I Still Believe

I Still Believe

This morning before dawn when the stars were still out                  And the sky was changing to a lighter shade of blue                                                                    Lola’s soft grunts awoke me to be let out.                                                                                    How caring and polite I thought for her not to want to startle me.                                                                                It was a quiet morning and three kings on camels came to mind                                              
When I saw one star bigger and brighter that the others                                                                   
And peace came over me

My childhood came alive and so did Ded Moroz who came at Christmastime                                     
To the small Russian Orthodox Church on top of Monte Alegre in Rio                                  
Above the favelas on one side and our neighborhood on the other.                                                
At home, mama, sister Mila, Grandma Valentina                                                                        And I decorated a Christmas tree in a corner of the room                                                        
While father, Grandma Mina Solomon and I also set up a menorah                                            
On a large oval silver dish in the center of the mahogany buffet.

Once in America, Santa or St. Nick replaced Ded Moroz                                                            
And I was fine with that, even as I grew older.                                                                              They were the same.                                                                                                                         A large older man with a big beard in a red outfit, black boots, and a red cap                                  
Bearing gifts inside a large bag                                                                                                       But the Menorah stayed in its drawer in the buffet                                                                          After my father had died of cancer in October of '63.  
                                     
As I waited for Lola to finish her business,
I realized that there are other good men and women in the world
Who also wear a red cap at Christmastime each year.
And there are good men year-round, like President Biden,
Like the chef who prepares meals for the displaced in Palestine,
Like the men and women volunteers in thousands of non-profits,
Not the grinches of the world like Trump, Musk and Putin.

I came to realize this morning that there probably was                                                                     A young carpenter who gave up his life for the sins of others
Like the good men and women who gave up their lives
For a good cause and against evil in wars. Books have been written about them.
And it still happens today in battlefields in Ukraine where good men and women die.
This year I will put on my red cap again to spread good will                                                          
And to see my grandchildren’s smiles.

I still believe.