By Betzy Lynch in La Jolla, California
There is a beautiful Hasidic teaching attributed to the Baal Shem Tov about a leaf falling from a tree.
His students watched as the wind lifted the leaf and carried it from place to place until finally it came to rest on the ground. To anyone watching, its path might have seemed entirely random, the ordinary movement of a leaf caught in the wind.
But the Baal Shem Tov taught that where the leaf landed was not an accident.
In one telling of the story, the students lifted the leaf and discovered a tiny creature underneath, sheltered by it from the heat of the sun. What had looked like the random journey of a leaf was connected to something they could not initially see.
This is one way Hasidic tradition helps us understand hashgachah pratit – Divine Providence: the possibility that the seemingly small and disconnected details of our lives may be part of something larger.
I love this idea because hashgachah pratit gives us spiritual imagination. It invites us to look more closely and wonder: What might I not be seeing? What connections might be hidden beneath the surface? What meaning might this moment hold?
But spiritual imagination needs a partner: anavah — humility. Anavah grounds us in the understanding that the meaning we make from a moment is not necessarily G-d’s explanation for why it happened. We can believe the leaf did not land accidentally without presuming we know exactly why it landed there.
Hashgachah pratit opens us to meaning. Anavah reminds us to hold that meaning gently.
I found myself thinking about both this week.
It was 6:45 in the morning, and I was walking through the JCC on my way to a Pilates session when I passed Mary, our Membership Director. She was waving through the fitness center window to Phyllis.
As I walked by, Mary said, “It’s Phyllis’ birthday today.”
Of course, I couldn’t let that go.
I walked into the fitness center, where Mike, one of our personal trainers, was working with his client, Candy. I suggested they might want to cover their ears, and while Phyllis continued working away on the lat pulldown machine, I sang her “Happy Birthday.”
I wished her a wonderful day, went to Pilates, and then headed upstairs for a couple of meetings.
As far as I knew, that was the end of the story.
A few hours later, I headed downstairs to our preschool, where families were gathering for Meet the Teacher event in anticipation of the new school year. I walked into Room One and noticed a little girl wearing a birthday crown.
Soon, Miss Natalie and Miss Alix gathered everyone together. We sang “Happy Birthday” to Taylor in English, Hebrew and Spanish.
And as we sang, something started tugging at me.
When we finished, I looked at Taylor and asked, “Does someone else in your family have a birthday today?”
Taylor and her mom smiled.
“Yes, her grandma.”
Then they looked at me with surprise.
“How did you know?”
Because just a few hours earlier, I had sung “Happy Birthday” to her grandma, too.
And in that moment, I felt this unexpected rush of joy.
Just a few hours earlier, Phyllis had begun another year of her life at the JCC, doing something she enjoys, surrounded by people who knew her and were delighted to celebrate her. Now, in another part of the same JCC, her granddaughter was celebrating another year of her young life, surrounded by her family, teachers and new friends, singing together with that same sense of joy.
Different times. Different spaces. Different generations. Different ways of experiencing the JCC. And yet, the same birthday, the same family, and the same sense of celebration and love.
Neither Phyllis nor Taylor had been there to see the other celebrated.
But somehow, I had.
And regardless of why I happened to be the person who saw both ends of that invisible thread, seeing it brought me such inspiration.
For a moment, I wasn’t seeing a fitness member and a preschool student. I was seeing a grandmother and granddaughter connected across generations. I found myself imagining that shared birthday making its way through the JCC that day, one generation carrying years of memories, relationships and experiences here, and another just beginning to create hers.
There was something deeply moving about that.
And it brought me back to the leaf.
I don’t know why I happened to cross paths with both Phyllis and Taylor that day. I don’t know what, if anything, G-d intended me to understand from it.
But I do know what became possible because I noticed.
Two moments that could easily have passed as unrelated became connected. A fitness center and a preschool classroom became part of the same family story. And an ordinary Friday morning became, for me, a glimpse of dor l’dor, generation to generation, happening right in front of me.
Dayenu. That is enough.
We don’t have to explain every connection in order to be changed by seeing it.
Perhaps there are invisible threads like these surrounding us all the time, between people, generations, places and moments. Most will remain hidden from us. But occasionally, we are given a glimpse. And for me, there is such honor in being fortunate enough to see one.
As we enter a new week, may we pay attention to where the leaves land. May we remain curious about the connections we cannot yet see. And may we never become so busy that we miss the joy of discovering an invisible thread.
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Betzy Lynch is the chief executive officer of the Lawrence Family JCC.