06 Jan WHEN FOOTBALL MEETS FAITH: DOES G-D REALLY CARE WHO WINS?

On Sunday night in
Pittsburgh, the
Baltimore Ravens and
Pittsburgh Steelers’
seasons came down to
one kick. Tyler Loop,
the Ravens’ rookie
kicker who had not
missed a single field goal under 50 yards all
year, lined up for a 44-yard attempt that would
decide the game and, by extension, the winner
of the AFC North. The snap was perfect, the
hold was clean, the ball had the distance. And
then, before a stunned stadium and a national
audience, it drifted wide. The Steelers won and
are going to the playoffs, while Baltimore’s
season ended abruptly and stunningly.
The moment went viral not only because of the
drama, but because earlier that evening a priest
had walked the field and sprinkled “holy
water” in one of the end zones. Hours later, it
was that very end zone toward which the
Ravens were kicking. Asked about it after the
game, Steelers captain Cam Heyward smiled
and said he wouldn’t ask too many questions
but said, “The good Lord made a good decision
that night.”
I don’t follow football and didn’t even know
about the game until someone sent me the
article about the “blessed” end zone and asked
the real question behind the headline: Are Jews

really meant to believe Hashem intervenes in a
football game?
But this isn’t a sports question. It’s a life
question. Is anything too small for Hashem? Is
a moment, a decision, a gust of wind beneath
His notice or providence?
Though there is nuance, and there are different
approaches, the short answer is that as Torah
people of faith, we are meant to live with the
belief that Hashem is involved in everything.
Dovid HaMelech wrote (and we sing in
Hallel), ha’mashpili lir’os ba’shomayim
u’vaaretz, He lowers Himself to see in the
heavens and on the earth. Chazal understand
that nothing is too lofty for Him and nothing is
too small. The same G-d Who guides the fate
of nations is attentive to the details of a single
life. The same G-d Who orchestrates history
also arranges the gust of wind that pushes a
football a degree to the right. There is no realm
of existence in which He is absent, no moment
in which He is not present.
So does Hashem care who wins? In the sense
that He is involved in and dictates everything
that unfolds in His world, yes. But not in the
simplistic way we imagine. Hashem was not
only listening to the tefillos of Steelers fans.
He was also speaking to the Ravens, to their
coaches, and especially to the young kicker
who missed for the first time from that

distance. G-d was present not only in the
celebration, but in the heartbreak.
We control our effort. Hashem controls the
result. That is countercultural, but it is Torah.
From our perspective, a capable kicker missed
in a pressure moment. From the perspective of
emunah, Hashem decreed that at that exact
second, in those exact conditions, the ball
would not pass through the uprights. For one
side, that miss felt like a divine yes. For the
other, a painful no. Yet both were within His
plan.
Judaism insists that Hashem is as present in
the miss as in the make. In the disappointment
as in the triumph. The question this game
invites is not whether G-d was in the stadium,
it is whether we are listening to what He might
be telling us through the moment.
Failure does not have to be a verdict. It can be
an invitation. A chance to grow, to soften, to
deepen. Sometimes Hashem uses a public
disappointment to remind a person that he is
more than his statistics.
This truth is beautifully symbolized in a
custom many barely meaningfully think about
or attach spiritual significance to. At a Bar
Mitzvah or an Aufruf we throw candies at the
boy or the chassan. As Rav Schorr explains,
these are moments of transition and growth.
Life will soon begin throwing things at them.

They will feel struck, pelted. But the things
being thrown are candies. They hurt, but inside
is sweetness. Inside the challenge is a gift, if
one has the courage to pick it up and unwrap it.
The missed kick in Pittsburgh is one of those
candies. Most of us will never stand in a
stadium with millions watching, but all of us
stand in our own decisive moments: a
diagnosis, an interview, a shidduch, an
application. We prepare, we daven, we give
our all. Then the answer comes. Sometimes it
is the yes we prayed for. Sometimes it is the no
we feared.
When it is yes, we must remember Who
decided it. When it is no, we must remember
the candy, the possibility of hidden sweetness.
The “holy water” on the field made for a good
headline. But the deeper story is not about a
priest or an AFC North title. It is about
haMashpili lir’os baShamayim u’vaAretz,
about a G-d Who lowers Himself to be present
in every end zone and every human heart.
Because the real game is not played on the
field at all. It is played inside the neshamah of
each of us.