4 | DECEMBER 23 • 2021 

essay

For the Birds
B

y the light of a rising 
moon, we watched 
as thousands of birds 
appeared across the sky. 
Before we saw them, we 
heard the cacophony of bird 
voices, loud and 
insistent — here 
we come, make 
way for us, let 
us through. 
And then the 
awesome sight 
of the soaring, 
magnificent 
wings joined the sound 
through the hazy sky. The 
flocks of bird families 
arrived, making use of the 
winds to find their way, to 
rest their weary feet in the 
tiny land mass for which 
they were searching over 
continents and oceans.
That the destination 
for these noble flyers 
from Siberia and Europe 
and Scandinavia on their 
way south to Africa is a 
waystation at Argamon 
Hula in Israel is a well-
documented annual 
phenomenon. But to 
witness this event in all 
its noisy, graceful reality 
was breathtaking. And, 
as darkness came and the 
moonlight became more 
prominent, the shadows of 
the arriving bird families 
and flocks continued to 
dazzle the night sky.
I cried first at the sound, 
when I realized that the 
spectacle we anticipated 
was beginning. And my 
emotion deepened at the 
sight of the birds. I’m not 

a “birder,” just an ordinary 
fan of the birdsongs we hear 
in our day-to-day lives, just 
a sucker for our colorful 
feathered friends. “Why do 
you like birds so much?” 
my granddaughter asked me 
with not a little sass. “They 
are like flying flowers,” I 
said, “God’s miraculous 
creation in so many colors 
and forms.” How can you 
not love a goofy pelican, a 
delicate flamingo?
Still, my emotion at the 
Hula caught me by surprise. 
Now I think it was the sight 
of so much life asserting 
itself in a most wondrous 
way. We came north for 
the event following a few 
weeks of losses, of death in 
our small human world. We 
lost two dear friends, and 
our community suffered 
yet another great loss. My 
mind was full of questions 
about death, of where their 
souls dwell, of how we will 

cope as we age and our 
losses continue to come 
closer. If not answers, the 
birds gave me overpowering 
joy, and the persistence of 
their flying mission gave me 
hope. And perhaps the sheer 
numbers of birds coming 
from the heavens gave me 
a conscious image of what 
lies beyond, of what happens 
when our souls join the 
ultimate Oneness.
Scientists seem to know a 
great deal about how animals 
and birds migrate. I don’t 
understand much of it, and 
I prefer seeing the mystery 
unfolding in real time. I 
realized that the birds gave 
me yet another reason to be 
grateful for this country. The 
Hula swamps were famously 
the source of malaria and 
death for the early pioneers 
who came with hope of 
taming the land and building 
it. But the draining of the 
swamps, while it solved one 

problem, created another. 
One generation’s heroes 
created a catastrophe for 
the ecosystem. Over the 
years, the remarkable 
process of “re-swamping” 
was begun, and the earth 
was nourished with seeds 
and other necessities for the 
flora and fauna. The arrival 
of the birds, half a billion of 
them, is a testament to that 
process. It’s still in process. 
But with no concern for 
geopolitics or pandemics, 
these birds really want to be 
here! Like so many aspects 
of life in this country, 
there is much that needs 
fixing and much that is so 
inspiringly right. 

Judy Mars Kupchan is an olah to 

Israel from Chicago. She is a retired 

CEO of the Florence Melton School 

of Adult Jewish Learning and a 

Jewish educator for more than 40 

years in the U.S. This essay first 

appeared in Times of Israel.

Judy Mars 
Kupchan

PURELY COMMENTARY

PHOTO BY FLASH90

Migrating birds 
at Hula Valley.

Openings are limited. Applications and initial interviews must be completed by January 31, 2022. 

Open to Jewish full-time undergraduate or graduate students who are metro Detroit residents. 

