In the United States, opening day of the baseball season is always a reason to celebrate. In Israel, the first and only opening day of the Israel Baseball League turned into a semi-riot that invoked fears of possible terrorist attacks.
And so it went for Aaron Pribble in the summer of 2007, when the San Francisco resident and Marin high school teacher spent 11 weeks pitching for the Tel Aviv Lightning in the short-lived IBL. He turned his myriad experiences into a book, “Pitching in the Promised Land,” published last month.
Pribble will be at Israel in the Gardens, sharing a booth with Brett Rapkin and Erik Kesten, makers of the 2008 documentary “Holy Land Hardball.” The author will be sharing stories and autographing books — plus playing catch and demonstrating how to throw sinkers, knuckleballs and changeups for those who are interested.
Pribble, 31, whose mother is Jewish, was a star pitcher at Sir Francis Drake High School in San Anselmo and then at the University of Hawaii. But he never got drafted, kicked around the independent leagues a bit and even pitched in a professional league in France.
At age 26, he decided to retire as a player and pursue a career in education, becoming a social studies teacher at Tamalpais High School in Mill Valley.
But shortly thereafter, he heard about a new professional league in Israel that was looking for players — Jewish players. So at age 27, after his first year as a teacher, Pribble spent his summer vacation, yes, pitching in the Promised Land.
Each day while there, he forced himself to sit at the computer and write about his experiences. It took him two years after returning to the States to turn the mountain of words into a 38-chapter, 238-page book. It has been getting some good press — from the Marin Independent Journal to New York’s Jewish Forward.
In one of the early chapters, Pribble details opening day, a highly anticipated, media-saturated affair that was attended by upwards of 3,000 people. Even PBS had a camera there, taping for a special. Everything went well until the final out was recorded.
“It was mayhem,” Pribble said in an interview. “No pro baseball had ever been played there before, and people weren’t sure what to do, so they stormed the field. They were in the dugout, everywhere, and the players actually got some stuff stolen … One guy had a glove stolen that meant a lot to him; it was given to him by a former coach.”
The storming of the field immediately raised a vital issue in Israel: security. At the ballpark, apparently there was none.
“People suddenly realized that this is not safe,” Pribble said. “People can’t be allowed to just rush the field like that. It could have been a terrorist attack. It wasn’t, but a few days later, the commissioner gave a talk about how important it was to watch our backs, that here we were, a group of Americans in Israel. We could be targets. We thought we were just playing baseball, but now it hit us that it was more serious.”
One player got so scared he left his team and returned to the United States, but games thereafter (where the attendance often was around 50) had more security and the season reached its conclusion without incident.
The six teams in the IBL, which folded after one season due to financial woes, shared three fields, all “less than desirable,” Pribble said. Each was a converted soccer field, and one had a tall light standard in the middle of right field. “A light pole — with a mattress taped around it,” Pribble said in amazement.
IBL teams played six games a week, including a hellish pre-Shabbat schedule in which Friday games started at 9 a.m., following Thursday night games that ended at 9:30 or 10 p.m. Fortunately, games were only seven innings, rather than nine, said Pribble, who led the league with a 1.97 ERA and was second in wins with a 7-2 record.
The league was composed of a spectrum of players: On one end, there were a few non-Jewish foreigners (including some Dominicans) who had good baseball skills. On the other end were Orthodox Jews or Israelis who had little idea of what a glove was and how to use it. Basically, the more Jewish you were, the less talent you needed.
“According to that formulation, I placed myself squarely in the middle of the talent pool; a half-assed Jew and a half-assed former pro,” Pribble writes.
Pribble has already made several local appearances to promote his book, including one at Congregation Kol Shofar in Tiburon, with various JCC appearances on the horizon after Israel in the Gardens.
In his book, Pribble uses baseball to explore the politics and culture of the Middle East, and delves into how the experience affected his own Jewish identity. There’s also some romance with a tall, slender Yemenite Jew named Yael.
One of the most interesting tales is about a side trip that Pribble made to Ramallah in the West Bank, accompanied by a Jewish friend.
“It’s kind of a climax in the book,” Pribble said. “I went to Israel to play baseball, but I also wanted to learn about the conflict, because I’m passionate about Israel and also because it’s something I teach about in school. Some people told me not to go [to the West Bank], that I’d get killed, and some said everything would be fine.”
Pribble spent a day in the West Bank, eating interesting foods and meeting various people. “At times it was dangerous, at times very friendly,” he said.
The day ended with a heartwarming exchange in which Pribble gave a baseball to a Palestinian kid, who wasn’t even sure what to do with it. Pribble demonstrated, and got him into a game of catch, and then the kid and his friend started to play catch — with a gaggle of curious onlookers on the periphery waiting to join in.
“I got verklempt,” Pribble said. “It was more symbolic than anything else. I know it wasn’t going to lead to peace or anything like that, but it was a real goosebumps moment.”
“Pitching in the Promised Land” by Aaron Pribble (238 pages, Nebraska Press, $24.95)