To Till and to Tend

Reboot, a New York-based nonprofit network of Jewish professionals, recently launched the 2011 Sabbath Manifesto project, which presented a challenge to commit to a National Day of Unplugging during the first weekend of March. As part of the challenge, people around the world slowed down their normally hectic routines to take advantage of the manifesto’s ten core principles. For one day, participants were encouraged to avoid technology and connect with loved ones—a concept we in the Jewish community are very familiar with. It might be hard to imagine the average American abiding by the ancient laws of The Sabbath, but the National Day of Unplugging gave participants a taste of tradition.

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When we’re younger, first learning what it means to be responsible individuals, adults periodically reward us for our good actions.  From weekly allowance to a neighbor’s tip for watching the cat while they were away, money was good reinforcement for encouraging more good deeds.  We learned the value of money and a job well done. 

 

As we get older, we began to understand that certain actions have merit beyond monetary payment. (Those of us in the non-profit sector understand this quite well.) We make our beds because we like our rooms to look tidy.  We wash the dishes and take out the garbage because we hate roaches and other pests.  We water a neighbor’s plants while they’re away because we like them and hope that they will return the favor. 

I no longer expect money for fulfilling my responsibilities to my family, community or planet. 

Consequently, I was surprised and a little weirded out to receive a $25 gift card from the New York Blood Center thanking me for my recent donation.  I am O+ and have never had trouble giving blood, so I try to donate as often as I can.  I appreciate the post-donation juice and cookies, and go home feeling that the deed was gift enough.

And then a few weeks later I got this monetary Thank You in the mail, forcing me to question myself and good deeds.  Would I be more conscientious of donating blood more regularly if I knew every time I would get paid?  Same question with a twist, would people do more mitzvot if God doled out a quarter each time?

I would love to live in a world where everyone loved doing good deeds for the warm-fuzzy feeling (let’s not even bother with altruism). But as we wait for that world, maybe $25 gift cards and Obama’s stimulus package are the way we have to go.  

This month, I participated in a challenging and yet extremely eye-opening, conversation.  When I received an e-mail that a student-organized group at Columbia, called ROOTEd (Respecting Ourselves and Others Through Education), was dedicating one of its weekly discussion sessions to “the environmental movement,” I jumped on board.  ROOTEd, as their website best explains, is “dedicated to facilitating respectful informed discussions about diversity in the United States with regards to power and privilege issues.”

It is really no surprise that even in our environmental movement, which ideally seeks proper care of the earth so that all have equal access to a healthy life, is, like many other social movements and political systems, affected by differences in power and privilege. After all, different people are affected by the environment differently and may not have all the same resources with which to respond.

What caught my attention at this ROOTEd discussion was a sense of frustration on what the environmental movement should seek to accomplish and what traits constitute an “environmentalist.” A good majority of students was extremely agitated at the trendy consumer mode the environmental movement has taken, especially the valorization of purchasing green products when so many cannot afford them.  We discussed that perhaps those who act frugally when it comes to saving money through conserving water, electricity, and buying less are better environmentalists than those who shop in Whole Foods and wear bamboo shoes.

This idea brings up two important issues. One, should those whose socio-economic conditions force them to live frugally, be considered environmentalists? Or, is it rather a title bestowed on those who live a green lifestyle because they choose to? This week’s New Yorker Magazine mentions Van Jones, a man working to get the U.S. to establish green collar jobs for the economically disadvantaged. He relevantly states, “The green economy should not be just about reclaiming thrown-away stuff, it should be about reclaiming thrown away communities.” Perhaps then with more green-collar jobs like installing solar panels and constructing mass-transit systems, we can help others acquire better lifestyles, while enabling them to do so in an environmentally responsible way (although again, because the jobs would be provided, not chosen, does this actually make green collar workers environmentalists?). This topic is one that I cannot do justice to in this short blog, but I encourage you to think and talk about it (feel free to post your comments!).

Secondly, many of the students at the session said that although they care for the environment and try to do right, they refuse to be called “environmentalists.”  These students identified themselves as social justice advocators, often working to help feed the homeless and teach underprivileged children, yet when it comes to the environmental movement, they have not found a connection to helping people, rather they find it as a connection to money, “stuff,” and the latest trends.  This is incredibly sad and a sign that perhaps the environmental movement needs to rethink its image.  There is nothing wrong with pretty canvas bags and organic tee-shirts, but this cannot be the all-encompassing criterion for living green.

Overall, I believe that what being an environmentalist really means is first and foremost, acting to decrease one’s carbon footprint with the notion that this should have positive social affects, securing the well being and comfortable livelihoods for all.  It is about being a person who is simultaneously responsible for fellow humankind and for the environment that sustains us.

 

I love winter – cold days call for hot chocolate, roaring fires, cozy sweaters and snowball fights.  But the short days get to me. Sunlight, even when it’s 20 degrees, warms me, but leaving the office in the dark hurts. The rabbis must have shared some of this sentiment – I doubt it’s chance that our Festival of Lights, Hanukkah, falls during the darkest days of the year.

This year, the first night of Hanukkah actually falls on the darkest day of the year – the Winter Solstice.  Which is coincidence of course, because the Jewish calendar functions off the lunar cycle, right? True, except for a once-every-twenty-eight year holiday called Birkat HaHammah – Blessing of the Sun.  On this day, the Jewish community celebrates the tradition-based return of the sun to its original place in the heavens at the precise time and day of its creation.  Tradition states that this happens when the Vernal Equinox falls out on a Wednesday morning (for more detail, click here) – rabbinically speaking, the next time this happens is April 8, 2009. 

This year of 5769, it seems too marvelous that the solar occurrences of Winter Solstice and Vernal Equinox are celebrated on the Jewish calendar. In response, COEJL has created a 1^st night of Hanukkah ceremony that acknowledges the wonders and sustenance of the sun.

This year of 2008, it also seems impossible to celebrate the “birth of the sun” without acknowledging its full potential. At a time when we all understand the disastrous consequences of uninhibited fossil fuel consumption (e.g. global warming), along with the incredible fact that the Sun provides Earth with as much energy every hour as human civilization uses every year – Birkat HaHammah must be a time of energy awareness and action. To this effect, a coalition of Jewish groups has come together to make sure this happens.  To read more, go to www.blessthesun.org.

Happy Hanukkah!

p.s. for more Hanukkah tips check out the new Green Gift guide and our CFL Hanukkah campaign.   

Last spring, David Elcott tore up much of his front lawn to plant a farm.  Last we heard, he was just beginning to enjoy the bounty of his labor. Now, during Sukkot – the Harvest Festival – David shares his reflections as the season comes to a close. This has been a guest-blog initiative with jcarrot.org. To catch up or refresh, here are his first and second posts. 

Who would have imagined that from June until the middle of October, we would only be eating vegetables from our own garden: multi-colored summer squash souflee and barbequed okra, leeksand parsnips and carrots in a cabbage soup, eggplants in abundance, stuffed Napa cabbage, baby spinach and enough spicy greens and snap peas to feed an army, a cherry tomato tartine in gold, red, yellow and orange, a banquet of roasted fingerling potatoes, beans that never stopped giving, all flavored with garden herbs. I prepared cold sweet cucumber soup with the added tartness of rhubarb and ate beets for the first time as part of a root vegetable medley. We decorated our salads with nasturtium and zucchini flowers. And corn, corn, corn – much of which never made it to the kitchen but eaten fresh off the stalk.  A time for rejoicing indeed!

The pleasure was not just for the eleven of us in our family. I would look out my window to see neighbors and friends stooped over, harvesting from our farm. Olivia next door and the two sets of twins behind us, none over six years old, lugging a finally discovered zucchini almost as big as they are.  The repeated line of “is this all from your garden?” brings such enormous pleasure.

And here is an additional reality of creating a mini-family farm:  Once the clearing and tilling and initial labor of planting are over, with good mulching and a bit of hoeing and weeding, maintaining the garden throughout the season is not so much work.  These are plants that have developed over millions of years to want to grow, to soak in the sun and water, to resist disease and insects, to produce – just for our family.  So I sprayed the aphids with a soap solution and handpicked the beetles that wanted to eat the leaves of my eggplant, but really did not fight too much.  The garden seemed in balance and I shared with the rabbits and squirrels and birds.  None of us went hungry.

It is Sukkot now, the holiday of the harvest, the one holiday that is called “the time of our rejoicing.”  The crops are in, we will not starve, the world works, and all my hard work paid off.  The Rashbam, a Medieval Jewish commentator on the Bible, warns us to avoid the hubris of saying, “My power and the might of my right hand has gotten me this wealth (Deuteronomy 8:17).” He is so right. I had to control the ego that swelled when I walked by my little farm. Who am I kidding?  I am so dependent on the farmers that provided me with organic seeds and soil, the workers who mixed the organic fertilizer for me, the sun that warmed my plants and the plentiful rain that kept my crops watered, the bees and birds pollinated the flowers, even the wind which is necessary for corn to produce. Sustainable agriculture for me means that I remain acutely aware of this balance, that I am a part of the process and not its master.

We sat in our sukkah, that fragile booth open to the elements, decorated with corn stalks from our field, eating from the cornucopia of our little farm, and recited with great fervor: Blessed is the Eternal who has nurtured us with life that sustains us and allows us to celebrate this moment. This certainly has been a growing season of great rejoicing.    

I have an exercise bike in my basement.  It has sat idle for months – years even.  It’s not that I don’t exercise – I go to the gym regularly. However, I find it difficult to motivate to ride a stationary bike in the solitude of my own home.  But take me to a gym – and I’m in the front row of my spinning class.  These “peer pressure” exercise classes appeal to my competitive nature, I suppose.  I work out better when surrounded by others who are also working out.  This same philosophy, I’m afraid, extends to more than just exercise.

My husband first noticed my “competitive environmentalism” when we bought our hybrid a few years ago.  For months, he refused to drive if I was in the passenger seat – because I would badger him incessantly about his mileage stats.  Whenever his fuel economy “plunged” from 45 to 44 miles per gallon, I’d tell him to slow down.  If we drove fewer than 550 miles on a full tank, I’d make him recount everywhere we drove that week to figure out where the missing gas had gone. 

A few months ago, a colleague referred me to a passage, which convinced me that I’m not alone.  In an article titled, “My Mileage is Better than Your Mileage,” Bill McKibben writes:

… [Do] I pay inordinate attention to the gas gauge? Absolutely. And is it because I’m obsessed with global warming? Not really. True, that’s why I bought the car in the first place…. But if you thought about global warming all the time, you’d be nuts. When I’m behind the wheel, I’m an American—competitive, score-keeping, out to win.

And this competitive streak does not stop with hybrid cars and fuel economy.  In fact, a recent study in the Journal of Consumer Research reports that only 37% of hotel guests choose to forego a fresh towel when their hotel bathroom simply urges them to “help save the environment,” while 49% of guests make the “green choice” when confronted with a customized sign indicating how many previous guests had done the same.  Another article in the New York Times reports that people dramatically reduced their electricity use when their electric bill listed the average consumption in the neighborhood – and included a frowning face on households with an above-average bill. 

Jewish tradition offers some insight for these behaviors.  As Ira Stone explains in A Responsible Life, human beings live in a constant struggle between the “evil inclination” (in Hebrew, yetzer hara) and the impulse to do good (yetzer hatov).  Humans are inherently competitive. We must strive, however, to transform the evil inclination to do good.  As Jeffrey Spitzer writes, “[w]hen properly controlled by the yetzer hatov, the yetzer hara leads to many socially desirable results.”

Herein lies the future of the American environmental movement: we must look at pride and vanity, competition and shame – and redirect these values to reduce our impact on the Earth.   Can peer pressure really be the answer to climate change?

I’d love your thoughts about ways public scrutiny can inspire green behavior.

[for more on the power of public opinion, read "On Dolly Parton and Climate Change" and "Visualizing a Changing Climate: How to Know when You've Used 'Enuff'"]

Wondering where the new, trendy vacation spot of summer 2008 is? Your backyard!

 

As the end of the summer draws near and kids are home from camp, many families and individuals alike are looking to vacation close to home. There has been a new rise in staycations –vacations in which you stay at or close to home. With so many reasons – rising gas prices, a shaky economy, or plane frustration (pun intended) many are taking advantage of all their local areas have to offer.

 

Adults take off from work, and relax at home. Kids camp out in the backyard or traverse local campgrounds.  Couples are visiting the regional spas or resort areas. Wherever you live, there are adventures to be found around the corner: go visit museums, historic sites, beaches, forests, parks, zoos and my favorite – the local tourist traps that you try to avoid every other day of the year.

 

What many Americans don’t realize is their staycation is not only an economical vacation but an eco-friendly one as well. A cross country flight from New York to L.A. can add 8,000 lbs. of CO₂ into the atmosphere – one way! Even with possible extra car-miles, by staying close to home you can dramatically reduce potential carbon dioxide from being emitted into the atmosphere.  Eating out is a big part of vacation, by staying close to home you can eat at local restaurants that cook with local ingredients. And with all the money you save from not having to buy a plane ticket you can afford to spend a couple of nights in a local green hotel.

 

As a proud Long Island resident, I recently staycationed to Orient Point, the most eastern tip of the northern fork. Along the way I saw the beautiful farms and wineries Long Island agriculture had to offer.  The local berries melted in my mouth, and the abundance of wine… (unfortunately not being of age, I could not fully enjoy the latter).  Explore and share with us what your hometown has to offer!

 

 

See what others had to say about this and get ideas on what you can do: Consumer Reports, Gristmill, MSNBC travel

I looked for a picture of people walking to shul on shabbat, following up on Liore’s Eco-Eruv concept.  No photos to be found, since no one takes pictures of people walking to shul, apparently.  Why would they?  Though it’s a normal, unexciting thing to do, it does yield important results.
I grew up in walking distance of my Reform temple in Fargo, ND.  No one walked anywhere, except that as a sort of vestigal observance from my parents’ Jewish Brooklyn and St. Paul chilhoods, we did walk to Temple on Rosh Hashanah.  I thought that was pretty cool, exotic almost, kind of tribal and arcane and mysterious.  I went to Jewish summer camp where various Shabbat prohibitions were in force, but driving was irrelevant in a camp context.  Only in adult life did I make the decision, with my husband, not to drive on Shabbat.
As a result, we have always lived in walking distance of our various synagogues, though we are not Orthodox.  Occasionally I drive if I am going out alone on Friday night and I don’t feel safe walking by myself, but I have walked with my husband to morning Shabbat services for 34 years, in all seasons.  Once we walked 7 miles to our niece’s bat mitzvah.  We have at various times been very hot, very cold, and very wet; we are generally very happy to get home after our 1.1 mile walk.  A few times, during snow storms with closed roads, we walked down the middle of the streets.
I have always considered this quality time – when our kids were little, there were many stages and strategies for accomplishing this distance.  One was M&M walks – one M&M was doled out per street crossed.  We told endless stories to keep them distracted and to avoid whining.  Lots of piggy back rides, lots of “sites” along the way that still make me smile.  I know where every flowering tree and bush will blossom, and we have carefully observed the gradual upgrading of our neigborhood, since we notice every paint job and newly cemented sidewalk.  We even pass the police commissioner’s house and note his shiny black cars.  None of this is remarkable, but if it weren’t for shabbat walks, I doubt I would know the ‘hood this initmately.  It gives me a sense of connectedness that driving doesn’t match. 
Way back before we were all talking about Peak Oil and global warming, Rabbi Arthur Waskow observed that being shomer shabbat and eschewing driving meant 1/7 less driving per week.  I liked that idea, though resource reduction was not on my mind back then.
There was one exception to shabbat walking, in Salzberg, Germany, where we experienced the proverbial “free streetcar”.  Halachically speaking, if a street car is free and stops at every stop, one can take it.  Salzberg actually had such a conveyance.  It was a great novelty for us, but it sure felt like cheating!
Now I think every Jewish community should promote walking.  Unfortunately synagogues have tended to locate themselves on suburban thoroughfares, often without sidewalks.  Hopefully synagogue planners will be more mindful that when they construct “synagogue sprawl” they also minimize any sense of community. 
Any stories to share about your shabbat walking experiences?

Disposables, the cheap backbone of organized Jewish life, are so much a part of our experience that we don’t even notice them.  Every meeting, every kiddush, every Hebrew school snack, at simchahs, shivas, namings, you name it – “paper goods” are at the ready.  The decision for most groups hasn’t been whether to use disposables, but what “quality” to use.  Some high-end disposables are really perfectly reusable based on their weight; the reason we trash them is that they’re cheap, since their environmental impacts and costs are not factored into their price.
About ten years ago when we had a large shabbat dinner preceding our son’s bar mitzvah, I was determined to use real dishes.  They’re much more aesthetically pleasing and so much less wasteful.  Since our synagogue didn’t have any, I looked into renting them and discovered that while they were more costly than disposables (especially since it requires dish washing), purchasing them wasn’t that much more than renting.  I located some at deep discount from an outlet, service for 60 for about $200.  We then contributed them to our synagogue as a gift, and they have been used over and over again for all kinds of occasions.  Given the cost of a simchah, $200 is a trivial amount, really, even if you add a budget item for the dishwasher.
Our minyan, Dorshei Derekh here in Philadelphia, ends Shabbat morning with a kiddush.  Like most every minyan in the world, we used little plastic or paper cups.  (Except when we ran out and substituted BIG plastic/paper cups!) At a  minyan meeting long ago, one eco-conscious member said this really bothered him and  proposed we put our heads together to  be more sustainable.  The  very low tech system we arrived it has  worked for more than years we can definitively count, at least 5 or 6.  We bought Ikea tea light holders, pictured above, four for $1.50.  We also bought heavy plastic cups and glasses.  (The plastic plates and glasses are primary colors and not too gorgeous; I don’t think anyone envisioned using them for this many years.)  We place a heavy plastic receptacle in the corner and everyone busses their cups and plates into it.  One volunteer a week takes charge of washing them either on site (one week’s worth fills a dishwasher) or at home, returning them before the next week.  Once or twice a year the volunteer forgets and we use disposables as a fall back, but it’s pretty astonishing to contemplate how much waste we have diverted and how effective this utterly simple system is.  We have a Sustainability Coordinator and about 6-8 volunteers, so each volunteer’s job turn every other month or so.
washing the community dishes cultivates humility, not a bad thing either. 
It would be great to share other communities’ strategies for waste reduction here at the COEJL site.  Please report on your community efforts and success in this area; I’m sure many of the approaches are replicable.

This week I could not have been in a better time or place. Spring has sprung in New York City and it is beautiful, beautiful beyond my imagination.  Daffodils, tulips, magnolias, even ornamental cherries are out in full bloom, turning the bare parks and streets (yes, many of our streets have flowering flora) into public havens.

I have been taking walks every chance I could – Wednesday in Byrant Park, Thursday in the Carl Schurz Park, Shabbat in Central Park, and today in Madison Square Park.  But the best part about each stroll was that we (my walking buddy of the  day and I) were never alone.  The parks were filled with others who craved outdoor space, fresh air and sights of spring.

Hundreds of years ago people did not lack greenery or nature – urban sprawl hadn’t yet been invented.  Still, rabbis understood that no matter how close nature is “out there,” cities need a bit of it “in here.”

“It is forbidden to live in a city that does not have a garden or greenery.” - Mishna Kiddushin 4:12

As I have referenced before, I do my best to connect with life sustaining earth, even as I live three floors from it.  Having potted gardens and backyards are wonderful for personal pleasure, but this text goes beyond.  It requires us to live in a city with a garden, not a home.  This week reminded me why.  In a city of 8 million people, I went to the parks and immediately became part of an intimate community.  Each park, a unique community, all sharing a time and place among the natural beauty.