Yet all are part of one neshamah, planted in rich, verdant soil, determined to grow. May our garden continue to produce a glorious assortment of flowers and trees, each attached firmly to its roots. Our diverse southern vegetation flourishes and grows into different trees, flowers, and fruits, and a rainbow of glorious shades and hues appears. Yet each shoot is rooted in the same soil, stretching its branches and blossoms heavenward in an endless pursuit of growth and connection to the One above.

This past Lag B’Omer, we were blessed to make our first upsherin, where we celebrate our son’s first hair cut. It’s a wonderful milestone that mimics the three years that we refrain from plucking a tree’s first fruits and symbolizes the entry of the child into the world of Torah learning. It’s a clear sign to everyone; this boy is no longer a baby.

Although there are more direct and faster routes to Beer Sheva and Eilat and all the sites and towns in-between, the Basor River is one of the beauties of the Negev that defiantly justifies a diversion.

The importance of death customs has been ingrained in me since birth. When I served as a shomeret for my grandmother, I was instructed not to eat, drink or perform a mitzvah in the same room. In the shock of death, it seemed rather inane to be told it would be considered mocking the dead. My grandmother was gone; she couldn’t do those things because she didn’t exist anymore, a fact that still makes me tear up.

Rabbi Dovid Landesman jokes that one of his former students used to refer to him as General Eclectic because he could never safely predict how he would come down on various issues. Another talmid reminds me that the rabbi was sometimes referred to as the “adderaba” (Aramaic for “on the contrary”) because he could usually be counted upon to present a viewpoint that never feared challenging the establishment. The most cogent appreciation, however, is that offered by a ninth grader who, after listening to a talk on parashat hashavua, approached him and said, “Rebbi, I don’t like the way you speak!” Somewhat taken aback, Rabbi Landesman asked him to explain his criticism. The student replied, “You always want us to think!”

Rabbi Dovid Landesman jokes that one of his former students used to refer to him as General Eclectic because he could never safely predict how he would come down on various issues. Another talmid reminds me that the rabbi was sometimes referred to as the “adderaba” (Aramaic for “on the contrary”) because he could usually be counted upon to present a viewpoint that never feared challenging the establishment. The most cogent appreciation, however, is that offered by a ninth grader who, after listening to a talk on parashat hashavua, approached him and said, “Rebbi, I don’t like the way you speak!” Somewhat taken aback, Rabbi Landesman asked him to explain his criticism. The student replied, “You always want us to think!”