By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

My realtor’s car pulled into the parking space designated No. 606 and we both emerged from the vehicle, I – staring into the lipstick red blooming bougainvillea tree, demarking the end space in that section of the lot – immediately fell in love … with the tree. I didn’t need to see the apartment. I wanted to live near that tree. And to add to such largess, its twin sister stood straight and tall only feet from the front door.

With a short cursory look around, “I’ll take it” were the very words my realtor had hoped to hear. Within weeks, my precious “stuff” slinked easily into 1450 sq. ft., after having been surrounded [by additional stuff] and overstuffed into 3500 sq. ft., and I felt like twinkle toes.

That was almost three years ago; and, alas, the parking lot tree has since lost its bloom, its branches dry as a cadaver, standing sentinel over my parking space (which I never use since I have a garage). Every time I looked at it, I felt like crying. Every time guests parked there, I wanted to engage them in a hugging ceremony with me. Dead as the proverbial doornail, it might have been in a Vermont forest in mid January.

I mourned my tree for months, ambivalent about its presence. How long do you keep a dead body in full view? The sun burst on it, the clouds rained on it, but there it stood, motionless, bare and desolate.

And today, as I hauled my garbage to the dumpster abutting the space – OMG! — my tree was gone, a mere stump of it still snug in the earth. I stared at the emptiness and I heard my Ibis chirping nearby. I watched the mother duck-in-residence waddling in front of her babes on the parking lot. The scene was funereal.

Then, I had an out-of-body experience. Some other me – not the one I thought I knew — walked around among the various flowers and bushes in the community with a pan and a clipper and a trowel. I collected a variety of colorful flowers into the pan, pulled out a stool from my garage (I have an old cranky back that doesn’t take well to bending.) dragged my water hose to the spot, doused the earth around the stump, and proceeded to plant flowers around it. And, boy, did that make me feel good!

And here’s the thing. I wanted to write a thoughtful, insightful, philosophical piece about reaching my 90th birthday this month. I wanted to list everything I learned about life, to dispense my wisdom and advice, to pontificate on “my secrets” of longevity and to extoll with infinite gratitude the randomness of just plain good luck. But, instead, I wrote about my dead tree, and the joyousness of living flowers in its place.

“Ki Hoadam Eitz Hasode” – a Man is likened to a tree, (Deuteronomy 20:19.)

But Why? Why are we compared to a tree? Isn’t there a more befitting metaphor?

There are people who only leave an impact when there is no major heat, warmth and passion in their lives. When the game is waning and there is not much action going on, they become sensible. In the morning and evening hours, when they are very young or quite old, when things are quiet and calm, they are ready to give of themselves to others and invest in eternity. As long as the sun in their life is burning hot, they are too caught up in themselves to reflect on how they are impacting others.

“When are you coming home dad?” our children ask us. And the answer: When the sun begins to set. When I get older, and finally make it, when I retire, then I will begin to spend time with my children, with my soul, with my G-d, with my spouse.

The problem is that those who needed our shade and our comfort during those days, don’t needed as much now when the sun has began to set. They missed the opportunity…

However, there is a life which can be likened to the shadow of a tree. Under the branches of a tree, you can always find shade and comfort. No matter if its morning, midday or evening, the tree always casts its healing shade and invites every passerby to bask in its tranquil and reinvigorating environment.

This represents the type of person who never ceases to remember that he or she is an ambassador of G-d at this very moment to bring light, clarity and love to the people around him and her. No matter where he or she stands in life – if the sun is just rising, or its fully aglow, or it is on its way down – this person never fails to be a leader, to serve as an agent of love, hope and trust. This person does not get drunk on his own accomplishments, but remembers his duty to those around him, the loved ones, to community, to our nation, and to our world.

The Talmud relates the following story:

An old man was planting a tree. A young person passed by and asked, What are you planting?

A carob tree, the old man replied.

Silly fool, said the youth. Don’t you know that it takes 70 years for a carob tree to bear fruit?

That’s okay, said the old man. Just as others planted for me, I plant for future generations.

Friends, are you and I “planting” something in our lives which our grandchildren will be able to look at and say, “Thank you grandpa; thank you grandma?” That is why the Torah compared us to the tree in the field.

Is your jar full?

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

So the professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous “Yes.”

The professor then produced two cans of beer from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

“Now,” said the professor, as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life.

The golf balls are the important things — your G-d, your soul, your family, your children, your health, your friends, your passions, your conscience — things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.

The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, your car. The sand is everything else — the small stuff.”

“If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you.

Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to build a relationship with your soul, with your spouse. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first, the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”

When he had finished, there was a profound silence. Then one of the students raised her hand and with a puzzled expression, inquired what the beer represented.

The professor smiled. “I’m glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there’s always room for a couple of L’chayim’s.”

As we approach the High Holidays we must take inventory of our deeds. We must realize that to be a tree is to give shade to those around us no matter what type of leaves or fruits we may or may not have.

Join a community, help others, give of your time, give of your money; just make sure your sharing your shade.

Join us for the High Holidays at our new location. Call to reserve: 347-410-1106. Email: tzvidechter@gmail.com.

Membership not required.

Open Letter to City of Lighthouse Point

Dear Mayor and Commissioners:

The bridge on 36 Street is very old and in poor condition. Among all the many bridges in Lighthouse Point, this bridge is, without question, the most critical bridge in the city. This bridge provides the single and only access to: (a) over 1,000 residents in 400 single family homes, (b) to St. Paul the Apostle Catholic Church, (c) to Frank McDonough Park, (d) the dock for the City Police Boat at Fletcher Park, and (e) for business access to Cap’s Place. If this bridge is damaged, there are not any alternate routes for detours and no other access whatsoever for all these residents.

At the present time, there are substantial bumps in both lanes on this bridge going each way. The earth supporting the approaches has been sinking over time and these approaches are in need of repairs again. Even the concrete retaining walls supporting these approaches are cracked as recent pictures have shown.

Cary Winningham, PE, our City Engineer, has made recommendations for repairs and I believe our Public Works Dept. is planning repairs this summer, hopefully, well before the coming peak hurricane season.

In addition, there is that mammoth tree on the northeast bridge approach. Our mayor has spoken with the County Arborist who thinks this tree “should” survive a hurricane; however, [neither] this arborist nor our engineer will guarantee its survival.

Mentioning hurricane season brings up what I believe is a major hazard to that most strategic bridge for over a thousand of our residents. This year, on TV, we have seen the crazy weather all over our country, and South Florida has been lucky for many years. A major hurricane hitting the Pompano area would create extremely high hurricane winds from the north and northeast, the most likely directions to blow that tree down onto our bridge. If that bridge is damaged or blocked, all the Lake Placid residents have no access for emergency medical or police assistance, and their homes and the church have no fire protection whatsoever.

In addition, if you drive by, you will notice that this mammoth tree also surrounds and endangers the only electric power to our 1,000 Lake Placid residents, as well the resident, in the Town of Hillsboro Beach. While blocking this roadway, one lane at a time, to fix the bumps on the approaches, it would be the appropriate time to entirely remove that tree or drastically cut back all those big limbs to protect Lake Placid residents’ access and electric power to their homes, and to protect our old bridge until its complete rebuilding takes place.

Leo L. Bentz

Lighthouse Point

[This issue was presented at a recent LHP commission mtg. See more on pg. 4.]