Welcome to Soulful Jewish Living: Mindful Practices for Every Day with me, Josh Feigelson.
I’m grateful you’re here, and I hope you benefit from our time together.
That was Hall of Fame announcer Jack Buck’s historic call of one of the most memorable moments in the history of the World Series: Kirby Puckett’s home run to win Game 6 of the 1991 classic for the Minnesota Twins. As of this recording in the fall of 2026, there have been 703 games played in the World Series over 121 years. In all that time, just 19 of those games have been decided on a game-winning homer, which is also called a walk-off—because the game is over as soon as the hitter touches home plate, and both teams walk off the field.
If you’re a regular listener, you know that I’m a sports fan in general, and a baseball fan in particular. To me, the walk-off home run is the most dramatic play in sports. That’s not just because hitting a baseball is one of the hardest things for a human being to do, but because there’s this amazing poetry to the act itself. It comes about because of the time interval between when the hitter hits the ball over the fence and ultimately arrives home. Even though everyone in the stadium knows that the game is over, he still has to make that journey—he still has to come home. And when he does, he is greeted by his teammates jumping up and down and pouring gatorade on him as tens of thousands of people cheer. It’s just the best.
Because I’m a sports fan, my Instagram feed regularly brings up a meme you may have seen. It’s of another walk-off homer—not from the World Series, but by the Chicago Cubs’ David Bote in 2018. The picture shows Bote rounding third base and heading for home, where his teammates eagerly await him. The meme says, “I recently read about a man who collects pictures of hitters who had hit walk-off home runs. He said that the reason he did this is because this is how he views us entering heaven.” In other words, this is how he imagines the ultimately homecoming: Being greeted with joy and celebration as we walk off the field. I think it’s kind of amazing.
This is the tenth and final episode in our miniseries on feeling at home. Over the last nine episodes, we’ve talked about ways to feel at home in our bodies, in our families, in language and community, with strangers, and on planet Earth. We’ve talked about carrying our homes with us, and about those moments of grief when we feel like our sense of home has become unsteady or the roof even crashes in. Throughout, I’ve shared my deep belief that Jewish mindfulness practice—like spirituality itself—is fundamentally about helping us feel at home in our lives, at home in the universe, from moment to moment.
Today, in our last episode on the topic, I want to return home to where we started, with a quote about baseball by Bart Giamatti, the former Major League Baseball commissioner. “Baseball,” Giamatti said, “ is entirely about going home… It’s the only game you ever heard of where you want to get back to where you started.” And in that sense, baseball is a metaphor. Because, Giamatti added, “Home isn’t a place, it’s a state of mind.”
The summer-fall holiday cycle of Jewish holidays is all about this. We start with the 9th of Av, the day when the Temple in Jerusalem—the ultimate home—was destroyed. And then, as we work our way through the month of Elul and on to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we ultimately arrive at Sukkot, a holiday when we make a hut outside and turn it into our home. “All seven days of Sukkot,” says the Mishnah, “we make our permanent home into a temporary dwelling, and we make our sukkah into our permanent home.” Like the journey home in baseball, I don’t think that’s only telling us about where we eat our meals; it’s a metaphor for a deeper truth about life. Home isn’t only, or even primarily, a place; it’s a state of mind.
We can cultivate and access that mind state of at-homeness all the time. That’s what the process of teshuva, the watchword of the fall holiday season, is all about: returning home again and again, with love and compassion, without judgmentalism and anger. Like those teammates gathered at home plate, the Creator, says the Talmud, is always ready and waiting to receive us, for us to do teshuva, for us to come home.
So here’s one final practice take with you.
Wherever you are right now, take a moment to pause. If it feels comfortable, close your eyes, or just turn your gaze inward.
Take a slow, deep breath in… and let it fall away.
Bring to mind the “game” of your life: over the past weeks or months, or even over just the last few hours. Maybe you feel the hustle, the running around the bases, the strain, the moments you felt safe, and the moments you felt stranded out in the field. Just take a moment to acknowledge how hard you’ve been running.
Now, imagine stepping around third base. You can see home plate right in front of you.
Whatever errors you’ve made on the field, whatever plays didn’t go your way—you can let all of that drop behind you. The game is over. Home is getting closer and closer with every single breath.
As you inhale, you might gently say to yourself: I am rounding third. And as you exhale: I am heading for home.
As you take your next breath, imagine stepping onto home plate.
Picture those teammates waiting for you—or picture the Divine Presence, the universe, or your own wise, loving heart—stretching out their arms to receive you. No judgment. No demands for a replay. Just loving acceptance and pure, unadulterated joy that you arrived back home.
Feel the solid ground under your feet. Feel the warm sense of welcome in your chest. This is what it feels like to be at home.
Take a deep breath in and drink in that feeling: You are home. You have always been home. And you can always come home again—now and in every moment.
Over these ten episodes, we’ve explored home as a place, a practice, a body, a language, and a state of mind. But ultimately, home is this exact moment, the one where you stop running, drop your shoulders, and allow yourself to be received just as you are. No matter how far out into the field you wander, home plate is always a mindful breath away.
Blessings for the journey. Know that I’m on it with you.
ENDING
Thank you for joining us for Soulful Jewish Living: Mindful Practices for Every Day, a production of Unpacked, a brand of OpenDor Media, and the Institute for Jewish Spirituality. This episode is sponsored by Jonathan and Kori Kalafer and the Somerset Patriots: The Bridgewater, NJ-based AA Affiliate of the New York Yankees. If you like this show, subscribe, share this episode with a friend, give us five stars on Apple Podcasts. Check out our website, unpacked.media for everything Unpacked-related, and subscribe to our other podcasts, and check out the Institute for Jewish Spirituality. Most importantly, be in touch–about what you heard today, what you’d like to hear more about, or to dedicate an episode. Write to me at josh@unpacked.media.
This episode was hosted by me, Rabbi Josh Feigelson. Audio was edited by Rob Pera and we’re produced by Rivky Stern. Thanks for joining us.