Sandy Koufax’s Yom Kippur Stand Became a Symbol of Jewish Pride

On October 6, 1965, Sandy Koufax didn’t take the mound at Metropolitan Stadium in Bloomington, Minnesota—not because he was injured, not because he was benched, but because it was Yom Kippur. The Los Angeles Dodgers’s legendary left-hander, already a three-time Cy Young Award winner and the most dominant pitcher of his generation, chose prayer over performance. In a sport where superstition often outweighs conscience, his quiet defiance became a seismic moment—not just in baseball, but in American Jewish identity.

A Star Built on Silence and Speed

Born Sanford Braun in Brooklyn in 1935, Koufax wasn’t even the best baseball player in his family. He played basketball first, at the Edith and Carl Marks Jewish Community House, and only took pitching seriously after being signed by the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1954. By 1961, he’d transformed from a wild, inconsistent arm into a pitcher who could make batters look foolish with a single fastball. From 1962 to 1966, he led the National League in ERA every single year. He threw four no-hitters, including a perfect game against the Chicago Cubs on September 9, 1965. His 2,396 career strikeouts were seventh all-time when he retired. He averaged more than nine strikeouts per nine innings—a figure no one had ever matched. At his peak, he was untouchable.

The Decision That Changed Everything

The 1965 World Series was set to begin on October 6. The date wasn’t chosen with Jewish players in mind. The commissioner’s office had finalized the schedule on September 8, when the Dodgers were still trailing San Francisco. Koufax, who had grown up attending synagogue on the High Holy Days but wasn’t religiously observant in daily life, consulted no rabbi before making his call. He told the Associated Press on October 1: “I haven’t really talked about it to a rabbi… If I’m told it isn’t proper to pitch, then I won’t, because I wouldn’t feel right about it.” He didn’t need permission. He needed peace.

His manager, Walter Alston, didn’t argue. Owner Walter O’Malley didn’t pressure him. Fellow pitcher Claude Osteen later said, “Sandy was such a star on our club, we said, ‘If this is Sandy’s decision, then it’s okay.’” And so, 1965 World Series Game One went to Don Drysdale. The Dodgers won anyway. But history didn’t remember the win. It remembered the absence.

Why It Mattered More Than the Win

In 1965, antisemitism wasn’t shouted from podiums—it was whispered in clubhouses, hidden in housing covenants, and baked into elite university admissions. Jews were expected to assimilate: change their names, work on Saturdays, ignore the holidays. Koufax didn’t just refuse to pitch—he refused to erase himself. His choice wasn’t loud, but it was unmistakable. For a generation of Jewish Americans who’d been taught to downplay their identity to fit in, here was a hero who didn’t apologize for being Jewish. He didn’t need to be a rabbi to be a symbol.

He wasn’t alone in this. Hank Greenberg had sat out a game in 1934 for Yom Kippur, but Koufax’s moment landed in a different America—television was everywhere, and the Dodgers were a national phenomenon. His decision was broadcast into living rooms across the country. Larry Ruttman, author of American Jews and America’s Game, put it simply: “I think it was a matter of conscience with both of them.”

The Legacy Beyond the Stat Sheet

Koufax retired at 30, after the 1966 season, his arm worn out from throwing 1,000+ innings in just six dominant years. He and Don Drysdale had also become labor pioneers, staging a joint holdout for fairer pay—helping launch the modern players’ union. But it was his choice on Yom Kippur that cemented his place in cultural history.

Today, outside Dodger Stadium, two statues stand tall: Jackie Robinson, who broke baseball’s color barrier, and Sandy Koufax, who broke the silence around Jewish identity in America’s pastime. One stood up against segregation. The other stood up for faith.

At 79, Koufax told ESPN: “There was no hard decision for me. It was just a thing of respect. I wasn’t trying to make a statement, and I had no idea that it would impact that many people.” But it did. And it still does.