One bird's song

I received a letter from the Department of Urban Forestry last week: A tree on my block had been saved thanks to the advocacy of my neighbors.

I wrote a letter in support of the tree over a month ago, then quickly forgot about it, so was surprised to receive the official news.

This letter was at the request of my neighbor, a woman with whom I’ve shared meals and who sometimes brings me fresh flowers for Shabbat from her 97 year-old mother’s backyard.

She asked me about six or seven times, over the course of three months, to write this letter. She asked me in person, over email, by phone and text message.

My first thought wasn’t Wow I’m so impressed with my neighbor’s concern for the trees on my block.

It was Okay, yeah, I’ll do it later.

About a month ago, I got an email and text from her on the same morning saying that I had until the afternoon to submit the letter before the decision would be made.

Who do I want to be in this world?

I sat down at my computer. And I began to type a letter to a group of strangers about my love for a tree. I wrote about the bird songs heard from its branches. I told them how my five-year-old son wept even when a dead tree was cut down for safety on our sidewalk. I asked them why (during a pandemic) we’re cutting down living trees.

I got the reply from Urban Forestry amidst a sea — a steady stream of emails, posts, signs, protests in the streets — advocating justice for black lives in this country.

I know if I can save a tree, I can save a life.

I also know - and history confirms - that in another version of this story I am my neighbor, or the tree.

We’re all busy, and we all have to pause. And act.

In a conversation that Dan and I had last Friday with faith leaders from the African American community, someone said that “optimism without action is like prayer without faith”

Inspired by those words, I am committed to including a Prayer + Action at the conclusion of each post.

I’m receiving entire google drives of resources daily, which is encouraging but overwhelming. So I’ve decided to focus on one action each week, and share it here.

This week’s is a trusted non-profit journalism site devoted to covering criminal justice in this country.

Prayer + Action: The Marshall Project

Finding consolation in one beautiful bird’s song saved.

Signs and Revelation

Everywhere I go there are signs.

Written in chalk.

Posted in windows.

Signs of hope, of healing of solidarity.

Posters congratulating the class of 2020 who were recently relegated to zoom commencements.

Arrows painted on the sidewalk pointed towards a “Quarantini” cocktail stand.

I appreciate these small consolations, drawn-up with care by neighbors.

And in spite of signs offering direction, I got lost twice this past week.

First on foot in Golden Gate Park, where I thought I was exiting by the Golden Gate Bridge, but found myself standing under a sign with an arrow pointing in the opposite direction.

And again, on a drive with my kids, I took a wrong turn.

My son looked out the window, excitedly, “Look there’s another Petco!”

Let’s pause here.

My child believes multiple Petcos have been erected in a two-minute span of time, and not that his mom is driving in circles.

That’s the type of beauty I can live off of for a long time.

I could end this story here — on this high note of grace.

Except there’s more, right?

We’ve been building towards it, as Shavuot approaches on Thursday night. This holiday of revelation, commemorating the giving of the Torah on Mt. Sinai.

I’m on the lookout for a burning bush, but I’m receiving sidewalk-chalk messages and duplicating Petcos!

But maybe that is it for now — A moment or two of clarity might feel revelatory this year.

Getting lost and finding my way back home each time.

Wishing you all a holiday filled with meaning and discovery.

Chag Samaech.