My parents were not observant, but they allowed me to spend Shabbos with my grandfather. He took me to shul on Manhattan's East Side and taught me Hebrew three times a week after public school.

Before my Bar Mitzva in 1954, grandfather took me for a visit to the Lubavitcher Rebbe. I remember being surprised when I entered the Rebbe's room. I had expected him to be a weak, old man with a long white beard, but the Rebbe was so young and handsome.

After speaking to my grandfather in Yiddish, which I did not understand, the Rebbe turned and asked me, in English, what was my favorite sport. I immediately answered, "baseball."

"How do you like to play baseball" asked the Rebbe, "with two teams or with one?"

I laughed. "Rabbi," I said, "it is impossible to play baseball with only one team."

"Why?" the Rabbi asked, in a serious tone.

How could I explain this to the Rebbe? "Rabbi," I said, "The whole point is to beat the other team."

"And who usually wins?" the Rebbe continued to ask.

"Whoever plays best, -wins!" I said.

"Tell me" asked the Rebbe, "do you play ball with your friends?"

"Sure", I said, eager to tell the Rebbe how well I scored.

"Do you go to see major league games?"

"Sure," I answered proudly.

"Why must you go watch the major leagues, when you can play with

your friends?" asked the Rebbe.

"Rabbi," I answered politely, "Our own game is child's play, while the major leagues play for real."

The Rebbe was now getting to the point.

"Yosef," the Rebbe smiled. "Within your heart, there is a broad field. The yetzer tov and yetzer hora, the good and bad inclinations, are two contesting players. It was only child's play until your Bar Mitzva, but now the struggle is for real. Just like in baseball, the one who plays best - wins! If you try hard, you will always be the winner."

"May your parents and grandfather enjoy much nachas from you,' the Rebbe concluded. Radiating with joy, my grandfather said loudly "Amen!" and motioned to me to also answer "Amen!"

Grandfather repeated my 'baseball' exchange with the Rebbe at my Bar Mitzva party. I liked the Rebbe's interest in baseball, but soon forgot its implications on the internal struggle...

As I entered adolescence, the Rebbe and Judaism faded into the background. But the Rebbe's message came back to me twice, at critical times when I was in high school and college.

When I was sixteen, our class won an excellence award, entitling us to a weekend in New Orleans.

I came home and told my parents the great news, but my mother's face became overcast. "Joe," she said, "we have a problem. Your trip is scheduled on Yom Kippur, when we fast and go to Temple. We always observe Yom Kippur, and I hope that you won't break our tradition." I was in a dilemma. "I cannot miss it, Mom! We worked so hard all year to win!"

We argued all week. Although my parents sympathized with me, they insisted on Yom Kippur. I insisted that I will observe Yom Kippur in the future, but will bend the rule this one time.

As open-minded people, my parents left the decis ion to me. Thursday evening, before we were to leave for New Orleans, I watched a game with a friend. It was an upset, and I heard the sports commentator say, "That's life, whoever plays best, wins."

I remembered the Rebbe's words: "Whoever plays best - wins. If you try hard, you will always be a winner."

In the three years since my Bar Mitzva, I hadn't thought of the Rebbe, but now I suddenly remembered him. Right then and there, I resolved not to violate Yom Kippur.

 

The second incident happened five years later, when I was a college student searching for meaning in life.

Missionaries on our campus had attracted some students, including one of my close friends, who got me involved. I was asked to make a commitment, and to convert.

How could I break this to my parents. Knowing it would crush them, I kept it a secret from them as long as possible.

The day before the scheduled conversion, we played a game. The other team won, and I found myself slapping the winning captain on the back, saying, "That's life. Whoever plays best, wins!"

Suddenly, I remembered the Rebbe's words, and turned white.

I broke off from them. My friends pleaded with me to explain myself, so I told them my story. My friends were amazed, and they also left the cult. They, too, owe their Judaism to the Rebbe and to his 'interest' in baseball.

 

I met the Rebbe again years later, in 1967, a few days before the Six-day War. I majored in political science. After graduating from a prestigious university, I worked for the State Department. Some of my friends worked in the White House, and in 1967, at the age of 26, I landed a position with Arthur Goldberg, the United States ambassador to the United Nations.

In the spring of 1967, my cousin called me with a problem. She and her husband were very concerned about their only son, Avraham, who had turned religious, and was studying at a Chabad yeshiva in Israel. They wanted him to home because of dangerous situation in Israel. But he adamantly refused, because "The Rebbe said that Israel is secure, and people should remain here."

My cousin wrote a letter to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, pointing out that Avraham is their only child, asking the Rebbe to tell him to come home.

But the Rebbe answered, "The Guardian of Israel does not sleep or slumber."

"Joe," my cousin said, "we are very concerned. You are well connected. Is the situation in Israel really as bad as they say it is? Tell us the truth."

I did not want to worry my frightened cousins, but I could not lie to them. Israel was in grave danger. When the war breaks out, chances are that the Arabs would win. I could not even imagine the horrible fate of any Jew who fell into their hands. I was very worried about Israel and couldn't sleep at night.

I decided to contact the Rebbe. Surely, I thought, I could convince him to get Avraham to return home.

I called Rabbi Hodakov, and identified myself as a top aide of Arthur Goldberg, saying that I had to speak to the Rebbe urgently. Rabbi Hodakov made me an appointment for 2 a.m. the next day.

Thirteen years had passed since I had seen the Rebbe at my Bar Mitzva.

Except for some graying in his beard, the Rebbe had the same penetrating look in his noble eyes.

I opened the conversation, "My grandfather once brought me here before my Bar mitzvah." The Rebbe's smile indicated that he remembered me. "I apologize to the Rebbe coming here with a personal request." I mentioned my cousins' concern for the safe return of their only son. The Rebbe became serious. "I have thousands of 'only children' in Israel," said the Rebbe. "I tell them to remain in Israel, because 'the Guardian of Israel will not sleep or slumber.'. G-d watches Jews everywhere, especially in the Holy Land."

""Rebbe," I said, "with all due respect, they cannot be calm and I cannot be calm. The Rebbe may not be aware, but I have reliable information that the situation is very dangerous."

"Israel," the Rebbe said, "is not at all in danger. It is poised to win a great victory. With G-d's help, this will be a month of great wonders for the Jewish people."

"I too have a personal request. Tell Avraham's father that he can help the Jewish people by putting on tefillin. You, too, should begin putting tefillin on every day. I do not know how much your diplomacy can help Israel, but wearing tefillin will surely help, without raising the issue of 'double loyalty.'

"When everything will turn out well, I would like to meet you again," the Rebbe concluded.

I was amazed by the Rebbe's unswerving faith and confidence to assume such a great responsibility.

"Rebbe," I said tearfully, "we are fortunate to have someone like you in such frightening times. Thank you for spending time with me." "We should hear good news," the Rebbe said, and as I was leaving, he smiled and asked, "Do you still enjoy baseball?"

* * *

Several days later, the world was stunned by Israel's lightning victory.

Fighting on three fronts, Israel trounced its enemies in the Six Day War.

I was in Arthur Goldberg's room as the TV showed the Western Wall being liberated, Chief Rabbi Goren blowing the shofar and Israeli soldiers crying at the Kotel.

Mr. Goldberg and I became very emotional. I remember saying to him, "Arthur, we had feared the worst. But I know one person who confidently predicted this outcome," and told him of my meeting with the Rebbe a week ago.

The Rebbe had requested that we meet again, so I contacted his office, and waited a week for an appointment.

I had expected to see the Rebbe in a happy 'I told-you-so' mood. But the Rebbe was serious and concerned. "This is a critical time for our people. Rarely does G-d perform such great and obvious miracles before the entire world, sounding a great shofar for our people."

"G-d gave the land of Israel to the Jewish people. At the Destruction, He took away the land, and gave it to others. But last week, He returned it to us."

"This miracle shows that G-d gave us this land. When our enemies planned to annihilate Israel, all Jews worried and prayed for Israel's survival. But G-d helped us destroy the enemy, and returned Jerusalem, our holiest place."

The Rebbe insisted on the importance of Israel holding on to its G-d given gift of land.

"We must not forget that it was G-d who intervened. We must be careful not to become arrogant and claim that our military strength alone won the war."

I may not have lived up to all of the Rebbe's expectations, but I will always remember his "baseball" advice that helped me get closer to home.