I was in the park last week with my wife, our twin five month old boys, and our black and white Havanese puppy, Kugel. It was a gorgeous, unseasonably warm day, and we were enjoying taking a break from our phones, from the never ending cycle of horrific news stories about Israel, harrowing personal experiences, denial that these atrocities actually happened, the justification for them, and eventually, what random Twitter user @Kevbro3457x8cv7 replied to a post. We needed a break and some fresh air. As we walked along the path, Kugel saw a stranger she wanted to introduce herself to (she’s very friendly), and I instinctively said to her in Hebrew “Shvi!” (sit). Almost immediately, I felt a ping of regret. I grew up with an Israeli father, have generally spoken to him in mostly Hebrew, and practiced that skill with Kugel and my two sons, Kobi and Amos.
The Future of Black Ownership in North American Sports
With the exit of Michael Jordan, there are no sports franchises with majority Black owners. But change may finally be on the horizon. I…