Yes, this is about baseball, I admit it, but please keep reading anyway.

As much as I enjoy watching the game itself, my interest in relating this particular sport to Judaism comes from these two inherent aspects of baseball: The goals are so simple, yet so meaningful. The first goal is to leave home; the next goal is to return home. This is the story of Abraham, Jacob and Moses. This is the story of the people of Israel.

This is our story and that of our children. Unlike the other major team sports—football, basketball, hockey, soccer, etc. — baseball is unique in that there is no playing clock. Therefore no deficit is insurmountable. A team always has time to “come back” in the ninth inning. This is the story of teshuvah, of return to Judaism and a better way of life. No matter how far one has strayed from tradition, the synagogue, family rituals, etc, the door for return always remains open, and finding that door is always a possibility.

Now even though I like to talk about, and watch baseball, I was never a very good player. Although I was a good athlete, baseball was the most difficult game for me to play, because I lacked the desire of having a very hard ball coming toward my body at a high speed.

Just to play the game requires courage and toughness. But the hardest job of all is to be the catcher. When I played Little League Baseball as a kid, I remember the first day practice — the coach would ask us, “Who has the guts to be the catcher?” Thank God, I would think to myself (in one of my early religious moments), when someone volunteered, or our season would be over before it ever began.

Today some youth baseball leagues don’t even use pitchers and catchers — they just have the batters hit the ball from a tee. But the real game of baseball requires the most daring and unnerved player to crouch behind home plate and face the oncoming ball, inning after inning. In a throwback to a tradition older than the game itself, the catcher’s armor reminds us of the brave medieval knight.

There’s something more to the catcher than just bravery. Catchers seem to have a better understanding of the game than any of the other players. Many of today’s managers were catchers in their playing days, including our own Jim Leyland.

Why do catchers make great managers? They, alone among their teammates, see the big picture. The catcher can, and must see every one of his teammates’ faces. The catcher is solely responsible to pay attention to the pitcher, fielders, hitter and base runners.

It is a unique, but worthwhile skill to see the Big Picture. When it comes to Judaism and the synagogue, too many of us focus on our individual needs, rather than the needs of the larger community. We come to shul to observe a yahrzeit and to receive an aliyah, but often don’t return on a regular basis just to be a part of the minyan. We call upon the congregation and the clergy to fulfill our needs — for a wedding, funeral or Bar/Bat Mitzvah service. But do we think about the role the synagogue should play in our everyday life?

Don’t get me wrong — I value your membership whether you attend three days a year or seven days a week. But I urge you, no matter what your specific interest in Judaism is, to take a step back and learn to appreciate the larger value that B’nai Moshe brings to its entire population.

In this, our 100th year, think not of just how B’nai Moshe meets your momentary needs, but of how a synagogue plays a transforming role in the life of a community. To start on this journey, put on your spiritual “catcher’s mask.”