Dear Families,
Spring Will Come Again
“Winds my blow, and snows may snow,
And clouds may come and hide the moon.
Still we know that someday soon
Spring will come again, summer has to follow.
Birds will come again, nesting in the hollow.
Once again, we’ll know all we know,
That after winter comes spring---
All we know, that after winter comes spring.”
~ Leonard Bernstein’s Peter Pan, ”Spring Will Come Again”
One of the disorienting features of living in isolation is that time begins to feel very elastic. Much more than usual, I find myself in conversations in which everyone struggles to put a finger on when precisely a previous conversation was had or when exactly a particular event occurred. The ability to keep track of where we are in time is not only important for planning and productivity, but it is also essential, on a deeper level, to hope. The various ways in which we mark the passage of time remind us, not only of what has gone by, but also that there is a future—that the present moment is not all there is. Tracking the passage of days is a remarkably consistent human determination in any isolated circumstances. As the days blur together, we are compelled to find ways to keep track, and we feel more adrift when we lose sight of our markers, because each mark reminds us that there will be another.
The applause at 7pm each night offers us a marker of the passage of the day. Shabbat offers us a marker of the passage of the week. And the signs of spring arriving offer us a marker, every time we look outside our window, of the passage of the seasons. At this time of year, the connection of the passage of time to a feeling of hope is always particularly palpable. As the trees begin to bud and daffodils begin to peek through the soil, we are reminded, by the comforting regularity of the seasons, that new life always manages to make its way into the world.
There is surely a dissonance to the arrival of spring this year. Sometimes it makes me more sad when I hear a bird outside my window or notice how many leaves are on the trees, because these things remind me of all that we usually do together in the spring and cannot do right now. We are beginning to hear this theme from children as well. For some, the daily time with friends online continues to be an anchor, and for others it is becoming a reminder of the distance that they are so eager to cross but can’t. Acknowledging the complexity of these feelings is important. We are all feeling so much dissonance right now, and just as marking the time that has passed helps us to see the future, noting our sadness and anger also reminds us that feelings are impermanent. Mr. Rogers reminded us of this. He said:
“At many times throughout their lives, children will feel the world has turned topsy-turvy. It’s not the ever-present smile that will help them feel secure. It’s knowing that love can hold many feelings, including sadness, and that they can count on the people that they love to be with them until the world turns right side up again.”
So much has changed and feels topsy turvy. But we continue to mark the time, and we see what we’ve survived adding up like an arithmetic of our resilience. And we see the space for tomorrow’s mark. Spring still comes.
The hope that spring brings isn’t naive and it isn’t easy. It is tenacious, as flowers make their way through soil that was frozen only a few weeks ago. The renewal of spring also doesn’t turn a blind eye to change, for nature, even in its rebirth, is constantly adapting toward survival. The world turned right side up again will likely look different. It will surely require us to bend and flex and adapt in so many new ways. And yet we will, because people do, just as the trees find ways to lean and twist in their persistence to grow toward light.
Over the weeks since we closed our physical doors, we have welcomed four new babies into our community. This is the most tangible reminder we have of the persistence of hope and the continuity of life. And with new life, our capacity to care and to nurture is also renewed. After we get through the crisis phase of this experience, there won’t be a magical restoration of the past, just as new lives don’t restore lives lost. But by continuing to mark the days and celebrate the emergence of life, we challenge ourselves to remember that there will be a tomorrow and that, with both our tenacity and our gentleness, whichever way the future may bend it will remain rooted in our values and our commitment to one another. For spring is a time of nurturing, but this nurturing is not delicate. It requires our labor, our muddy hands, and our insistence on the possibility of renewal.
Elie Wiesel described faith as “a rebellion.” He said that, “hope is possible beyond despair but not without it...Because I remember, I despair. Because I remember, I have the duty to reject despair.” And he went on to remind us that hope depends on our commitment to share it with one another. “Just as despair can be given to me only by another human being, hope too can be given to me only by another human being.”
We have work to do as we head into all that is changing and all that remains unknown. But spring is tenacious, and so is our spirit.
Mazel tov to our new parents and our new big brothers and sisters! And mazel tov to each of you who has made it to Shabbat once again and marked the passage of another week with us.
As we look ahead, we have some exciting new programs and points of connection we are looking forward to sharing with you. More on this very soon. We will continue learning, and we will continue listening. We will continue building. We will continue to find ways of coming together, growing together, and helping each other bend toward hope.
Shabbat shalom,
Alicia