On the patio behind my house in Lakewood, a terra cotta urn about three feet high and two feet in diameter and filled with dirt, was waiting for me to plant something in it. Shortly after Pesach, however, a Canadian goose took up residency in my urn. I called her my tenant.
People in my development hate the geese; they make a huge mess. Everyone was urging me to get rid of my goose. But I wondered if she would ever lay eggs, affording the
opportunity of performing the mitzva of shilu’ach haken. I was willing to give her time.
During the first few weeks, when I went out to the patio, the goose would stand up, spread her wings, and hiss. I could see the nest, made of white feathers instead of twigs. No eggs.
Every once in a while, my goose would hop out of the urn and peck around the grass. A male goose – I knew because the markings are different – would show up, and, together, the two of them would take a leisurely walk around the backyard for about half an hour. Then he would disappear, to come visiting, perhaps, the next night. No eggs.
After a few weeks, the goose became used to me. She no longer got excited when I came outside, so she didn’t stand up. I had no idea whether anything was in her nest.
For several days, my tenant sat quietly. She didn’t join her friend for walks even though he continued to show up. It was possible she had laid eggs.
On Friday, I called my young married grandchildren and suggested that they come see if they would be able to perform this special mitzva. I had spoken to a rav, and he told me to be mafkir the eggs before they were laid by saying to three people that I didn’t want the eggs, the goose, anything.
The first couple arrived with a sefer on the subject and proceeded to follow instructions. Using a red broom, they prodded the goose, and lo and behold, there were five eggs! Oh, my grandchildren were scared! What if the goose attacked them? What if the eggs were slimy? Gloves were worn, and I offered a blanket for protection, in case the goose tried to nip them.
With no fanfare, they prodded the goose with the broom, and she hopped out of the way. They lifted and then replaced the eggs, and the goose hopped right back in.
Over the weekend, several couples and individuals came to perform the mitzva of shilu’achhaken. One person asked to keep one of the eggs, so now there were four eggs in the urn with the mother goose sitting quietly on top of them.
On Monday, the eggs hatched. Two yellow balls of fluff were completely out of their shells, one was still sitting in the shell, and the fourth one was just starting to poke its way out. The male goose planted himself on my patio and did not leave. All day and all night he guarded his precious children. The mother hopped in and out of the urn, pecking for food on the ground and allowing the babies to climb all over her whenever she hopped back into the urn. That evening some of my children did shilu’ach haken with the goslings themselves. The adult geese did not seem to object. Perhaps they knew that they were part of this great mitzva.
The tiny goslings tried to get out of the urn. Their yellow heads were visible as they leaped here and there attempting to breach the rim of the urn. The mother stood on the patio watching her children. Then she jumped back in and let them clamber all over her. The goslings could not get out. The male goose stood watch.
Wednesday morning, at 7:00 am, three goslings were out of the urn, scurrying around their parents, trying out their legs. One little one was still in the urn. How she struggled to get out! She jumped up and down, threw herself against the walls of the urn, to no avail.
Suddenly, the mother, the father, and the three little baby geese lined up and marched away. They walked across the grass and around the building so I could no longer see them. I was horrified. They were abandoning their little child! Poor thing kept hurling herself at the walls of the urn and then, there she was, finally, a ball of fluff on the ground.
Within seconds, her family returned. How did they know to come back? How had they communicated? Was their leaving a deliberate attempt to motivate the little gosling to get on with her life?
The last one joined her siblings, and together they marched out of my life. I had just witnessed one of the niflaos Haborei. My heart wanted to make a bracha. I wished the mother goose much nachas, as she had afforded humans the chance to do a mitzva for no other reason other than Hashem told us to.
I glance out my patio doors, and I miss the goose who had welcomed me each morning. Nothing is left but broken shells and the feathery nest. Ma gadlu ma’asecha Hashem.
Mrs. Lando recently moved to Lakewood, after living in Baltimore for many years.
