On the wall in my family’s living room is a family tree. Thanks to the efforts of my wife Natalie, as well as my cousin Jim, we actually know a good deal of our genealogy. If you look at the tree, in some cases you can see back six or seven generations. In others, it’s hard to get past a few—because stories and records were lost. One of the cooler things I’ve learned is that my great-great grandfather, Shmuel Abrams, attended the first Zionist Congress in Basel, Switzerland in 1897.
While both sides of my family came to America before World War II, Natalie’s family arrived in Canada after the war. Many more of her family died or were murdered in the Shoah. Because of that, she has always been passionate about recovering the names and stories of her lost relatives. (That’s actually what she does professionally now.) So filling in this family tree has been a labor of love for her. She’s a puzzle-lover, and this is sort of filling in an existential puzzle.
I’ll tell you that when we put up this family tree, it felt really powerful to see it there. Because it kind of feels like finding myself on a map. When I’m traveling without a map, I feel a little lost (or a lot lost). But with a map in my head, I can understand where I’ve come from, where I’m headed, and where I am right now. That’s a pretty enormous thing. It feels like standing in a river, knowing where the water has come from and where it’s headed to, and not just being swept up in the current.
This is the tenth and final episode in our miniseries on family. We’ve covered a lot of ground. We’ve talked about the way family is both chosen for us and something we choose, how important core relationships are and how we manage our time to reflect them. We’ve discussed different kinds of chosen families—life partners, refrigerator friends—and both being a parent and being an adult child of aging parents. We’ve talked about the importance of honesty and forgiveness and relationship repair.
To wrap it up today, I want to focus on this image of a river—which in a lot of ways parallels the image of the family tree.
I have a really special friend named Marvin. He’s in his late 70s and we’ve become close in recent years as he served on the board of the Institute for Jewish Spirituality, where I work. Marvin is someone who takes family really seriously. Over the years, he has shared with me, in a really moving way, how much being connected with his family means to him—not just his immediate family, but a large network of aunts and uncles and cousins. A few years ago, when his latest grandchild was born, he realized the baby was the 100th person on the tree. Pretty incredible.
Our organization recently honored Marvin and his wife Dorian. As we were thinking about how to talk about them, my teacher Rabbi Nancy Flam and I thought of the idea of a stream—a nachal in Hebrew. That image leads to legacy, or inheritance—nachalah. Marvin lives his life with a deep awareness of being in the stream—not only aware of where he comes from, but really intentional about gently but firmly planting his children and grandchildren in that stream too.
When I think about summing up what family is all about, I think this is kind of it: Helping us remember that we have a deep rooted place in what can often feel like a crazy and chaotic world. Family, whether it’s the family we’re born into or the family we choose and create, is like a tree that’s planted by—or maybe even in—a river, which is an image the Bible talks about a lot. Family gives us a sense of roots, a feeling of connection, a feeling of being grounded and strong—and also of extending out. I think it’s a really beautiful image.
To help us feel into this a bit more, here’s a visualization practice you can try.
First, if you can, find a comfortable seat. Allow your back to be straight but not rigid. Rest your hands on your lap, palms facing up—a gesture of both receiving and letting go. If you feel comfortable, close your eyes, or just turn your gaze inward.
Now take a deep breath and visualize yourself standing in a river. The water is cool, clear, and steady. This is the Nachal—the stream of your life and those who shaped it.
Feel the water moving past your ankles. Realize that this water has traveled from far away—from the stories of ancestors, from the love of mentors and refrigerator friends, from the “chosen family” who showed you the way. You are standing in the middle of a long, ongoing journey.
As you stand in this river, be aware of what’s around you. To your back is the past—the genealogy, the records, and the unspoken traits you inherited. To your front is the future—the people you will mentor, the children you might raise, the legacy you will leave.
Try saying silently to yourself: “I am not lost. I am on the map. I know where I have come from, and I see where the water is headed.”
Think of one specific value you want to pass down the stream. Perhaps it’s courage, kindness, truth, or forgiveness. In the our tradition, this is your Nachalah—your inheritance.
Visualize this value as a small, glowing seed in your hand. Gently reach down and place it into the current. Watch it float “downstream” toward those who will come after you—your 100th grandchild, your students, your friends. You are intentionally planting them in the stream of these values.
Take a final, deep breath. Feel your feet firmly planted on the riverbed. You are not being swept away by the current of a chaotic world; you are rooted. You are grounded in your history and clear about your direction.
You might even say to yourself, “I am rooted in where I come from. I am steady where I am. I am intentional about where I am headed.”
Blessings for the journey. Know that I’m on it with you.
