By Bill Simons

My sister Jo Ann stitched together 8mm Simons family film. In one sequence, I appear to be about 5 years old, repeatedly swinging a bat at slow balls thrown by an off-screen pitcher. Although the swing is level, my efforts are largely futile. Still, the small me never loses his evident enthusiasm. 
In another 1950s’ home film vignette, I am wearing the kippah and tallit given to me by my Great-Uncle Max for my first High Holidays synagogue observance. 
From an early age, Judaism and baseball, sometimes in its softball variant, were central to my identity. Aleph Zadik Aleph, the Jewish fraternal group for adolescent males, brought the two together. Religion and sports – along with socializing, community service and education – formed AZA’s programming agenda. Former president (aleph godol) of Lynn (MA) AZA #471, my father, Shep Simons, returned to the chapter as a longtime advisor and coach following World War II military service. As a little boy, I tagged along with my father to AZA events, and early on enjoyed the excitement and activity of the ballfield. Years later, I became an AZA president and third baseman. 
Every year, my father ramrodded an AZA trip to Fenway Park, home of the Boston Red Sox. I was 7 or 8 the first time that I accompanied a robust group of AZA alephs (members) to Fenway. As the son of their advisor, the alephs treated me like a little brother. The huge wall in left field, the technicolor green of the ballpark, Cracker Jack prizes, a Red Sox pennant to wave, Fenway franks and the “We want Ted (Williams)” chant of the crowd made these trips special. As the years passed, Dad and I also went to Fenway with friends, extended family and as a father-son duo. By reciting tales from his own youth of gigantic home runs that Hank Greenberg, the Detroit Tigers’ Jewish slugger, hit at Fenway Park, amidst the antisemitism of that era, he associated baseball with ethnic pride. 
My first scholarly journal article was about Greenberg, my father’s hero, and his dilemma over whether to observe the High Holidays or play baseball during the tight 1934 AL pennant race. When I introduced one of the early liberal arts sports history courses, Jewish baseball found its place in the curriculum, as it did in my work as co-director of The Cooperstown Symposium on Baseball and American Culture. And it played a significant role in my relationship with my son Joe. 
For several years between marriages, I was a single father. Playing catch and pitching/batting with Joe at Oneonta’s Neahwa Park filled many afternoons. Once a week, we would play ball at Legion Field in Delhi and go to Pizza Hut with “Uncle” Bob Russell, who also jumpstarted Joe’s baseball card collection. A Protestant and former star pitcher at SUNY Oneonta, Bob gave Joe books on Judaism. 
One Hanukkah, Joe received, at his request, brightly colored orange and red baseballs from my parents so we could find them when searching for line drives hiding in the outfield grass. Through Tee Ball, Grasshoppers and Little League, Joe progressed and I did some coaching. Under an exceptional manager, Rich Murphy, who built character and game skills, Joe evolved into a LL all-star, hitting four doubles in one game and three triples in another. Once, Joe took the mound during the last inning with no outs and the bases loaded, and he struck out the side. With the temperature approaching 90 degrees, he also pitched a four-hit complete game shutout. A decade later, Joe and I played together on a uniformed townball team. 
Starting when Joe was about 7, and still an ongoing tradition, we attend one game a year together at Fenway Park. Through the years, Joe has accompanied me to many venues where I have lectured on baseball, often weaving Jewish Hall of Famers Greenberg and Koufax into the presentation. In August 1995, I did so with Joe and my father sitting next to each other at the Norman Rockwell Museum; my dad and son attended a Hank Greenberg presentation I did, along with filmmaker Aviva Kempner, at the Museum of Jewish Heritage on Father’s Day 2005. Joe joked that he knows the Greenberg saga so well now that I should leave the lecture to him in my will. 
Time passes. At age 94, my father died without pain or fear in 2017, hours after a marathon talk with me and my wife Nancy that included Jewish baseball. His old baseball glove and 36-inch black bat gift cherished memories. Joe is now 41, 6’2”, 210 pounds, a founding CEO of a law firm, litigator, businessman, pilot, immediate past president of the largest New England synagogue north of Boston, husband and father of five. 
My older grandchildren – Lily (18), Hannah (16) and Isaac (13) – have had their Fenway initiation, and 7-month-old Eva’s time will come. So, 9-year-old Dan had his turn on Saturday, September 27, joining Joe and me at Fenway Park. Although the Swampscott (MA) elementary school tackle football travel team hosts Dan’s favorite sport, fueled by making an unassisted tackle of a runner in the other team’s backfield and recovering a fumble on another play, he has already built some baseball memories. With two outs and runners on base during a Little League championship game, the opposition Padres were a run ahead in extra innings against Dan’s Diamondbacks. Dan’s Little League season ended with him hitting a hard line drive that the pitcher caught. During our subsequent whiffle ball games, however, it was evident that Dan’s determination remains intact. 
Although the Detroit Tigers beat the Red Sox 2-1 at Dan’s Fenway fan debut, we had a great time. The 4:10 pm starting time, mellow weather, upbeat crowd, joining “waves” and performative fans on the giant Fenway screen complimented Dan’s jumbo hotdog and tub of popcorn. I told Dan that the best Red Sox player, Alex Bregman, resting for the playoffs, is Jewish and has worn the Star of David on his cap. Of greater significance, Dan’s father, my son Joe, wore a Star of David necklace to the game, visible in the accompanying photograph. At his Jewish day school, Dan is currently reading “I Survived the Nazi Invasion, 1944.”
After the game, Joe, Dan and I worked out at a gym. As grandson, father and grandfather kept pace side-by-side on treadmills, I set an ambitious goal: live long enough to attend a synagogue service and Red Sox game with a great-grandchild.