Tailgates, Tefillin, and Touchdowns

Rabbi Ephraim and Shprintza Balter, Chabad of the Meadowlands, NJ

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By: Chaya Chazan

While my upbringing was a typical mainstream frum family in Toronto, I was greatly influenced by a few key people who introduced me to Chabad. I was drawn to the warmth and depth of Chassidus, and I sought it out even while learning in hallowed institutions like Ner Yisroel of Toronto.

In time, I transferred to a Chabad yeshiva in Baltimore. And as humor would have it, Baltimore is most famous for Ner Yisroel — the very yeshiva I had attended back in Toronto. I came to Baltimore for a Chabad Yeshiva, and from there I completed my education in chassidishe institutions.

When I graduated from my final year in yeshiva, I began teaching in a yeshiva ketana in Monsey. One of the Ra”mim in the yeshiva was Rabbi Yitzchok Lerman, who also served as Shliach to the Meadowlands.

When he asked me to assist him with some specific outreach projects, I was happy and excited to do so.

That year, I assisted Rabbi Lerman with the “Sukkah at the Stadium” – bringing a Sukkah attached to the back of a U-Haul to the parking lot outside the stadium. We arrived a couple of hours before the game and attracted many passersby, who we convinced to drop in, shake the lulav and esrog, and make a bracha.

My father’s interest in Chassidus had been passed down successfully; his love for football had not. Still, I’d heard the concept of a “tailgate,” where football fans gather outside the stadium for hours before the game begins…

A tailgate is its own world: rows of cars and SUVs, trunks open, folding tables out, music playing, jerseys everywhere, and the smell of grills working overtime. People are laughing, talking, eating, and soaking in the energy long before anyone even sees the field. It’s loud, friendly, and somehow organized in the most chaotic way—like everyone decided, at the same time, that the parking lot is the real pregame experience.

As I helped these holy Yidden recite the brachos on the lulav, I couldn’t help thinking. Imagine the impact we could have with a proper tailgate party, I mused, filing it away for later reference.

For the next couple of years, I continued to assist Rabbi Lerman with the stadium every Sukkos and Chanukah, and on a variety of other projects as well.

*****

On New Year’s Day, January 1, 2020, on a frigid winter morning, I hesitated for a moment.

Today I was heading to the Siyum HaShas; the stadium would be filled with people who’d made a seven-and-a-half-year commitment to learn the daily daf. Of course they’d have all put on tefillin already! After a moment’s debate, I tucked the tefillin under my arm and headed out.

My father had purchased two seats for us in the Toronto bloc. It was a climb to reach our seats, high above the field in the “nosebleed” section. Our view was partly obscured, and the arctic wind whipped us mercilessly.

I wish they would’ve asked me which seats to get, I couldn’t help thinking. Why are we all the way up here, where we can’t hear or see a thing?

The entire bloc next to ours was empty, but a short while after the program started, it began filling up. Instead of the typical group of black-hatted, black-and-white-garbed men, it was a colorful group of college students. From comments I overheard, I gathered they were part of a kiruv Shabbaton, which culminated with the Siyum HaShas.

This is why we’re sitting all the way up here! I immediately thought.

I headed straight for the group and offered my tefillin. None of the boys had put on tefillin that day. So I went through the row, wrapping one arm after another. Another Lubavitcher a few rows away saw what was happening and rushed over to assist me.

Some of the guys tried to fob me off. “It’s too cold,” one said.

“We’ll do it later,” another said. “After we get back to the hotel.”

“No,” I told them. “By then it’ll already be after sundown, and you won’t be able to put on tefillin.”

They had an excuse for everything — cold, time, awkwardness, “not now.” And I brushed each one aside, one after another, until they finally committed. Clearly, Hashem had put me in that exact spot for this specific purpose. No measly excuse could deter me. Within minutes, there were dozens of Yidden putting on tefillin at the Siyum HaShas.

———————–

After my wife and I got married, Rabbi Lerman invited us to join him in the Meadowlands full-time. Now was the time.

Over 80,000 people pack into MetLife Stadium each game; Amongst them, thousands of Jews from every walk of life. Standing in the crowd, you’ll see chassidim in their full levush, frum Jews with baseball caps and discreetly tucked tzitzis, and others who know little to nothing about Judaism. Football serves as a great equalizer, the perfect opportunity to meet Jews where they’re at; where barriers of formality and antagonism are stripped – unless you’re wearing the opposing team’s jersey, of course. The general air of excitement, joy, and anticipation is an excellent backdrop for a friendly burger shared over a cold beer – with a mitzvah or two snuck in!

Our mitzvah tank is football-themed, with a turf floor, images of cheering fans in the stands around the walls, a scoreboard in front, and a #36 jersey over the driver’s seat reading Chabad. The exterior is custom wrapped with football themes, urging onlookers to “Be the MVP” by putting on tefillin and doing a mitzvah.
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Sometimes, it feels like we’re experiencing a modern re-telling of the very first shliach in history – Avraham Avinu. When his guests weren’t interested in discussing theology, he appealed to them with food.

Sometimes, just wearing a yarmulkah with the Giants colors is enough to form an instant kinship and bond, so they agree to put on tefillin.

Other times, we’re met with the inevitable, The game’s starting. I have to run.

No problem, I answer. Would you like a kosher hot dog?

Sure! He answers. But can you toast the bun?

My friend, I tell him, if you have time to wait for the bun to be toasted, you have time to put on tefillin.

I love meeting season ticket holders. Instead of a quick 3-minute meeting, we’ll see them at least eight times a year, and our sphere of influence is enhanced tenfold. Ironically, some of them came from families where their Judaism boiled down to going to synagogue thrice annually. Now, they put on tefillin at least eight times – more than double how often their parents attend shul!

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We moved to the Meadowlands in the summer, and football season began just a couple of months later. One of the first games of the season was Sunday Night — and that Sunday happened to be the second day of Sukkos.

MetLife Stadium was buzzing, but I had something else on my mind. I came with my wife and baby, walking toward the stadium with my lulav and esrog in hand, stopping likely-looking passersby to ask if they wanted to shake the arba minim.

I got plenty of curious glances — and some uncomfortable ones too — as lifelong football fans were suddenly, a bit uneasily, reminded that it was Yom Tov. Many, though, were genuinely excited to be reminded. I took it all in stride.

But I was a little thrown off by Perry.* He almost walked past me, then doubled back when he spotted the lulav and esrog. He started laughing loudly, pulling out his phone to film the incongruous sight: a rabbi standing there with his “plants” in a sea of green-and-white jerseys.

Collecting myself, I stuck out my hand and introduced myself. “Are you Jewish?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, still laughing. “I’m a season ticket holder, and I’ve been here more times than I can count. I thought I’d seen it all! I never thought I’d see a rabbi at MetLife. Are you here to bless the team?”

“They definitely have my prayers and blessings,” I answered, chuckling. “But I’m here to help Jews do a special mitzvah.”

As a season ticket holder, Perry and I crossed paths many more times that season. We developed a friendly, bantering relationship that soon grew into something real. By the time football season ended, Perry was ready to explore his Judaism more seriously. I connected him with his local shliach, and he quickly became a frequent visitor. He now spends many Shabbosim with them, and he’s eagerly building his own Jewish home rooted in Torah values and our very own “giants”.

——————-

“Excuse me, are you Jewish?” I called to a middle-aged gentleman hurrying by in the Jets’ green and white jersey.

“Yes…?” he answered.

“Would you like to put on tefillin?” I asked. “It will only take a couple of minutes.”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “I haven’t done it since my bar mitzvah though, so I’m kind of rusty!”

As I finished wrapping up Doug* and he introduced himself, his phone rang. He looked at the screen and grinned. “It’s my friend. I’m supposed to meet him here. He’s an Eagles fan,” he explained with a little comical grimace.

Where are you? I could hear the tinny voice ask over the phone.

“I met some Chabad guys,” he answered. “They have me putting on tefillin!”

That’s great! His friend answered. I’ll find you soon.

In a series of events that shocked even die-hard Jets fans, the Jets beat the Eagles 20-14.

“You know why your team won?” Doug’s friend laughed. “Becuase you put on tefillin!”

“If that’s what putting on tefillin does, I should do it more often!” Doug joked back.

His friend suddenly turned serious. “If I get you a pair of tefillin, will you wear them every day?”

Doug agreed, and has been putting on tefillin ever since!

Most people have a fairly standard list of what they bring along to the stadium. My list is a little more unique. My tefillin bag is the first thing I pack, and I never go without it.

—————–

I’d known Andy* for a while. He was a regular at the stadium; a jovial guy who was always looking for the next fun adventure. He’d told me he’d grown up in a traditional, modern Orthodox home, and had even met the Rebbe as a young child. When he passed by, the Rebbe tapped his head and told him, “You’re a good boy!”

Over time, Andy had dropped whatever traditions his family kept. He loved to party and have fun, and while he always agreed to put on tefillin with a smile, it was hard to get him to talk seriously about his Judaism.

One day, Andy approached the mitzvah tank. “Rabbi, could we get a minyan today?”

I covered my surprise and assured him we could easily gather ten Jews.

“Thanks,” he said, with a small grin that seemed a shadow of its usual brilliance. “My dad passed away four days ago, and I want to say kaddish for him.”

“Of – of course,” I stammered. “We’ll get a minyan – don’t worry!”

I quickly gathered ten men to daven, and Andy was able to recite kaddish. I urged him to sit for a few moments, so everyone could offer the customary shiva consolations and he could pay his father at least those few minutes of respect.

“My father has been having health issues for the last few years, and has been in and out of hospitals,” Andy told me. “A few weeks ago – I guess he felt his time was near or something – he asked me to say kaddish for him. I’m not that kind of Jew, Dad, I tried to tell him, but he just kept pushing me to commit. I’ll tell you what I can do, I finally told him. I’ll recite kaddish for you when I go to my favorite shul – the one in the parking lot of MetLife Stadium!”

I arranged for someone to say kaddish on his behalf for the rest of the year, but I was happy and privileged to help Andy fulfill his father’s final request.

—————-

We were there, as usual, in the parking lot of MetLife after October 7th. I saw a man walking by and asked him to put on tefillin.

“Yes; of course,” he answered immediately. He introduced himself as Jacob*, a Jew from New York who rejected the Torah-true life of his youth.

Of course, we spoke about the horrific attacks and our responses.

“This is our response!” I told him, indicating the tefillin.

“I know!” he responded. “As soon as you asked me, I knew how important it was to show my solidarity and wear tefillin – proudly, and in public!”

“Our job now is to increase our Torah and mitzvos,” I told him. “We fight darkness with light!”

He agreed with me, and we continued speaking for a short while longer.

I only saw him once more after that day. He stopped attending games. Whether it was because of the Jets dispiriting losing streak, or personal reasons, I’ll never know.

About a year later, I happened across his profile on my social media. I was happily surprised to see a “tefillin selfie,” and another one the following day.

I messaged him, letting him know how delighted I was to see his pictures.

“Our conversation at the stadium had a tremendous impact on me,” he said. “Putting on tefillin that day was empowering and significant. I knew I had to do my part in spreading light by continuing the commitment.”

*Names changed to protect privacy