Last Shabbat, Léah led the services at the Manhattan synagogue where they are a rabbinical intern. It was their first time doing it alone and it seemed like the perfect transition to the changes that come with turning 29.
Looking at the birthday posts I’ve written on here since the day Léah turned 10, I can see how almost all of them focus on the past. Let me, for once, touch on what lies ahead. At 29, Léah begins to say good-bye to their twenties, a decade that began when they were a new student at NYU after a long academic break. At 29, Léah is halfway through their rabbinical studies in Philadelphia, a vocation and calling that seems to fit them like a glove. At 29, Léah is living with and planning a life with their wonderful fiancé Rachmiel (Emery’s new chosen name). At 29, Léah continues to explore the intersections of art, service, and humanity in ways that continue to amaze me.
Because Léah is one of the last-remaining letter writers on this planet, I dusted off my favorite fountain pens earlier this year and began writing regularly to my oldest child. Our back-and-forth missives mean the world to me, you can learn so many different things about a person from letters than you can from emails or texts. It’s as is the act of moving your hand across a page and dropping ink produces thoughts and feelings that are very different from expressing yourself in other ways. I hope this kind of communication continues for the rest of our lives.
What a joy it is to know this person who continues to surprise me and fill me with wonder for all their uniqueness. Léah’s favorite poet is Mary Oliver, they even quoted her at the synagogue service on Saturday. Here’s the poem that calls out to me for Léah’s 29th birthday:
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
I love you so much, Léah. Happy Birthday!