It was a Spring Shabbos day like any other Spring Shabbos day in Oregon. The sun was shining intensely and a chorus of birds sang a festive tune in our backyard. As is our tradition on Shabbos, my wife Linda and I took a leisurely walk through the neighborhood in the late afternoon.
Our home is nestled in the tree-lined hills of Oregon and somehow we feel a little closer to G-d when we walk through some of His greatest creations. We are surrounded by Redwoods, Oak, Douglas fir, Pine and Birch trees. You name it and it probably grows on one of our hills.
Our route on this particular Shabbos wound its way through a number of the majestic homes that line the fairways of the golf course located near our home. We were coming close to the end of our stroll when I happened to notice a shiny, white object nestled against the curb in front of us. As we approached the object I recognized it as an almost brand new golf ball.
What may be an unusual sight in some areas is common in this neighborhood. On any given day many a poor golfer has been known to slice a drive into one of the front yards of the homes on the very street on which we strolled. What was unusual about this ball, however, was that it was a VERY, VERY expense state-of-the-art golf ball. The average golf ball costs anywhere from seventy five cents to a dollar and a half. When you lose one of them it doesn’t hurt much. But losing a ball that costs four dollars, now that hurts!
As I have written before, I am addicted to the game of golf. I don’t play it very well but I love getting out on a course with my buddies and banging that little white ball around for a few hours. When I saw that expensive ball lying at my feet, free for the taking, my immediate instinct was to pick it up, pocket it, and take it home with me.
Just as I reached down to pick up the ball a little voice in my head reminded me that it was Shabbos and carrying it home was not exactly what G-d had in mind when He gave us the commandment to guard and remember the Sabbath. Carrying in the public domain, I had learned, was one of the categories of labor that are prohibited on Shabbos.
My mind answered the little voice, “But that’s a Taylormade InerGel golf ball!” “Yes but its Shabbos” answered the little voice.
Reluctantly and slowly I moved away from this prized find. My wife Linda turned me around, pointed me in the right direction and we continued down the street toward our home. The farther I walked, the better I felt. When we finally arrived home I felt fantastic! You see I really wanted that ball. I wanted to pick it up, stick it in my pocket and then use it the next morning in front of my buddies. In my mind I knew that I would have pounded that state-of-the-art ball, dazzling my pals, eliciting oohs and aahs as it sailed 250 yards down the fairway. Yet when push came to shove I knew that honoring the mitzva of Shabbos was more important, and in the long run more rewarding, than hitting a little white ball down a fairway ever would be.
When the sun came up the next morning I couldn’t get the golf ball out of my mind. I prayed, ate breakfast and then tore out of the house to retrieve it. To my amazement, there it was, still nestled against the curb where it was the day before. It was as if it was waiting for me to return and claim it. I snatched that ball up so fast you’d think it was worth a million dollars.
Several hours later I met my buddies at the course. With a smirk on my face and a swagger in my walk, I stepped up to the first tee-box, placed the ball on the tee, took a mighty swing and... I hit that state-of-the-art-VERY, VERY expensive golf ball right into the lake!
As I stood there helplessly watching the ball sink slowly to the bottom of the lake, I couldn’t help but give thanks to G-d for helping me make the right choice the day before. The Taylormade InerGel golf ball that I placed so much value on yesterday now rested forever at the bottom of a murky lake on a golf course in Oregon. But the mitzva of Shabbos was alive and well in my heart. I realized that I could always buy another golf ball, but the opportunity to perform a mitzva was, is and will continue to be, a priceless gift!
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