When we lived in Jerusalem, I waited for them every spring. I used to raise my eyes to the sky and search for hours until my eyes hurt, and I had to close them to get some rest.
In the beginning, it was just a small cloud on the horizon, and we (my brother and I) watched it intently, not sure if this was the real thing, unwilling to miss the opportunity to be the first ones to see them.
And then the flocks of storks would materialize, almost like magic, and where the sky just a minute earlier was blue and empty, suddenly hundreds of birds filled the air with the noise of their wings going up and down at a unified speed.
On their way north from their wintering grazing countries in the south, like Egypt, my mother explained first time I looked, with my jaw dropping, I was unable to take my eyes off these big birds with their big white bodies and black wings. I couldn’t comprehend what held them up in the air, where they appeared so graceful, moving in full unison.
What does it feel like? I wondered about being part of this migration. The togetherness of the flock, no two ways about it. You’re all in, or you are completely out. One’s safety is in the hands, or rather, wings, of the group. The ultimate predictability, south in the winter, north in the spring, and then returning to all the known places to graze in the fall. Then back to nest in the northern countries and raise the new generation of storks who will join the migration come fall.
Years later, when we lived in the desert, we saw them again on their journey north. They would stop for a night to rest in the nearby grove, and we went there at dusk, trying to catch a close glimpse. In the background of the desert sunset, as they were getting ready for their night's rest, they appeared majestic.
Storks are romantics; I read that they tend to stay with the same partner, with whom they share their housework and take care of the kids. Storks never forget where their home is. They find their way back to the same house, the same roof, and the same nest.
In my mind, spring and Passover will forever be inseparable. Somehow, the vision of the storks returning home to spend the summer in their permanent nest with their forever partner seemed to me as a child as if it were part of the Passover tale. Leaving Egypt and returning to their home was a familiar motive in the Passover tale.
I live in a northern country now, and I am more aware than ever before of the feelings that arise when the snow recedes, and journeys can resume. The sense of restlessness and the need for change intensified. So, come Passover, no matter where I am, I raise my eyes to the sky, and I am attuned to the sound of wings beating the air. I ache to see the magic yet again.
