Baseball Hall of Famer Sandy Koufax—one of the best pitchers in the history of the sport—is ironically best known by many for not pitching. It was 60 years ago on Oct. 7, 1965, that Koufax, a Jew, sat out game one of the World Series because it was Yom Kippur, the holiest day on the Jewish calendar.
In his place, the L.A. Dodgers started another future Hall of Fame member, Don Drysdale, who got hammered by the Minnesota Twins. He gave up seven runs in less than three innings in a game the Dodgers would lose 8-2. When legendary Dodgers’ manager Walter Alston walked to the mound to pull Drysdale, he humorously said to Alston: “I bet right now you wish I was Jewish, too.”
The Dodgers went on to win the World Series in seven games, with Koufax earning the MVP. Even by Koufax standards, he was unbelievable. He pitched complete-game shutouts in games five and seven. Overall, he struck out 29 batters in 24 innings while yielding just one run (0.38 ERA).
Sixty years later, few remember who won the World Series or that Koufax was MVP. Instead, many people, especially Jews, remember Koufax for what he didn’t do that day: pitch. They remember his character, not his pitching prowess, and his long-lasting legacy and lesson.
What Koufax did was remarkable on many levels, but perhaps most remarkable was that he was not particularly religious. In fact, according to his biographer, he did not even attend synagogue the day he sat out the game, but instead stayed quietly in his hotel room.
To me, that makes him more heroic and noble. He understood the moment was bigger than just him. He understood he had a higher, greater calling for all people, not just for Jews. He understood he could forever change lives by not pitching.
His unstated message was simple: Some things are non-negotiable.
One year later, on Sept. 24, 1966, Koufax was again slotted to pitch on Yom Kippur, this time at Wrigley Field in Chicago. He again refused. It was the last week of the season, and the Dodgers were in a tight pennant race, while the Cubs, as was their custom then, were in last place.
Koufax pitched the next day, instead. The Cubs’ pitcher that day was a fellow Jew, Ken Holtzman. Although I wasn’t born yet, my father, grandfather and older brother attended that legendary game.
Holtzman was a rookie, and though nobody knew it then, it would be one of Koufax’s last games, as he would abruptly retire two weeks later after having one of the best seasons in major league history.
Holtzman took a no-hitter into the ninth inning of the game and outdueled Koufax, winning 2-1. Both men pitched complete games. Both won four World Series rings, but Holtzman, who had a longer career than Koufax, went on to become the winningest Jewish pitcher in history, racking up 174 regular-season wins over Koufax’s 165 wins.
The funny thing is, I grew up hating Koufax. It was because of Koufax that, as a kid, I had to miss Little League games that conflicted with Hebrew school. I can still hear my father’s voice today: “If Sandy Koufax can miss Game One of the World Series because he’s Jewish, you can miss a Little League game.”
Thanks for nothing, Koufax.
Fast-forward to today. A good number of Jews play in the major leagues, including stars like Alex Bregman and Max Fried. But not since Shawn Green in 2001 has another Jewish player sat out a game to observe a Jewish holiday. Perhaps in 2025, we don’t need athletes to be Jewish role models in the way that Jews needed Hank Greenberg, the first player to sit out on Yom Kippur in 1934, and later Koufax, back at a time when Jews were considered defenseless and non-heroic.
Just the same, though, perhaps we need them more than ever.
