This is the season of my birthday. I'm sitting on my family room couch next to my grandson, who is practicing a Hebrew blessing with me. He and his classmates will recite this blessing during the big Saturday morning service. Together, we read the words and chant the melody. Listening to him sound out the letters and vowels, I find myself transported to the tenement apartment in the Washington Heights section of Manhattan where I was raised. My father and I are sitting on the convertible couch in the family room (which is also the living room and my bedroom) humming the text together. Across from me is the big upright radio that I lean against to listen to The Lone Ranger and The Shadow. Looking down at my grandson as he chants the songs of my father, I can feel the tears well in my eyes. The most sacred obligation in my tribe is to teach Torah to one's children. Every day in morning prayers, Jews repeat these words. We will teach it diligently to our children. We believe that by transmitting these laws from generation to generation (l'dor v'dor in Hebrew) we will survive as a people. When I came to Indian Country, I learned that Native Americans told the same story. They greeted the morning sun by saying, "Thank you for giving me a tribe." They have no book to transmit their laws?they rely on the spoken word. Native Americans say that if their stories are handed down for seven generations then their tribe will live. At Native American ceremonial gatherings (pow-wows, tipis, church meetings, potlatches, hogans and sweat lodges) they begin by greeting their relatives, from the doorway in, to the doorway out (l'dor v'dor). We are all tribal people. Remember to sing the songs of your mothers and fathers, from the time you are welcomed through the door, to the time you take the door out. L'dor v'dor, from generation to generation . . .the tears caress my cheeks with Happy Birthday kisses.

This is the season of my birthday. I'm sitting on my family room couch next to my grandson, who is practicing a Hebrew blessing with me. He and his classmates will recite this blessing during the big Saturday morning service. Together, we read the words and chant the melody. Listening to him sound out the letters and vowels, I find myself transported to the tenement apartment in the Washington Heights section of Manhattan where I was raised. My father and I are sitting on the convertible couch in the family room (which is also the living room and my bedroom) humming the text together. Across from me is the big upright radio that I lean against to listen to The Lone Ranger and The Shadow. Looking down at my grandson as he chants the songs of my father, I can feel the tears well in my eyes. The most sacred obligation in my tribe is to teach Torah to one's children. Every day in morning prayers, Jews repeat these words. We will teach it diligently to our children. We believe that by transmitting these laws from generation to generation (l'dor v'dor in Hebrew) we will survive as a people. When I came to Indian Country, I learned that Native Americans told the same story. They greeted the morning sun by saying, "Thank you for giving me a tribe." They have no book to transmit their laws?they rely on the spoken word. Native Americans say that if their stories are handed down for seven generations then their tribe will live. At Native American ceremonial gatherings (pow-wows, tipis, church meetings, potlatches, hogans and sweat lodges) they begin by greeting their relatives, from the doorway in, to the doorway out (l'dor v'dor). We are all tribal people. Remember to sing the songs of your mothers and fathers, from the time you are welcomed through the door, to the time you take the door out. L'dor v'dor, from generation to generation . . .the tears caress my cheeks with Happy Birthday kisses.