As I write this, I, along with millions of people throughout the world, am awaiting final confirmation of the ceasefire agreement which would result in the return of the Israeli hostages and an end to the fighting in Gaza. It is by no means a “done deal” and we must hold our collective breaths as the final details are worked out.

I have so many mixed emotions at this time.

I believe that the return of the hostages to Israel should have been a priority from the moments after the horrendous Hamas attacks of October 7. I also believe that Israel had an absolute obligation and responsibility to do as much damage as possible to Hamas to prevent future attacks.

While Israel has continuously claimed that the best solution to the hostage crisis was a military one and that it was not wise to reach a ceasefire agreement until Hamas was completely destroyed, each and every day the hostages have remained in Gaza must have been a nightmare. And, the horrible destruction in Gaza has caused such unimaginable suffering to innocent Palestinians who are also victims of decisions and priorities set by Hamas.

But, now we are here, on the verge of an agreement which would return the hostages- sadly, not all at once- and in exchange for Palestinian prisoners, many of whom have committed acts of terror in the past. One could argue that it is not a “good deal” for Israel but with an opportunity for the hostages to return and an end to the slaughter in Gaza, it is long since time that such an agreement be made.

I do have many concerns about the days to come. I would like to share one of them.

While Israelis, Jews and lovers of Israel throughout the world wish to celebrate the return of the hostages, I pray that their return, God willing, will be marked with quiet appreciation, private reunions and a recognition that while so many of us have been praying and working for their release, it is not the time for unbridled joy.

These individuals have been through hell. Their lives will never be the same. And, while so many of us will be so thankful that their capture will come to an end, families of those who come back alive will face so much difficulty in the days ahead. And we must keep in mind those families who will receive the remains of their family members and be sensitive to their mourning.

It is easy to say that this deal should have happened months ago. Perhaps it wasn’t the right time. Perhaps opportunities were missed because of the intransigence of one side or the other. But, what is important is that we are closer now to seeing the beginning of the end to this horror than anytime since October 7 and, God willing, so many who have suffered for so long may see at least better days ahead.

Over the years, I have posted many pieces on this website describing personal experiences- stories of events that have happened to me that I find fascinating or that taught me something meaningful.

A friend once remarked to me that I seem to have more of these types of experiences than anyone else he knew. I took that as a compliment, but I don’t think it is true. I believe that every person has unique and memorable everyday experiences but that some people embrace and pay more attention to these experiences, and I consider myself one of those people.

So, in that spirit, here is a story I have never written about before.

Today, December 9, is our 34^th wedding anniversary. Two weeks after our wedding, Ellen and I left for a honeymoon trip to Arizona and New Mexico. We chose that destination because we wanted to stay in the United States but to travel someplace warm. 

We had a wonderful time in Tuscon, hiking among the cactus parks, seeing the beautiful landscape and enjoying the warm winter sun. Then we set off for the “Land of Enchantment”: New Mexico. 

Fortunately, we had checked out the weather forecast for Santa Fe at the last minute before we left Ann Arbor and discovered that Santa Fe’s high temperature during the days we would be there was going to be 15 degrees. So we were prepared for a return to winter.

It wasn’t warm but we found Santa Fe to be an enchanting, fascinating, romantic city and thoroughly enjoyed our days there. 

We also took time to venture out to the Native American pueblos, the villages in which ceremonial dances took place at Christmas time. These were fascinating combinations of the Native American rituals and Christian faith brought by missionaries centuries ago. 

Along the way, we were also particularly impressed with the tradition of what are called storytelling dolls, pottery figures of a woman telling stories to young children and we wanted to buy one for our house.

We asked where we could purchase the best storytelling dolls and were told that we should go to a certain pueblo and find the woman at a certain address. This was one of the most respected artisans who made these dolls. 

So, we found the village and after asking around were directed to her door and she welcomed us into her home. We talked for a while and then we bought this doll which has always had a prominent place in our home.

But that is only the beginning of our story.

The artisan told us that during Christmas week, visitors to the pueblo are expected to visit the “shrine” and she asked her young son to direct us there. He agreed to escort us on his bicycle and led us to a home in the village and told us to go in. 

We were a bit hesitant, unsure of what would be expected of us and obviously wanted to avoid participating in any religious ritual, but we didn’t want to offend the residents by not engaging in the custom. So, we went in.

We entered and greeted the members of the family who were in the large living room area and were directed to two empty chairs. In one side of the room, near where the family was sitting, there was a very pretty nativity scene. The room was mostly silent.

The kitchen was off of the living room, and I noticed that there was a rather large pot of what appeared to be chili cooking on the stove with several women tending to the meal. One of the people in the kitchen brought a bowl of chili to one of the family members sitting near the shrine. We were offered some but politely refused, opting instead for the offered nuts and candy.

         We sat in silence for a few minutes and then a member of the community came over to us and asked us quietly where we were from and why we were visiting the village. We introduced ourselves and he was completely welcoming and then explained to us what we were seeing. He told us that every year one family is designated as the host of the shrine and for a week that family stays at home with the nativity scene while people in the community do their errands and cook for them. They are expected to remain in their home for the week as the honored hosts of the shrine. 

         Suddenly, I had the strangest feeling that I had seen all this before- not déjà vu but a sense of familiarity with what was happening. As it was time for us to go, we politely thanked everyone and left but I couldn’t wait to get outside.

         We got in the car and I just sat there for a moment and Ellen asked me what was wrong. I turned to her and told her that I could not believe what we had just seen. 

         Here was a family sitting at home for a week with a religious shrine while members of the community took care of their personal and religious needs. Here was a room full of people talking in hushed tones in deference to the family hosting the shrine.

         It suddenly had dawned on me that I had seen all this before: in a house of shiva.

         The stories of “conversos”, descendants of those who had been forced to convert to Christianity many centuries ago and settled in New Mexico are well known. Some retained some vestiges of Jewish customs, sometimes in secret, for generations. 

         Had we witnessed evidence of a long-forgotten connection with Jewish ritual by visiting the “Christmas shrine”? I am not sure. Perhaps it was a coincidence or my own projecting from my experience, but I only know what I felt. I felt we were, in some strange way, “at home” and I have never forgotten what that felt like. And each time I look at the storyteller doll, I think of how important it is for all of us to tell our stories.

I posted this on Facebook this morning. I may have more to write later but this is all I can write at this time:

“I used to have a country once. Where it’s gone I do not know.” Harry Chapin

I really did believe that the majority of Americans would look at the words and actions of Donald Trump including January 6, including his hate filled rallies and his obscene and crude remarks, including his convictions and say: “No.”

I was wrong. Whether they were ignoring those factors and focused on the economy or other issues or whether they endorsed his words and actions, it is clear that the majority of voters still have confidence in him as a leader.

I don’t understand it but it is the reality of where this nation is.

In addition to my fears about where this country will be headed in the next four years, and fears for so many vulnerable people, I hope we will still be able to impress upon our children and grandchildren that being good still matters. That job just got much more difficult but we have to keep trying.

I discuss this idea in greater detail in my most recent podcast episode, entitled “Did I See It?”. You can hear the podcast at wrestlinganddreaming.podbean.com or other sources for podcasts. 

Last week, I fulfilled a long-time ambition. 

Or did I?

I was watching the news on Thursday evening when I heard that the Northern Lights would be visible all over Michigan. I was so excited as I have wanted to see the Lights for my entire life and never had been in the position to see them. 

This was my chance. 

So, I got into my car at 10 p.m. and drove to a road near my house where I knew I could see the northern sky. 

I pulled the car over. It was dark and somewhat desolate. 

I got out and looked up. 

I saw something: a streak or two of lighter color, not unlike a cloud, varying the appearance of the sky. 

There it was. But, was this the best I could hope for? I was disappointed. 

Then, I remembered what I had learned from others. You had to look through your cell phone camera to really see the lights.

So, I held my cell phone and took a picture. It immediately went to “night mode” and held the aperture open a few seconds. Then it clicked.

And I saw the most glorious sight: the brilliant colors of the Northern Lights filled the sky. 

Here is the picture. Enjoy it. But please continue reading after you admire the photo.

I was thrilled. I immediately texted the picture to my wife, Ellen, and was absolutely giddy. 

I then started to say the proper blessing for any astronomical phenomenon involving light: Blessed be God who performs the acts of creation.

But I suddenly stopped before I said the second word of the blessing.

I looked again at the sky without the aid of the camera and my joy was tempered quite a bit. There was still that grey streak and nothing more. 

And I began to think. Had I really seen the Northern Lights?

I know that those further north, perhaps those in a darker place, saw colors with the naked eye. But I had not. All that I had done was to take a picture and that picture, as beautiful as it was, was like dozens of others I have seen. I know the colors were actually there and that it was the limitations of my human eyes which prevented me from seeing them. But I had not seen them. My camera saw them. 

So, seeing the Northern Lights is still on that list of experiences I want to have in my life. I want to see them with my eyes, not the camera’s.

And this made me think about how many times we settle for indirect experiences rather than truly experiencing something wonderful for ourselves.

Sometimes that is inevitable. I will never fly into space, so I’m satisfied seeing pictures of the marvelous round ball of the earth. I will never skydive (I guarantee you) so I will have to marvel at the experience through someone’s hand-held camera as they fly through the sky. I can’t travel back in time to before I was born so I have to be satisfied seeing YouTube videos of the 1946 World Series (which the Red Sox lost by the way).

But there are so many other experiences which I am so grateful for having done.  

Seeing Saturn’s rings through a telescope (but with my eyes) was breathtaking in a way that a picture could never be. Hiking in the Sinai Desert and through Zion National Park were unforgettable and could never be matched by a video travelog. 

And, on another level, walking with or sitting and comforting dogs waiting for adoption at our local Humane Society I could be a part of their work means so much more than just the very important act of writing a check.  (We should do both for the causes we support.)

This difference between two types of experiences is critical in so many areas of life including one which I have been thinking about quite a bit for the last few years. 

I don’t at all denigrate those who by necessity attend synagogue services online while sitting at home. It is a great benefit of technology that this can be done and that those who are homebound, ill or far from home can participate in the familiar ritual. Having experienced it myself when weather prevented us from attending a family simcha, I am tremendously grateful for this advancement. 

But, for those who can attend in person, I can’t urge you enough to go beyond the experience which was so vital over COVID and come to shul. It is such a completely different experience when you are sitting in and with the congregation. It is the difference between actively experiencing something beautiful and meaningful as opposed to seeing it only through a picture. As beautiful as the picture can be, it can’t match experiencing it directly. 

This year, may we find more ways to do things with our own hands and see things with our own eyes. 

It happened again yesterday. 

Once again, former President Trump asserted that Jews who vote against him “ought to have their heads examined” because, of course, in his opinion, he is the best US President in regards to Israel.

Once again, as I did in 2017,  https://robdobrusin.com/an-open-letter-to-president-trump/ I would like to respond:

Mr. Trump, as important as Israel is to me, and Israel certainly is in my heart especially this year, my vote for president will be based on the candidates’ stands on many issues, including, to name just a few: economic policy, concern for the environment and addressing climate change, access to abortion and reproductive rights in general, our role in international alliances and the need to confront in serious and meaningful ways the tragedy of gun violence which takes so many lives and affects the psyche of every child in school in this country.

In addition, in this election, we also must consider if we wish to support a candidate who forcefully and openly urged his vice president to undermine the constitution and who encouraged a mob of supporters to march to the capitol with strength to prevent the transfer of power to the winner of the presidential election. To me, that is a “no-brainer”.

And, as a Jew, it doesn’t take much thought for me to oppose anyone who has any connection whatsoever with “Project 2025” which poses a threat to so many of the principles which we hold dear in this nation of freedom for all.

Those domestic issues are critical to me as an American.

Regarding Israel, you might be surprised to hear that, as a lover of Israel, I found Vice President Harris’ statements during her speech at the Democratic National Convention to be right on target. Support of Israel does not mean ignoring the legitimate rights of Palestinians, closing our ears to the cries of children in Gaza or giving a green light to anything Israel’s government wishes to do. 

As are so many, I am appalled by the statements and actions of some members of Israel’s cabinet and stand with so many Israelis who oppose in the strongest terms Prime Minister Netanyahu for his conduct of the war in Gaza and his failure to accept a ceasefire agreement which could bring the hostages home. 

The bottom line is that I resent being lectured to as what Israel should mean to me as a Jew and therefore, for whom I should vote.  

And, most importantly, be assured, Mr. Trump, that I am a loyal American and should not be treated as a “one issue voter” whose loyalty to Israel supersedes my commitment to this country.

I will vote for the candidate who is most fit to be President of this nation and one who more closely reflects my values and priorities.

I am proud to support Vice President Harris.

I have just recorded my podcast episode for this week. Before I gave a d’var Torah for this week’s Torah portion of Shoftim, I made these comments:

We all are still reeling from the horrible news of the discovery of the bodies of the 6 murdered hostages in a tunnel in Gaza this weekend. It has just been another step in a nightmare which began October 7 for the people of Israel and the Jewish people

The issues are still the same: the absolute moral depravity of Hamas that conducted these horrendous terrorist attacks on October 7 and held these hostages and now murdered so many of them. It is just unthinkable and unthinkable  that anyone could support or praise these actions any place in the world.

We also think though, about the missed opportunities to perhaps have brought an end to this part of the nightmare in the return of the hostages through negotiations. It doesn’t seem that either side was prepared to make the compromises necessary to bring an end to the fighting, even if only temporarily, a return of the hostages and some relief to the terrible suffering which is taking place in Gaza.

We also have to consider that terrible suffering and realize that even as the root cause is the actions of Hamas towards their own people, still we have to recognize the fact that the pain and the horror among the innocent people in Gaza, especially the children and now subject, if nothing else after all that they have suffered, facing the prospect of an epidemic of polio and that should lead us to ask: how can we not be crying for them and how can we not have them enter into our thoughts about what Israel should do in the future?

This has been a terrible nightmare over the past ten, eleven months and all of us should be wrestling with all of the issues, seeking a way in which in this part of the world which has seen so much death, and so much terror and so much horror, that all people can somehow come out of this and give hope to children in Gaza, in Israel, for a better future.

It is so sad and so heartbreaking. 

I invite you to listen to the entire podcast which will be posted on Thursday. You can hear it at wrestlinganddreaming.podbean.com on Thursday morning.

As I have often written on my website, I love political campaigns and, of course, I have been paying very close attention to the current Presidential race. So, I was eagerly awaiting Vice President Harris’ decision on a running mate. 

         I was a bit surprised yesterday that she picked Governor Tim Walz. He was a late entrant into what is now referred to as the “veepstakes” and I really didn’t know too much about him. I had my own “favorite”- Senator Mark Kelly- but watching Governor Walz speaking yesterday and reading several accounts of the selection process, it certainly seems like more than a reasonable choice. Apparently, he and Vice President Harris “clicked” in ways that the other candidates did not, and his values and experience made him a logical choice. 

         Whether or not one supports Vice President Harris’ candidacy (full disclosure: I do), I think she deserves the respect to assume she made the decision because she thinks Tim Walz was best qualified to be her running mate. 

         I am furious at those who claim that her decision not to select Governor Shapiro of Pennsylvania was because he is Jewish. Those who are making this claim are merely attempting to use an accusation of anti-Semitism to harm her candidacy. 

         To be blunt, I am tired of hearing President Trump alert Jews to anti-Semitism when it benefits him and tired of him telling Jews that we must vote in a particular way. This “act” was horrendous when he started to use it in his first campaign, and it is no less horrendous now. It is manipulative, disingenuous and mean spirited and is, in its own patronizing way, anti-Semitic in that it assumes Jews aren’t smart enough to make our own decisions about for whom to vote.

         There is enough anti-Semitism in this country without worsening the situation by claiming that what was a pragmatic political decision was proof of a candidate (or party’s) hatred of Jews. 

         And it’s time for non-Jewish public figures to stop telling Jews how to act as Jews.  

For those who did not see my Facebook post of early today, here is what I wrote in appreciation of a man whom I have deeply admired and respected for decades. I think this says it all from my perspective.

Thank you, President Biden for all you have done for this country over so many years and for what you did today. You have always been a “mentsch”, a man acting with caring, dignity and grace with the best interests of our country as your guide and you showed that again today. I wish you health and strength in the years ahead.

         In the introduction to my book, The Long Way Around: Stories and Sermons from a Life’s Journey, I wrote about meeting my future wife, Ellen: “While I don’t generally believe that God micromanages our lives, I make an exception in this one case. I thank God each day for bringing me to Ann Arbor and leading me to an apartment around the corner from the house Ellen had bought a year before.”

         Do I really believe this? Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. But all that I know is that my life changed when I came to Ann Arbor and met Ellen and the fact that we lived so close to each other made it easier for us to spend time together and that eventually led to a wonderful married life. Why not give God some credit? 

         Despite the obvious and multiple theological dilemmas that such a perspective brings, those of us who believe in God are likely to say at some point in our lives: “This was God’s doing”. When recovering from a terrible illness, avoiding an automobile accident at the last moment or even, perhaps, winning the lottery, people will credit God with saving them or drastically improving their lives. It might be inconsistent with what we usually believe but we say it nonetheless.

         So, I don’t have any problem with former President Donald Trump saying that God saved him from being killed by a would-be assassin’s bullet. I have never been in such a situation but, if, God forbid, I were, I might very well react the same way. He is entitled to say it and he should not be criticized for believing it. 

         Yes, there are the many theological dilemmas this perspective presents. Among the questions that arise are: Where was God’s hand to prevent Corey Comperatore from losing his life while protecting his family? And, can we legitimately practice what Rabbi Harold Kushner, zichrono livracha, called “Theological Gerrymandering” thanking God for the good in our lives but avoiding blaming God for the bad?”

         These and other dilemmas arise from the idea that: “God saved me” but we are entitled to be inconsistent with our theology if it helps us get through life. I learned a long time ago as a rabbi, not to get into a theological discussion with someone who is crediting God with bringing them a blessing. 

         But there is one deep concern which I can’t let go of when I hear the former president say what he said. 

         It is horribly dangerous when a person looks at an experience as proving God’s hand in their life and then reasons that God did this because they were deserving and that God, by this act of salvation, is signifying divine approval of their past actions and future plans. This transforms a personal theological position which could be life-enhancing and turns it into a self-aggrandizing sense of being chosen by God to pursue a particular path. 

  Whether or not the former President Trump feels this way is unclear although some of his statements seem to move in that direction. But it is absolutely clear that many of his supporters, including well known public figures, have taken that step and have publicly proclaimed that this proves that he is God’s chosen to lead this nation. 

That is so deeply disturbing and dangerous. We are electing a president, not a Messiah. Even before the assassination attempt, there were those felt that the former president was in some way chosen by God. That he survived the terrible event which took place last Saturday evening is now fuel for those who are anointing him as more than just a human being and this scares me and ought to scare all of us, regardless of political affiliation.

We are all entitled to our theology and to believe what brings our life meaning. But, regarding this particular theological perspective, it is too easy to make the leap from “God saved my life” to viewing ourselves or allowing others to view us as deserving of such special divine treatment. That is a very dangerous leap of faith.

         The news of the death of Willie Mays certainly resonated with baseball fans, especially those of a certain age. Mays was, without question, one of the greatest- if not the greatest- baseball player of all time and the announcement of his death brought long time baseball fans sweet memories of being a fan during the 1960s and early 1970s.

         It certainly did that for me and it also brought back a personal memory that I only have because I have a tendency to hold onto some items from my childhood in the spirit of nostalgia. I knew that those items would come in handy one day.

         So, shortly after hearing the news, I went down to our basement and, knowing exactly where to look, I found this short school report that I had written in 1965 when I was in fifth grade that I have kept for almost 60 years.     

         I read the report and I have to say that the writing was pretty good (I assume my father edited it a bit before I turned it in as he usually did.) and I learned some things I had long since forgotten. 

         I wrote: “Most of Willie’s childhood was spent in his Aunt Sarah’s house in Fairfield, Alabama. While theirs was not a rich family, it was not poverty-stricken as many Negro (sic) families were in the South.” 

         I also noted that: ‘The San Francisco club [at that time the New York Giants] sent two scouts to the Barons’ headquarters to sign a first basemen named Perry. Instead, they returned to New York with an incredible kid named Willie Mays”. 

         There is, of course, so much more to the story of Willie Mays’ becoming a major leaguer, not the least of which is the fact that the Red Sox were seriously interested in signing him. But racism or at least the racist reputation of the Red Sox, the last team to include a black player on their roster, sadly undermined that possibility.

         So, I can only dream of what it might have been like to cheer for a Red Sox team with Carl Yastrzemski in left and Willie Mays playing centerfield at Fenway Park. I can only imagine that I would not have had to wait until 1967 to see the Red Sox play in the World Series. 

         But that brings up another thought about being a baseball fan in the 1960s. I rarely saw Willie Mays play.

         This was a time long before interleague play and cable tv offering the opportunity to watch games seemingly around the clock. (As I write this, a Wednesday afternoon game between the Padres and the Phillies is in the background). We can now watch highlights of all games online. Back then, in the “good old days”, we were limited to watching the Red Sox local telecasts on weekends and the NBC Game of the Week on Saturday afternoon.. 

         So, I only got the chance to see Willie Mays (and Henry Aaron, Roberto Clemente, Ernie Banks, Bob Gibson and so many more) when the Game of the Week featured their teams or during the All-Star Game or the World Series.

         The limited menu of games to watch made it more special when we did have the rare opportunity to see games from Forbes Field or Connie Mack Stadium or Crosley Field. It might also explain why so many of us remember being glued to the TV for the All-Star Game and the World Series. Of course, it helped that those games were played during the day. Don’t get me started on the horrendous starting time for these games. Except during the years the Red Sox have been in the Series, I don’t think I’ve stayed up to see the end of more than a few World Series games in many years.

         So, my report on Willie Mays was based on research of one kind or another. The truth is that I probably had only seen him play a handful of times before I wrote that report. 

         I began this piece by writing about Willie Mays and wrote these last paragraphs about myself. But I won’t apologize. That is what baseball memories do for us- they make us think about who we were and what our life was like in distant simpler times.

But the story is really about the player. Willie Mays was, without a doubt, a great ambassador for baseball. His exceptional play on the field highlighted by 660 home runs and a .301 lifetime batting average and outstanding fielding (including what was perhaps the greatest catch in baseball history during the 1954 World Series) earn him the right to be called the best of all time. 

         However, the story doesn’t end there. Willie Mays’ class, his dignity and his understanding of what it meant to be in the public eye are as important, if not more important, to his reputation. He was not only a great baseball player. He was a great man and he was an inspiration to so many. I feel so privileged that I got to see him play- even if rarely- and more importantly, thank him for all he did to keep baseball meaningful for generations. 

This is the only elementary school report that I held onto for all of those years. Sure, it’s because it’s about baseball but also because it’s about a man who deserves life-long respect.

         I hope that future of generations of baseball fans will remember who he was as a player and as a man and that some of today’s and future generation’s stars will inspire the kind of admiration and respect that are being justifiably shown to the memory of the Say-Hey Kid. 

         His memory will always be for a blessing.