 24 years to when I, too, was caught on live national television — not cheating on a wife, but violating Shabbat.

I was 30 years old, and I had not yet confessed to my parents that I was no longer shomer Shabbat. And on this Shabbat, as I drove to Yankee Stadium with a woman I’d recently begun to date, I had a feeling of unease. There seemed to be a chance that I might end up on national television. Fox cameras were stationed all about for the third game of a playoff between the Yankees and Mariners, and our seats were in the first row behind the left field wall — perfect for catching a home run.

The score was still 2-0 Yankees when their young second baseman, Alfonso Soriano, led off the bottom of the third. He swung at the fourth pitch. “Soriano hits one to deep left field,” called Joe Buck, the announcer.

The ball was soaring toward me. I stood. I then stepped forward and to my right, and I could see Stan Javier, Seattle’s veteran left fielder, running to where I was. He leapt and raised his left arm. I raised my right. My glove was near the top of the wall, but Javier’s arm rose high above it, his glove some two feet above mine. “A leap and a catch,” called Buck. “Stan Javier took a home run away.”

He had taken it away from me. Then I realized that it was Shabbat, and that millions would now know that I was at the stadium in violation of it.

The proof of this Shabbat that I did not go to synagogue was growing with every slow-motion replay of my reach for the ball. Fox had just shown it a third time, and then a fourth in super slow motion.

“How many people were thinking, OK I’m going home with a souvenir,” Buck mused — “especially that guy?” To make clear whom he meant, Buck circled my face.

My mind went to my parents. They did not watch TV on Shabbat. But I feared that someone who did might mention me to them. The next day, the New York Times ran a large photograph of me and Javier. But my face was hidden, and best I knew, no one had told my parents what I’d done.

My real worry was not that my parents would learn I’d violated Shabbat, but rather than they would think I did not want to keep it. In truth, I loved Shabbat — that weekly respite from daily life and its bombardments. I knew I’d return to it. And I did.

A few months ago, I was speaking with my mother. She was dying, and we were filling in missing pieces, things not said before. My mind returned to Yankee Stadium, and I confessed my sin. My mother listened and smiled. “I’m sorry you had to keep that inside,” she said.

So was I.

[Excerpted from an essay by Joshua Prager in The Forward]