For My Grandchild, Ari Tekiah, With Abundant Love

Born 11 Nisan 5782 
Bris 18 Nisan 5782 Chol Moed Pesach

אָז יָשִׁיר-משֶׁה וּבְנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל אֶת-הַשִּׁירָה הזֹּאת

לַיי וַיֹאמְרוּ לֵאמֹר אָשִּׁירָה לַיי כִּי-גָּאֹה גָאָה 

Then Moses and the children of Israel sang this song to Adonai, I will sing to Adonai for this glorious triumph! (Exodus Chapter 15:1)

Ari Tekiah ben Aviva v’Zacharya,
When we met eight days ago you were sound asleep, snuggled cozily on your dad’s chest. Your move from his arms to mine went smoothly, but the chill unsettled you a bit - at least until you were able to find your arm to suck on and, with just a bit of assistance from me, your thumb. Hours old and already you were actively participating in your own soothing, and even more importantly, I think, while you knew what you needed, you welcomed help in getting it. You are surrounded today by loving grown-ups who are all here to welcome you, guide you, and support you as you continue to grow into yourself. You have a wide and wonderful circle of family and community. And you have Lev, your big-hearted big brother. 

Ari, you arrived in the month of Nisan. Nisan in Hebrew is related to the word Nitzan - which means bud. When I’ve heard your mama and others call you “little buddy,” that’s the “buddy” I’ve been hearing. Nisan is also called HaChodesh Aviv - the month of Spring, connecting you with your mom’s Hebrew name, Aviva. It is the first month and you arrived on the 11th of Nisan, just in time for Passover. Rabbi Isaac Luria, the master kabbalist born in 1534 C.E. in Jerusalem and known as The Ari, the lion, teaches that at the original Pesach seder, in Egypt, a conception occurred. He understood conception as the point when a soul makes contact with a body and they begin a life together, a story, a journey. The Ari teaches that it was the collective soul of the people of Israel that was conceived on the eve of the first Passover. A unity greater than the sum of its parts. Before, there were individuals who shared a history and belief. After there was a People. There was a conception, and with the parting of the sea there was a birth. He teaches that every Passover this process repeats itself again on a mini scale. Again we each come into the world with a soul that contains the lights of all that we will become, and gradually, through the years, during this week of Pesach, our soul expands in layers with the insights and achievements and sorrows and joys we’ve acquired on our journeys.

During Passover, teaches the Ari, all the portals of heaven are opened and God’s deepest love pours down on us. We should, therefore, expect wonder.

I feel that wonder in our story, in particular in that moment when Yocheved, Miriam, and Batya stand together by the river holding the baby who would become Moses. This is the baby Amram and Yocheved chose to bring into a really hard world. This is the baby big-sister Miriam watched over and protected. This is the baby Pharaoh’s daughter - then still bat Paroh - rescued, earning her the name Batya, daughter of God. The rabbis of the Talmud say the little baby’s name was Tuvya until Batya named him Moses. 

Ari, I feel that love and that wonder in my relationship with Lev who has a nice roomy space in my expansive Savta heart, and I feel that love and that wonder in my relationship with you for whom a cozy you-shaped space opened up the moment I heard you were on your way.

I only met your mom’s Zaide, your great grandfather, Alan, for whom you are named Ari, a couple of times, but I have heard great stories about him from your mom and from Bubbie. I know he loved Passover, and I have the very strong sense that in relationship with his grandchildren and great grandchildren, he was - and his soul is - full of wonder. He led the family seder for over 40 years, and your mom says he had a way about him that made each person feel that they were the most important person there. She remembers him patrolling the room at holidays and simchas like a lion, the head of the family, taking an interest in the children of his children. But then, like Batya, he took an interest in all children. 

When your mom’s Zaide, Alan, was sent to Korea, during the Korean War, he was put in charge of the railroad and railroad station. The railroad station was a place where babies whose families had run out of options, babies who were orphaned, babies born into a really hard world would be left in the hopes that someone there could care for them. Alan wrote home asking his parents to send baby clothes, because he didn’t need anything, but the babies did. One of the last things your mom and her Zaide talked about was children in Pakistan. Your great grandfather put his all into the things he cared about, which is one of the things she also loves about your dad. Dedicated, so like your dad, she says, especially to family. And like your dad caring so much and being sensitive to the feelings of his loved ones, your mom hopes these traits will continue on in you.  

Your dad was also far from home when he served in Afghanistan trying to stand up for, as he puts it, “the little guy.” One of your dad’s last missions was freeing people. He knows fighting for what is right isn’t always easy and sometimes requires personal sacrifice. Living a principled life, standing up for ourselves and our community, standing up for people who are vulnerable -  he knows it can be tough. We aren’t in it alone. As in our Exodus story, there are people we are fighting for and fighting with, and there are people fighting for us. Your dad’s Hebrew name, Zecharya, means God has remembered. We elevate being remembered by God every year at Passover. In your name, Ari, your dad feels the commitment of our people, a people who know that the Promised Land, the world that can be, isn’t just given to us. It is something we have to work for. Fight for. And in this world that can be so tough, we also need something positive and hopeful - that “tekiah” that calls us together. That’s what your dad thinks of in his love for your mom’s creativity, her love of music, the positivity she brings into the world, and how important family is to her. It’s also in your big brother’s middle name, Zimra - which means song. With your musical middle name, Tekiah, your dad hopes you’ll have a special sibling connection.

For your mom, Tekiah also reminds her of your great grandfather because on Yom Kippur he would leave Temple of Aaron and join her and your uncle Elliot and your grandparents and Auntie Jeannie at Mount Zion for N’illah at the very end of the day. He wore a cozy suit jacket and she’d get to be in a snuggle under his arm. The shofar blasts - tekiah, shevarim, and teruah - always make her think of him.

When I asked your mom what she hoped you would inherit from your great grandfather Alan, her Zaide, she didn’t hesitate:
“Zaide’s unconditional love game was really strong,” she said. “I hope this little one gets that easy ability to express love. Love of family and investment in the branches far and wide.” She wants you to know your cousins, and be connected with them, no matter how far away they live. “Warmth and coziness,” she added. “Being a safe person” for the people you love and who love you.

Do you know, Ari Tekiah, that you share a birthday with another man about whom it is said he had a really strong unconditional love game? Menachem Mendel Schneerson was born in Ukraine on the 11th of Nisan 5662. 120 years to the day before you arrived. He’s known as the Lubavitcher Rebbe. Among the guiding principles of his life he taught that if we want to love God, we need to love people. Our purpose, he said, is more profound than we think, and whatever we are in the world to do, we can use that to grow love and to feed bodies and souls. After Passover, we count the Omer and head toward revelation at Sinai, but the created world, he said, is itself a revelation, and when we make the ordinary holy, we uncover God’s transcendent self. We uncover wonder.

This year, we also get the wonder of you. 

Ari Tekiah ben Aviva v’Zecharya, may your name always remind you of the deep love of your parents who gave it to you, of your great grandfather Alan - your mom’s Zaide, and of all of the people from whom you come.

As your Savta and your Savta Liddy, as two of your grands, we sing to Adonai of the gloriousness of you, just as you are.
As your Savta, a rabbi, I bless you: May you be who you are, and may you be blessed in all that you are.

Ari Tekiah

with me, his Savta.