To Till and to Tend

We created this blog almost a year ago.  In fact, my first post was about a holiday party.  (click here to read about the “precocious insight” of my (then) three-year old).  Unfortunately, today’s post is my last, as anticipated funding for my work at COEJL did not come through.  I will miss many things about the organization – writing for this blog is certainly among them.  Thank you to each of you for taking the time to read my posts and for helping to create an online community of Jews who care about the environment.  [And for those of you who may have missed a piece or two over the past year, you can find a full collection by simply clicking "Kefer" on the sidebar of our homepage]

While I will certainly miss the work I have done for COEJL, I leave with a sense of optimism.  It is fitting that I write on the heels of Chanukah.  For eight days, I played dreidel and lit the Menorah with my children.  I taught them of the “Great Miracle” that happened so many years ago.  I told them of the miracle of a small vial of oil that was meant to last for only one day, but burned for eight.  I told them of the triumph of a small band of Jews over the much more powerful Syrian army.  These lessons resonate today. 

Through energy conservation and renewables, we can make our limited resources last longer.  As Michael Potts, President of the Rocky Mountain Institute, reports, between 75 and 90 percent of the energy we consume is wasted due to bad design and poor choices.  The International consulting firm McKinsey & Co. recently found that basic, cost-effective improvements in the building sector alone could save up to $33 billion per year by 2030.  And this “great miracle” is not hard to come by.  In fact, as Van Jones, author of Green Collar Economy notes, a “caulk gun and a clip board” are the “high-tech tools” we need to start the transition to a low-carbon economy. 

Like you, I am often frustrated by the climate skeptics and political nay-sayers who question whether we can combat climate change.  Here, too, the story of Chanukah provides an important lesson.  The Jewish people fought against tremendous odds.  And today, we must fight again.  As Margaret Mead once said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

Last week, I told my children about the “Great Miracle that Happened There.”  Next year, I hope to teach them about the Great Miracle that is happening in our own country.

[Click here to send a letter to President-Elect Obama asking to help make this dream a reality]

[Click here to read a collection of my posts]

You know it’s December when the Christmas Carols begin.  In the car. At the mall. In the grocery store. The music is unavoidable.  At least the lyrics are generally upbeat and the message is uplifting.  But this December, the coal industry co-opted Christmas.  In an unparalleled green-washing ploy (worse, even than Chevron and Dixie), the coal industry (through a front group dubbed “America’s Power”) has sunk to a new low: an interactive video in which inane chunks of coal sing parodies of familiar Christmas songs.  As a Jew, I may not believe in Jesus as my Savior and King, but I certainly would not suggest that coal should hold that title in his stead.  And I certainly cannot condone the sacrilegious ad campaign of an industry that is the leading cause of climate change.

Viewers of the ad are invited to select a background and dress the coal bits in a variety of hats and scarves before selecting from a menu of songs, like “Clean Coal Night” and “Frosty the Coalman,” in which the chunks exclaim:

“Frosty the Coalman is getting cleaner everyday
He’s affordable and adorable and helps workers keep their pay
There must have some magic in Clean Coal technology
For when they looked for pollutants, there was nearly none to see.”

But the hats and scarves can’t disguise the truth: clean coal is a myth.

 First, there isn’t a clear definition.  In fact, to some, clean coal simply means that the coal was bathed before burning.  Generally, when I hear people refer to “clean coal,” I assume they mean that the power plant captures the carbon emissions and injects it deep into the earth’s surface.  An interesting concept, to be sure.  However, at this point, it’s as fanciful as Rudolph.  Sure, we can invest billions of dollars into exploring clean coal – as our leaders on both sides of the aisle suggest – but wouldn’t our money be better spent investing in alternatives to coal?  As Larry Schweiger, President and CEO of the National Wildlife Federation, said in the launch for a coal reality campaign, “It’s time to build a better energy future with existing clean sources like wind and solar that will create jobs, boost our economy and confront the climate crisis head-on.”  After all, no matter how clean it may eventually be to burn coal, we’re still blowing off the tops of mountains to get it. 

 

It turns out, clean coal caroling is too low – even for the coal industry.  After being subject to scorn by environmental groups, bloggers and Rachel Maddow on MSNBC, America’s Power pulled the carolers from its website and took down its Facebook page – but not before “Asthma Al” and “Black Lung Billy” joined the Group.

 

…And next year, if dirty power still hopes to alter Christmas music to hock its wares, perhaps it should turn to NRDC Blogger Rob Perks for a collection with more accurate lyrics. 

 

[Click here to view "This is Reality," a commercial that tells the truth about coal today]

[Though the coal industry pulled its ad, you can still view "Frosty the Coal Man" here]
[When you're done viewing, click here to tell America's Power to clean up its act]

Religious leaders, both Christian and Jewish, get a lot of sermon mileage at this time of year out of urging their congregants to discover the underlying values of the winter holidays and place less priority on the major way we Americans tend to mark them – the buying and giving of lots of stuff.  This year, with the downturn in the economy and the sudden unavailability of additional credit, this message might actually be heard. 

 

Although the same commercials are on TV as every other year – giftwrapped luxury cars and all the rest – this year feels different.  This may finally be the year when Hanukah can be – may have to be – about more than the presents. 

 

But how can we make it so?  With a little creativity, each of the eight nights of Hanukkah can be a chance to explore our creativity, fulfill Jewish values, and express our love for our family and friends in ways that do not require the spending of lots of money. 

 

One night of Hanukkah can be tzedakah night, when the worth of the gifts that aren’t given is donated to a charity of your or your children’s choice.  This being a COEJL site, perhaps spending some money to offset some of your family’s carbon usage also would be appropriate! 

 

Another night might be book night, when a book of particular interest or meaning is given to each family member.  (And remember:  Used books save money and resources!)  “Homemade gifts night” can allow everyone’s craftiness and individual creativity to be realized (and there are lots of books with ideas for simple homemade items for those who don’t think they’re crafty enough), and “cheap gifts night” can be thoughtful or funny – or both! 

 

In our family, we like to give each other coupons for a service or favor we are sure to want sometime later in the year, like the ability to sleep in, get out of a chore, or even a “get out of an argument free” card. 

 

Be sure to have some friends over for a night of latkes and song, fulfilling the mitzvah of haknassat orchim – the welcoming of guests.  Or bring some latkes over to an elder or ill shut in, which is the mitzvah of gemillut hasadim – acts of lovingkindness. 

 

One night of Hanukkah, of course, is Shabbat, and foregoing gifts on that night is an opportunity to remind ourselves that, even on Hanukkah, the best things in life are free.

 

And one night can (and probably should) still be “big gift” night, if resources allow.  This year our family is getting a gaming system, which the whole family will enjoy and which will hopefully add a lot to “family game night” the rest of the year. 

 

With a little effort, your Hanukkah can be about a lot more than the unwrapping of presents – it can be a holiday that is truly creative, participatory, and memorable.  Happy Hanukkah!    

 

Additional resources:  Some of these ideas are similar to those in an article that Rabbi Cherie Koller-Fox posted on the Jewish Family & Life website some years ago.  Also, for more great ideas check out the Simplify the Holidays section of the Center for a New American Dream website. 

 

 

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.   

After more than two decades as a vegetarian, I scarcely think about meat. We have a kosher home and I do most of the cooking. My husband (to his great regret) is a “vegetarian by marriage.” But last week, he kindly offered to cook dinner. To my dismay, my four-year old loved Daddy’s grilled chicken breasts. Gone was the child we typically cajole to eat two bites of his veggie burger or tofu curry. 

He paused from eating only long enough to query, “Mommy, where does chicken come from?”

“Where do you think chicken comes from, dear?”

My son paused for at least 20 seconds before retorting, “…Pigs?”

I had clearly failed as a Jewish mother: my kosher, near-vegetarian child was eating something he thought was a pig. And he’d asked for seconds.

I recovered from this double affront and launched into a thoughtful discussion about why mommy doesn’t eat meat. I chose my words with care. I hope my son eventually chooses to become a vegetarian. But I also don’t want him to condemn his father. I had little to fear. At the close of my careful monologue, my son declared, “I’m a T-Rex. You’re a stegosaurus.” And he took another bite.

Last Thursday, millions of Americans celebrated Thanksgiving—no doubt consuming a significant share of the roughly 270 million turkeys raised in the United States this year. And while turkey is far less energy-intensive than other forms of meat, it is, nonetheless, still responsible for significant carbon emissions. A British analysis found that a “typical” holiday meal for a group of eight produces the equivalent of 20 kg of carbon dioxide emissions—with the life cycle of the turkey alone credited for 60 percent. [Reader: take some comfort in the fact that British imports of cranberry sauce from the U.S. account for roughly .5 kg.] Combined, British revelers consume the carbon equivalent of 6,000 car trips around the world or 300 return car journeys to the moon in a single holiday. I hesitate to do the math for the U.S.

Of course, turkey is not the worst offender. Nonetheless, the UN reports that meat production (of all kinds) accounts for nearly one-fifth of global greenhouse gas emissions. In fact, raising cattle is worse for the environment than driving cars. And global meat consumption is poised to double by mid-century.

Unfortunately, according to Scientific American, keeping kosher doesn’t necessarily help. While Jews don’t traditionally eat pork (despite the perceptions of my four-year old), we don’t necessarily replace these calories with “low-carbon” veggies. And, replacing pork and shellfish with beef will only increase emissions.

This year, I was spared the angst of witnessing my son’s rapture for turkey. We shared Thanksgiving with our dear friends in Boston—who don’t keep kosher. And so, it was wild rice and brussel sprouts for Kefer and kin.

[For low-carbon vegetarian alternatives, visit Gentle Thanksgiving.]

[If you do choose to eat meat this holiday season, visit www.kolfoods.com to learn why you needn’t choose between keeping your values and keeping kosher.]

[Click here to determine the carbon emissions of your meals.]

Today we are happy to introduce a new blogger! Moti Rieber is a rabbi and the Federation director in Wichita, Kansas.  He also serves on the steering committee of Kansas Interfaith Power & Light, and writes the blogs Fed Reb and Jewish Simplicity.  He will post here every other Wednesday.

Popular legend has it that the day after Thanksgiving, “Black Friday,” is the busiest shopping day of the year. Anti-consumerist activists have for some years been designating this day “Buy Nothing Day.” This is a day not to go to the mall, not to add to the balance on your credit cards, but rather to start thinking about how to spend this holiday season giving the gift of love, of self, rather than of material goods.

This year, of course, we’re in recession, so is it irresponsible to “Buy Nothing” when the economy depends so much on consumer spending? Well, as Juliet Schor points out in this post on the Center for a New American Dream website, it was financial shenanigans and the housing bubble that caused the problem. For an economic recovery, the pump will need to be primed at a level high above the average consumer.

In addition, many Americans are in hock up to their ears with credit card and mortgage debt, and the wiser option at this stage is to cut down on purchases, pay down debt, and increase the rate of savings, which hovers around zero for Americans. (According to Consumer Reports, in 2006, 23% of shoppers were still carrying holiday-related credit card debt the following March.)

Remember that the cost of every purchase includes not just the price of the item but the price to advertise it, ship it, package it and dispose of it when it breaks down. Much of this cost is in oil, something to think about in this time of global climate change.

And most importantly, real meaning and purpose cannot be found in the mall, or in the exchange of material goods. Real purpose can only be found in human connection, in time spent with friends and loved ones, in volunteering – generally giving the gift, not of stuff, but of self. And that’s the gift that keeps on giving.

(Of course, Jews who observe Shabbat know that “Buy Nothing Day” comes every week!)

Four Thanksgivings ago, I was in India. Though a rare day went by that I was unaware of my blessings (I didn’t need Thanksgiving for that) it was the foods of Thanksgiving that I craved. I love Indian food (there, as the joke goes, it is just called “food”), but sub-tropical climates just don’t produce my beloved winter squashes and cranberries, nor do its people prepare the dishes of the New World.

The culinary tendencies of America are diverse, yet most gather around a similar Thanksgiving table. Though my family table has never (in my memory) been graced by a turkey (nor a tofurkey, for that matter), I know that people across America will chow on pumpkin bread, corn bread, sweet potato pie, cranberry relish, mashed potatoes and apple pie! (I am also happy to share my recipe for any of the above…. just ask!)

One does not have to look far into the Thanksgiving story to understand why: On Thanksgiving, we commemorate a meal centuries old, before industrialized and imported produce disconnected us from the ways, seasons and places our food is grown. More critically, it was at this meal that Native Americans introduced the Europeans to the foods appropriate to their newly inhabited land. In the Northeast, all of the above dishes’ main ingredients are either just coming into season or were just harvested, stored for the long winter ahead: hard squashes survive the change of season, cornmeal is ground from the summer harvest, potatoes outlast the first frost, and apples fill the trees as the leavers of other trees fall.

But the United States has changed since that first Thanksgiving meal. We now inhabit the extreme dessert and tundra of America. For those in Phoenix, roasted squash on Thanksgiving is as unnatural as a white Christmas.

Even if we can’t prepare a locally grown and “traditional” Thanksgiving feast, we can embody the core of the tradition. Wherever you are, be like the Pilgrims: Meet and eat from local farmers. Remember the land and people from where you left, learn from the land and people where you joined.

For the past week, I’ve been eating most of my meals in our Sukkah (pictured at left).  While its fabric walls and open roof offer little protection from the elements, I can think of few dwellings that are quite as inviting as a Sukkah.  And I can think of few Sukkot that are quite as inviting as my own. 

Its walls are etched with images that represent the members of our family and the words “Mishpachat Kefer” – the Kefer Family – are burned into its wooden frame.  The structure itself sits atop our roof – and each evening we enjoy a view of the neighborhood and the silence of the nighttime sky.  Assembling the Sukkah this year was a community event.  My husband and I completed the physical construction; two neighbors provided bamboo for the roof; a third neighbor babysat our youngest son while we gathered materials; and my in-laws watched our eldest.  And nearly every night, friends and family have joined us inside for meals, each bringing an item to help decorate.  These memories are preserved in laminated photographs that hang from the roof.  And repeat guests are entertained by tracking down photos of themselves from years’ past. 

I love the holiday of Sukkot because of its simplicity.  As Rabbi Scheinerman writes, the Sukkah “offers no luxuries and not even a modicum of protection.”  Its basic structure teaches us the value of “simplifying … If we spend less time with our appliances and conveniences (and the time required to maintain them) we have more time for people, study, and contemplation.”  In short, Sukkot forces us to reassess our regular routine and learn how to have “more fun” with “less stuff.”  For seven days we live closer to nature and watch the sky instead of the television.  For seven days, we host friends and spend time with family.  For seven days, Sukkot helps Jews discover the “new” American dream – the importance of having “more of what matters in life,” rather than simply “having more.” 

And, as it turns out, this is actually what Americans really want.  A 2005 poll released by the Center for a New American Dream revealed that a majority of Americans say that spending more time with family and friends would make them much more satisfied with their lives. Conversely, less than 3 in 10 say that having a bigger house or apartment or nicer things would make them much more satisfied.  And of course, living simply is not only good for you – its better for the planet.  [Click here to learn more about the Center for a New American Dream – and its innovative campaigns to simplify your life].

October is a hectic time to be a Jew.  But the quick succession of holidays provides a valuable lesson as well.  We greet the new year on Rosh Hashana.  We ask for forgiveness and health on Yom Kippur.  And on Sukkot, we are taught the values that should guide us in the year to come: the importance of spending time with friends and family, closeness to nature, and the value of simple living.

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.    

Reusing sacred objects in performing another mitzvah is a longstanding Jewish tradition.  The main ritualized reuse which comes to mind is the etrog and lulav, since they are “one-use” ceremonial objects.  (Other ritual items either are wholly consumed, like ceremonial foods, or permanently reusable.)  Classic reuses for the etrog are creating a pomander studded with cloves or preparing etrog jam or liqueur.
The lulav dries over the winter and the custom is to use it as part of Passover preparation.  It makes a nifty little broom for sweeping up chametz.  Here are some other traditional customs:

1. R. Yehudah ben Kalonymus (Ashkenaz, twelfth century) used to save the aravot (willows) from the lulav in order to burn the hametz, basing himself on the above passage, and this custom was recorded in all of the classic custom books of Ashkenaz.⁵ In modern times, Iraqi Jews used the aravot from Hoshana Rabbah.⁶
2. In Yemen, on the other hand, it was the custom to use the lulav, hadassim and aravot as fuel for the oven when baking matzah shemurah.⁷ Finally, the Jews of Syria, Morocco and Baghdad used the lulav both for burning the hametz and for baking matzah.⁸

This year, since martinis are all the rage, let’s enjoy post-Sukkot ETROGINIs.  Leah Koenig over at Jewcy has just the ticket – complete instructions. She’s dubbed her creation a Sukkatini, but etrogini is more fun to say.  L’chaim!