Four elements. One pair of blue jeans. What has this to do
with Judaism, or with Spirit? In this case—everything.
I turned off the Cabrillo Highway some twenty-five miles
south of Half Moon Bay onto a very bumpy, dusty road not knowing the power of
the experience I was to receive during the next two days. I parked my car and
grabbed a few items—a bag of gear and a small tent—from all I had brought to
sustain me for this adventure, and walked a few hundred steps to a welcome
table where I was gaily greeted and duly registered as a participant in Sukkot
on the Farm—sponsored by Wilderness
Torah a group whose mission is to “awaken
and celebrate the earth-based traditions of Judaism to nourish the connections
between self, community, earth, and Spirit.” This was my first event with them
and all I can say is that they fulfilled their mission in every way!
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| Green Oaks Creek Farm, Pescadero, CA |
At the registration desk I was assigned my tribe—Snow—one of maybe a dozen such subgroups all named after
some form of water. I selected a thin crosscut slice of tree branch from
hundreds that had been provided to make nametags, and carefully lettered my
name on it with red and yellow markers. I signed up for an early shift helping
out in the kitchen—appropriately called the Hearth. Then I was greeted by a regal looking young lady
who seemed to be expecting me, although I sense now that her generous spirit
probably would make anyone feel immediately welcomed and familiar. She would
not let me, as an “elder,” carry my items and insisted that she take them and everything
else I had stuffed in the car, put them in a makeshift wheel barrow and
personally shlep them up a hill
that seemed to get longer as we climbed it, to what she felt was a prime
camping site overlooking our temporary village. She was not complete until she
had fully assembled the tent I had borrowed for the weekend, a feat I am not
sure I would have been able to accomplish on my own. I was beyond grateful and
had only just begun to sense the honor of elders that was present throughout
this gathering.
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| Gimme shelter |
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| How goodly are thy tents.... |
The program for the weekend was as varied, abundant, and
flavorful as was the food—from studying Hebrew harvest songs across the
millennia, to weaving willow frames that would later hold rosemary enshrouded
rainbow trout over an open fire pit, to a wild edible and medicinal plant walk,
and many more arts, crafts, games, and forms of instruction and study. At times
there were gatherings of the entire community, such as at Kabbalat Shabbat. There were tribal meetings for small group sharing.
There were options for Shabbat
morning prayer—musical, traditional, or a walk in nature. Although, as it
turned out nature came to all of us in the form of a huge downpour, forcing us
to all huddle close to the Torah
under a tarp that provided more protection than the open slats of the Sukkah. That seemed either horrible or absurd or both at
first, but upon reflection perfectly underscored our connection to the elements
and the frailty of our shelter. It naturally drew us closer together physically
and spiritually. Shabbat ended
with a traditional Havdallah
service followed by a reenactment, as much as our imaginations would allow, of a
little understood Sukkot water
ritual and soiree—Simchat Beit Hashoevah.
Amidst this day of rest and joy was a singular event—a
community conversation with Jon Young, an inspirational man from the area who
has dedicated himself to connecting people with nature. His descriptions of
indigenous tribes in the United States and around the world made it indelibly
clear that the work we were doing in community this weekend was not a frivolous New Age game, but taking steps to repair the broken link between ourselves and
our ancient roots in the land. It was a tonic for the environment. It made a
difference.
Up to this point I had had some interesting experiences and
observations, but this conversation positively cemented them. The message was simple, though a deep
understanding of it often elusive—connection to nature is essential. Our disconnection is so pervasive we can barely see
it. I tap the keys of this computer in the seemingly safe, warm protective
cocoon of my suburban home. Even news stories and personal accounts of forest
fires, flooding and other natural disasters don’t quite penetrate the false
sense of security I live with. Sukkot is designed to remind us of how precarious our existence is, to be
grateful for our abundance, and to provide reason to celebrate life all the
more. The ecology movement of 1970 began a dialogue about what we are doing to
destroy what we have been given, so these thoughts are not new. Nor, sadly, are
they universally understood and accepted. I wish everyone could have heard this
gentle man speak these simple truths. When asked to add a closing comment to
all that Jon had said, Rabbi Burt Jacobson extemporaneously described it as our
return to the Garden of Eden that we lost after eating of the Tree of Knowledge. I almost wept at the
concept.
Now back to my initial question—what do four elements and
one pair of blue jeans have to with Judaism? After the Shabbat morning deluge, a group of these vibrant young
adults celebrated the moment in the central open space in song and dance. One
could not help but hear their mirth, see their joy, and feel their exuberance.
When they sang and danced an old bar mitzvah party standard, “ Yesh
Lanu Tayish” I took particular note because
each stanza begins with a repeated shout of my name. I walked in their
direction and arrived just as they were finishing the Virgina Reel-like dance.
As I stood at the end of their double row of participants, they looked at me
and as if in one voice all shouted another round of “Yesh! Yesh! Yesh!” and
invited me to dance down the aisle as they had just done. With no hesitation I
complied as they continued singing the chorus. I no sooner got to the end of
the phalanx when I put on the brakes to make the return dance back whence I
started, but the mixture of Earth and Water beneath my feet caused them to
slide out from under me and for my entire body to come in sudden contact with
the muddy ground. There was a
brief moment of tension and concern as the crowd wondered if I had hurt myself,
followed by laughter and cheers as I gathered myself and arose with a smile.
This is, after all Ziman Simchateynu—the
Season of our Joy, and that was what we were all feeling.
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| Sunrise by the campfire |
[i] The Urban
Adamah Fellowship is a three-month
residential program for adults ages 21-31 that combines urban organic farming,
social justice training and progressive Jewish learning and living. Fellows
learn and work at the Urban Adamah farm in Berkeley, California, and live
together in a shared house nearby.
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