FOR BREAKING NEWS VISIT WWW.QNS.COM MAY 9, 2019 • BUZZ • THE QUEENS COURIER 73
From sadness comes joy
vschneps@gmail.com
The splendor
OF SPRING
From Investors Bank’s Morning Juice newsletter
comes this excerpt from “Chicken Soup for the Soul:
Angels and Miracles” by Joyce Styron Madsen.
Is there anything more symbolic of
spring, more emblematic of new life
and renewal, than fruit trees bursting
into blossom aft er a long Midwest
winter? Sometimes, the only thought
that sustains me through those dreaded
months of shorter days and frigid temperatures
is the certainty that the glory
of spring will eventually return.
Th at’s why, every fall, aft er the leaves
have shriveled and the brilliant green
of the garden has yielded to a dull,
lifeless brown, I faithfully plant spring
bulbs. Hope springs eternal, even in the
Midwest. Th oughts of pastel blooms
nodding in the gentle breeze enable
me to overlook my chilled fi ngers and
the lengthening shadows as I bury each
bulb, wrapped in a winter “overcoat” of
bone meal and rich soil. Th is climate
defi nitely challenges my capacity for
delayed gratifi cation.
One fall, in addition to planting bulbs,
my husband and I decided to add a
pair of apricot trees to our yard. I could
almost smell the sweetness of the blossoms
and see the fl ower-laden branches
reaching toward the sun. We weren’t
really concerned with harvesting a
bountiful crop of apricots; it was the
beauty of the blossoms that we anticipated.
Th at spring, while the apricot trees
developed tiny, healthy-looking leaves,
there were no blossoms, no heavenly
aroma, no shower of petals as a brisk
breeze suddenly stirred. We knew that
it might take a few years for the blossoming
to start. Th e rest of the garden
was glorious, though, so we didn’t mind
waiting for nature to take its course with
the apricot trees.
Th e second spring was a repeat of the
previous one: still no fl owering. Th e following
year, the same thing. Aft er nearly
a dozen years, the trees became something
of a joke: our “mock” apricot
trees. In spite of fertilizing and pruning
and treating them with the appropriate
organic nutrients year aft er year,
it seemed as though they had no intention
of ever fl owering.
And then one spring, in spite of the
garden’s pastel blues and pinks and purples,
my world went dark. My husband
died unexpectedly, shattering my world
and everything in it. Th e brilliance of
nature and the glory of spring seemed
to mock me in my black cloud of grief.
Slowly, I realized that the blossoming,
growing fl owers and trees surrounding
me might provide some consolation. I
would try to appreciate the springtime
that my husband and I had always treasured,
as a tribute to him and the long
hours he had invested in beautifying our
surroundings.
A few mornings later, I took my coff ee
outside and watched the butterfl ies fl it
from tulip to tulip. Th en I glanced to my
right. Overnight, the apricot trees had
burst into a riot of frothy blossoms. My
heart skipped a beat. Clutching my coffee
mug, I sat down on the garden bench
before my knees buckled.
As the spring and summer progressed,
tiny green buds of fruit began to form.
Th e nurturing warmth of the sun developed
them into ripened gold. When I
picked each blushing apricot, I felt as
though I was harvesting a tiny miracle.
Day aft er day, I collected the fruit, and,
before long, I had a refrigerator full of
jam and a freezer loaded with preserves.
For months to come, I savored the taste
of summer each time I opened a jar.
Th e apricot trees never bloomed again.
Somehow, I wasn’t surprised. Th e blossoms
were there when I needed them
the most, to remind me of the promise
of spring, of rebirth and eternal hope —
and everlasting love.
I was stunned, saddened and
shocked to hear of the hatefi
lled murderer who used
an assault rifl e and shot people
during their worship service
at a Chabad house outside
San Diego. Th en it happened
again on May 8, when yet another
madman with a gun shot students
at a Colorado school, with
one student murdered.
The Chabad movement in
Judaism began under the guidance
of the revered Rebbe Menachem
Schneerson. Th e rebbe was the
inspiration of the Lubavitcher
movement, which sent people to
every corner of the world to help
Jews celebrate their religion.
Th e rabbi where the horrific
shooting occurred almost
two weeks ago is actually from
Brooklyn and a disciple of the
late rebbe, whose work began in
Crown Heights.
I recently met Rabbi Marty, a
member of the Lubavitcher movement
who invited me to visit his
“pride and joy,” Bnos Menachem,
a girls’ school devoted to training
generations of students to
become leaders in their community.
Making my way through the
majestic wide streets of Eastern
Parkway in Brooklyn, I found the
handsome school building on
East New York Avenue.
Bnos Menachem was created
originally for 90 students, but
through its great success has
grown to a school educating girls
from preschool to high school.
As a former teacher myself, I was
impressed as I toured the building
and its technology smart
classrooms.
It was a surprise to learn that
the building also housed a handsome,
crystal chandeliered ballroom
that can hold catered kosher
parties for up to 800 people! Such
a smart way to raise dollars from a
business within a business.
The Chabad Lubavitch
schools inspire millions of people
through over 3,300 centers
around the globe. And it all
began here in our great city!
Th eir peaceful, great works
are a stark contrast to the violent
hatred that visited Chabad
Poway on April 27. It comes as
no surprise that the killer was
armed with the same kind of
assault rifl e used in the Tree of
Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh last
year, and so many other mass
shootings in America.
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. It’s
been more than 20 years since
the shocking Columbine High
School massacre, and we’ve seen
one mass shooting aft er another
in the years following. Yet no
laws have changed in our country
to keep assault weapons out of
civilians’ hands. Meanwhile, New
Zealand quickly passed gun control
laws aft er its own shocking
mass shootings at two mosques.
Let’s get on the phone and
keep the pressure on our elected
offi cials to do something. Tell
them, “Enough is enough!”
VICTORIA’S
SECRETS
Victoria
SCHNEPSYUNIS
tweet me @vschneps
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