Bird Song

Bird #1: I’m thinking about going south about two weeks early this year … Take the kids to Disney World.

Bird #2: You know, you shouldn’t provoke Mother Nature.

Bird #1: Mother Who?

Bird #2: Mother Nature.

Bird #1: Don’t you believe in G-d?

Bird #2: G-d, Mother Nature … I don’t know. I’m a bird, not a theologian.

Bird #1: What inspires your singing in the morning?

Bird #2: You know, stuff I hear on the radio …

Bird #1: It says in the Psalms of David that animals sing out to G-d in gratitude for creating them: “Let them praise the Name of the Lord, for He commanded and they were created … sea monsters and all that dwell in the depths … the beast and all cattle, creeping things and winged birds …”

Bird #2: Why should I praise G-d?

Bird #1: He created you. He gave you your sturdy beak, your airy wings and your sleek tail.

Bird #2: Hey, you forgot my cute dimples.

Bird #1: And your cute dimples.

Bird #2: But what has He done for me lately?

Bird #1: He gives you water to drink, twigs and mud for your nest; worms just under the surface after a rain so you can dig them out easily with your beak, the whole beautiful spring. And that time you bashed into that bay window and injured your beak, well, the Creator made it heal. Didn’t He?

Bird #2: But how do I know it was G-d that created all this? Maybe it was Mother Nature.

Bird #1: Well what’s Mother Nature? She’s nature, right? Worms and grass and fields and trees.

Bird #2: Bushes. Don’t forget about bushes.

Bird #1: OK. So let’s look at trees for a second. You know something about trees. Tell me, do you think a tree could create the world – or even another tree?

Bird #2: Are you nuts? Most trees I know couldn’t even make a decent corned beef sandwich.

Bird #1: But why couldn’t a tree make something?

Bird #2: A tree’s just a tree. A tree doesn’t know about much besides trees. How’s it going to make a whole multiverse or whatever?

Bird #1: A tree is limited. A limited creation cannot create another created thing or an entire created world.

Bird #2: So who can? Everything in the world seems pretty limited, especially my talent for bowling.

Bird #1: Everything in the world has a cause that preceded it – except G-d. Nothing created G-d, so nothing limits Him. Only G-d, who is not dependent on Creation, could create a universe out of nothing.

Bird #2: So then what did Mother Nature create?

Bird #1: She didn’t create anything. There is no Mother Nature. That’s just a myth like Santa Claus, the Lone Ranger and the Great Sparrow.

Bird #2: Somebody made up the Great Sparrow? The Great Sparrow isn’t real? Don’t do this to me.

Bird #1: And the power G-d used to create the world and uses to keep it going is just a tiny, tiny fraction of His absolute power.

Bird #2: Now I feel like praising G-d. How’s this: “G-d you are so good/You created everything – spring, summer, the flying squirrel, and even tasty food.”

Bird #1: Was that supposed to rhyme?

Bird #2: Yes.

Bird #1: Why don’t you sing one of those songs your mother taught you?

Bird #2: Sure. There’s “Birdsey-birdsey-birdsey-birdsey-birdsey …”

Bird #1: That’s good.

Bird #2: Then there’s “Birdsey-oo-birdsey-oo-birdsey-oo-birdsey-oo …”

Bird #1: Excellent.

Bird #2: You know, I’m really singing full-throttle now to my Creator.

Bird #1: “Full-throttle”? Don’t you mean “full-throated”?

Bird #2: Oh, right ... Could I have meant “full-throattled”? ... Anyway, have a safe flight south.

Bird #1: I’d hug you, but my wings are wet.

Bird #2: That’s all right. No problem. You’ll get me next time.

Miracle Train

            He approached me in the subway, a good-looking African-American boy about 11- or 12-years-old wearing a green winter jacket and no head covering on a frigid day. I stood alone at the end of the platform. He walked up to me, bold and carefree.

            “You know those straps that you put on when you pray?” he said. “What are they for?”      

            “The one on the arm binds our emotions and actions to G-d, and the one around the head binds our thoughts,” I answered. “Your actions and your thoughts are focused on G-d.”

            In my career as a New York subway rider, conspicuous in beard and fedora, I’ve been asked two kinds of questions: the Evangelical Question on a verse or passage in the Bible aimed at provoking an argument or proving a point; and the Limited Curiosity Question seeking relief from puzzlement over a Jewish practice once observed.

            This boy was different. His questions were personal and serious.

            “What about putting the strap around the hand?” he asked, wrapping an invisible Tefillin strap around his left hand.

            I hesitated, searching for the answer. I could see him on the periphery of a large synagogue closely watching Jewish men putting on Tefillin. Then suddenly he cut to the point.

            “How do I become a Jew?” he asked.

            I paused, stunned by his question.

            “Do I need a bar mitzvah?”

            The three train arrived. I didn’t have a lot of time now – now that our time seemed suddenly precious.

            “Well, first you study a lot,” I answered, as we stepped onto the crowded car. I was traveling only one stop.

            A gentile who declares his intention to convert is not automatically accepted. To consider someone as a candidate for conversion, a Jewish court must determine if the person sincerely wants to convert. To discern the candidate’s sincerity, the court apprises the prospective convert of the difficulty and sacrifice demanded by the keeping of the commandments and of the history of suffering and persecution experienced by the Jewish people.

            For those not inclined to take on the obligation of the Torah and its commandments, the Seven Noahide Laws function as a path to serving G-d available to all gentiles at all times. With that in mind – and considering he couldn’t convert now, anyway, since he was apparently younger than 13 – I decided to introduce him to the Noahide Commandments.

            “You know, conversion is not your only option,” I said, hanging on to a handrail with passengers all around me. “You can keep what’s known as the Seven Commandments of the Children of Noah.” I then specified the Seven Noahide Laws: 1) do not worship idols; 2) do not curse G-d; 3) do not murder; 4) do not commit incest or adultery; 5) do not steal; 6) do not eat a limb from a living animal; 7) establish courts of justice.

            I told him that G-d gave seven commandments to Noah and transmitted them again with the Torah on Mount Sinai, making them incumbent on all gentiles. A follower of the Noahide Laws must believe that their authority derives from G-d’s commanding them in the Torah.

            The train stopped at the Utica Station and the doors opened. I regretted leaving him there. Even though we had talked only a short time, I felt affection for him. He valued the thing most central to my life – my Judaism. We shared a confidence unlikely to exist between two other strangers meeting by chance.

         The wonder of two people from such different circumstances being drawn to the same Truth reminded me of the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s reading of the world: ripe to have its essential goodness revealed. According to the Rebbe, the dissemination of none other than the Seven Noahide Commandments has brought the world to its current state – ready for the arrival of Mashiach. As I emerged from the subway and headed toward my apartment to get ready for Shabbat, I felt joy at having been shown a glimpse of that new world awaiting.