by Bradley Chalupski

My name is Bradley Chalupski and I race Skeleton sleds for Israel.

Skeleton, for those of you who don’t know, is this:

Yes, I go head-first down an ice chute for Israel (and yes, to answer your next question, I do have a Jewish mother who does in fact tolerate this!).  I hurl myself recklessly down mountains in North America and Europe full-time as an athlete in the Israeli Bobsleigh and Skeleton Federation, the official governing body of the sport in Israel.  This past February, I represented Israel in the 2011 International Bobsledding and Tobagganing Federation (FIBT) World Championships in Konigssee, Germany and earned enough points racing to qualify Israel for her first ever spot on the FIBT World Cup circuit this coming 2011-2012 FIBT season.  My goal is to represent Israel in the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi, Russia.  With a spot secured on the FIBT World Cup circuit, that goal is also squarely in my sights.

Whenever people hear about what I do, they are always so kind in asking me to tell them more about my story.  My storytelling however comes with a caveat that underscores a uniquely Jewish nuance of its character.  I do not consider “my story” to truly be my own.  I am of course living it (and receiving the bumps, bruises, and subsequent ice treatments induced by it), and so in one sense it (and the Advil) is “mine”.

In another sense though, I am just a placeholder.  My story at its essence, its core, cannot be selfishly confined to the temerity of my own list of athletic achievements.  Really the story is the manifest expressions of friendship, family, Jewish identity and self-discovery that I have witnessed throughout my journey of competing for Israel.  It is that story which I consider an honor to tell as I watch it unfold through the prism of my life.

I have known no bigger honor in my life than representing Israel at the 2011 FIBT World Championships in Konigsee, Germany.  Konigsee is a beautiful town in the Berchtesgaden, in Bavaria, Germany, on the border with Austria.  On top of a mountain which overlooks the Skeleton track is a large compound known as “The Eagle’s Nest.”  Today a museum, the Eagle’s Nest was once a military headquarters for the Nazi Third-Reich.  To be called to the starting-line to compete in a World Championship for Israel, in plain view of this place where the destruction of the Jewish Nation was tirelessly and ruthlessly sought, was a moment so profound as to verge on being totally incomprehensible to the soul of any one individual Jew actually living it.

What’s incredible to me now though when I reflect upon that moment is that I almost did not let it happen.  I am American, and in fact am still only in the process of making Aliyah.  I was born to secular parents — a Jewish mother and a Catholic father; I received no formal religious teaching of any kind.  Before agreeing to compete for Israel, I had never given any thought whatsoever to what role Judaism could play in my life.  I had never even been to Israel.

Me at the starting-line at the 2011 FIBT World Championships

I only agreed to join the Israeli program after 10 weeks of intense self-reflection and even then only as a leap of faith in advice I was receiving from my Jewish friends.  Since the moment I made that decision to compete for Israel though, I have not regretted it even for one second.  Today, I could not be prouder or more excited to represent the Jewish people internationally in sport.  My journey is the journey of a Jewish soul finding its place amongst the Jewish people.

I hope in the coming weeks and months you will find it to be meaningful and compelling.  You can follow my day to day exploits at the following places on the web:

Twitter: @TeamIsraelSkele
Blogger:  http://ibsf18.blogspot.com

Next Time:  An offer to compete for Israel and a life-changing decision to make.

Born in Baltimore, Maryland, Goodman first attracted national attention after profiles in Sports Illustrated, ESPN, and 60 Minutes, and raised eyebrows after a series of high-profile college recruitment offers. Ultimately, Goodman decided to play college basketball for Towson University, and in 2002 made aliyah to play professionally in the Israeli basketball leagues for Maccabi Tel-Aviv, and then Maccabi Haifa. Goodman recently announced his retirement from professional basketball, and has been focusing on leading basketball clinics, workshops, and motivational seminars in the United States. Goodman is also one of the leading figures advocating for the Haifa Hoops for Kids program, which allows American donors to provide basketball tickets for underprivileged children in Israel.

Alef recently caught up with Tamir by phone, and talked to him about his life, his work, and what it’s like to be a Jewish sports hero:

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Thanks for talking to us Tamir. Tell us a little bit of what you’ve been up to.

I’m in the States, i’m on an extended speaking tour. We have a reality TV show, we have a campus initiative, we have basketball caps and clinics and tournaments around the world, and we’ve really been working hard on Haifa Hoops for Kids. Here in America I do motivational speaking at Zionist organizations, at Chabad, Hillel, Aish ha’Torah. And, we do it to connect to Israel and Judaism. And, there’s Haifa Hoops for Kids which is a tzadakah program that raises money and empowers underprivileged kids from the North. [of Israel] It’s a great way to connect to Israel because you get to meet with kids, and teach them the sport that you love, and you can do it all through basketball.

Some of our readers might not be so familiar with your story- Share a bit about how you got to where you are, today.

I grew up in Baltimore, Maryland, and my older brother played basketball, and was very good. He took me to the gym one day, and I kind of never left. I grew up in a house full of Jewish pride, where we were taught from day one that we needed to take our talents and use them for ha’Shem. I learned very young that my biggest talent was basketball, and my goal is to try to show the world that you could play basketball, play division 1, play professionally, and not play on Shabbat.

Tell us how it feels to be playing a sport largely invented by Jews. Do you feel like you’re a part of that tradition?

I know that there’s been a lot of great Jewish athletes, and I was raised to be a fan. I remember my father teaching me about Jewish athletes in ALL the sports. I remember, as a young kid, seeing them talk about Hanukkah on ESPN and thinking that was the coolest thing! I think everyone has their specific mission, and their special talent, and their own way, and for me it was being the best basketball player that I could be, and at the same time, not playing on Shabbat. I had the opportunity to play for the number one team in the word at the time, University of Maryland, they won the national championship. Let me put it this way – if I would have played on Shabbat, I would have a national championship ring today, but on the other hand, I have Shabbat today, and I don’t have a national championship ring, and to me that’s more important, because Shabbat will last forever.

You must meet a lot of aspiring Jewish athletes. Tell us about them.

Most recently I had an opportunity to speak with Dmitriy Salita, a Jewish champion boxer who doesn’t fight on Shabbat and I was very happy to hear that he saw everything that was going with me in the papers with Maryland and everything [Editor's note: Goodman refused to play for the University of Maryland's basketball team, as games took place on Friday night and Saturday, during Shabbat] and as a Jew it helped inspire him. On all levels, from elementary school kids, to professional boxers, to collegiate athletes I’ve been getting a lot of feedback and I hope my life story can help inspire them in one way or another.

How does it feel to be both an athlete as well as representative of the Jewish Community?

I think that’s what ha’Shem created me for, [and] I think Judaism teaches us that it’s really all one thing; that our job as Jews is to take something physical and make it holy. It’s not like when we play basketball we’re “not Jewish”, or that we’re only Jewish when we’re in synagogue. The way that we play basketball, the way that we work, the way that we eat, everything we do, there’s a Jewish way to do it. I’m not a Rabbi or a Sage. Obviously we’ve all made mistakes, and will make mistakes, and continue to make mistakes, and continually grow, but I’ve tried to make that my mission- that basketball and Judaism can be one thing. I love Judaism, but I feel a special connection, a closeness, with Jewish athletes. We understand each other and the things we go through.

-Alef

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Learn more about Tamir
Learn more about Haifa Hoops for Kids
Learn more about Maccabi Haifa

By Bennie Cohen

From the beginning of time, back when college football started, there has always been tailgating. People got together in the stadium parking lots and in front of their homes (if they were lucky enough to live close to a stadium). For the most part, college football is played on a Friday night or Saturday, AKA: Shabbos time. Being a fan of college football, tailgating, and Shabbat, I decided to combine three of my favorite things and came up with “Tailgate Shabbat.”

To me, Shabbat is all about community. Mine consists of a bunch of buddies (mostly Jewish) from college, who get together for home games to see our beloved USF Bulls. We grill, talk, and welcome all to our tailgate (very Jewtastic if you ask me). For games that fall on Friday nights, it is important to myself and others to make sure we have a challah, candles, and wine glass complete with wine. Our menu will consist of: chicken, ribs, onion dip, beer, shrimp, anything that Publix has on sale, really. There isn’t any rhyme or reason to what we put on our grill; it doesn’t even have to be kosher, although we always have kosher options available (Hebrew National is not one of them). If you truly want a different Shabbat experience try a Tailgate Shabbat. Why Not??

You don’t need to spend Shabbat in your home, at your Synagogue, or even with your grandma. Shabbat can be spent in front of your favorite stadium with the people you consider family. For me, that’s what Shabbat is all about: community, and welcoming people into your home – people who wouldn’t have a place to go otherwise. Same goes for tailgating. When you open your tent and grill, you open your heart.

For those of you interested, here’s my favorite tailgating burger recipe.

Veal and Lamb Burger

• ½ lb ground lamb
• ½ lb ground veal
• salt and pepper to taste
• 1 clove chopped garlic (you can use dry garlic if you wish)
• ½ chopped Sweet Vadialia onion

Form into patties place on grill, DO NOT over cook.

Enjoy the goodness that is the veal and lamb burger.

Photo provided by Tedkerwin, licensed under Creative Commons

The scene is set: January 20, 2010 the Sacramento Kings take on the home favorite, and Eastern Division leader, Atlanta Hawks. Phillips Area, located in downtown Atlanta, can hold roughly 60,000 people.  Tonight, it sold a whopping 10,000 tickets. However, this was no ordinary game,  a fact proven by the Israelis in the crowd.  As I walked to the 200 level, where my friends and I had tickets, I was in shock- Not because of how many people weren’t there, but how many people were.  It may not have been a packed house, but tonight, thousands of people had come out to see the Israeli Phenom; Omri Casspi, the first Israeli drafted in the first round of the NBA draft had come to town.

There were people wearing Maccabi Tel-Aviv jerseys, along with Sacramento Kings jerseys with “Casspi” in Hebrew.  Israeli flag hung in various part of the arena. It was an amazing site.  I have always been fascinated about the pride Israeli’s have for each other and this was no exception. The game started, but Omri wasn’t on the court.  Then, a timeout! Omri jumped off the bench, takes off the sweats he had been practicing in before the game, and the crowd goes wild!
The people sitting next to us heard us cheer as Omri scored. We quickly explained to them that, yes, we were Hawks fans, but tonight were going for the player on the other team. The guy laughed, and tipped his Hawks hat said “I hear ya” and quickly followed up with a “shalom.”   We all laughed and finished the game together.

With five minutes remaining in the game, those of us going to the “Meet and Greet” (put together by the Jewish Federation of Greater Atlanta ) set off to gate 113, to be taken onto the court to shoot a basket or two, and wait for Omri to come out. When we got there, we found a line of about 300 people waiting.  Being one of the first people, I felt lucky.  Passing time on the court I shot a few balls-  the rust was definitely there: I airballed, followed it up with a rebound, and still missed the layup.

The crowd started to head to the seats under the basket, and waited patiently for the Israeli superstar. Finally, after about twenty minutes, Omri came out and was immediately swarmed! Everyone was trying to get a picture, a hug, and in my case, an autograph. Luckily I had my people help me out; I got my ball signed and was able to help get a picture of Omri and one of my friends before Omri was taken away so the “big shots” in Atlanta could get their time with the superstar. About fifteen minutes went by.  People were shoving each other, and I couldn’t help but think “Am I at Machane Yehuda on Shabbos????” The security guards were getting irritated, but no one seemed to care- this was # 18 on paper (# 1 on our hearts) OMRI CASSPI! After about twenty minutes Omri left to head out on the road.  The Kings had a game in Charlotte the next night.

The experience was amazing.  I don’t really care about the Kings or the Hawks (I am a Miami Heat fan, myself) but for one night I was the biggest Omri Casspi fan in the South.  I consider myself  lucky to have seen the first Israeli to play a meaningful roll in the NBA.  Next time, who knows? Maybe a football game with an Israeli playing quarterback in the NFL!  Imagine those autobles….

As I stood watching Jon Markowitz run past me for the last time, grinning ear to ear, enroute to finishing Ironman Switzerland, I thought to myself, “Wow, he’s really gonna do this.” But Jon wasn’t just finishing that last lap back in July 2008 for himself; he was finishing this race in memory of his parents and for the people that would benefit from the funds raised through Bet My Life Charities, the charity he formed months earlier.

The goals of BMLC are simple: provide athletic education, training support, and anything else a budding athlete will need to complete a race of his/her choice, be it a casual 5k or an Ironman Triathlon, all while raising money for worthy causes.

On a daily basis I try to practice Tzedakah and acting as Vice-President of Bet My Life Charities challenged me to explore my own Jewish identity. What does it mean to be a “good” Jew? Surely, giving people a venue to get in shape, have fun, and train with other like-minded people is one step in that direction. Whenever I’m handling my duties with BMLC I have this warm and fuzzy feeling, knowing my time is donated for the greater good of humanity and knowing my help with our atheletes makes a real difference in their lives as well.

And personally, I too, have grown since that cool and misty day while watching Jon swim, bike, and run through Zurich. It got me motivated to train for my own triathlons and marathons and my participation in his charity has helped me bridge two important things in my life that have always remained separate: athletics and Tzedakah. What better than being able to combine them! I had wanted to get in shape and watching Jon and thousands of other racers got me thinking that if these people could train for a race, surely I could too!

BMLC has set up two sponsored recipients of funds raised: The Barbara L. Stone Foundation seeks to eradicate illiteracy and The Eric L. Markowitz Cancer Research Society Foundation awards stipends to families with loved ones undergoing experimental cancer treatments. Our sponsored athletes go that extra mile, not just training for the half-marathon, but raising awareness about those less fortunate. They also find a personalized coach, mentor, and friend in Jon.

The funds raised through BMLC go to real people and really make a difference, helping to support the concept of Tikkun Olam. I am proud of BMLC because we are determined to make a difference, and even though we are small now, we’re dreaming big! If you have any desire to get in shape and raise awareness about those less fortunate, check us out and email me or Jon personally – I cannot wait to work with you!

Visit us online at BetMyLife.org

Picture by infomatique licensed under Creative Commons

Scientists?  Sure.  Noble laureates?  Easy.  Writers, business men, film makers, and revolutionaries, those lists are long. But athletes? It’s tough, I know; Judaism and sports are not exactly in concert. Trying to find my identifications as a Jew I’ve been exploring this peculiarity of mine over the last three years by learning about the Torah and about Jewish traditions, culture, and history.  I’ve even traveled to Israel twice, yet I learned just recently that over 7000 Jewish athletes gather every four years in Israel. The existence of the Maccabi Games, the “Jewish Olympics,” came as a complete surprise to me. I’m competitive, I like sports, so why have the rabbis kept this from me? I even have a sport I can play.

When I was 10 years old, it was decided for me that tennis was the sport I needed to pick up. Asking my mother and father why they decided to send me to tennis I only get vague non-answers:

“Hard to remember why we sent you there,” my father explains. “Maybe it was convenient, maybe we thought you were short and didn’t have a basketball future, maybe we thought we didn’t want your long nose broken in boxing and the few brain cells you have damaged.” He paused, “Hard to remember now.”

Typical protective Jewish parents.

I think back to the first day, when my father took me up the street, and up the hill to the bus station. We hopped on the bus which wound its way through town, to parts not clearly recognizable to me. Within 20 minutes we were there, walking off the bus and into a building made of heavy stone or cement. As we walked in, I remember thinking the building was a fortress and found it fascinating that a tennis court was set up inside. There was a wooden floor, and the ceilings were extremely high, with the windows above our heads covered in a rusty metal mesh. After a quick introduction my father left me with the instructions that I was to come home right after my tennis lesson.

I was left, deserted, with the instructor, and given a tennis racket. I had played table tennis many times and was part of a table tennis training group.  Badminton was a family tradition played on all of our vacations as well as in front of our nine story residential building.  But tennis was something completely new. The trainer was a middle-aged man with a mustache and socks rolled up over his calves. This being my first lesson, he pointed out the proper way to hold the racket and explained the point of the game: “the ball flies over the net to the other side of the court and the other person hits it back to you.”

The learning ended there.  Practice consisted of people hitting balls back and forth, chasing the balls down and then doing it over and over. At one point, a ball came zooming at me with incredible speed.  I hit it with the racket facing up, and watched the ball fly high up in the air, and into the window, its progression stopped only by the rusty protective metal. The impact made a loud CLING that reverberated through the high empty space.  The game stopped. Everyone was looking at me.

The trainer decidedly took this interruption as an opportunity to teach and proceeded to yell at me for a few minutes about how “the ball should land on the other side of the court, that the game was played with the other opponent not with the window and why the hell was I aiming for the window in the first place if my goal was not to break it?” The lesson was over but my anguish was not soon forgotten, and I vowed not to be part of this dumb sport, with balls that have a mind of their own, flying wherever they want, and I’m the one who gets yelled at in the end.

In true family disposition I came home and said nothing to my parents. Next week, as it would be for many following weeks, it was time for another lesson. Either my mother or my father would take the bus down with me to the fortress of tennis. I would waive goodbye to my parents and walk into the building, only to immediately turn around and walk right out. I would spend the next hour walking the streets, kicking rocks, and sitting around.  I would not hold the tennis racket in my hands ever again.

By end of the summer of that year, the Jewish Federation finalized our papers and the “Union,” which by now was quickly falling apart, allowed our family to make our exit to America. Our emigration put a stop to this farce and saved me from explaining why my tennis skills are what they are today. Had I know about the Maccabi Games I might have chosen to pursue tennis, to become like a Maccabee, a winner, successful in my pursuit of victory and showing courage in the face of adversity. Maybe not.

Anyway, the way I see it, if you want to get ahead in this world, you have to play golf.

Photo provided by StuSeeger, licensed under Creative Commons

My friend Dave and I are your typical Jewish guys. We both fast on Yom Kippur, and we both quote Larry David. But there is one thing that sets us apart: We’re completely fanatical about Seton Hall men’s basketball.

If you’ve never heard of Seton Hall, you’re not alone. (Although you probably wouldn’t “survive” growing up in New Jersey.) With approximately 5,000 undergraduates, SHU is a relatively small university, serving students mostly from the metropolitan area.

Oh, and it’s Catholic.

So, how did two Jews end up such die-hard Seton Hall fans? It’s definitely weird, and even weirder considering neither of us matriculated there!

For the answer, you first need to understand a little more about this Seton Hall team. Frequently overmatched and seemingly outnumbered, Seton Hall is one of college basketball’s scrappiest. In a Big East conference full of Goliaths like Syracuse and UCONN, Seton Hall is truly a David among them, stone in hand.

Let me introduce you to Seton Hall’s reserve point guard, Jordan Theodore. At just under six feet, Jordan compensates for his lack of size with lightning quick defense and gritty determination. With seemingly more arms than a Hanukkah menorah, Jordan frustrates opposing guards by contesting passes and swiping at every dribble. Talk about making the most of your oil!

Will Jordan Theodore ever make the NBA? Fat chance. But that doesn’t mean he can’t dream, that he can’t give everything he’s got, training constantly to improve every facet of his game.

As Jews, we know a little something about overcoming odds. Perhaps this explains why every Seton Hall game is so endlessly engaging. Perhaps it explains why Dave and I have traveled so many hundreds of miles to support our team, including visits to Louisville, Morgantown, and San Juan. (I recommend the plantain omelet.) And we’ve cultivated countless friendships along the way, getting to know our fellow boosters and even the players themselves!

But there’s another dimension to our passion. While Seton Hall’s never-say-die spirit is what we may identify with culturally as Jews, it’s the university’s motto that we find most compelling. A mixture of Norman French and Old English, the Seton Hall seal reads: “Hazard Zet Forward.” Roughly translated: “At whatever risk, yet go forward.”

What’s the significance, you ask? Perhaps the only thing that defines our collective Jewish identity more than our people’s improbable survival is our legendary neuroticism. How often do we fixate on details? Brood over decisions? I know I do.

Seton Hall teaches us that it’s okay to move on. That, even in the face of “hazard,” we must step boldly without constantly looking back. It’s Jordan Theodore taking the court without second-guessing or over-thinking. He just plays his heart out. And that, even Larry David would agree with.

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Want to read more about Dave and Ben’s passion for Seton Hall hoops? Follow them on their blog: www.setonia.blogspot.com

Being Jewish and being an athlete are two of the many complicated identities I carry. Growing up, I was pretty sure I was Jewish and was equally certain that I wasn’t an athlete.  I went to Hebrew School (and occasionally synagogue), and could not run or jump and had pretty bad hand-eye coordination, so this dual-assessment seemed to make a lot of sense.  However, in regards to my athleticism, I neglected to consider my days spent at gymnastics practice, my near perfect splits and awesome back walkovers. If it ever entered my mind that this was an athletic talent, I would brush the thought away by looking at my body: bigger than any gymnast’s I knew, barely fitting into the largest size of competition leotards.

As I moved into high school and college my Jewish identity became more complicated. I was less and less comfortable in religious services but more and more drawn to Jewish communal activity.  Similarly, my athletic identity took on complications of its own as I transitioned from gymnastics to diving. My commitment to my college team required 5-6 days of practice a week – more time than I had committed to anything before. At the same time, the misunderstandings and misconceptions of diving led me to question again whether I was a real athlete doing a real sport. Ultimately, the scales tipped towards “yes” under the weight of the overwhelming camaraderie and community I felt on my team. We had an identity as a group that made it clear that every member of the group was important and undoubtedly an athlete.

I wasn’t able to continue diving after college, but quickly found my way into the world of aerial acrobatics. Existing somewhere in the space between dance, spectacle, and performance art, I would rarely refer to aerials as a sport. However, I have come to identify and value myself as an athlete who possesses strength, agility and grace, if not speed and height. Similarly, I have settled into myself as a secular Jew, someone who values Jewish culture and community without being particularly interested in the overtly religious aspects of Jewish life. For me there is an elegant parallel in the ways I have come to understand myself as both a Jew and an athlete. I don’t completely fit into the commonly conceived idea of either identity but have no doubt that I am both. I am an agnostic, slow Jewish athlete.

Photo provided by Boocal licensed under Creative Commons

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In his recent New York Times op-ed piece, columnist David Brooks gives the following set of statistics on Jewish achievement in the modern world:

An impressive list, to be sure.  It’s odd then, that conspicuously absent from this litany of awards, accolades, and accomplishments is any mention of sports, athletics, or anything even remotely physically exhausting.  According to Brooks’ list, the closest nexus of Jews and Sports is “chess,” which, while fabulously difficult to play, can be fabulously difficult to do from a soft, cushioned arm chair.  One could reasonably surmise that when it comes to sports, Jews just can’t make it into the end-zone.

But we at Alef know differently.

For the next two weeks, Alef will be featuring stories about Jews, Sports, and everything in between; from an explanation of “Shabbat tailgating,” to an exclusive interview with “The Jewish Jordan” (professional basketball player Tamir Goodman).  So, whether you’re a quarterback, an arm-chair quarterback, or just watch the Superbowl for the commercials, we hope you enjoy “Jews and Sports.”

-Alef

Photo by John-Morgan licensed under Creative Commons

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Jews and Sports posts:

Diving into Judaism
Seton Hall Jews
The Tennis Lesson
Bet My Life
Matzah Ballers
Tailgate Shabbat
Alef Interviews: Tamir Goodman
It’s Like Riding a Bike

To mark the departure of this tefillin-wearing titan of the court, take a look at this recent MSNBC report on the life, times, and career of Tamir Goodman, “the Jewish Jordan.”

According to the JTA, Tamir plans to continue his work with Haifa Hoops for Kids and will be living in Cleveland for the next few years.   We can’t help but think that, Haifa Hoops for Kids or not, Tamir is going to have some free time on his hands, now that they’re not busy slam dunking basket balls.

So, whaddya say Tamir?  Wanna write for Alef?

-Alef

Thumbnail image provided by Videocrab in accordance with creative commons licensing.