Can We Talk About Spring?
By Ted Roberts

Pesach is over. We have commemorated our deliverance and cherished the last sweet lingering thought of who would we be - where would we be - if the Lord God of Hosts had not led us through the wilderness.

We have eaten the last matzoh ball and just yesterday finished up the saucerful of chopped liver remnants. So, what's to look forward to, now?

Nature lovers, cheered by those first shivering daffodils answer, "SPRING"!

I open the fridge and see that pitiful saucerful of chopped liver, one lonesome matzoh ball, and cold Tzimmus from the second Seder and I, too, think SPRING!

About a week after Passover - unless you live in Rejavik, Iceland - the Creator's greatest miracle is on its way - SPRING!

They say Elijah, the guest at every Seder table, heralds the Messiah. It's a comforting thought, but sadly, after 3,300 years of Seders, we're still waiting for the Prince of Judah who will restore our body and soul (and portfolio of hi-tech stocks). But don't knock the prophet. Every year he has brought us the Messiah's understudy - SPRING! He has never missed. Not once.

Elijah shows up at the Seder with a daffodil pinned to his lapel and next thing you know here comes the revival we call Springtime. He hasn't missed once. He's like Barry Bonds except every hit is a home run.

But you know what? That's the problem with miracles like Spring - especially annual miracles. They're too regular. Maybe the Creator should have teased us with a random season of rebirth that popped up now and then. Or maybe like leap year - every four years. It involves the same emotional conundrum as kissing your wife. Once a day is a thrill - three times a day is a bore. It's an old human flaw. Regularity breeds contempt.

If I could have a brief talk with my Creator - if he still encouraged a chat as in biblical times - I'd have a few suggestions to make about the time of year when lawn mower salesmen rejoice; when the sap rises in the tulip tree and in the hearts of young lovers. It's Springtime, flingtime, singtime, ringtime. But if the Creator of seasons gave me a few minutes of his time, I'd ask Him to spice up our life with a little suspense.

I'd inquire, "Sir, why must Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall follow each other so consistently"? It never fails. Not once - I mean never has Summer come before Spring. So predictable. So dull. Why not surprise us once in a while. Wouldn't the world gasp at your power if say, just one year out of six - SPRING FOLLOWED SUMMER!! And along the same lines - once in a while let's just skip Winter. Get the idea? Why this boring consistency?

Then there's this infinite universe we float around in. No end - no beginning - no sides. No top or bottom to box in our small, dizzy earth. We stand in our backyard and look out into it. Stars, planets, galaxies light up the sky. And rarely, about as often as a surge of spiritual ecstasy moves our hearts in synagogue, do we pebbles on the beach of time say WOW! What a mystery. What a light show put on by the Master empressario! Gasping with awe, we rarely understand that we're not looking at specks of light, but the elements of your imaginative mind. Why waste such grandeur every night?

Now here's my idea. Show the moon's radiance only monthly and light up the entire heaven only once every ten years. The grandeur of Beethoven's 5th Symphony, sounded on the hour like the cuckoo clock on your wall, soon turns to boredom. And who can thrill at the sonnets of Edna St. Vincent Millay over breakfast, lunch, supper, and a midnight snack? You're overdoing it. Too much at once for feeble human minds.

Don't you see that if you rationed out your galactic glory, five billion men, women, and children would stare at diamonds, not rhinestones. What radiance - what transcendental authority, they'd say. "We need to follow in His ways." That's what we humans would say - just like your prophet, Micah. Micah, who stood on a dark Judean hillside and watched your shining face every night - and still saw majesty, not pinpoints of light. But most of us don't have his imagination. Help us by rationing out your wonders. And that's exactly the point I'm trying to make about Spring! I'd say once every three years would be just about right.