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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This post was originally written on jewschool.com by BZ, Tuesday March 17th, 2009

Birkat ha-chamah (the once-in-28-years blessing on the sun) is just a few weeks away! See this post for a refresher on why it’s every 28 years. The blessing will be said on Wednesday, April 8, at sunrise. (Yes, due to a freak collision between the lunar and solar calendars, that’s Erev Pesach.)

There’s a lot going on in preparation for this historic occasion. COEJL is leading the charge to make birkat ha-chamah an opportunity to raise awareness about solar energy, and has set up a website, blessthesun.org, filled with links to various birkat ha-chamah resources. The Conservative movement has published Masechet Ha-chamah, “the tractate of the sun”, a collection of rabbinic texts related to the sun (suitable for a siyyum for the Fast of the Firstborn) compiled by Abe Friedman, along with a study guide by Jill Levy.

Where will you be on the morning of April 8? There is an event listing starting to form, though it’s limited so far: there are five events listed for that morning, in New York (burning chameitz with the concentrated light of the sun!), Winston-Salem NC, Cleveland, Wyncote PA, and Tzfat. If something is going on in your community, whether it’s an all-out sun festival or whether you’re just saying the berachah at the end of morning minyan, please add it to the list. (This is a wiki, which any registered user can edit.) This would be particularly useful because, due to Pesach travel, many people will be away from their homes on that morning, and therefore many potential participants in your event (who are visiting your city from elsewhere) won’t know about it if you only announce it on local lists.

If your city isn’t listed there and you haven’t heard about anything going on, it’s also possible that no one has organized anything yet. (I imagine that many communities have decided to sit this one out due to Pesach craziness. This might also be an issue in 28 years, when birkat hachamah is on the morning after Pesach ends, for those who observe 8 days. May we all merit to see April 8, 2065, the next time birkat hachamah will be a safe distance from Pesach.) This means that you are authorized and encouraged to organize something yourself, and then let everyone know about it! If your community is already doing something for the Fast of the Firstborn and/or the burning of chameitz, then piggybacking on that might make things easier, or if you know a beautiful place to watch the sunrise, that’s great too! Please keep everyone updated.

I wrote this piece last week, but it seemed appropriate to put it up today.  I will still add more tomorrow.

Tu B’Shvat, the 15^th of Shvat, the Holiday of the Trees, begins Sundown on Sunday, February 8.  It is remarkable that the rabbis, centuries ago, constructed a Jewish holiday centered on environmental sensitivities.  In Israel, the almond trees are beginning to blossom and around the world Jews seek ways to connect to the bounty of the land.  For some, that may mean eating as many different species of fruit as possible – tradition suggests 15, with preference going to Israel’s 7 species, almonds and carobs; for some it will be planting trees; for some it may be attending a Tu B’Shvat seder.

For me, it will be spending time with my brother in Park City, Utah (the world is too exciting to stay at home – I buy offsets).  I may host a Tu B’Shvat focused meal on the following Shabbat; I may begin to delve into the rich texts of Massekhet HaHammah; I may watch whatever movie is playing at the local arts theater and ski the next morning. 

I ask openly, what is a Jewish environmentalist to do on Tu B’Shvat? (The question is obviously extended to: what is an environmentalist to do on Earth Day?)

If, in fact the Jewish environmental movement has succeeded to support a network of individuals for whom every day is Tu B’Shvat, then does the obligation of tradition still hold?

I have some answers, but today I prefer to end with a question.  Though, I do promise to come back on Tuesday to share with you all how I ended up celebrating Tu B’Shvat, 5769. 

On April 8, 2009 the Jewish community will rejoice the Sun’s return to its original place in the heavens at the precise time and day of its creation. This event is commemorated every 28 years and this year the Sun will be completing its 205^th cycle. During Birkat HaHammah we raise our heads to the skies and give thanks for this wonderful gift, the eternal light that does not only mark out time, but also makes possible all life on earth.

To honor Birkat HaHammah, and mark the Sun’s significance and indispensability in our lives, we, along with JNF, Canfei Nesharim, Hazon and AvodaArts, are hosting an art competition to encourage contemporary artists to create artwork that captures the power of this moment.

Please spread the news!  For more information about Birkat HaHammah, check out the constantly updated www.BlesstheSun.org.

The Jewish environmental movement rarely provides us with the opportunity to sing.  But Rabbi Arthur Waskow from the Shalom Center has tweaked an ol’ favorite to inspire awareness around Global Scorching, as he calls it. As he says, the song is updated for the 21st Century and the Global Climate Crisis. Melody and some words, traditional;  remainder by Rabbi Arthur Waskow Copyright (c) 2007, 2008 by Rabbi Arthur Waskow. All rights reserved.

God said to Noah, The earth’s getting hotter, hotter, God said to Noah, The earth’s getting hotter, hotter, Yet she is My (clap) beloved daughter, daughter — Children of the Lord.

CHORUS:

Rise and shine and give God your glory glory Rise and shine and give God your glory glory Rise and shine and (clap!) give God your glory glory Children of the Lord!

People are making My air too smoky, smoky People are making My air too smoky, smoky Fix it now! and (clap) don’t be pokey, pokey — Children of the Lord.

If you won’t cool down each auto and furnace, furnace, If you won’t cool down each auto and furnace, furnace, The heat and smoke will (clap) start to burn us,  burn us Children of the Lord.

CHORUS

The ice it will melt so there’s gonna be a floody floody Yes!  — God said to Noah there’s gonna be a floody floody Get My children (clap!) out of the muddy muddy Children of the Lord

For the rest, please click here. 

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.    

I recently returned from a camping trip to Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks and sadly put my tent away for the season.  I was inspired, though, by words at the end of the Yom Kippur service, “Open for us a gate, in this time of closing gates.”  As the season for camping ends, the time for Jewish outdoor activity begins. 

As the first full moon of autumn approaches, Jews everywhere are stepping outside and building temporary huts called Sukkot.  Traditionally, these huts (or may I even say tents) have a twofold meaning (like all biblical holidays, as I wrote for Shavuot) – they remind us of the temporary huts we made in the fields at the peak of harvest and the ones we lived in through our Exodus journey.

On Sukkot, Jews around the world go outside and face the elements of nature!  (If you know the same type of Jews I do, this is no small deal.)  If it’s cold, we put on more layers.  If there are bugs out, we light citronella candles and wish for the best.  Even if it rains, we stay outside long enough to say the blessings over the wine and bread, and to bless the act of sitting in the sukkah. 

In this modern world, it’s easy to move from your climate controlled house, to your climate controlled car, to your climate controlled office or to the shopping mall. 

But during Sukkot, we step back thousands of years to the tents of our ancestors, leaving many of our modern luxuries behind.  The funny thing is, most everybody enjoys it. 

Whether or not every Jew will use the experience of Sukkot to join America’s Jewish outdoor club or hike from the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee) to the Mediterranean isn’t the point.  Still, every outdoorsman/woman knows that the first step to enjoying the outdoors is stepping outside.  At the beginning of this new year, I hope each of you finds pleasure in the beauty of the Sukkah and the curiosity to adventure in the wonders beyond.        

Chag Sameach!

Rabbi Julian Sinclair works with the Jewish Climate Initiative, which runs their own blog, Climate of Change. 

            What does Teshuvah, the power to change our lives for the better that we attempt to actualize at this, the highest moment in the Jewish year, have to do with reducing one’s car    bon footprint? Isn’t connecting the two just a way of hitching a ride for one’s pet cause on the Jewish calendar?

             I raised this question in a blog two weeks ago introducing Jewish Climate Initiative’s Carbon Offsetting Guide, and want to continue pursuing it here.

            The place where the world is most stuck in combating climate change is at the point of connection between big and small, global and local, individual and government.  The most common reason for individual inaction is “it’s pointless for me to change my lifestyle/lightbulbs; I’m just an infinitesimally small part of this. It will take government, laws, and loads of money to deal with this.”

True it will, but the “big problem” is made up of billions of everyday decisions about how we choose to eat, shop, to heat our homes, and move around. Consumer spending represents 70% of the American economy. Somehow we have, as a civilization, contrived to so mismanage these primal areas of human life that the viable continuation of our civilization is in question.

            The stuckness comes from both directions. Governments are our agents, not our alibis. They won’t make far-reaching policy changes that will require us to alter our lifestyles until they see that we are ready to change and are not going to throw them out of power for requiring us to do so.

As I wrote then,

“We intuitively understand the solid-bodies physics of how an SUV, if driven without care, can flatten pedestrians. Knowing this, we are generally careful to make sure not to do so. The atmospheric physics of how careless driving of a different kind can contribute to flattening somebody’s mud hut in the Maldives is beyond most of our scientific ken and so outside our frames of conceptual and moral reference. After all, very few people would knowingly and deliberately drive their SUV into a mud hut. And if we did so by accident, most of us would certainly say sorry, and offer to pay.

“In Judaism, individual responsibility is the fundamental unit of social change. Teshuvah starts with me and you, (as my friend Jess Gold in England points out.)  ‘Great is Teshuvah, because through a single person repenting, the whole world may be forgiven,’ says the Talmud (Yoma 86b). This is the redemptive flip side of interconnectedness; the deep, sincere transformation of one person can change the world.”

I really think that’s true. But how can you put it across in a way that moves people to act? Let me introduce an idea that, I believe, will help.

              Rabbi Israel Salanter, the great nineteenth century founder of the mussar movement coined a famous saying: “My neighbor’s physical needs are my spiritual needs.” When I feed, clothe or shelter my neighbor, I am also fulfilling my deepest spiritual imperatives.

           Let’s be clear: Rabbi Salanter was not saying that, actually, it’s all about my spiritual needs. He didn’t believe that my neighbor is merely an incidental bit-part player in the great drama of me. Rather, he was pointing out that the world is so set up as to inextricably connect reaching out to sustain his material life with my spiritual growth.

            Today I believe it is no less accurate to say: “the planet’s ecological needs are my spiritual needs.”  When I engage with “ecological” issues, I fulfill some of the most basic and profound spiritual needs that Judaism identifies. This is true in manifold ways. I want to point out just one that has to do with Teshuvah the perennial power to fix and uplift  our lives  – surely one of the deepest spiritual needs that we have.

            An absolute prerequisite for Teshuvah is taking responsibility for harm we have caused. Maimonides says it unequivocally in chapter 1 of the Laws of Teshuvah: there’s no forgiveness for sins against others until you ask forgiveness from those you have hurt and make good damage you have done.

             There is no real Teshuvah for damage we do to people or their property until we identify and acknowledge the harm, and then do whatever we can to repair it.

            Back in the days when that meant redressing the damage of my ox goring my neighbor’s sheep; it was easy enough. I would say sorry to my neighbor, buy him another sheep and tie up my ox tighter in the future.

            But today the harm we can do every day is far more complicated and – scary. The vehicle I drive may be implicated in storms in Bangladesh or droughts in Mali; the food I put in my supermarket cart might have been produced with pesticides that poison water supplies and wreck eco-systems, before being trucked thousands of miles across the country to reach me. The manufacturing decisions made in the name of my everyday choices may, with or without my knowledge, cause havoc to the environment and to the lives of people far away.

            Striving to fix these things is not “environmentalism” or even “environmental teshuvah.” It is simply teshuvah. It is about redressing hurt and damage that we have caused in our daily lives just as if we had failed to repay a loan or smashed someone’s vase, or broken their leg in a car crash that was our fault. Whether or not we did these things knowingly and deliberately, once we do know about them; teshuvah means taking responsibility for putting them right.

            Today, the planet’s ecological needs coincide with each of our basic spiritual need for teshuvah; becoming aware of and repairing damage that we have done, and resolving to act more reverently and lovingly towards our surroundings from now on. And so we will each become part of the planetary fixing. As the Talmud says:

             “Great is Teshuvah because it brings healing to the world…

            “Great is Teshuvah because it brings closer redemption…

            “Great is Teshuvah because through an individual who does Teshuvah, the whole world may be forgiven.”

            Talmud Yoma, 86a-b.