Posted on Sat, Aug. 06, 2005

Ask Mary Beth

By Mary Beth Breckenridge

Q: I have noticed an interesting insect flying around my
petunias several times this summer. It looks like a cross
between a bumblebee, a moth and a hummingbird. It is yellow
and black and fuzzy like a bumblebee, the wings look like a
moth's, and the wings never stop fluttering, like a
hummingbird's. It sticks its head in the center of the
petunia and goes from flower to flower. I have never seen
anything like it in my lifetime. Have you?

-- Sue Fox

A: I have. It's a hummingbird moth, which some people
mistake for a baby hummingbird -- if they ignore its
antennae, anyway. The moth behaves much like a hummingbird
and has a long feeding tube through which it sips nectar
from a variety of flowers.

Specifically, your visitor is a hummingbird clearwing
(Hemaris thysbe), according to Dave Parshall, president of
the Ohio Lepidopterists. He was kind enough to look at the
photos you e-mailed and confirm my identification.

Lessons from a hummingbird

Arizona Jewish Post

By Amy Hirshberg Lederman

It had been going on for several weeks before I finally
mustered up the courage to tell my husband about it. We
were sitting on our front porch eating breakfast, enjoying
the tranquility of a beautiful spring morning.

"Honey, I think I'm being stalked," I said, breaking the
serenity.

He looked at me, not certain if he should be concerned or
amused.

"Are you kidding me or what?"

My answer came about 30 seconds later when the predator
came into sight.

A tiny hummingbird flitted over my head, darting back and
forth near my shoulders.

"I'm totally serious," I said, tilting my head toward the
hummer to emphasize the gravity of the situation.

"Maybe we should call 911, or better yet, you could dress
up as a hawk and give it a real scare," he said, clearly
not taking my plight seriously.

I am not an alarmist but I knew something significant was
going on. I couldn't be on my porch for more than a minute
without the hummer hovering overhead. I began to wonder:
is this a visitor from the "other side" -perhaps my
grandmother or aunt, wanting to tell me something? Should I
do anything about it?

I became obsessed, consulting friends and reading books
about the meaning of the hummingbird. I learned that it
is the tiniest of all birds and is the only creature that
can stop dead while traveling at full speed. It can hover
or fly forward, backward, up or down, its wings moving in
the configuration of an eight, the sign for infinity.

In many traditional cultures of the Western world, the
hummingbird has powerful religious and spiritual
significance. In the high Andes of South America, it is a
symbol of resurrection. Hopi and Zuni legends tell of
hummingbirds intervening on behalf of humans, convincing
the gods to bring rain. Other mystical traditions believe
it represents the past and the future and opens up the
heart center, bringing joy, happiness and love into the
world. One thing was certain: any way I looked at it,
having a hummer on my front porch was a good thing.

But one morning everything changed. As I was drinking my
coffee, I noticed something that resembled half a walnut
shell on a branch of the potted ficus tree next to our
front door. There, camouflaged amidst the leaves, was the
tiniest, most compact nest I have ever seen. Suddenly I
understood. My hummer was not a stalker; she was a lovely
little mother protecting her eggs. And I was the predator!

The magic and the miracle of having a hummingbird nest on
my porch continued to overwhelm me. I stopped several times
each day to watch her, a bird whose wings normally flap 50
times per second, sit perfectly still atop her nest. I
marveled at the complexity of the nest, made of moss, fiber
and plant down, and how smart she was to choose a shaded
place on my porch. I saw her commitment to her eggs and
honored her maternal instincts.

One evening I went out on the porch and turned on the
front light. My hummer became frantic Ñ flying around in
circles, bumping into the ceiling and hitting up against
the window. I raced to turn off the light and realized that
not only had I scared her to death, but had disturbed the
nighttime cycle of her nesting. I felt terrible and
apologized profusely to her as my husband shook his head.
I have always loved animals and have been accused of
favoring my dog over my teenage children at times. But not
until the hummer made her nest on my porch, have I
experienced such compassion for them.

The Jewish commandment to treat animals with compassion is
articulated on numerous occasions throughout the Torah and
the Talmud. In the book of Deuteronomy, we are commanded
not to work on the Sabbath and likewise, must not require
our animals to do so. We are told how to avoid causing
suffering (tza'ar ba'alei chayim in Hebrew) Ñ we must not
muzzle an animal when it is working (so that it can eat
when it needs to) or plow with an ox and mule together
(because their unequal size and strength will cause them
both to suffer). My personal favorite is the prohibition
against taking baby birds from the nest while the mother is
present because of the pain that she would experience. How
amazing to think that more than 2,500 years ago, our Jewish
ancestors were concerned with protecting the feelings of
animals!

There is an exception to the prohibition of causing pain
to animals, however. Jewish tradition permits the use of
animals for the purpose of benefiting mankind, for example
in such areas as medical research, where the intention is
finding a life-saving cure or other treatment that would
benefit humanity.

I read that hummingbirds do not re-use the same nest, but
return to the same location to build a new nest, often on
top of the old one. I take this as a sign that my home has
been blessed with the joy and wonder of this tiny creature
and a reminder that in all of life, we are commanded to act
with compassion and tenderness, not only to each other but
to the animal kingdom as well.

Amy Hirshberg Lederman is a nationally syndicated
columnist, Jewish educator, public speaker and attorney who
lives in Tucson. Her new book To Life! Jewish Reflections
on Everyday Living is available at
www.amyhirshberglederman.com.

HOME