One fine spring morning two years ago, I noticed a bird nest perched atop an outer light fixture on our back porch. Two weeks later a pair of robins – one close by and the other at a distance – seemed to be, actively and sometimes aggressively, guarding this nest.
Climbing atop the railing of the porch, I noticed four green eggs inside the nest. Over the next few weeks the mother often sat atop the eggs, and, along with her mate, brought worms to the chicks once they emerged from their shells.
One Shabbos we were away and upon our return we saw that mother, father, and chicks were all gone (they chose a quiet weekend for the getaway).
A year later, we noticed a new, smaller nest built atop the first one. Lo and behold, the scenario had repeated itself. Were they the same robins or new ones? We had no idea.
Well, wouldn’t you know it – this spring the robins have been at it again! They’ve hovered around and beautified the nest with more branches and with blue strings we had left around for that very purpose. We expect them to again lay eggs and hatch them.
As we are supposed to draw lessons from all our encounters, big and small, I was wondering what one could learn from this multiple reenactment. (The mitzvah of shiluach hakein does not apply in this case. See Yoreh Deah 292:2.)
I also wondered to what extent birds might sense when they are welcome guests. Humans readily sense, through body language and other telltale signs, whether or not they are truly welcome. But birds? Can they actually feel welcome in our backyard?
Mulling it over, we reached the conclusion that by choosing to renew this process year after year they must feel something, even if they are different robins each time. The sense of welcome must somehow be in the air. This is reflected in the Song of the Birds in Perek Shira:
“The Bird says, ‘A Bird has also found its home and the sparrow a nest for herself where she placed her young, even [the ruins of] Your altars, O Hashem of Hosts – my King and my God [Psalms 84:4].’ ”
To which the Meiri comments: “Even birds nest contentedly in Your house, welcome and undisturbed by anyone.”
Thus the mitzvah of hachnosas orchim is so much greater when coupled with genuine welcome and attention to our guests – whoever they may be. Can we say hachnosas orchim is greater than kabbolas pnei HaShechinah (Shabbos 127a) even in those cases when the host can’t wait for the guest to leave?
Another point: the Shechinah is sometimes compared to a bird (Devarim 32:11). During Galus, the Shechinah, as it were, flew away from its revealed presence in its nest, the Beis HaMikdash.
If the Shechinah feels a sense of welcome – our longing for its return to its earthly nest in Yerushalayim – it will speedily return for the third and final time.