When You're With Rush, You're With Family: Some Thoughts About R50 in Boston

There are moments in the life of a Rush fan that stand out. For example, I remember R40 like it was yesterday. It was June 23, 2015, and Annie Zaleski, a journalist friend of mine from Cleveland, joined me at TD Garden in Boston, where we saw Rush perform for what many of us feared would be the final time;  I blogged about it here, in fact: https://dlhalperblog.blogspot.com/2015/06/just-another-mad-mad-day-on-road-some.html 

I also remember the very first time I saw Rush. It was June 28, 1974 at the Allen Theater in Cleveland. I didn't have a blog back then; nobody even knew what the internet was, nor could any of us predict what the future held for these three young men from Toronto. I remember the show, and I remember that they were so young, and they looked really nervous (and John Rutsey was still the drummer); but their manager promised me that night that they'd never let me down. And when they began to play "Working Man," some fans in the audience knew the song and sang along with it, which seemed to give them more confidence.

I remember so many other moments from so many other shows-- I'm still amazed that Rush (and their management) have kept in touch with me for more than fifty years. And that's what I remember the most, far beyond which city I saw them play, or which songs were in the set-list: I remember the friendship. It's a rare commodity in the world today. And I saw that friendship everywhere when I went to TD Garden on Monday night, to attend R50, the show so many of us never thought we'd live to see.  

I saw that friendship in the pop-up Xanadu Lounge, where fans were eating snacks and enjoying looking at Rush photos, artwork and memorabilia. A lot of folks recognized me and came up to ask for a selfie with me; and they thanked me for what I had done for Rush. They didn't need to do that; knowing that I played a role in making Rush better-known is gratifying enough for me. There were lots of hugs, lots of conversation about Rush shows we had seen and songs that meant a lot to us. In most cases, I had never met these folks before, and yet we all shared a feeling of being among people we cared about.       

And I saw that friendship when I went backstage to see Alex and Geddy before the show. They were in work mode and I didn't want to take up too much of their time, so we hugged, and chatted briefly. I told them how proud I was of them, and I conveyed the good wishes of the fans. I also wished Geddy and his family a happy new year. We hugged again, and then they had a show to do, and I took my seat in the mixing booth, next to two old friends-- Cliff Bernstein (I've known him since his days at Mercury Records) and the legendary Howard "Herns" Ungerleider. 

Howard looked wonderful-- so much healthier (he told me he has lost a lot of weight, but he just looked so happy to be doing what he was doing). Cliff and I were reminiscing about Cleveland, and about how record promotion used to be done, and we were both remarking on how wonderful the show was-- it was a privilege to watch this new iteration of Rush, and to enjoy getting together after not seeing each other for a while. Okay fine, they were working, but there was still time to marvel at where we've all been, how many years we've known each other, and what a privilege it is to be at R50.   

I'll let others write about which songs Rush played, but suffice it to say the set on Monday night featured some of their best-known tracks, as well as the entire Moving Pictures album ("Witch Hunt" could have been written yesterday); and the special effects were top-notch. They always are. I was delighted to see a tribute to Neil, and equally pleased to see a tribute to Rutsey; both tributes were emotional for so many of us. Anika was a pleasure to watch. In fact, the entire band seemed like they were really having fun up there. And when they played their encore and we all heard the familiar opening chords of "Working Man," everyone in the audience was on their feet, singing along (or air-drumming or air-guitaring). In fact, people were on their feet doing that all night. It wasn't a rowdy crowd: it was an enthusiastic and happy crowd (and yes, it included female fans, as well as some kids, brought by parents who wanted to share Rush with a new generation). What I saw, as I said, was a community of friends.

And in a world where there are so many reasons to be stressed or angry, it was a wonderful escape to spend some time immersed in Rush's music. Now more than ever, we can all use some joy, and that is what Rush delivered. As recently as a year ago, few of us could have predicted that we would see Rush reunite and perform again. And now, here we are, receiving the gift of an evening with our favorite band. I left the venue feeling grateful. And I don't think I'm the only one. After all, when you're with Rush, you're with family. And it really felt like a family reunion in many ways-- one that we were all happy to attend.  

Things I'd Like to Say

In the Jewish religion, it's customary to go to the cemetery and visit the graves of departed family members during the weeks before the Jewish New Year. It's about remembering those who went before us, and thanking them for their contribution to us when they lived. Some of you may have seen photos of Jewish gravestones that look like this:

It's a custom to leave a stone, as a symbol that someone visited: flowers may fade, but stones are a more permanent sign that someone was there and someone remembered. 

In my case, many of my late relatives are all in the same cemetery: I visit my parents, my maternal grandfather, my maternal grandmother, as well as various aunts, uncles, and cousins from my mother's side of the family. (The relatives from my father's side are in entirely different places, and I try to get over to visit some of them too.) 

At this time of year, I often find myself thinking about my parents. My father and I never got along well-- he was very traditional and I was not. I don't think he expected to have a daughter who was a feminist, nor could he understand why I left home to pursue a radio career (rather than staying in the neighborhood and getting married). I always felt like I was a disappointment to him-- I just couldn't be what he thought I ought to be. My mother and I, on the other hand, had a very close relationship: when I was growing up, we'd often discuss current events, or we'd talk about what I was studying in college (she shared my love for history and literature). In fact, my mother and I were close for many years. 

But then, towards the end of her life, the closeness we had abruptly ended. To this day, I wish I knew why. I've thought about the last few conversations we had, and replayed them in my mind numerous times; but while I have a few theories about what went wrong, I still don't understand what I did that caused us to become estranged. After all this time, I'm not sure it would make a difference if I did know exactly what the reason was; all I know is that she and I could no longer talk with each other the way we did for so many years. And although I can't change it, losing that relationship bothers me to this day.    

In the next few days, I will make my visit to the cemetery, as I do every year. I will say my prayers, and I will thank my parents for their many contributions to my life. And I will leave a stone to show that I was there and I remembered. And I will tell my mother and father that I'm trying my best to live an ethical and compassionate life, and to make a difference in the world. And as is the custom, I will give a donation to charity in their memory (something I often do throughout the year anyway). 

And I'd like to believe that they were proud of me, even with whatever differences we may have had. Of course, there's no way to know, and if I could ask them, I would. There are so many conversations I wish we'd had, so many things I wish I had said. But that must remain in the past, even if some of those experiences still feel incomplete. And so, I focus on the fact that the Jewish New Year is coming, along with the Ten Days of Repentance. And I will keep trying to do my part to make the world a better place. It's the best way I know to honor what my parents taught me.  

And Sometimes, Things Change for the Worse

I spent the first eight years of my life in a part of Boston that was predominantly Jewish. Boston was a city of ethnic neighborhoods. (Even today, while the ethnic groups have changed, the ethnic neighborhoods remain.) Back in the 1950s, many Italians lived in the North End, and many Irish lived in South Boston. There were neighborhoods in Dorchester and Mattapan where European Jews lived (I grew up in Dorchester). Greeks, Syrians, Black people, Asians... they all had their neighborhoods. We mingled in public school or at work, but we lived with "our own." I never analyzed whether that sort of arrangement was good or bad: why did all the Chinese people live in "Chinatown"? Why did all the Irish live in Southie? And why did my neighborhood have so many synagogues? I was just a kid, and I assumed all of this was normal. My father had recollections of the different groups guarding their "turf" in the 1930s when he was a young teen, but by the time I was growing up in the 1950s, I don't recall there being many turf wars-- although perhaps people had just learned to stay within their own properly-assigned sphere. 

My parents moved to Roslindale when I was eight, and suddenly, we were the only Jews in the area. There was a small Jewish community in neighboring West Roxbury, but now, rather than synagogues, I saw churches-- lots of churches. Yes, there was culture shock, but for the most part, I don't recall any overt antisemitism. Of course, there was casual antisemitism in the culture, and people had stereotypes about Jews. But other than an occasional insensitive remark, I don't recall being treated badly by my Christian neighbors. I'm sure some of them wished I'd convert to their faith, but few of them ever tried to preach at me. There was a live-and-let-live attitude in our neighborhood, and that was a good thing. 

Fast forward to today, and I don't see as much live-and-let-live. I also don't see as much courtesy. Perhaps it's because of our pervasive internet culture, especially what can be heard in some corners of social media. Perhaps it's because we have a president who encourages rudeness and name-calling. There are a multitude of other possible causes, but the end result is a resurgence of bigotry and a willingness to express it-- against immigrants, against Muslims, and against Jews.  

In fact, these days, it's not even safe to attend a synagogue. On Friday night, an angry guy barged into Central Synagogue in New York during Sabbath services, screaming obscenities, interrupting the service, and horrifying those in attendance (as well as those watching on the live stream). He was eventually subdued but he damaged some items and struck a congregant before he was finally taken outside and arrested. Meanwhile, there have been far more serious attacks at other synagogues, as well as a rise in attempted arson and vandalism. Many synagogues now have metal detectors. Even more have armed guards.        

It's a far cry from how things were when I was growing up. Don't get me wrong: I am not nostalgic for some mythical "good old days." But I do miss the days when attacking a house of worship was considered bad behavior, and nobody made excuses for it. I do miss the days when I could attend a synagogue and not see a police detail standing outside. I do miss the days when having the "wrong" politics was not a reason why people would scream at you, and when political leaders felt an obligation to speak out against those who acted violently, rather than defending the ones who were on "their team." And yes, I miss the days when the justice system was not seen as a partisan exercise, dependent on the whims of the president, who gives new meaning to the expression "For my friends everything; for my enemies, the law."     

Somewhere, there's a seven year old girl looking at all of this. I wonder what she thinks of it all. Does she think that armed guards at synagogues are normal? Does she think that random strangers insulting Orthodox Jews walking down the street is normal? Does she think politicians who make rude and vulgar remarks about Muslims or immigrants or people from the "wrong" political party is normal? And if that's what normal looks like to kids today, are we really the enlightened society we claim to be?

Sometimes, Things Do Change for the Better

She loved playing the drums from the time she was a kid, and fortunately for her, she had a very supportive dad who saw her potential. She began performing locally, and gradually, she worked her way up in the music business. Other musicians who watched her perform were very impressed: they didn't expect a young woman to play as well as she did. She became a student of drumming, who eagerly learned from some of the biggest names, and always tried to improve her skills. 

But as good as she was at her craft, Viola Smith never became famous. She probably should have-- even some of the critics said she was a gifted musician. Unfortunately, she was performing during the 1920s through the 1950s-- an era when "girl drummers" were still considered a novelty. They were expected to be proficient but never lose their femininity; in fact, one of the network radio programs she regularly appeared on was called the "Hour of Charm." Most female musicians back then could only find work in an "all-girl orchestra"-- Viola's band was called the Coquettes and they were well-received wherever they toured. She repeatedly showed that she was a skilled and talented drummer, and as good as any man. But she never got the kind of recognition that her male counterparts received, nor did she make the money they made. Still, she carved out a successful niche, despite the fact that it was a different time. And although she sometimes had to fight to be taken seriously, it was a fight she usually won. When Viola Smith died in October 2020 at age 107 (!), she had a long list of remarkable achievements.

When I was at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in early October of 2025, a lot of the folks in attendance were surprised to learn from Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson that Rush would be getting back together and planning a tour with the new drummer they had chosen. And the new drummer was a woman, Anika Nilles. Of course, as a second-wave feminist, hearing that Rush would now have a female drummer made me very happy. But it also reminded me that even with Rush, things had changed. I recalled a conversation about feminism that I'd had with Neil decades ago (he wasn't a fan of it-- you may have seen the Rush Deep Dive webcast I was part of circa 2022, where I did a feminist interpretation of "The Trees"). 

In fairness to Neil, in the 1970s and 1980s, he was an acolyte of Ayn Rand, and much more traditional about gender roles. I never heard anyone in the band making sexist remarks, but I doubt they would have been seeking a female musician for their band at that time; the music industry was male-dominated, and most of the rock bands were all male (other than a couple of all-female bands, just like in Viola's day).

But times definitely changed. When his health made it impossible for him to continue, Neil was happy to teach his little daughter Olivia about drumming; he was so proud of her when she showed an aptitude for it. And I have the feeling that, were he still here, he'd be absolutely fine about a female drummer for Rush, especially someone as talented as Anika. In fact, she wouldn't be a "female drummer"-- she'd just be considered a drummer. And isn't that the way it should be? When I was growing up, young girls were not encouraged to be drummers. Today, young girls have a wide range of options, and being a drummer isn't regarded as so unusual anymore. Meanwhile, Anika has settled in as Rush's new drummer, welcomed and loved by the fans. And somewhere in rock and roll heaven, Viola Smith is probably smiling.        

What Does the Bible Say About This?

I've been blogging a few times a month since early 2015, and I find that I get the most page views whenever I write about Rush. That's not surprising. Given my long-time friendship with the band, I understand that fans would be interested to read whatever I write about that topic (interestingly, the posts I've written about Neil are among my most-read). For some reason, I get the fewest when I write about politics or religion. So I'm prepared for a lot of folks to skip this one, since it contains elements of both.

 But I hope they won't skip it, because I'm trying to understand something, and I'd like to get a few opinions. What I'm trying to make sense of is something a friend of mine said to me about the president. She said President Trump was the best friend Christians ever had. She relies mainly on conservative Christian media, and much of that seems to be pro-Trump too; the message that the president is a friend and protector of Christians is constantly reinforced. Some sources speak of him in almost messianic terms.   

I've really tried to make sense of those attitudes, but I'm getting nowhere. I used to be a chaplain. I used to teach Sunday School. Okay fine, I'm Jewish and not Christian, but we both use the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament). I've also taught World Religions for years, and I'd like to think I know a few things about scripture.

So, consider this: The Bible clearly states that we are supposed to love our neighbor. It doesn't equivocate or make exceptions-- it doesn't say to only love our neighbor if they were born here, for example. The Bible also states repeatedly that we should "welcome the stranger." It does not qualify that commandment: it doesn't make exceptions for a stranger who is an immigrant or undocumented or non-white. It just says to love and welcome the stranger, and to treat the stranger with respect. The Bible also tells us not to worship money, and to make sure we take care of the poor. 

Does this president exemplify any of these values? Does he do what the Bible says? Rather than follow the scriptures, he ignores its basic tenets. He has monetized his presidency, making millions for himself and his cronies, while doing little to help the poor. He has made a mockery of the justice system, granting pardons to convicted criminals if they were willing to donate money to him. He champions policies that treat immigrants with cruelty; he even defends having ICE agents shoot at them, whether they did something wrong or not. He has turned nearly every part of the White House into a gilded monument to himself. He is crude, vulgar, mendacious, and lacking in compassion. And yet, my friend sincerely believed he is a role model and a champion for Christians.

So what am I missing? From my perspective, there is nothing Christian (nor ethical) about this president, yet a vast network of conservative media sources lifts him up as some sort of role model, and people like my friend insist he is a hero for Christians. So, this is where you come in, those of you who have read this far (and I thank you). I'd appreciate some sensible explanations, because I feel like I'm living in a different universe from my friend, and it would be helpful if I could at least see the person she is seeing-- because what I see looks entirely different. 

Maybe I'm Amazed (2026 edition)

On July 4, it will not only be America's birthday: it will be my husband's birthday too. America will be 250. My husband, Jon Jacobik, will be 80. Like me, my husband has aged gracefully-- I don't think either of us looks our chronological age. (I'm 79 and 1/2; he's a little older than me!) And while we've both had some health issues, as many older Americans do, we're both still able to work, and we're both still reasonably active. We've been married since 1987 (39 years), and we are still best friends. I never take that for granted. Jon repairs computers, but he is also an award-winning nature photographer; I'm a former deejay and a current professor, as well as an award-winning media historian. Our interests are often very different, but we care about each other's well-being and we want each other's happiness. 

When I was a kid, growing up in the 1950s, just about nobody that I knew lived into their 80s. I never met my maternal grandmother (who died when she was only 44). Quite a few of my female relatives died young-- often of cancer. (Years later, I too had cancer, but in my case, thanks to early detection, I'm still here -- 11 and 1/2 years later, and grateful every day.) But my point is, growing up, I thought someone who was 70 was "elderly." People didn't live as long as today; in fact, the common wisdom was everybody who reached age 70 would probably need a nursing home. Today, I know lots of folks in their 70s who don't fit that stereotype at all. They're still gainfully employed, still keeping busy, and still doing what they love -- including several guys from a certain Canadian rock band. 

The other day, the great comedian and movie director Mel Brooks turned 100. Mel is a perfect example of someone who is by most standards "old" yet he is still sharp, still active, still out there making a difference. I don't know too many folks who make it to 100 -- but I'm certainly grateful that Mel is still with us. He has made a lot of people laugh over the years. (Actress and comedian Betty White almost made it to 100 -- like Mel, she did things in her own unique way, and she had a love for life that was an inspiration. And getting to 99 is certainly an achievement.)

In a world where so much seems depressing and discouraging, I think it's important to remember that there are still some amazing things going on out there. For example, there are still people finding love when they never expected it: I was one of them. I got married when I was 40, which used to be considered "later in life." There are still people finding new opportunities and new careers: I currently teach online for Purdue University's Global campus, and most of my students are adult learners. They are in their 30s, 40s, and 50s, getting bachelor's degrees, and in some cases planning for master's degrees. I fit right in, given that I got my PhD when I was 64. In fact, many of us are redefining what it means to be "too old." (Ask Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson of Rush if they are "too old" to be touring...)

I find all of this amazing. And perhaps you do too. In fact, I invite you to share with me something that you find amazing in your own life, something you never expected, and yet it happened. I'm amazed I'm still blogging, to be honest. This little endeavor began as part of a course I was taking back in early 2015. The course ended but I just kept on blogging. I hope some of these posts are interesting. Meanwhile, for those who have continued to read what I write, may your life be filled with moments of joy, and may you never run out of things that amaze you -- after all, that sense of wonder and amazement is an important part of being alive.

The Spirit of Radio-- Still Alive and Worth Celebrating

Eddie Andelman died the other day at age 89. Unless you've lived in Boston, you probably never heard of him. But for nearly five decades, he was a major factor on sports-talk radio. He was opinionated, as a sports-talk host has to be, but he was also informative and entertaining. You wanted to argue with him, whether by calling in, or just by sitting there with your friends and weighing in on what he said. Eddie was also a larger than life personality, who made numerous appearances to raise money for charitable causes. He was live, he was local, and he was a walking ambassador for the importance of radio.

It has become a truism for people to say that radio no longer matters. They say it has nothing but political talk shows, or they say that only old people listen to it, or they say that nobody needs it anymore because you can get your music on Spotify or YouTube. There's an element of truth in some of this: a lot of older people DO listen to political talk on radio. And a lot of people DO get their music on Spotify or YouTube.

And yet, all over the US, radio is still a factor in many people's lives: it's a companion, a friend, a source of information, and yes, it's still a source for music. I recently did a freelance article for Radio World magazine, and I interviewed some program directors, music directors, and deejays at a variety of radio stations-- top 40, album rock, classic hits, alternative, adult contemporary... and they all said the same thing: if you create an interesting and fun radio station, if you maintain an active presence in your city (holding live events, making appearances, giving away merch), people will listen and they'll bond with that station. But don't take my word for it: let some of the folks I interviewed speak for themselves: Radio World "We Still Believe in Radio")

As many of you know, I spent four decades in broadcasting, including being a deejay and a music director in four major markets. At one of those stations, WMMS in Cleveland, I helped to launch the career of a then-unknown rock band named Rush. That happened in the spring and summer of 1974, and a lot has changed since then. Radio still used to be a dominant force in the 1970s and 1980s, and even into the 1990s; but these days, radio is just one of many ways to hear new music or get the weather or find out who won the big game. However, reports of radio's death have proved to be premature. 

Agreed, radio has much more competition, and maybe young teens don't choose radio like we did when I was growing up. But just like I wrote about, there are still many cities where people have a favorite station or a favorite deejay, and of course, my hope is that some of those stations are rediscovering a certain rock band that has reunited and is now back on tour. And I'm imagining a mom or a dad riding in the car with the kids, and a classic Rush song comes on the air and the kids hear it and ask "Who's that?" And their parents can say, "That's Rush. They just got back together. Maybe we can go see them." And perhaps a new generation of Rush fans will emerge, thanks to an old-school mass medium that is still around and worthy of some respect-- radio.