by George Gazarek
These are the days of awe. Two years ago I stood up here and talked about the awesome miracle of how the great trees grow from just a tiny seed. I talked about Maryland’s Wye Oak that was over four hundred years old when it was killed by a thunderstorm in 2002. Last year I wasn’t with you for High Holidays. I was hiking across Spain on the five-hundred mile Camino de Santiago. Many of you, along with my family and friends pledged donations to Sha’are Shalom based on how many miles I walked. Those donations, just under five thousand dollars, seeded many of the programs that you enjoyed this past year and will continue to enjoy next year. Today, I would like to talk about this awesome little seed. But I’m getting ahead of myself. We need to go back to the beginning of our story.
A Jew and a butterfly walk into a bar. The Jew says, I’ll have a glass of Schnapps. The bartender brings over a glass of Schnapps. He looks at the butterfly and says, what will you have Bud? The butterfly says, my name is Virginia, and I’ll have a glass of nectar please. So the bartender pours the butterfly a glass of Jack Daniels nectar. He looks at the butterfly and says, We don’t get too many butterflies in here. You do know this isn’t a butterfly bar. Don’t you butterflies usually hang out in a garden somewhere?
Oy, says the butterfly, I wish. You probably think all butterflies look alike. You see, I’m a very special butterfly. I’m a Monarch Butterfly. This time of the year, we monarchs start our migration back to Mexico where we will spend the winter. It’s cool enough so we can go into a state of semi-hibernation but not so cold that we freeze to death. In March, we will awaken and head North mostly through Texas. From there we will branch out all across the U.S. and Canada.
After a single mating, a female monarch can lay as many as seven hundred eggs in her lifetime. But she will only lay them on the leaves of a milkweed plant. Within a few days a larva or caterpillar will emerge. The only food it can eat is the leaves of the milkweed plant. After a week or two, it will form a cocoon like structure called a chrysalis. And within one to two weeks, a full grown monarch butterfly will emerge.
Soon after laying her eggs in Texas, the generation that left Mexico will die. The first new generation emerges from these eggs in April and continues the path North. These summer monarchs live only two to six weeks. So a second generation emerges in May, a third in June, a forth in July and a fifth in August. This fifth generation is the most populous and has gotten as far North as New Brunswick.
The fifth generation, no longer lays eggs but eats all it can to build energy reserves. While the summer generations only lived two to six weeks, this fifth generation will live as long as eight months. It will travel as far as three thousand miles back to Mexico, where it will stay until next Spring.
Wow, that’s an awesome story, says the bartender. So, what’s the problem? You see, every December, while we’re sleeping, your people come and count us. At our peak, they counted one billion. Our long-term average has been three-hundred million. Last December, they only counted fifty-seven million. You see, every year, there is less and less milkweed. Some of it is due to construction and building. But most of our problem is due to farmers spraying herbicides.
Well that’s a real sad story there Virginia. But I’m just a bartender and I hear a dozen sad stories every day. Why should I care about your problem. Well, do you like to eat, said Virginia. Of course I like to eat. What kind of question is that. You see, without butterflies, honey bees and other insects to pollinate the plants and trees, about a third of the food you eat would either no longer exist or it would cost ten times as much.
Alright little lady, you got my attention. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. Since you’re the first butterfly that’s ever come into my bar, I’m going to help you out. I’m going to order a truck-load of milkweed seed. I’m going to have it put in little bags. And every time a customer buys a drink, I’m going to give him one of those bags. If just half my customers plant those seeds, it will make a big difference in your world.
That’s fantastic said Virginia, this must be what my Jewish friend, Moshe, is always talking about. He says one person can make a difference. One person can save the world. Don’t go getting all weepy eyed on me now, says the bartender.
And with that the bartender looks at the Jew and says, we don’t get too many Jews in here. You do know this isn’t a Jew bar. Don’t you Jews usually hang out in a synagogue somewhere?
Oy, says Moshe, I wish. You probably think all Jews look alike. You see, I’m a very special Jew. I’m a Reform Jew. I was a longtime member of my synagogue. It was a small congregation and everything was just perfect. So perfect, that we all kind of took it for granted and assumed it would always be there for us. It all happened so slowly, none of us saw it coming. At first, attendance started falling off at services. It became difficult to find anyone to sponsor an oneg after services. Fewer and fewer people volunteered to lead us in prayer.
As more and more people lost interest, it became harder for the board to pay the bills. They did the best they could but they couldn’t do the impossible. I went to the synagogue this evening for Shabbat services. When I got there, there was a chain through the handles on the front doors with a padlock on the chain. There was a sign pasted on the window that said Bankruptcy Sale, Wednesday Morning. I sat down on the ground and cried. I cried for my synagogue, my congregation, my family. That’s when this little butterfly happened along. She told me her sad story and I said let me buy you a drink at the bar.
Wow, that is a sad story, the bartender said. But, I think I can help you out just like I helped the butterfly. You see, I haven’t been totally honest with you. I also, am a Jew. And I belong to a fantastic synagogue, it’s called Congregation Sha’are Shalom. We are a small congregation also and we like to think of ourselves as a family. I know we don’t take our synagogue for granted because we never have problems finding volunteers.
We have a dedicated group of service leaders and our onegs are definitely something to look forward to. And Moshe, you’re going to like this. Every once in while at the oneg, some of us will throw down a glass of Schnapps. And you should see the excitement on the faces of the children as they come to Religious School. The energy and enthusiasm of these little people, it’s contagious. And so, my friend, you too can join our congregation where the doors to our synagogue will always be open to you.
Oy, said Moshe. This is unbelievable, the most wonderful news. You are a real mensch. Who would think a bartender could save the world for a Jew and a butterfly. We both are very grateful to you for your kindness. Don’t go getting all weepy eyed on me now, says the bartender.
Wait, wait, said the butterfly. Before we go, I’ve got one more question for you. Is there a God? And the bartender smiled, yes, Virginia, there is a God. God may not be this old butterfly with a long white beard sitting on a throne as you once believed. In fact, God is beyond our wildest imagination. But that doesn’t mean that God doesn’t exist. God exists for all those who are willing to make the choice, to believe. God exists for all those who are willing to make the choice, to hope. If you believe Virginia, then it will be so.
My fellow congregants, I believe and I know, on a Yom Kippur morning far off in the future, our children will be sitting here with their spouses and their children. And as they listen to some service leader babble on about some Jew and a butterfly, they will look around and smile, as they realize what a great gift our ancestors, our founders, our parents have given them. A great synagogue, a great congregation, and yes a great family.
Moshe, Virginia and everyone, let us all raise our imaginary glasses and give a hearty holiday toast, to belief, to hope and to the future of Sha’are Shalom.
L’shana tova