As I write this message for the July issue of The Shofar, the outdoor temperature is pushing 92 degrees, and my hair is bushing-out uncontrollably from the humidity. I’m reminded of another scorching hot day one summer long ago. I hope readers will find charm in the story, and wisdom in the postscript.
In the tradition of the proverbial chicken that crossed the road to get to the other side comes this story about a goose and her four little goslings that also wanted to get to the other side. Only the road chosen was not some quiet country lane. No, these geese started across Central Avenue at Hartsdale Avenue — the most congested intersection in maybe all of Westchester County. And they chose a weekday afternoon, about 5:15, at the height of the evening commuter rush.
This was the scene. Drivers moving north and south were streaking through the intersection, while east-west commuters waited for the traffic light to change from red to green. The lines of cars at a standstill grew longer and longer, snaking back east into the village and, to the west, up the hill nearly to Ridge Road. It was hot and muggy. A choking heat seemed to rise from the asphalt as a kind of endurance test for motorists, who wanted more than anything else to be on their way home, out of their cars, and into something cool to wear and cold to drink. Stress hung in the air like a fever.
The traffic light changed. Now a red light burned in all four directions, allowing pedestrians to crisscross the intersection. Cars inched forward, poised to leap ahead on the green signal. Seconds before the inevitable, a family of geese appeared on the concrete — from out of nowhere, it seemed. With mother goose in the lead, her four babies following in a line, the little family stepped off the curb and began slowly to waddle their way from the northwest corner of Central Avenue to the southeast side. They were so tiny out there, so out of place, so vulnerable. People standing on the sidewalks, most of them waiting for buses, stared at the birds, fearful of what they might soon witness, powerless to intervene. What would happen when the light changed to green?
What happened was this: All of those hot, uncomfortable, impatient drivers were stilled by the little drama unfolding in front of them. It was so composed and so quiet that a deep breath could have been heard. And when the light turned green… not a single car moved, not a single horn honked. And when the birds were safely across the road and on the sidewalk, the flow of traffic resumed.
Was it just my imagination or was there less frenzy at the corner? Cars slowed to allow drivers to make their left turns. Two lanes merged respectfully into the single lane that leads to Hartsdale’s village center. Peace reigned on the thoroughfare. Clearly, motorists were just as hot, just as uncomfortable, just as thirsty, and just as eager to get home as they had been minutes ago.
But in the brevity of that moment, they had witnessed something extraordinary — the pleasant intrusion of Nature and the grace of Man’s response.

P.S. Like that busy intersection in Westchester County, our shul, too, has been an active place lately —Shabbat services, of course; the annual Journal, this year honoring Adrianne Greenberg and Miriam Gabriel; the Garden Party on August 20 to launch the completed Journal and toast our honorees in style; a game night of Mah Jongg; and even a Tot Shabbat. Tikkun Olam is growing veggies and herbs at Common Ground; a Summer Program Committee is going creative with ideas; and the Board of Directors is keeping a watchful eye on all the activity while monitoring the bottom line to keep the shul solvent.
As many of you know, the board is also seeking candidates to fill a slate, and will hold elections when there is a slate to vote into office. The board is also immersed in contract deliberations with our rabbi. Those experienced in such talks know that disagreement can arise, points of view can diverge, and the noise from those misinformed can be deafening — and not helpful in reaching resolution. But experienced negotiators know also that patience, cool heads, and diplomacy will yield rewards for all concerned. The pleasant intrusion of Nature and the grace of Man’s response saved a little family of geese. May the necessary intrusion of Calm and the decency of Humanity bring elections and negotiations within the shul family to the best outcome for all.

—Sara Bloom