Ryan Turell, Basketball and the Zionist Dream

A few weeks ago, the Anti-Defamation League hosted a seminar with Ryan Turell, a former Yeshiva University star player who is now playing professionally in Israel. He discussed his experiences both in the US G-League and in the Israeli leagues as an Orthodox Jewish player who wears a kippah.

Ken Jacobson in his years at Yeshiva University (left) and being honored by Yeshiva in later life.

I, of course, was highly interested in this talk, not only because I am a longtime professional at ADL, but because, many years ago, I was, like Ryan, captain of Yeshiva’s basketball team.

This led me to a theme that I have thought a lot about for many years: how playing basketball for Yeshiva has the two main characteristics that represent the state of Israel: normalcy and uniqueness.

When the Zionist idea emerged in the late 19th century in Europe, these two ideas were at the heart of its thinkers. The thought of reestablishing the Jewish nation in its historic homeland seemed like a pipe dream back then.

What gave it authenticity, and in the end gave it the stamina to win out, was the fact that though Jews had never built a mass movement to return to the land, everything unique about the Jewish people related to the connection to the land of Israel. It propelled them forward over decades. Zionism spoke to the unique element of Jewish history and the Jewish past connected to the Jewish future.

At the same time, those following the Zionist movement spoke about how a return to Zion would lead the Jewish people to a more normal life. They would no longer be strangers in whatever land they lived, and therefore a target of antisemitism. Also, the Jews would no longer be structurally siphoned off into certain professions, which inevitably increased their exposure to hatred and generated more stereotypes of Jews. Now with a state of their own, the Jewish people could lead normal lives in how they lived and worked.

This is how it felt to play basketball for Yeshiva.

We were motivated to do well, particularly to demonstrate that Orthodox Jewish kids could perform on the playing field at a high level with non-Orthodox and non-Jewish athletes. Too many times, we experienced a tendency by our opponents on the court, an assumption that as observant Jews, many of whom wore kippot, and who spent many hours every day in religious as well as secular classes, couldn’t possibly be good ball players.

We were determined to show everyone that we could compete on the same level. Yet, at the same time, we were proud of that which made us unique: our religious beliefs and association with everything Jewish.

We valued being the only Orthodox university in the country, with a full secular and religious curriculum, and practicing our basketball skills after a long, long day in school. We were always conscious of how different we were, at the same time that we longed for normalcy.

Looking back on this complexity provided personal incite about how Israelis try to navigate their own complexity. There is nothing easy about trying to feel unique and normal at the same time. Still, handling it and making the most of it in both cases is a blessing that can enhance one’s life in a profound way.