“Lessons From the Birds and the Butterflies” Rabbi Dan Slipakoff’s Qabbalat Shabbat Sermon, 8/22/25

Rabbi Dan Slipakoff
Qabbalat Shabbat, August 22, 2025 
Temple Israel of Boston 

This week’s Torah portion begins with one simple word: Re’eh — See.
The Torah is not just asking us to open our eyes,
but to open our awareness, to see with depth.

I spent this last week in the lake country of Northern Minnesota.
Before leaving, I promised myself that I would create some separation —
to step back from the noise of the world and to immerse myself in more nourishing pursuits.
And so I tuned out the endless churn and turmoil of the news cycle
and instead tuned in to something else: the splendors of nature.

The naturalist John Muir, known as the Father of the National Parks once wrote:
“The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.”

On the lake, I encountered a small sampling of our world’s wonder.

I heard the call of the Common Loon,
Their eerie, echoing cries can carry for miles across the water.
And if you see one on the water, watch as it dives
The loon can submerge for minutes at a time, and can dive down to 200 meters below the surface in search of fish!

Now if you’re like me, you want to know how.
Turns out, that unlike most birds, loons have solid bones which allow for this feat
But – this trait also limits them in flight.
Those same solid bones demand a long, clear water-based runway to take off,
30 yards or more.
How relatable!
Who here doesn’t have a trait that elevates us in one realm,
but can sometimes burden us in another?
Acknowledge your weakness, and play to your strengths

Above us – a bald eagle soared. 

And in a breathtaking moment, it descended, stuck out its talons,
and pierced the water rising again with a fish clutched in its mighty claws.

Our cheers for that bird rivaled anything you hear at Fenway Park.
I mean, I went fishing for an hour before and I didn’t catch diddly

But to be fair, I cannot spot a fish from a mile away.
There is power in holding the long view and seeing it through to completion,
Especially with an illusive moving target

Each evening at dusk, a female ruby-throated hummingbird visited our cabin.
I sat outside by its favorite plant in hopes of snapping a photo,
But every time I lifted my phone, it darted away.
It felt like a rebuke.
So I put down my phone and watched.

I watched the glossy green-grey powerhouse hover in front of me
It’s wings beating 80 times a second, a second!
But in order to sustain this tempo, the hummingbird must visit hundreds of flowers a day.
A model of persistence and determination? Absolutely
An image for us to consider as we try to stay calm and in control when things feel rushed?
I think so.

Ok, this one isn’t a bird, but grant me some grace.
In the middle of the lake, I spotted a monarch butterfly.
And my snap reaction was one of concern,
“oh no, how will it get back to the safety of shore?”

C’mon.

Monarchs can travel about 50 miles a day,
as a part of a migration journey over thousands of miles.
The most fragile of our winged friends is also the most well-traveled.
But here’s the kicker for us – Jews, Israelites,
wilderness travelers on the edge of the Promised Land…

No single butterfly makes the entire journey.
It takes generations to reach the breeding grounds in Mexico
And generations more to return to the Northern United States
What an extraordinary act of trust in the future:
to take part in a journey you will not finish,
but to trust that your children, and their children, will carry on.

But how do they know how to carry on?
How do they know the way forward? Or back?
What lessons must we instill and instruct,
and where can we surrender to the invisible hand
of something way bigger than any one of us?

I was reminded again and again of the words from the Book of Job, chapter 38,
when God finally speaks out of the whirlwind:

“Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?
Tell Me, if you know. Who determined its measurements?

We are humbled by this reminder
that the natural world is more vast and more intricate
than human comprehension.
And yet, it is given to us to see. To witness, even without fully understanding.
It is something to be in awe of.

This week’s Haftarah from Isaiah says:
“Incline your ear, and come to Me;
listen, that you may be revived” (55:3).
Isaiah is speaking of God.
But what if “come to Me” is also an invitation to come close to the Divine that pulses through creation itself?

To the Source of Blessing who sings in the loon’s call,
who dives with the eagle,
who hovers with the hummingbird, who migrates with the monarch.

And if we see God in creation itself,
then listening means not only receiving wonder,
but as we read in Genesis 2: לְעׇבְדָהּ וּלְשׇׁמְרָהּ
to serve and to safeguard this Eden we are gifted.

In harsh reality, we are too often our natural world’s greatest threat,
It is upon us to be its greatest champion. 

John Muir also wrote: “In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks.”

I felt that truth this week. I went seeking rest. But what I received was wonder.

This was all on the first two days of my trip.
Then I caught a stomach bug and spent the next few days in bed.

It’s ok. I watched a lot of nature videos and googled facts about John Muir,
birds, and butterflies.

Life’s not perfect and detours happen.
Pirke Avot teaches “Do not say, ‘I’ll do it when I’m free, for perhaps you will not become free.”
So seize beauty every chance you get. And be grateful for every opportunity.
Whether in Minnesota, in Blue Hills, on your own block. Or right here.

This Shabbat, the call of Re’eh is clear: See.
Not just to glance. Not just to scroll.
But to see. To see and appreciate the beauty, the fragility, the majesty of life all around us.

May you behold beauty this Shabbat,
And may it bless you with life renewed.