In a fit of passion last year, I made a promise to my son, Avi. And, as we all know, kids remember promises in direct proportion to how impulsive the promise was. But, a promise is a promise.

So, having already apologized in advance to the Bat Mitzvah family and now to your honored guests I will apologize also to the Congregation and to my wife, Ellen, for the embarrassment I am about to bring to the family. And, also, I continue with apologies by offering one to one of my favorite songwriters Neil Diamond, whose work needed a little bit of tinkering with including the requisite change from singular to plural which Jewish liturgy demands of a song of celebration. With all that in mind, I will sing the song I promised Avi that I would sing from the bima:

"Well I thought love was only true in fairy tales
Meant for someone else but not for us
Love was out to get us
That's the way it seemed
Disappointment haunted all of our dreams.
Well I thought love was more or less a givin' thing
Seems the more I gave, the less I got
What's the use of trying
All you get is pain
When I wanted sunshine, I got rain.
And then there came this team (Here, I put on my Boston Red Sox cap)
Now we're all believers
There's not a trace of doubt in our minds...

You get the idea.

For those of you who don't know me, this is no recent love affair I'm talking about. I learned as a kid growing up 4 miles from Fenway Park that I had been born into a religious faith shared by everyone in New England. After all, we all spend every summer praying at the same sanctuary.

And the meaning of dor l'dor, "from generation to generation" is so clearly seen in how parents teach their children to love the Red Sox despite what they know that love will eventually do to their hearts. My brother got on a plane from Chicago to Miami on Wednesday wearing a Red Sox hat, a few hours before game 4 of the World Series and was reminded of this by an old grizzled veteran of many baseball seasons who approached him and shared words that, if I said them from the bima, would get me sent to the minor leagues forever. We tell our kids in graphic and hopefully not so graphic terms that the Sox will leave their hearts broken.

And now, we know it need not always be that way.

Almost 12 years ago, we welcomed Avi into the covenant of Israel and I shared some words with him on this bima. I took him in my arms and told him that he was the recipient of a great tradition, one which is mocked by many, misunderstood and laughed at by others, thought of as archaic and meaningless and which would be the source of sadness and struggle but that he should hold his head high despite the taunts. Everyone looked at me aghast because they know that is not how I frame Judaism for the Congregation or for myself. So, I quickly reminded the gathered congregation that I wasn't talking about Judaism, I was talking about Avi being born a Red Sox fan and showed everyone that under the blanket Avi was in, he was proudly wearing this Red Sox sleeper.

And now, I say to you, Avi and Mickie as well, God willing your son or daughter will wear this at his or her brit milah or naming ceremony but with one difference. You will be able to say to your child what I could never say to you. You will tell your child that his Grandpa Dobrusin actually saw the Red Sox win a world series. And God willing I'll be there to tell the kid the story of Wednesday night and, maybe, of more such nights to come.

My father, alav hashalom, lived a wonderful, complete life. He wrote some words to be read at his funeral which said that he had no regrets. But, I know that in fact he had two.

The first regret was that he never walked on the soil of the land of Israel. His father had done so. His sons had done so and his grandson did so a few months after his death and I kept reminding Avi when we were in Israel a few years ago that we were walking for Papa Dobrusin.

And the second regret was that my Dad never saw the Sox win a World Series. And as I hugged my family the other night, I said to them: "this one was for Papa and for my Uncle Bernie". My Uncle Bernie, alav Hashalom, who died last December, was a true Red Sox fan living in New York for 60 years.

Look, I know this isn't important in the long run. Johnny Damon's lead off home run didn't bring world peace. Derek Lowe's superb pitching performance wasn't like finding a cure for AIDS or cancer. And Manny Ramirez makes more money playing one game than many hard working honest good people make in a year. And I know that some of you here today have more on your mind than baseball and the good citizens of Washington DC are right to ask for more libraries before the city builds a baseball stadium. But, life is to be enjoyed as well and I'm sure enjoying this.

Being a Red Sox fan has always been about hope and about finding things to believe in and dreams, both serious and not so serious, to pursue and to hope to achieve. May we never, ever stop believing that the things we wish for: for ourselves, for our children, will come true. They will one day.

On Wednesday, before the ball game, I kept thinking about a line I once read in a novel. I can't place it but I do remember it: "May this be the night our children have been taught to pray for."

On Rosh Hashana, I changed the line of a prayer I always read. Instead of saying, as the prayer was written: "May your team win the World Series", I read: "May my team win the World Series". That prayer was answered. Not by God, I can't believe that. There were just as many good, sincere, prayers from the Cardinals faithful. But, the prayer was answered by the indomitable human spirit, talent, courage and crazy creativity characterized by this Red Sox team. We all need spirit, talent, courage, and a bit of creativity to achieve the goals we set for life. That's the lesson from this team.

I have another song that I think is more appopriate than "I'm a Believer" for how I feel. I played it so often and so loud in the car on Wednesday and Thursday that you probably heard it already if you were driving around Ann Arbor. It was written by Paul Simon and if I could have arranged for a gospel choir to back me up as they do on the recording, I would sing it, but instead I'll just read the last verse.

"Once in a while, from out of nowhere
When you don't expect it, and you're unprepared
Somebody will come and lift you higher
And your burdens will be shared
Yes I do believe, if I hadn't met you
I might still be sinking fast
I've had a long streak of bad luck
But, now it's GONE AT LAST.

May we see the day, as individuals and together as a community and as a world in which all our real troubles are Gone at Last. And, as importantly, until then, may we all pass on to our children the hope that that day will come. Because, this past Wednesday night, for Red Sox nation, the night we prayed and hoped and wished for really came.

May it come for all of us in our serious struggles bimhayra biyamaynu speedily and in our day.

Shabbat Shalom and Go Cubbies, you guys deserve it next year.

Robert Dobrusin, Rabbi
Copyright © 2004, Robert Dobrusin.
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This message was originally posted on November 10, 2004.

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