Summertime. Hummingbirds click by me searching for food, even as I hear the first hazelnuts drop to the ground. I might be awakened by the fierce screech of our local owls hunting before dawn, and some mornings I am awakened by the falsetto cry of our grandfather eagle at the top of the tallest fir. This morning, I listen to raven. What a blessing to share our world with these birds and more, these beings who in their flight remind us both of our limitations and our dreams.
This summer I was privileged to be with a young couple as they opened their ketubah, their marriage contract, for the first time. It was highly decorative; a tree of life painted with tiny blossoms throughout. I said it reminded me of Persian ketubot I have seen over the years. The groom, Jewish, and the bride, a secular Muslim from Iran, had no idea that the ketubah they chose would so tie together their distinctive yet about to be joined heritages. His grandfather, now in his 90’s, was the greatly honoured signatory. He is the family patriarch in the very best sense of that word. His children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren love him deeply. His signature confirmed their promise to marry and continue that lineage.
While this coming marriage is inter-faith, and thus holds less legal standing within Jewish law, it holds great personal meaning for the couple and their families. We spoke about “a man’s word” as final, about the seal of the grandfather’s signature. We spoke of the generations that had been, that are, and the generations, God willing, to come. We spoke of the validity of witnesses, and the hope that this marriage was also a symbol of the deep and ancient connections that Jews hold with Persia, now Iran. What once was, is no longer, sadly.
But then I saw the birds, the tiny painted birds tucked between the many blossoms and the branches of the tree on the ketubah. Subtle, hidden, but as present on vellum as birds are in our lives. We hear their song, the heartbeat of their wings as they fly by our ears; we can look and yet often not see them. How many times have I stared into our own trees looking for raven. Unseeable. But very present.
And so too is the Holy Oneness binding us all. We strive to listen, we may occasionally hear in word, in dream, song or prayer, a message that opens us to a realm our conscious mind may deny. Birds remind many of us of that Presence in our lives. Like angelic messengers they call us to listen deeply. In their call, we dare to hope.
By the time this is in print we will be in the month of Av. I fear the month of Av, in particular, Tisha B’Av, the 9thday, with its heated reminder of tragedies past. We sit in solemn dimness, reading the Book of Eichah, the Book of Lamentations, reading about endless devastating destructions: our Beit haMikdash, our Temple, of crusades and pogroms, of the Shoah. So much enmity has risen against us. But Av also reminds us to rise up, to hope, to look forward, and most importantly, to bring hope into action.
As I think about the aridity of August, of Av, I think of those birds scattered on that ketubah. I hear their song. I think of this one couple, their love, and their desire to bring two traditions together. I think of one family, with roots and branches spreading in love. And in that simple signature of a grandfather, I am renewed into hope.
Rabbi Lynn Greenhough is rabbi with Victoria’s Jewish Reform community – Kolot Mayim Reform Temple.
You can read more articles on our interfaith blog, Spiritually Speaking, at /blogs/spiritually-speaking
* This article was also published in the print edition of the Times 91原创 on Saturday, August 17th 2024
