GABE KAPLER OF THE BOSTON RED SOX, PROUD JEW

Members of the tribe
When they're not covered by the white cotton of a baseball uniform, it's hard to miss the sharp lines and bold statements engraved on Gabe Kapler's sculpted calves. One tattoo is a Star of David surrounded by the Hebrew word for "strong willed." The other declares "Never Again" flanked by the years of the Holocaust, 1933-1945. Not the typical accoutrements of a nice Jewish boy, but then, Kapler is not your typical mensch. He might do double duty when it comes to Red Sox charity appearances, find that he's the only person signing pre-game autographs in the scorching sun, and pick up player-of-the-game honors such as "Beyond the Call of Duty" designations. But he's also graced the covers of body-building magazines, frequently violates the commandment against stealing - at least when it comes to bases - and every day reports to work in a place where Jews don't usually find themselves: the ballpark.

Last month, the Hall of Fame honored the 143 Jews who have played in the Major Leagues over nearly as many years, less than 1 percent of all players. This season, the Boston Red Sox are the exception that proves the rule, fielding a Jewish co-owner, general manager, and two position players, one of whom is Kapler.

Things have come a long way since Hammerin' Hank Greenberg had to face unbridled anti-Semitic taunting from players and fans in the Thirties and Forties, enough so that 30-year-old GM Theo Epstein and rookie third-baseman Kevin Youkilis don't see their faith as a factor in their professional experience. But then, they don't wear their Judaism on their legs; for the strong-willed player who never forgets, being a member of the tribe and a member of the team isn't the easiest combination.

"I know that, especially in the profession that I'm involved in, I'm not like everybody else, and that I'm singled out, good or bad," says Kapler, an intense 29-year-old outfielder who was raised as a Conservative Jew in suburban Los Angeles. The good comes in the form of esteem within the Jewish community, off-the-field endorsement opportunities, and generous media attention.

The bad can take the form of the ugly. "It's frequent anti-Semitic remarks even when they [other players] don't know that they're making them," he says of the name-calling and insensitivity endemic to baseball. "It's real touchy and underneath everything is this real discomfort."

The tattoos are, to some extent, just one of Kapler's responses to this environment.
"It's partially to cover up an insecurity about being that weak, defenseless stereotype that we all have in our minds," says the man who might be the most fit in baseball. "That's partially where the tattoos come from."

But covering up isn't all he does. When players rag him for his religion, he dishes it right back, making fun of them for being, say, anti-Semites. He also occasionally battles the "pretty high" level of "ignorance" with serious conversations - no surprise for a guy who would certainly make it into the Hall of Fame if there were a category for articulateness and avoidance of baseball clich s, a guy who is thoughtful and thorough in his words.

When he played in Texas (his best season was with the Rangers in 2000, when he hit .302 with 14 homers and 66 RBIs), Kapler invited a Christian teammate who kept warning the Jewish player of his impending rendezvous with Satan to have a discussion with Kapler's friend, a rabbi. Both players enjoyed learning about their faiths; Kapler, whose mother's interest in Judaism was sparked just in time for him to have a bar mitzva, admits there are plenty of gaps in his knowledge. (READ ON...)