JOINING THE MARINE (PARK) CORE!

BS”D.

Joining the Marine [Park] Core!

  Magnetically Magnificent Magnolias

By

Rabbi Hillel L. Yarmove © 

Ah, magnolias! As I intone the name, my mind fills with portraits of old, somewhat-decadent nineteenth-century mansions which (or so we were taught) abounded in the antebellum deep-southern United States.

However, truth be told, there are various species of magnolia which can be found up north as well. (Take the white-blossomed species Sweetbay [Magnolia virginiana], for example: Its heavenly fragrance is so heady that on a warm spring day it could almost make you swoon, kivyachol.) Toward the end of March this year, the Magnolias had been blooming in such profusion that I could actually feel my heart leaping. In particular, their cup- or goblet-shaped blooms (as a couple of writers have described them), had riveted my attention, along with a strikingly three-dimensional aspect occasioned by the stark juxtaposition of their pink-and-white festooned petals. (Please note: Various species sport blossoms that are white, pink, or purple.)

The cup-shaped blooms reminded my dear wife of the cups which held the oil in the Menorah in the Mishkan. As for me, my mind wandered to a comparison with the Four Cups soon to be utilized at the upcoming Pesach Sedarim. Either way, the Magnolia tree—no matter which species—seemed to be an apt harbinger of the season of growth and hope—spring!

And then, we suddenly had to endure those incredibly bitterly cold days at the very end of March—and the almost-translucent, vibrant blooms of our local Magnolias turned to an ugly brown. The deep freeze had in fact killed the ambient magnolia blossoms—and I felt myself teetering on the brink of a throbbing disappointment. How I had longed for spring, that universal season of vitality and promise! And now the symbol of my aspiration had, as it were, upped and died!

But perhaps—just perhaps—the demise of the incredibly beautiful, wonderfully fragrant blossoms contained a message not just for me but for all of us. What could that be?

Perhaps just this:

Just two months or so ago, it had seemed that we were finally leaving the COVID pandemic—and all that it had entailed—behind us. In late January, we could see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. However, the recent petirah of the Sar HaTorah, coupled with other tragedies that have beset our nation since then, might have constrained us to think that the blossoms of hope which we had figuratively envisioned in January had been destroyed by the freeze of hopelessness and despair.

But wait! The magnolia trees will certainly persevere despite the premature loss of their blossoms—simply because they have been properly nurtured and cared for all along. Similarly, our people will, if they are diligent enough, extract from the life of our Gadol Hador the proper spiritual nutrients so that we can continue flourishing in the world of ruchniyus, just as Harav Kanievsky, zt”l, would have expected us to do. 

Yes indeed, with the beauty of our generation nipped in the bud, so to speak, but with trunks and branches unscathed by the trials of the past few months, we must head slowly but inexorably toward the Leilei Shimurim of Pesach. After all, would the Sar HaTorah, zecher tzaddik liv’rocha, have expected anything less from us?

As for me, at the Seder table I shall surely be thinking about this upbeat lesson which I have learned from our now-defunct Magnolia cup-shaped blossoms, especially when I drink my arba’ah kosos (Four Cups). After all, Pesach, the season of our deliverance and hope, is finally upon us. 

Chag Pesach kasher v’sameach, dear readers!