Our home and yard are shaded by a canopy of
beautiful tall trees; pines, poplars and oaks that provide valuable shade during
the oppressive Atlanta summers.
Unfortunately, as summer turns to autumn, the trees also deposit a cache
of leaves that, in the weeks before Rosh Hashanah, begins as a lovely wafting
of greenery and elevates by mid-November to a vegetative torrent and, I would
add, torment. As a dutiful suburbanite I
spend each Sunday during this period accompanied by my electric leaf blower,
rake, broom and Costco leaf bags blowing, pushing and bagging. It is not a task that lends itself to a sense
of accomplishment as, invariably, as soon as I have moved the last bag to the
curb a breeze wafts through the neighborhood and leafy stragglers descend to
litter the driveway.
Not
wanting to make leaf collection my sole preoccupation during these months, I
have adopted a mantra, which I call suburban Zen: “There are always more
leaves”.
Perhaps
this is the lesson of the sixties – my sixties that is (I won’t try to fathom
the lesson of the 1960’s). No matter how
hard we work, our lives seem to tilt towards entropy. We literally and figuratively rake, mow,
sweep and brandish our hot air but “there are always more leaves”. Or as Rabbi Tarfon would say upon viewing his
lawn: “You are not obligated to complete the task, but neither are you free to
desist from it”.
Perhaps
this is also a lesson for the High Holy Days. It is a messy, unfinished, oft
frightening leaf-filled world, perhaps more so every day. Even if we can never
solve every problem, resolve every conflict and address every local, national
or global challenge; we need to keep raking.
This
is our partnership with the Almighty; she will continue to provide trees and
leaves and we must keep raking. And
that’s the good news.
