Israel is losing the war with Hamas in Gaza. That’s the only conclusion to be drawn eight months after the Oct. 7 pogrom, with Hamas battalions still standing, our hostages (despite last weekend’s dramatic rescue) still held in inhumane conditions underground, and the terror group still able to fire barrages of missiles as far as Tel Aviv.

Saudi Arabia

It’s also what a majority of Israelis now believe. 

A poll conducted by the Israel Democracy Institute before the June 8 operation in Nuseirat revealed that only 34% of respondents are optimistic about the future of national security. The Jewish People Policy Institute (JPPI) found that, in May, just 38% of Israelis expressed “high confidence” that victory is achievable. A larger number – some 41% – said they have “low confidence” that Israel will win. 

A large part of that is a lack of trust in Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his coalition partners’ refusal to engage in discussing a “day after” plan for Gaza. Per the JPPI, only 28% of the Jewish public attests to a high or fairly high level of trust in the government. 

If we can’t win – or if the public has lost faith – how can we switch up the reality? It requires out-of-the-box thinking. Fortunately, the box is on the table if only our government has the guts to open it.

The answer lies to the east – in Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates. 

I was never a supporter of the original 2002 Arab Peace Initiative. But Saudi Arabia has changed – or is trying to. Yes, it’s still a repressive regime, but the Saudis have been on a years-long quest to tamp down the radical Salafism and Wahhabism strains in their kingdom.

Saudi Arabia wants to make nice to the West now and that includes transforming the country into something more like the United Arab Emirates, which is remarkable in its being both Arab and moderate and with an educational curriculum that doesn’t demonize Jews. 

Now, reports the nonprofit IMPACT-se, Saudi textbooks no longer teach that Zionism is a “racist” European movement and no longer deny the historical Jewish presence in the region. While the name “Israel” still does not appear on maps in their textbooks, neither does “Palestine.”

Saudi Arabia is broadly indicating it wants normalization with Israel, as evidenced by U.S. President Joe Biden’s presentation of Israel’s three-stage ceasefire and hostage release proposal.

Netanyahu doesn’t want the Palestinian Authority – revamped or otherwise – to gain a foothold in Gaza. But the Saudis and the Emiratis could do the job instead. The dream from immediately after 2005’s Disengagement from Gush Katif – that the Gaza Strip could become the “Singapore of the Middle East” – could be revived. It didn’t work then – Gazans destroyed the greenhouses Israel left behind and Hamas staged its violent coup two years later – but the Abraham Accords point the way to a different possible outcome.

Saudi Arabia has some big asks of Israel, including a credible pathway to a Palestinian state, that many Israelis (and the current government) vehemently oppose. Nor can we count on Hamas to agree to the proposed plan. But if we can’t win the war against Hamas, perhaps it’s time to take a chance with a different approach.

Critics will remind me about the 1993 Oslo Accords. We all know how that worked out. So, why would allowing the Saudis and the Emiratis into Gaza end any differently? 

But what other credible options do we have? Eternal military control of Gaza? The army has said that would increase mandatory army service from three to four years and cost billions of shekels. Defense Minister Yoav Galant has essentially said, “Over my dead body would I allow that to come to pass.”

Now, there’s no guarantee that the Saudis and the Emiratis would be interested in rebuilding and potentially governing the Gaza Strip. Saudi Arabia accusing Israel of “continuous genocidal massacres” isn’t a good look. There would have to be something financially lucrative in it for them.

Biden is staying optimistic. 

There is a clear path for a transition where the Arab states would provide security and reconstruction in Gaza in return for a longer-term commitment to a transition to a two-state solution,” the president said.

If Netanyahu were to embrace normalization with Saudi Arabia, it would change the entire region. It would secure Israel’s place in the middle of the Sunni Arab alliance against Iran and its proxies. 

Moreover, it might rehabilitate the prime minister’s tarnished image. Yes, his coalition would likely collapse, but he could finally retire, comfortable in the knowledge that he had cut previously unimaginable deals with former Arab adversaries.

A Saudi deal and the end of the war in Gaza could mitigate the attacks by the International Court of Justice (ICJ) and the International Criminal Court (ICC) on Israel and its leaders. It might lead the Israeli judges hearing Netanyahu’s trial on corruption and bribery charges to cut a more favorable plea deal. Without taking such a step, the prime minister could wind up in jail in Israel – or abroad if he deigns to step foot in one of the 120 countries that have pledged to detain him if the ICC decides to issue those arrest warrants.

An Israel perceived as working with the Arab world, that stopped the war (not out of defeat but because we have a better option), might stave off the pariah status we’re so clearly on the verge of entering. A new government that doesn’t platform right-wing extremists like Bezalel Smotrich and Itamar Ben-Gvir could return us to good governance. 

It’s not a slam dunk that Israel embracing steps towards regional integration would prompt anti-Israel protesters to start singing a tolerant tune. 

“It won’t be a total victory, as one simply does not exist,” writes Ben-Dror Yemini at Ynet

But it could help us heal our own fractured society while providing a path to hope for the Gazans who desperately need the kind of financial backing and re-education towards moderation that only the Saudis and the UAE can provide.

I first proposed a Saudi exit strategy in The Jerusalem Post.

Image by ekrem osmanoglu on Unsplash


When Aviv, our saxophone-playing musician son, was invited to perform at a jazz festival in Switzerland, my wife, Jody, and I decided to use that as an “excuse” to plan a vacation in Europe. 

Aviv Blum in concert in Bern

I loaded up on every med I might possibly need – stomach pills, sleeping pills, allergy pills, antibiotics (just in case).

Everything was in place. Online check-in for our flights, check. Rental car reservation. Check. 

Then, 24 hours before we were set to fly, I broke my toe.

It was a careless mistake – I was coming out of the shower and slammed my foot into a wall. 

I sunk into depression.

We were hoping to finally do some hiking; a year of cancer-related foot and leg pain that had kept me off the trails was finally calming down. Now, in light of my toe, I wondered: Did we need to cancel the trip entirely?

Spoiler alert: We went on the trip and had a fabulous time. But not before I was forced to confront my biggest bugaboo: an intense discomfiture when confronted with uncertainty.

When something is not certain, it creates anxiety. My uncertainties were myriad.

  • Was it prudent to grin and bear it and still go on the trip? Uncertain.
  • What if I got sick while on the road? We could wear our Covid masks everywhere, but ultimately, we have no real control.
  • Will our luggage arrive? Waiting at an airport conveyor belt always ratchets up my heart rate, despite a pretty good if not perfect track record.
  • The weather was predicting rain the entire trip. Would that be all-day-all-the-time, or rather confined to a few brief afternoon downpours?
  • What happens if Iran or Hezbollah launches a major attack while we’re out of the country? Will we be stuck overseas?

The matzav – the “situation” around the war in Gaza, Israel’s growing isolation and the government’s endemic botching of both hostage negotiations and putting forward a “day after” plan – has only exacerbated my aversion to uncertainty. When our trust in the government has been so profoundly eroded, how can we trust that “everything will work out” in our personal lives?

Our trip to Europe provided some surprising insights.

We had arrived at Gissebach Falls, an energetic waterfall flowing into Lake Thun, not far from the town of Interlaken. We hiked up to the main viewing point, but the trail continued. Should we keep going? What would be around the next bend? How far were we willing to climb?

Brian, Jody and Aviv at Gissebach Falls

It was all uncertain. And I loved it.

There are two types of uncertainty, I realized.

“Anxious uncertainty” is what usually fells me. Sending your kids to the army and not knowing where they are or what they’re doing is perhaps the quintessential Israeli example. 

“Expectational uncertainty” comes into play when you are looking forward to something – a hike, a nice meal, a new grandchild – and you embrace the uncertainty as part of the joy. 

Is there a way to transform anxious uncertainty into expectational uncertainty? To treat what usually makes me anxious with a sense of curiosity?

“Not really,” my therapist responded, pouring water on the fire of my optimism. “You can’t easily turn worry about whether your luggage will be next off the conveyor belt into curiosity. It’s just annoying.”

Moreover, if you hold onto your expectations too tightly, they can turn into anxious regret if what you were anticipating is dashed.

My therapist has long been a fan of the Serenity Prayer. 

“Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

That never spoke to me so much. But then she added another line, which did: 

“And whatever happens, I will find a way to handle it.”

We listed a few of the challenges life had thrown my way. 

  • Cataract surgery? It wasn’t pleasant and resulted in unexpected floaters, but I handled it. 
  • Cancer? I toughed out the treatment and am well on my way to recovery.
  • An impossible deadline? I know how to hunker down, working through the night if necessary. 
  • Vehicle got a flat? There was enough air left to hobble the car over to the nearest mechanic who patched the tire; I was soon back on my way.
  • The hiking path leading down from the top of the Stockhorn, with its phenomenal views of the Swiss Alps, was closed due to a snowstorm the week before? We went to a different mountain and drank in an equally lovely panorama.

The American Psychological Association lists a number of tips for dealing with the stress of the unexpected. Here are five that spoke to me.

  1. Be kind to yourself. Some people are better at dealing with uncertainties than others. Don’t beat yourself up if your tolerance for unpredictability is lower than a friend’s. 
  2. Limit exposure to news. When we’re stressed about something, it can be hard to look away. But compulsively checking the news (or weather forecast) only keeps one wound up. 
  3. Take your own advice. Ask yourself: If a friend came to me with this worry, what would I tell that person? 
  4. Avoid dwelling on things you can’t control. Get out of the habit of ruminating on negative events.
  5. Focus, instead, on things that are within your control. That could be as simple as laying out your clothes the night before a stressful day. 

Jody and I have been practicing “I can handle it” and, while I’m still getting used to this new way of thinking, I’m certain that it will yield results. 

Oh, and that broken toe – it healed so quickly it probably was just bruised. It barely interfered with our enjoyment of the trip. 

I first wrote about Expectational Uncertainty in The Jerusalem Post.

Pictures: credit Brian Blum


Our niece Yona was staying with us for Shabbat. She felt fine when she arrived, but by Friday night she was coughing and asking for the Israeli equivalent of NyQuil.

And I started to freak out.

Ever since my first cancer treatment six years ago, my immune system has been a mess. Before then, I hardly got sick. Notwithstanding more chronic issues, which I have written about here at length, at least if I caught a cold or flu, it would typically be gone in two days.

No more.

In 2023, I was sick with lung infections for nine months. The doctors would treat it with antibiotics, I’d feel okay for a few weeks, and then it would come back.

To figure out what was going on, my doctor ordered a blood test to check my immunoglobulin (IG) levels.

Immunoglobulin is a protein that the immune system deploys to knock out infections. Low IG doesn’t show up on a standard blood test like one’s white or red blood count; you have to order it specially, something that didn’t happen until well into my seventh lung infection.

That’s when we learned that my IG was low. I simply didn’t have enough of it in my bloodstream to fight off these repeated infections efficiently.

More than that, my latest PET CT showed damage to the airways in my lungs from all those months of coughing and illness.

The official name for this latest ailment is bronchiectasis, a condition in which the damaged airways in the lungs widen, giving room for mucus to accumulate, creating a happy breeding ground for bacteria.

Unlike bronchitis, which typically resolves with no long-term effects, bronchiectasis is a permanent condition. Up to 500,000 people in the US have bronchiectasis.

To address this new diagnosis, my hematologist strongly urged me to get “intravenous immunoglobulin (IVIG) replacement therapy.” That’s where the patient receives IG extracted from the blood plasma of thousands of donors, thereby making up what one’s own body no longer (or in some cases never) produced.

The ostensible reason to start IVIG now was that my lungs needed time to recover from being hit by repeated infections.

Still, I resisted the recommendation for months.

The IG you get from the infusion lasts in your body for only about 30 days. Then you’re back to being unprotected. As a result, you have to take IG replacement therapy once a month – for the rest of your life.

It also takes hours to infuse. IVIG has a ton of potential side effects, from headaches and fever to the most serious: anaphylactic shock. So the nurses take it very slow, cautiously monitoring your reaction.

WHILE THE potential negative response to getting IVIG was worrying enough, it was the reality of having to go to the hospital for an IV every single month that threw me. It was a reminder that, even though my cancer has now been significantly diminished, I was still sick.

Wait, what? Talk about burying the lede!

The bispecific antibody immunotherapy (Mosunetuzemab), which I’ve been taking since January, appears to be working. Most of my tumors are gone, the PET CT showed.

“What are you going to worry about now?” my daughter, Merav, asked me upon hearing the good news.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something,” I said.

And then – boom, something new to feed my health anxiety – bronchiectasis – arrived.

“It seems like a good deal, if this could help you from getting sick all the time,” my therapist said, trying to tamp down my hesitancy.

It was well-considered advice: I truly despise being afraid whenever I’m in a public place where there might be viruses in the air – or in my own home, for that matter, when a guest becomes suddenly sick. And don’t get me started about all those kindergarten illnesses that come through the front door via the grandchildren with their perpetually runny noses.

IVIG won’t keep me from ever getting sick again. But instead of requiring weeks of antibiotics, maybe my body could clear an infection before it takes root. That would be a good deal.

There’s a strange comfort in the fact that it truly takes a village to extract the immunoglobulin needed for IVIG.

“My antibodies could be from anybody,” Gary Newton, who has been on IG replacement therapy for nearly a decade, told the Immune Deficiency Foundation website. “So, I feel a kind of kinship with everybody. Random folks I stand next to in a queue may well be the source of my antibodies.”

My worries turned out to be for naught. My first IVIG session went well – no side effects during the infusion, other than a headache that went away with Tylenol and a lot of water, and certainly no anaphylactic shock.

More important, the cough that I’d been suffering from during the previous month started to clear up – a sign that my newly donated antibodies were doing their job.

Going forward, I’ve asked Maccabi, my health provider, to approve a home treatment option called SCIG – for “subcutaneous IG.” It’s a shot you give yourself in the abdomen, thighs, buttocks, or arms.

Maccabi so far has rejected my request. Although it’s certainly more convenient for me as a patient, it’s also more expensive than IVIG. But I’ll keep pestering them.

I don’t love my latest status of being a “forever patient,” but now Yona can come back and I will, hopefully, not freak out quite as much.

I first wrote about my IVIG resistance for The Jerusalem Post.

Image of IV from marcelo-leal-6pcGTJDuf6M-unsplash


Lately, it feels like my body is falling apart – from the cancer to the sciatica, the eye floaters, edema, insomnia, and recurrent lung infections.

I’m ready for a trade-in. Same brain, but how about a new body?

Such technology doesn’t exist today. You can’t just pop into some space-age “body shop” for the latest upgrade.

But even if it were real, I might not be so keen on “trading up” if what the physics of today suggests is correct.

Take Star Trek’s transporter. You step onto a platform, “energize,” and your atoms are disassembled, only to be reconstituted far away.

Unfortunately, if the transporter were real, it would require killing the person stepping onto the platform before inserting his or her consciousness into a new body. As science writer John Wenz notes, “Everyone you’ve loved on the show has died,” sometimes over and over again.

While it would seem just like the OG Brian – same body, same memories, same personality quirks – my consciousness, that thing that makes me “me,” would essentially die, even if an exact copy would continue on for my loved ones.

I’m not sure the transporter operators would be so enthusiastic about their jobs if they had to clean up corpses every time someone beamed down to a planet.

In the Netflix series Altered Carbon, one’s consciousness is stored in a “cortical stack” implanted in the neck. If you want a different body, you just transfer the stack. But, as in the Star Trek example, the original “me” would be gone.

The fatal trade-offs would be the same if consciousness could be uploaded to a computer server. That, too, would not be a real transfer. (Sorry, fans of Amazon Prime’s subversive sci-fi comedy Upload.)

But what if you could shift your consciousness into a new body or digital framework without losing your connection to the original you?

Scientists have proposed some eye-opening theories.

Nobel Prize winner Roger Penrose and anesthesiologist Stuart Hameroff have speculated that consciousness is a quantum process “facilitated by microtubules in the brain’s nerve cells.”

Quantum mechanics is the branch of science that deals with the behavior of matter and light on the subatomic scale. In Penrose and Hameroff’s hypothesis, consciousness is a “quantum wave” that, as it passes through those microtubules, affects the firing of neurons in the brain.

Quantum mechanics also encompasses such tantalizing properties as “superposition” – the ability to be in many places at the same time; and “entanglement” – where two particles that are far apart nevertheless remain connected. You could conceivably place one particle on a spaceship while the other remained on Earth; the particles would remain entangled, even if one is now in another solar system.

This could, theoretically, facilitate communication over great distances. Now, add in “superposition.” Could it then be possible to hold on to the “me” I know even in a new bodily “shell” by being able to exist in two places at once?

What if I popped my consciousness into a younger, healthier body? Would that still be “me”? Is consciousness “all in our heads,” destined to die along with our physical bodies? Or does consciousness extend beyond our flesh and bones?

An episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine explored this thought experiment.

A species known as the Trill looks human but houses a “symbiont,” a worm-like parasite, inside. This allows a single symbiont to live for hundreds of centuries, using different bodies.

In Deep Space Nine, Klingon Lt. Commander Worf falls in love with Jadzia Dax, a Trill. But when a shuttle accident results in mortal blows to her body, the symbiont is transferred to a new host. Only problem: Worf was in love not only with the symbiont but with Jadzia as a whole, including her body. Will he stay with his new Trill spouse?

Susan Lahey summarized Penrose and Hameroff’s quantum waves in an issue of Popular Mechanics.

“Normal states of consciousness might be what we consider quite ordinary – knowing you exist, for example. But when you have a heightened state of consciousness, it’s because you’re dealing with quantum-level consciousness that is capable of being in all places at the same time. That means your consciousness can connect or entangle with quantum particles outside of your brain – anywhere in the universe, theoretically.”

DOES THAT point to a science-based afterlife?

The perception that there is a consciousness that exists outside of the physical self is the result of awareness of other universes that share our “state space,” writes scientist Timothy Palmer in his book The Primacy of Doubt: How the Science of Uncertainty Can Help Us Understand Our Chaotic World.

When we imagine “what if” scenarios, we’re “actually getting information about versions of ourselves in other universes,” writes Lahey.

While scientists work out the overlap between quantum mechanics and consciousness, “quantum biology” is emerging as a new field of study.

In photosynthesis, Lahey points out, “plants use chlorophyll in a process that stores the energy from a photon.” A photon is essentially “a quantum particle of light.” The light hitting the plant wants to find the plant’s “reaction center.” It does so by trying all possible paths simultaneously.

That’s quantum superposition, Lahey writes. And the microtubules in our brain are even better than chlorophyll at maintaining quantum coherence.

Will quantum biology finally provide a fact-based explanation reconciling the supernatural with the physical world?

The technology to move consciousness from body to body or from body to computer is not here yet, but the possibility that one’s consciousness can interact with the rest of the universe and may even exist beyond an individual’s body in an extended state of quantum entanglement and superposition is enough to make one a believer.

I’m just not sure whether that’s in the world to come or in the majesty of science.

I first speculated about a quantum afterlife in The Jerusalem Post.

Image credit: Owen Beard/Unsplash


When our kids were turning from teenagers to young adults, we discovered a painful truth about Pesach: none of us really like it. The cleaning, the banishing of all the foods we normally enjoy the rest of the year, the matza-fueled constipation, and most of all, the long and at times seemingly irrelevant Haggadah that extends the Seder into the wee hours of the night when all you want is a soft matzo ball and softer bed.

We haven’t given up on Pesach, but we’ve tried over recent years to inject some humor into the proceedings.

That’s why I was delighted to discover the parody Haggadah, For This We Left Egypt? by humorists Dave Barry, Alan Zweibel and Adam Mansbach.

Published in 2017, For This We Left Egypt? is both loving and irreverent. It covers the entire narrative, not just a portion, and as such can be used as a “straight” Haggadah, although it’s entirely in English as the authors admit they can’t read the Hebrew themselves. 

“For all we know, it’s a Hebrew repair manual for a 1972 Westinghouse dishwasher,” they quip.

As an affectionate parody, For This We Left Egypt? is full of jokes. Not every attempt at Haggadah humor works, but there are a few zingers worth repeating in this belated book review.

For example, For This We Left Egypt? concurs with our family’s distancing from Pesach. “Many young Jewish people today would rather undergo amateur eyeball surgery than sit through a lengthy and boring Seder.”

As someone who has had actual eyeball surgery, I can attest that the Seder is not that bad. 

As an Israeli reader of For This We Left Egypt? some of the quips were a tad too American for me. When the Israelites made camp in the foothills of Mount Sinai, this new Haggadah relates that it was “hard because Jews are not into camping. Our idea of roughing it is a hotel where the breakfast buffet does not have an omelet station.” 

But we Jews of Israel love sleeping under the stars (although we wouldn’t say not to a lavish breakfast buffet).

Guilt plays well no matter which Jewish community you’re in. So, when Moses learns he won’t be allowed into the Promised Land, he takes it stoically. “I’ll just go up on Mt. Nebo and die. Alone. After all I’ve done for you. It’s fine. Really.”

Barry and his co-writers clearly are not fans of cleaning for Pesach, at least not by their definition of chametz as “bread, pizza, crackers, fortune cookies, soft drinks, vodka, tooth whiteners, certain tropical fish, and all IKEA furniture.” Fortunately, “not all breakfast cereals are chametz. Froot Loops, for example, are made of compressed medical waste, so they’re fine.”

Good thing I don’t like Froot Loops.

For This We Left Egypt? has some other food recommendations. Make sure your gefilte fish is “wild and sustainably caught. Avoid farmed gefilte fish if possible.” Also make sure to have on hand “a carafe of Long Island Iced Tea for Elijah.” We all know that Elijah is going to need a shot of vodka if he’s going to make it through the long night. 

Ever wondered why we wash our hands symbolically at the Seder table before eating the carpas? The Haggadah has an answer. 

“After forty years under the scorching desert sun, the Israelites were totally disoriented. Whenever they asked Moses, ‘Have we washed our hands?’ he invariably replied, ‘I don’t remember. Let’s wash them again, just to be on the safe side.’”

Millenia-old debate resolved.

In the “discussion” prompts on the Four Questions, Barry, Zweibel and Mansbach ask, “Have you ever met a child who cannot ask a question? Wouldn’t it be great if such a child existed, especially on long car trips?”

Moses listened to God at the Burning Bush because “when a divine all-powerful flaming shrubbery tells you to do something, you do it,” which was clearly the influence for Monty Python and the Holy Grail’s “Knights Who Say Ni,” who demand from King Arthur a shrubbery in order to pass.

Pharaoh is described as a “schmuck with the IQ of a glazed doughnut.” Or as we’d say in Israel, “a maniac with the smarts of a sufganiah.”

This Haggadah wonders if Manischewitz wine could be considered an 11th plague. Manna is dubbed “divine dandruff.” Matzah is the perfect food to take to the desert, as it was “not only very lightweight but could also be used as both a weapon and a building material.”

As we near the end of the Haggadah, Barry and his co-conspirators address the question of who should hide the afikomen – the parents or the kids? 

If the kids hide it, they can hold the Seder ransom until they get a new Nintendo Switch. If the adults are in charge, they will hide it either in “someplace too obvious, resulting in a super lame afikomen hunt, or they will hide it someplace too clever, resulting in the total meltdown of every child under six. To avoid all of these scenarios, you may wish to follow one simple rule: Do not have children.”

Not a very Pesachdik suggestion.

And then who would be present to query if Elijah were in fact to drink from the cup of wine set aside for him, “Would the wine pass through him, ghost-style, and end up on the rug?”

Good old Elijah, the incontinent prophet.

Finally, For This We Left Egypt? asks: Why just four cups of wine? Why not a fifth, a sixth, a seventh? After all, “There’s no point in letting good wine go to waste.”

Unless all you’ve got left on the table is more Manischewitz.

I first wrote about this new Haggadah for The Jerusalem Post.

Pesach photo by Alex Shute on Unsplash

From Loops photo by Jessica Neves on Unsplash


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