This past Friday, I had the opportunity to fulfill a long standing ambition. I stood in front of the grave of my great great Grandmother, Rasha Gershuney (Rose Goldman), in the Worcester Hebrew Cemetery in Massachusetts.

As I have written here previously, my mother had repeatedly told me that she believed that her great grandmother was buried somewhere in Massachusetts. This always intrigued me because, while I have had the opportunity to visit the graves all four of my maternal great grandparents, I couldn’t imagine that a member of an even older generation was buried in America. It seemed to me that it would be so unusual for a Jewish person of my age (64) to have had a great great grandparent that lived in this country.

While my mother never wanted to pursue this story, I was able to do so after her death. Through internet genealogical research, I connected with third cousins who knew the general location of Rasha’s grave. During two visits to the cemetery, I was unsuccessful in finding the grave. Then, with the help of another cousin and a rabbi in the Worcester area, I was able to get more precise information and during a trip last weekend to Massachusetts, I took a detour to Worcester and finally was successful in finding the grave.

As I stood there, my mind went in many different directions. First, I thought of my mother who was so fiercely proud of her family. I firmly believe that she knows I stood at the grave and felt a great sense of satisfaction that I had honored her ancestor.

Secondly, I thought a lot about the Goldman family. My grandfather had 10 siblings and we knew many of them growing up. I knew many of my mother’s first cousins and some of my second cousins. But, I know that I didn’t appreciate, as much as I should have, the blessings of a large extended family. As a kid, I looked at them as the “old folks” and by the time I had reached a place in life where I would appreciate these connections, I had moved from Boston and the opportunities to get together with them were greatly limited.

I have to say that the Goldmans were a great family. My grandmother, who had married into the family once said about some members of the family: “they would go to hell for a good time”. That was certainly my recollection. I remember the Goldmans of that generation as being hard working “salt of the earth” as we would say but always happy, somewhat loud and boisterous but always smiling even when gently insulting or poking fun at each other. They were a great group and I only wish I had appreciated them more deeply. Meeting several of my second cousins over the internet and in person has been deeply meaningful to me, as if somehow I could recapture some of the times I missed or took too lightly.

But, there was a third thought that came to mind as I stood looking at the grave.

My mind went back to the last time I visited a cemetery in search of a relative’s grave. That took place several years ago in the small city of Preili, Latvia. I couldn’t stand at the grave of my great uncle Shael and his children and grandchildren for they were buried in a mass grave after the slaughter of the Jews in the town in 1941. I stood in the cemetery where the massacre took place and stared at the monument which had recently been constructed in memory of those who were murdered and, after, crying for them, said a simple prayer of thanks to God that my grandfather, Shael’s brother, had chosen to come to America decades before.

So, as I stood and looked at Rasha’s grave, I realized how significant it was that Rasha’s son Morris, my great grandfather, and other members of the family were able to come to America and that the family was further able to bring Rasha over very late in her life. If nothing else, that guaranteed that her grave would be visited by future generations.

But, more than that, I realized once again, how blessed I am (and I usually don’t use that word but here it is entire appropriate) to have ancestors who, under whatever circumstances, made the decision to come here to this great land of freedom.

Yes, we are facing some serious issues of anti-Semitism here in the United States. But, I believe with all of my heart that we will overcome this threat and that this country will continue to be what it has been for so many generations- a place for families to grow together, to celebrate our Jewish traditions and heritage and make our mark for generations to come.

May the memory of Rasha Gershuney- and Shael Dobrushin- be for a blessing.

May we remember them, and all of the others, and may we teach our children and our grandchildren to embrace family whenever they can.

A couple of years ago, I posted a piece on my blog about my favorite movie of all time, Close Encounters of the Third Kind. You can find it here: https://robdobrusin.com/happy-40th-birthday-best-time/

I love Close Encounters and am drawn to watching it whenever it shows up on TV. But, my second favorite movie of all time (and it is really a very close second is from the same genre) is also one I have written about on many occasions. I am referring to the 1997 movie Contact.

Like Close Encounters, Contact is a story about the search for extra terrestrial intelligence. It is adapted from a book of the same name by Carl Sagan. It is truly a fascinating, engaging film and if you have never seen it or haven’t seen it lately, you really should see it. It has stood the test of time in many ways.

I happened to turn to Youtube to watch a section of the movie today because I have been listening to a series of online lectures on the theory of relativity and quantum physics in general. The lectures are supposed to be for non-scientists but I am still mystified by many of the ideas. I thought that watching the “wormhole” scene in Contact might put me in the right frame of mind to go back to learning more about the science that I really want to understand a bit better.

As I was watching the scene from the movie which I have seen dozens of times, I happened to scroll down for a moment to look at the comments and I was absolutely astounded by something a viewer had written. Before I tell you what it is, I want you to watch part of the scene. Watch the first minute and a half. It won’t ruin the movie for those of you that haven’t seen it.

Here is the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HzTHC6JSUvM&t=62s

The commenter on the page noted something which I had missed. It is subtle but it is absolutely fantastic. If you didn’t catch it, and you probably didn’t, go back again and watch what happens at about 57 or 58 seconds.

At this point in the scene, Jodie Foster’s face momentarily “morphs” (I can’t think of a better word) into the face of a young girl and her voice also changes briefly but noticeably. It then changes back again to the adult face and voice.

This “trick” is fascinating and is significant in the story. If you saw the movie, you know that we are introduced to Foster’s character, Ellie Arroway, as a young girl, fascinated with astronomy and with the world in general. She has a big smile and wide eyes as she learns. I won’t go into details here but her youth is interrupted by family tragedies. As an adult, she is clearly excited about her research and her greatest discovery but she sees everything from an analytical perspective until this moment when she once again realizes the majestic beauty behind the science. She recaptures her youth.

Clearly, the director of the film made this very subtle statement which really is the point behind the entire movie.

Why am I writing about this today? One reason is to share the excitement of this discovery that I had missed all these years.

The other reason is that is a very timely lesson for all of us.

We are approaching Rosh Hashana, which according to Jewish tradition is the “anniversary of creation”. The major focus of the holiday is repentance but lying behind that theme is the idea of recognizing the majestic beauty of our world and our special place within it as creations who can appreciate and rejoice in that beauty.

As we age, we naturally tend to forget the childlike awe and wonder that we had when we were younger. But, our tradition compels us to find that wonder and excitement in the world and allow ourselves, more than just for a short second or two, to see the world with young eyes once again.

Seeing the world in this way will help us to take more seriously our obligations to repair the world and preserve our planet for generations to come. It will also help us to recognize the miracle of our lives and, as a result, live our lives with more respect for each and every one of God’s creations.

My mother, Gertrude Dobrusin, was born 97 years ago today on September 2, 1922. She was a rather unique individual in many different ways and I think of her every day and always with a smile.

She always loved to tell stories about her youth and her extended Goldman family and it was quite a large family as her father had 10 siblings. There were great aunts and uncles, and 2nd cousins that we met and those we only had heard of in the complicated tales she would tell.

But, there was always one bit of mystery that my mother would inject into stories. She used to tell us that she thought that one of her great grandparents was buried someplace in Massachusetts. I was fascinated by this since I didn’t know any of my Jewish friends who had visited the graves of a great great grandparent. It was unusual enough that I knew where our great grandparents were buried and had visited the graves many times. While I only knew one grandparent, the idea that a great great grandparent was buried in this country gave me a great sense of family pride.

But one of my mother’s idiosyncrasies was that she would tell us a tantalizing story and then the story would end someplace in the middle. For years, I asked her to find out where her great grandmother was buried and she never did. And, when she died in 2005, the information, we assumed was lost forever.

Then genealogical research was made easier through the Internet and through a complicated set of circumstances, I met a third cousin and he told me that he knew who our common relative, our great great grandmother, was and where she was buried. Her name was Rasha Gershuney and she was buried in Worcester, Massachusetts. And, most importantly, he told me some of the family living in the area knew exactly where the grave was.

So, a few months later, during a trip to the Boston area, we went to visit the grave but we couldn’t find it in the large cemetery. A second trip a few years later yielded the same disappointing result.

Then, two weeks ago, I received an email from my 2nd cousin Tracey, whom I had also met through this research, asking if we ever found her grave. After I told her of our failures, she did some great research and was able to pinpoint the place of Rasha’s grave.

This was the information we needed and I took it from there. I contacted a rabbinic colleague in the area and asked if she knew the caretakers at the cemetery and if so, would they take a picture of the grave and send it to me? My colleague gladly offered her help and a few days ago, the mystery was solved. Here is the picture she sent.

My great grandfather had changed his family name from Gershuney to Goldman and since his death preceded Rasha’s, presumably someone else decided to record her name on the stone as Goldman (spelled incorrectly in English but correctly in Hebrew) and to anglicize her name Rasha to Rose. But, there was no question that this was her grave. The name of her father (my great great great grandfather Mordecai) and the date of her death matched all of our records.

So, there it was. Finally, the end to the story my mother tried to tell me over and over again.

It is ironic that we received this a few days before her birthday, maybe it is not a coincidence.

Maybe it is also not a coincidence that I’m going to be in Boston for a family celebration later this month so I’ll be up in the area to celebrate with cousins on my father’s side of the family. Instead of my original plan to spend Friday afternoon doing what I love to do, wandering through the North Shore looking for a “fish shack” to get some fried haddock and onion rings, I’ll take the Mass Pike out to Worcester to stand at the grave of my great great grandmother and realize once again the long history our family has in this great country.

In 2012, I traveled thousands of miles to stand in a cemetery in Preili, Latvia at a monument to the residents of that town who were slaughtered by Latvian collaborators as the Nazis took over the town. Among those were my great uncle and several of my 2nd cousins.

That visit was horribly sad. This one will be happy. Even if she never did see the story to the conclusion, I’m glad to close this circle on one of my mother’s long stories and to recognize once again how fortunate I and my children are that our ancestors made that long journey to America.

Happy birthday, Mom.

Many times over the past four years, I have expressed my thoughts on statements by then candidate, now President Trump. So many of these statements have left me greatly concerned as an American and as a Jew.

But, yesterday’s statement brought this entire discussion to a new place and it is a terrifying place.

Yesterday, the President said: “”I think Jewish people that vote for a Democrat — I think it shows either a total lack of knowledge or great disloyalty,” 

As I wrote on Facebook and as so many have expressed, the word “loyalty” carries with it tremendous implications and historical gravity for Jews. For centuries, Jews have been accused of a lack of loyalty to the nation in which we live, holding greater loyalty to our people and, since 1948, to the state of Israel. This claim of disloyalty or secondary loyalty has led to persecution against Jews for centuries.

So, when President Trump used these words yesterday, he was using language which resonates deeply within our hearts and minds as Jews.

It is not immediately clear what disloyalty the President was alluding to but I assume that he was saying that Jews who vote for Democratic candidates are being disloyal to the Jewish people and to Israel.

There is so much that needs to be said.

First, it goes without saying that President Trump has no right to lecture me or any Jew about how to express our Jewishness. This patronizing, demeaning attitude is shameful.

But, more importantly, from my perspective, his assumption about what makes a “loyal Jew” is simply wrong.

I do not deny that there are some within the Democratic party who have made anti-Semitic statements and this concerns me deeply. But, the assumption that the fact that more Republicans are vocal in their support for the current government of Israel translates into an administration that is “better for Jews” is misleading to say the least.

I care deeply about Israel but President Trump has repeatedly made support for Israel a “partisan issue”. This preceded his administration when republican leaders invited Prime Minister Netanyahu to speak before Congress to argue against President Obama’s support of the Iran Nuclear deal. The scene of so many in Congress cheering Netanyahu so ecstatically while disrespecting the leader of our nation was unsettling to say the least. While I am glad to see Israel have the support in Congress, that scene set the tone for the relationship that has been built up between Trump and Netanyahu which culminated a week ago in the Prime Minister, apparently, agreeing to the President’s suggestion that two Democratic members of congress who have been blatantly critical of Israel not be permitted to enter the country.

This decision was soundly criticized by most American Jewish organizations and rightly so.

Mr. President, there are many people who care about Israel who do not agree with the positions of the Netanyahu government. We will not be swayed by your claim that loyalty to a state means agreement with current policy.

But, there is a more important point to be made.

I am a loyal American. I am deeply concerned about the direction this country is taking and I believe that the values that Judaism espouses are being trampled on by this administration.

As Jews, we are called on to be compassionate, to recognize the image of God in all people, to be concerned for the earth which we live on, to protect our children from violence, to welcome the stranger and care for those in need.

These are not uniquely Jewish values as they are shared by so many in our nation and these values guide my vote on election day.

I intend to vote for a Democrat in 2020 because this administration has stood against recognizing climate change, dismissed the value of science, refused to enact laws protecting our children from gun violence, sought to take away from women the right to make decisions about their own bodies, referred to those seeking asylum and a better life as “invaders” and bringing “infestation”, turned a blind eye to, if not actively encouraged, white supremacists and overlooked the actions of brutal dictators throughout the world. These are unacceptable to me as an American.

I intend to vote for a Democrat in 2020 because I could not vote for a man whose rhetoric and actions do not reflect what this nation should be about.

Mr. President, to support your administration would be to be disloyal, both to the country I love and to the faith I hold.

There have been so many 50th anniversary observances in the past nine and a half years and they each remind us how turbulent, exciting and unpredictable a decade the 60s was. Think of it: we saw John Glenn’s first orbital flight, the Cuban Missile Crisis, the march on Washington, the assassinations of President Kennedy, Dr. Martin Luther King and Senator Robert Kennedy, the Northeast power blackout of 1965 and the six day war, Woodstock (and I have to add, the Red Sox’ Impossible Dream season of 1967) all within the span of 10 years. And behind all of these, the civil rights movement, the music of the Beatles, the anti-Vietnam war movement. It was an inspiring, scary, momentous and exhilarating decade that shaped the lives of so many of us.

As we approach the end of the current decade, it seems like we’ve saved the best fiftieth anniversary for last. For today, we observe the anniversary of the greatest adventure in the history of human beings: the first manned lunar landing.

Like everyone who remembers that July day, I have vivid memories of where I was sitting, what I was thinking and how the different members of my family, spanning three generations, reacted to the event. As with so many of those events, the memories of our personal connection with the event are often uppermost in our minds. But, this mission was about so much more than our own memories.

As I have watched and read the retrospectives of the Apollo 11 mission, one thought keeps coming back to me. The flight to the moon was so complex, so complicated, so technologically advanced and yet it was performed with computer technology that is dwarfed in scientific terms by the cell phone in the pocket of a 12 year old. Just imagine.

Each point of the mission was fraught with danger and uncertainty: achieving orbit in the first place, “trans-lunar injection” as the spacecraft left earth orbit, the docking with the lunar module, the separation of the LM from the spacecraft, the flight to the moon, the landing, the “moonwalk” itself, the lift-off from the moon, docking with the command module and the reentry and splashdown. So many times, the commentators told us that the mission depended on that moment. And each test was passed. When the lunar landing took place, there was less than 30 seconds of fuel remaining. When Apollo 11 returned to earth, it did so right on target. The measurements so precise and the planning so exact.

And, for me and so many others, the moment we remember best was the booming voice of Walter Cronkite who summed it all up by saying simply; “Man on the Moon!”

The real story is that behind the beauty, the astounding pictures and sounds, lay the intelligence and abilities of human beings. The foundation of any scientific advancement that was achieved by the findings of this flight and the others before and after it is the reality that we have been created with minds that are able to accomplish what seems to be impossible.

While sitting on the surface of the moon in the LM, astronaut Buzz Aldrin took a moment to perform the rite of communion and asked everyone listening to his voice to say words of thanks.

We should do that every day.

The first blessing we say during the daily Amida, the first among the list of petitions and statements of thanks to God focuses on our wisdom. “You had endowed the human being with wisdom and give us knowledge…”We ask God to continue to imbue us with such wisdom and remember that it is this wisdom which sets us apart from other creations and provides the hope for our collective future.

It is 50 years since a human being stepped on the moon for the first time. I personally believe that it was worth all of the expense and all of the dedication for so many reasons. And, I believe that we should continue that type of exploration because it is in our nature as human beings to stretch the horizons of our learning.

But, it is also necessary for us to look inward and to seriously consider why it is that a creation which can send a person to the moon, can understand the depths of the ocean and the intricacies of the human mind can not do what we have dreamed of as a species not just for the past 50 years but for so many beyond that.

Neil Armstrong took “one small step” and the world took a “giant leap”. If we could be inspired by the flight of Apollo 11 to take small steps towards mutual respect and concern for all, it would be a giant leap for all. The world stood together on July 20, 1969, celebrating this momentous accomplishment. May we see the day when all of us, all human beings, stand together as one once again.

I posted two postings on Facebook yesterday and today about how horrendous President Trump’s tweets of Sunday morning were. But, then this morning, he tweeted that the people whom he was speaking of “hate Israel”.

Here was my response today on Facebook:

While I am not by any means enamored with some of the comments made by the 4 members of congress whom Trump apparently has targeted, I am infuriated by his using; “They hate Israel” as a justification for his racist tweets. He is clearly trying to leverage the support of the American Jewish community and claiming it is out of concern for Israel that he makes statements like these.

A few months ago, I wrote a piece on my website entitled; “An Open Letter to President Trump” in which I said that I would certainly consider a candidate’s stand on Israel when I decide whom to support in 2020 but: “My vote will also be based on a candidate’s and party’s positions on health care, immigration policy, gun violence, tax policies, environmental concerns and civil rights for minorities of all types, to name a few. I will also consider whom I feel represents the United States best in the world community. These domestic issues are what motivate me as an American as I consider the future of my country.”

President Trump’s use of Israel in this way is, I believe, disingenuous as well as dangerous. As much as we are legitimately concerned about Israel’s future and our country’s policy in the Middle East, we can’t be swayed by statements like this to ignore how horrendous his racist rants and his alliances with the far right and White Nationalists are. In no way are those good for the Jews or good for America.

This past Shabbat, Shabbat Parashat Korach, I had the opportunity to deliver a d’var Torah at Beth Israel. The story, from the book of Numbers, focuses on the rebellion of Korach, Datan, Aviram, On and 250 others against the leadership of Moses and Aaron.

The story is fascinating in and of itself but there is one aspect of the story which continues to attract my attention. When Korach and his band approach Moses with their complaints, Moses says that the matter will be settled the next morning. The commentaries consider why Moses and God didn’t respond on the spot.

There are many answers that are given, some more fanciful than others. But, the answer that has always resonated most clearly with me is the idea that Moses wanted to give the rebels an opportunity to take back their words. He wanted to give them a chance to do teshuva, to repent.

If, in fact, that was the goal, it was partially successful. The man named On is never mentioned in the rest of the story and the rabbis imagine that either he himself decided to stay away or, as we read in a great aggada, his wife prevented him from joining the rebellion the next day by filling him with food and drink during the night so that he slept through the entire affair the next day.

I examined this story in more depth during my d’var Torah and related it to a sad chapter in American history which I had been reading about the past few weeks.

I love reading biographies of presidents and I have just finished the biography of Ulysses Grant by Ron Chernow. It’s a fascinating book about a very complex man who, by the end of his second term, had a reputation of concern and respect for all people, including blacks and Jews. He had brought more Jews into his administration than any previous president and had publicly stood up against Russia and Romania where Jews were being persecuted.

What was particularly surprising about his relations with the Jewish community is that in 1862, while he was in charge of the “department” of Tennessee, then General Grant had issued the most blatantly anti-Semitic order in American history: General Order no. 11 which called for the eviction of Jews from the entire area. Grant was furious about war profiteering and smuggling that had been taking place and, swayed by general anti-Semitic attitudes in the nation, issued the order that Jews “as a class” were required to leave immediately. The order was quickly revoked by President Lincoln and Grant rescinded his order shortly after. But, the fear that the order raised among Jews was not easily calmed and the chilling words resonated for many years.

You can read more about the order in Chernow’s book or in a great book called: “When General Grant Expelled the Jews” by Jonathan Sarna. There is so much more to say about this entire affair and it is fascinating to consider how Jewish leaders responded and, particularly how and why many Jews decided to support Grant in his bid for the presidency despite the order. Part of that decision might be attributable to Grant’s explanation of his act. Whether it was because of political expediency or spoken from the heart, Grant later said these words which resonate today: “It would never have been issued if it had not been telegraphed the moment it was penned and without any reflection.”

Think for a moment about those words.

And now, think about today.

If, in 1862, Grant was a victim of speaking without thinking twice, how much more is that a danger for us today?

In this era of instant communications, we constantly are telegraphing our thoughts without reflection in the perceived need to have our opinions or feelings “out there” before any others. And, it is more difficult than it was in Grant’s day to have any repentance we might feel accepted by our listeners or readers because those words, once written, are constantly brought up again and again thanks to the Internet. Nothing is forgotten. Nothing can be cancelled out. And, it also seems that no apology is enough even if it is backed up, as it was in Grant’s case, by action.

When Moses gave Korach time to “think it over”, it was an encouragement to realize that in his situation perhaps the words could be taken back. Somehow, in 1862, Grant’s statement of regret was enough.

Today, it is even easier to fall into the trap of speaking or writing without taking a moment or two to reflect. And it is certainly more difficult to take back our words when we do.

SPOILER ALERT: If you haven’t seen Toy Story 4 and intend to do so (and I would certainly recommend seeing it, please stop reading and come back after you have seen the film. I don’t want to spoil the ending for anyone.

We enjoyed Toy Story 4 tremendously. We’re big fans of the series of films and were really looking forward to seeing the fourth, and perhaps final, chapter in this remarkably creative story.

I thought the film dragged a bit in the middle but besides that, thought it was as imaginative and fun as the first three.

But, a few days after seeing it, the ending of the film continues to fascinate.

I know it will seem a bit ridiculous to some to put a lot of thought into a movie of this kind but as one of the young people whose reviews were included in a New York Times article said: “maybe the message (of the ending) …is important for older people.” For this older person , that 11 year old could not have said it better.

So, what happens at the end? In the end of the film, Woody, who was the favorite toy of Andy, the original Toy Story central human character, decides to leave the rest of the toys that now belong to Andy’s young friend, Bonnie, and become “a lost toy”, traveling with his girlfriend Bo Peep and some other toys. Woody had been the leader of this troop of toys and they depended upon him to lead the way. In Toy Story 4, Woody in fact initiates a new toy into the group and convinces him to relish in the fact that he is needed by his new little friend, Bonnie.

Woody’s decision to leave the group broke the hearts of many moviegoers, including I’m sure, most children. How could he break up the family? How could he follow his own heart rather than stay with the group?

While I had that same sense of sadness, there was a different emotion that took over when I saw this ending and yes, the ending made me cry.

Bo Peep urges Woody to recognize the fact that more than his friends needed him, he needed to be needed by them. But in a critical scene at the beginning of the movie, it was clear that Woody had been relegated to the closet and was not Bonnie’s favorite. His time had passed in many ways and Bo told him that it was time to be “for himself”.

I’m not suggesting at all that families should not stay together and that one should walk out on his or her family or group of friends. But, time does change relationships and at some point, it is important to realize that by defining ourselves by others’ expectations of our presence and our role could be selling ourselves short. At some point, we need to be ourselves and do “our thing” even if it means changing certain relationships. Again, I would never say this about family relationships where we should gladly push aside our own desires for the good of the family. But, to a greater or lesser extent, each of us must, in a small way, express our independence at some point and not leave all of our dreams behind. When Woody went away with Bo, my first reaction was “good for him”! Like every young adult who leaves home, Woody’s family was right behind him, recognizing it was time for him to take that step.

Finding the right balance between being there for others and living our dreams is a life long pursuit and at certain times in our lives, we need to consider what has happened to our pursuit of those dreams and what we can do to recapture them.

But, then a few days later, another thought came to mind. As I thought about Bo Peep beckoning and the family encouraging him to go by smiling and saying in essence: “We’ll be OK”, I realized that I recognized that scene as I had lived through it, in fact orchestrated it, many times.

Often, when a family gathers around a beloved family member who is near death, I, as most clergy will do, encourage the family members to “give permission” to their loved one to die. We tell them to loosen their grip on their loved one and allow the person to move to the next world. Especially if there is a belief in an existence for the soul after death, this will bring a small smile to the faces of the loved ones to imagine their beloved moving towards “infinity and beyond” holding the hand of one whom they had lost before.

With that image in mind, my perspective on the last scene changed completely and I think that, even though I didn’t realize it until a day or two later, that was where my tears came from.

As the credits rolled, they were interrupted by brief vignettes of life after this big transition. The final one showed Bonnie’s new favorite toy, Forky, meeting another toy like him with a look of love in his eyes. It was an unmistakeable statement that life for the family goes on and that the legacy Woody had left would inspire and guide those who came after him.

What a wonderful movie! And the ending led me to think about decisions I have made in my life and times of great emotion that I have had the privilege to experience with others.

Thank you to the writers of Toy Story 4. You really made us all think about real life and the transitions we all face.

                

         The Titanic hit an iceberg and sank on April 15, 1912. Five days later, Fenway Park, the oldest ballpark still in use in the major leagues opened its doors for the first time. 

         Fenway Park is a Boston institution. Like many other ballparks, it is an integral part of the atmosphere of the city. Located a couple of miles from the center of town, the Boston Common, Fenway is in bustling Kenmore Square, right near the campus of Boston University, several other colleges and many of Boston’s famed hospitals. Fenway’s beloved unique angles and features are evidence of the fact that the park was designed to fit into the geography of the streets which surround it. 

         A day at Fenway is not only about seeing a ball game. It is an experience of camaraderie and a celebration of a city and of New England. To see a game at the ballpark is to celebrate a heritage passed down from generation to generation of Bostonians and New Englanders.

         In 2012, Fenway Park celebrated its 100^thanniversary. The Red Sox offered an opportunity to fans to purchase a commemorative brick to be placed in the concourse within the stadium. My brother and I, the children of two loyal Red Sox fans, decided to purchase a plaque in memory of our parents. 

         We were sent a replica of the brick for display at home. The wording we chose celebrated our parents’ love of the Red Sox and the fact that my father, Manny Dobrusin, was always “being Manny”. That’s a reference to an ex-Red Sox player, Manny Ramirez, who was had so many idiosyncrasies that his acts were referred to as “Manny being Manny”. That phrase became popular only after our Dad died or we might have put it on his headstone as Manny Dobrusin was every bit as idiosyncratic in an endearing way. 

         So, last Wednesday, my cousin Dave and I met at Fenway Park to see a game together. It was the first time I had been at Fenway since 2011 and the first time Dave and I saw  a game there together since the 6^thgame of the 1975 World Series which was the most famous game ever played at Fenway Park.

         I had never seen the commemorative brick that we bought so I planned to look for it before the game. But, when the day came, I had forgotten all about it until just before game time when I suddenly remembered. 

         With the first pitch fast approaching, Dave and I hustled over to the Right Field concourse and found the section of the concourse where the brick had been placed. The only information we had was that it was in the “Dave Roberts” section, named for the Red Sox player whose stolen base in the 9^thinning of game 4 of the 2004 League Championship Series was the turning point in a tremendous comeback against the New York Yankees. Later that month, the Red Sox won their first World Series since 2004. 

         So, there we were, searching madly for a brick on the ground. People were walking all over the section of bricks and I had to ask several people to move so that I could look where they had been standing. The sun was bright and the engravings were a bit worn so it was not easy to read them. Time was passing and the first pitch was approaching. 

         Suddenly, I looked down and was stunned. 

         There, right underneath my feet was a brick that stopped me cold. It wasn’t our brick but it was one placed in honor of a man named A. Arthur Giddon who was chosen to be an honorary bat boy for the Red Sox on his 100^thbirthday. He had been a bat boy for the old Boston Braves in the 1920s and the Sox honored him by bringing him onto the field in tribute to his being a life long baseball fan. 

         It’s a beautiful story, written up in several newspapers including the New York Times. But what made it stunning was the fact that A. Arthur Giddon was my father’s first cousin. His mother and my maternal grandmother were sisters and while I never met his mother, my father’s Aunt Sadie, I had heard many stories about her including the fact that she used to walk, with her rabbi, to Braves Field on Saturday morning after services to watch the Braves play. It may be an apocryphal story but, as with all great family stories, it’s worth retelling.

         As I took pictures of the Giddon brick, I started to back up a bit to get a better view and then turned around and saw, right under my feet, our plaque. It was only a few bricks away, on the same line, in the same section. 

         Family is family. 

And members of a family have a unique bond which can transcend time and space.

         I’ve had reason over the past year to see many of my cousins, some for the first time in many years and the feeling of standing with them, talking with them, hugging them and laughing with them has been so refreshing since we have no close family in Ann Arbor. 

Even after many years, family is family.

A few years ago, my mother-in-law came to visit us in Ann Arbor for the first time since we adopted our dog, Sami. Sami loves everyone but the minute my mother-in-law walked in the house, Sami behaved like she had never done before, not only greeting her, but sitting beside her and looking right into her eyes.

Even our faithful pup knows that family is family.

         No one on the Red Sox staff knew that the Giddons and the Dobrusins were mishpacha but I have to thank them for placing the bricks right near each other and for giving me a moment to reflect once again on the magic of family.

   In memory, and even more so, in life, family is magical. 

I posted this on facebook this morning:

Packing to go away overnight and made sure to pack my toothbrush and toothpaste and other toiletries. It made me think again. I’m privileged to be able to buy these items to stay healthy. But, staying healthy under someone else’s care is a right not a privilege. How can this nation be so cruel and heartless to deny toothbrushes and soap and clean diapers to little children and babies under our supervision? This is despicable and has to stop.

I can not adequately convey the disgust that I feel when I read the accounts that are coming out of these “detention centers”. I don’t care what words are used to describe them or any comparisons, accurate or otherwise, which are made. I only care about the fact that this is an absolute abomination for the United States.

The immigration issue is not a simple one. Traveling to the border back in November, I saw a lot of different sides to the issue. But one part of the entire situation is quite simple: denying children- or adults for that matter- the bare necessities of cleanliness and personal care is horrendous and heartbreaking.

This has to stop.