Black-crested Titmouse : Immortal Legacies
This is a Black-crested Titmouse. I’ve seen dozens and dozens of them - and that’s just in my backyard. But with birds it’s always a little bit tricky to know whether the second or third or fourth that you see is actually a different individual or simply the same one seen a little bit later. At least to my admittedly untrained eye, specific individuals are essentially impossible to differentiate. Maybe that blending deprives me of some meaning, but perhaps seen a different way, it allows me to think of these birds as being in some sense immortal. In other words, the one I’m seeing is always the same one I’ve seen, everlastingly. At times I prefer this (scientifically absurd) perspective that bestows a sense of longevity and continuity.
Jewish tradition includes at least two ways that we confer immortality upon people. Authors of particularly important books are hereafter referred to not by their own given names but rather by the title of their work. This teaches that the work that we produce, the thoughts that we record and share, become an eternal legacy. Our contributions are an undying inheritance reflective of the full essence of what we are. The second tradition holds that our children are named in memory of departed ancestors. I carry the names of two of my great-grandfathers of blessed memory, and I daily feel both obligation and inspiration from them. Their memories live on in me just as the next generation lives on in my son.
A friend of mine just died. I hadn’t seen him in a long time. Recalling him, though, surfaces dozens of happy memories, all of them integral to a particular time and place of my life. He was what we call a character! He had a personality with quirks and oddball habits that were utterly defining and absolutely lovely. He will be missed. I don’t know whether his own children will one day name a new infant for him, but perhaps this drash offered in his memory will help to keep Oliver‘s memory alive in a meaningful way. I would like to think that these lovingly-offered words, like the Titmouse I saw, will in essence be eternally lasting. And may Oliver’s memory be for a blessing always.