From the Desk of Rabbi Cantor Judy

I wonder—do trees feel sadness when they lose their leaves? Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say they let go of them. Today, I see through their quiet example that shedding is not a loss, but a sacred release. Just as trees must let go of a year’s growth, so must we. It is a necessary part of renewal.

Trees do not know what their new growth will look like. They do not worry, as we often do. They remain rooted—literally and spiritually—in the rhythm of life. They wait patiently for the next season. Why don’t we?

I’ve watched this phenomenon unfold year after year, but only today did I realize: I’ve been witnessing faith. Faith is not just belief—it is a deep trust in the natural, steady rhythm of the Universe. It is the quiet knowing that something new will come. This awareness, this recognition of the magnificence of God’s Creation, is the gift that follows the High Holydays. Now is the time to gaze, to receive, to allow the tangible unfolding of our new life force—free from the clutter we so often carry.

And what of the leaves that fall? Like the past hurts we release, their fate is for the good. They do not disappear in vain. Instead, they become part of the forest floor, joining the cycle of renewal. In nature, fallen leaves decompose and transform into compost—rich, fertile soil that nourishes future growth. Oak leaves, for example, break down slowly, adding structure and aeration to the soil. Maple and birch leaves decompose more quickly, releasing nutrients that feed the roots of new saplings. Even pine needles, though acidic, contribute to the unique ecosystems beneath coniferous trees.

So no, I don’t think trees are sad. They have faith. And perhaps, through their example, we can learn to trust the letting go, knowing that what falls away may one day nourish what is yet to bloom.