Dear All,

There’s an old chasidic story about someone who fears that the angel of death is coming for them, at a particular place and a particular time. Quickly they change their plans. They go to a different village… and then of course the angel of death is right there, in that different village, waiting to meet them, exactly at the appointed time.
And the message of the story: when our time is up, our time is up.

I wish for all of us long life, for sure.
But it’s not unhelpful to be reminded of our mortality.
For most of human history we knew that we were vulnerable, we saw death. We lived without penicillin. Women died far more frequently in childbirth. We died of polio and malaria, we died when the wrong flea bit us, we died of an abscess or a ruptured appendix.
Only when I was writing a hesped for my grandma did I learn that as well as giving birth to my mother and my aunt, she had also had two sons, each of whom died young. I never knew that.

And so to this week. A friend’s mother died, and a first-ever virtual shiva.
Another friend’s mother died, and thus death and dislocation across distance.
Then Tina, z”l, a friend of my mother’s for 65 years.
And another friend’s father is in the ICU, fighting for his life… and is this his time, or not?
We none of us know.
We pray for life. But the angel of death – the angel who passes over the homes of the Israelites, the night before they leave Egypt; the angel of death whom we sing about in Chad Gadya, at the end of the seder… the angel of death is more visible right now.

And this shocks us, unsettles us, destabilizes us.
This night is different because this year we hear the angel’s wings, we see its shadow, crossing our cities and our homes.

And meanwhile, I’m walking in the park, on a beautiful day. The sun shining. Ducks bobbing in the reservoir. (The new field hospital, white tents, over to my left.) Yesterday I saw a raccoon, just climbing a tree. The trees are blossoming, exploding with color and with life. Two friends had babies.
My newish nephew gurgles happily on FaceTime; he should be alive in 2100, thriving, a healthy 80-something, in a world yet to be imagined.

And from this unique moment, I really believe in teshuva, in repentance and return.
It is occasionally too easy for a job, a role – being CEO of Hazon, for instance – to become formulaic.  “Judaism and the environment.” Yes. “Living more sustainably.” – yes. “The Hazon Seal of Sustainability;” Jewish Outdoor, Food, Farming & Environmental Education,” the importance of retreats and immersive education – yes, and yes, and yes.

I believe in all those things and we are part of them. (And a special shout-out to JFNA, the Jewish Federations of North America, who have done a spectacular job since all this started.)

But I want for myself and for all of us to step outside those things, outside the habits and patterns, the organizational jargon, the acronyms.

For now: freshness. Springtime. Away with the old crockery. Fresh herbs and fresh resolutions.
Reconnecting with friends and family.
The greatness of humor and laughter. The need for connection, and the new ways of connecting.
The power of kindness.
Less time in cars and planes and instead the healing power of trees, natural things, the living world all around us.

May we not forget these things, when “normal life” returns. The true ground of our lives is not organizational, it is human, cultural, societal, religious; and it is the earth itself, adamah, soil that is alive and oxygenated, soil that we liven or deplete, each day, by how we live.

And so may our springtime resolutions be a springboard to reconnection and our better selves.

And if fiscal policy can swing within a week to encompass two trillion new dollars of emergency spending, perhaps in the future it could swing more rationally and more slowly, to build better health systems for all?

May we not forget that the skies, once again, like the skies after 9/11, are clear and fresh.
Pollution is down, wild creatures are tiptoeing back into old/new habitats. Asthma rates are going down. Can we find future ways to accomplish these goods without needing tragedy to cause them?
Can we renew Jewish communities – schools, synagogues, camps, JCCs, federations, retreat centers – so that these values are central and not incidental to how we live, learn, and celebrate?

Can we, in short, and after all this, engender the good that is so prevalent amidst death and illness – without the death and illness itself?

And, maybe, by the way, we cannot.
Maybe human nature is too damaged.
Maybe we are too selfish, too much out for ourselves, too acquisitive, too argumentative, too fragile in our egos and too unconstrained in our ids.
But I don’t believe so. Jewish tradition sees us as imperfect, but always able to learn, to reflect, to self-correct, to influence each other for good.

So these are my thoughts, heading into seder night.

And a dear friend reminded me of a different chasidic story, germane to all this, with which I will end.

A man wants to go find eliyahu hanavi, Elijah the prophet.
(It is Eliyahu for whom we open the door, near the end of the seder, and it is for Eliyahu that we spill drops of wine for the fifth cup, the messianic cup.)

So the man prepares himself, gathers food, sets off, because he has heard that Eliyahu will be at this one particular seder, in this small village, in the middle of nowhere.

And finally, after a long journey, he approaches the house, old and ramshackle.
He looks in through the cracked window at an extended family, gathered for the seder.
They are wearing their yontef finest… and yet he can see that they are poor, their clothes are patched, the walls are bare; even for this, the greatest meal of the year, their fare is very simple food.
And he wonders: can Eliyahu really be here?

Sadly he realizes that he must have come to the wrong house, that Eliayahu cannot possibly be here at this table. So he starts to walk away.
And as he walks away he forgets about Eliyahu, and is simply heartened by the warmth, the children smiling and singing, the lights of the candles.
And then he thinks about the fact that he has so much food, and they have so little – and isn’t this the night when we say, “let all who are hungry come and eat…?”
So on a whim he turns and retraces his steps, thinking to share his food.
Nervously, a little shy, finally he knocks on the door.
He hears small footsteps. One of the children opens the door, slowly, slowly – and then the child’s face lights up, and he turns and shouts back to his family –
you see Tateh!
you see Mameh! 

I told you Eliyahu really would come to visit us…!!

So: think about this, as you spill Elijah’s cup, as we all do.
We each are the child. We each are the parent. We each right now are in a moment of fear, or despair, or confusion.
And, yet, we each – also – are Eliyahu. We each are reaching out, offering, giving, helping, being generous in word or in deed. Our small kindnesses may be more impactful than we realize.
And we have within us, unknown, unknown to those around us, unknown to we ourselves; we have within us the seeds of redemption, the seeds of hope, the seeds of new vision.

So I bless you, and me, and all of us that the angel of death… shouldn’t visit us until our time is done; until we have really brought our own unique gifts to the world.
May this year’s very different night of seder call us indeed to freedom, to kindness, to connection, to wisdom, and to a truly more sustainable world for all.

Chag sameach,

Nigel

PS – more prosaically: after a grueling and rather boundary-less five weeks, please bear with us as we put up this auto-responder on most, and ideally all, Hazon email accounts from late tomorrow through Thursday, April 16th:

We are closed for Pesach, and we’re treating all emails during Pesach as chametz – null and void. If your email is important, please resend it on Friday, April 17th, the day after Pesach.

PPS: Counting the omer starts Thursday night. And then please join us on Earth Day, April 22nd, as we #soundthecall.

The post Chad gadya, a raccoon in the park, and a second chasidic story. appeared first on Adamah.

Dear All,

Seder is one night – in Israel.
In chutz la’aretz – ie, outside of Israel – it’s two nights, so next Thursday night is the second night of seder.

And for most of the Jewish world, as we know, these two nights are indeed going to be different nights, as we figure out how to do seders by Zoom, or in small (very small) groups, and so on. It will be weird. And there will be lots of riffs on plagues, lots of haggadah supplements to download, and so on.

Hazon’s gift to you is a frame for the second night, for Thursday night.

Normally, at the end of the evening – with kids running wild, the table in chaos, the meal just finishing, various people conked out because it is so late or they’ve eaten so much or drank so much – right then, we count the omer. No wonder we don’t properly pay attention to it.

So our gift to you this year is – don’t bury it. Make it a conceptual focus of your second night seder.

The first night – celebrate that you’re alive.
That your family made it to America or Italy or England or wherever you are.
That – hopefully – you’ve survived this plague, so far.
That our doctors and health care workers are acting courageously, under impossible conditions; and that our legislators, for once, came together and quickly passed important legislation.

All this is freedom from. It’s freedom from want and oppression; from the absences our ancestors lived with their whole lives, just a century or two ago – without dentists or antibiotics or health systems, perhaps without democracy, without fast roads or clean water or… Zoom. Indeed.
So Wednesday night, as we celebrate the seder, this is an important part.

But Thursday night is different. It’s a riff on the seder. Much we did the night before, we may or may not do again, or in the same way. But the second night we count the omer.

Here’s a quick frame for this – and then some questions for your table… or your Zoom.

The frame
An “omer” is an agricultural measure. The barley harvest and the wheat harvest were growing, from Pesach to Shavuot, and we were an agrarian people – even, indeed, an indigenous people. So we counted up the days, one by one, until the harvest. That’s why Shavuot (and the word means “weeks,” as in the seven weeks from Pesach to Shavuot) is also chag ha’asif, the festival of gathering (the harvest.)

But then there was a second thing. Because Shavuot is zman matan torateinu, the time of the giving of the Torah. So the rabbis – and certainly the more mystical amongst them – gave a second overlay. This was the sefirot. Seven aspects of “the divine”; or, if you like, seven aspects of human behavior or character – kindness or openness; discipline, boundaries; balance and beauty, and so on.
(Click here for an explanation of the sefirot and here for the website of R Simon Jacobson, who has a beautiful book and kavanah and mailing list for counting the sefirot.)

And the count from Pesach to Shavuot – counting the omer, starting on Thursday night – is about moving from freedom from to freedom to. We’ve left Egypt. We’ve left slavery. Now we’re in the wilderness. No rules, no Torah, radical freedom. We learn that this is hard – we don’t like it – we miss, indeed, Egypt (a kind of Stockholm Syndrome on the part of the entire Jewish people.)

We learn the hard way that we can’t live with radical freedom, we actually need boundaries and limitation, to create a good society, to live a good life. And hence Shavuot, and the giving of the Torah.

What this means for Thursday night.

A few ideas:

• Make it thematically central to your evening. Introduce it at the start.
  Explain you’ll end with counting the omer – but that you’ll begin, for instance, by having everyone go around and share one freedom that they have, that they shouldn’t take for granted (or that one of their ancestors may not have been able to enjoy); and then, what’s one freedom that you personally have, or the world has, that you think is doing us some damage? 
  And this alone – and in this moment – may turn into a rich opening for your seder and a rich conversation during the evening;
• As you go through the seder – think about the different riffs on freedom that come up, the tension between freedom and order, the way that Pesach creativity itself arises from the structure, from the order of the seder;
• And then – after the meal – as you count the omer together, I invite you to do two things:
  • First – commit to try to count every day. If you remember every day, and count with a bracha, a blessing – super. But if you forget – count anyway. Count the days to Shavuot. Count the days up through this plague, through diminutions in our freedom of movement, and back – hopefully – towards the light. This year will be a good year to count;
  • And second, if you are minded to, commit to journaling each day about freedom from and freedom to. What you wish to be free from. What you wish to be free to do, or not do. What our world needs us collectively to be free to do more of or less of.

At its heart – make this period in our lives truly count.
And figure out for yourself, and whomever you’re sedering with, what you want it to mean; how, come Shavuot, you’ll be a better person, and help the world be a better world.

If you make these ideas a central theme of your second seder, you will not only bring the evening to life in new ways; you’ll not only engender a rich conversation; but you may also, as I believe the tradition fully intends, have Pesach not be an ending, or a night – or 7 or 8 nights – unto itself; but rather the beginnings of a journey. And this year – this year – that journey will be unique and important.

Two last things.
There are two days that punctuate this year’s counting of the omer that I want to remind you of.

April 22nd – the 50th anniversary of Earth Day. Our campaign #soundthecall is gathering steam.
Sound your shofar, if you have one, at noon EDT that day – and post it on social media.
Click here to find more about what this stands for and why it is so important. And, if nothing else, please share this with your rabbi, with friends, with anyone who has a shofar, or anyone who has a drum or a trumpet or who simply wants to stand up in public that day and #soundthecall – a call for change, a call to learn our lessons, a call for healthcare and for environmental sustainability, a call not to bequeath our craziness to the generations that are to come. (And: daytime on April 22nd is the 13th day of the omer – yesod she’b’gevurah. The week is about discipline, and boundaries. And yesod is about fundamentals, in all senses. So this is, as chance would have it, a day in which we are indeed invited to think about the boundaries we need in this world, and how we get back to the fundamentals of living well and safely and equitably, here on this small busy planet.

Lag b’Omer, the evening of May 11th and the day of May 12th. It’s the 33rd day of the omer, and a minor holiday. In Israel a time of bonfires and barbecues. Everyone forgets what it’s about. But it’s about a plague. And the plague started, finally, to cease, and people stopped dying – and so we celebrated, and for twenty centuries we have celebrated every year.  Well – this year this will take on new meaning. If the epidemiologists are right, by then – PG – the tide will have started to turn. May it be so.

These two dates – talk about them at the seder.
Put them on your calendar – literally – and decide how you’ll choose to register them; you might make that part of your meal time conversation, ahead of the count itself.
Understand that when we start counting, on Thursday night, we are beginning a count that leads to Shavuot and is punctuated by these two dates – the 50th anniversary of Earth Day, and Lag b’Omer, in the year of the plague.

And so – let’s make it count…

Shabbat shalom, chag sameach,

Nigel

[hr]

#soundthecall this Earth Day
April 22nd is the 50th anniversary of Earth Day, a time of celebration and a call to action. Let’s #soundthecall online worldwide: share a video of yourself on social media sounding a shofar or other instrument to stand up for the well being of planet Earth. Then this Earth Day, though we are physically distant, we will join virtually at 12pm ET to simultaneously blow shofar, sing songs, and raise our voices. RSVP for April 22nd and learn more at hazon.org/soundthecall.

And, be sure to join us live on Zoom on Monday, April 6th at 12pm ET for the official campaign launch. Learn more.

The post Next Thursday night — and #soundthecall on April 22nd appeared first on Adamah.

Dear Friends,

According to our biblical calendar, we are in the midst of the grain harvest, a season of gladness and growth which lasted seven weeks of seven days. It began with harvesting barley during Passover and ended with harvesting wheat at Shavuot. Forty-nine days the wheat would grow and grow, until it was ready to be cut and harvested just in time for Shavuot, when two loaves of bread would be offered at the Temple. According to our Torah, this honoring and culmination of the growing season is the reason we celebrate Shavuot, and only later did the slightly more mythical aspects of receiving Torah at Mt. Sinai come to coincide with the holiday’s significance. At one time, the flour was the revelation.

Nowadays, for each of those forty-nine days, Jews around the world engage in a practice called “Sefirat haOmer/Counting the Omer,” where we verbally bless and count each day that passes. While we may not be carefully watching our wheat crops grow, tending to their needs and supporting their health, we do have an opportunity to do just that for own spirits and souls. We once were slaves and now we’re free. But in order to truly be free, we must be the very best version of ourselves we can be, aligning our will and actions with the Divine will, living our best lives, and giving it all we’ve got. Just as we honored and celebrated the life growing around us in ancient times, we get to honor and celebrate the life growing within us today, giving loving attention and astute care to the places within that we want to be growing and developing.

This is a time on our calendar to delve deeply into the transformation that’s made possible by imbuing each day with intention, methodically committing to the changes we wish to see. If spring ever comes, with summer right behind, may we experience the transformation we’re seeking through a budding gladness and a thoughtful tending of the spirit, so that we may burst forth with the sun into the most brilliant versions of ourselves that we can be. This spring, you are invited into that process, as Hazon Detroit fills the calendar with opportunities to engage, reconnect, build, grow, dine, and strive for a healthier and more sustainable us. 

In loving community,

Rabbi Nate, Wren, Marla, Brittany, Hannah, and Megan

The post Hazon Detroit: The Wheat Harvest appeared first on Adamah.

Thursday, May 2, 2019 | 12th day of the omer; hod she’b’gevurah

Dear All,

Today is Yom Hashoah, and the attack in Poway of course remains on my mind. Like many of us, I was inspired by the words and deeds of Rabbi Goldstein, and by the courage of the people in the shul.

I feel, as others do, the need to respond to anti-semitism, both on the right and on the left. The world is changing, and it needs us to act, both proactively (challenging bigotry and banning guns) and defensively (increasing security in Jewish institutions).

But I want to add this, and strongly: we must not obsess about anti-semitism. History doesn’t repeat, and it doesn’t repeat mechanistically. The very fiber of Hazon and of all that we do is built around the notion of vision, positive vision, and of the need not simply to be against things – anti-semitism, or attacks on Israel, or for that matter bigotry or racism of any sort – but instead to offer a strong and powerful positive vision of the nature of Jewishness in the 21st century.

This applies even to the big ticket items that are Hazon’s raison d’être. It is true that we are “against” climate change and for that matter “against” the industrial meat industry. (If you haven’t yet seen it, you should read this superb piece in the New York Times yesterday and this short quiz on how your own diet contributes to climate change.)

But the heart of our work isn’t in fact about being against anything. 
It’s about breathing deep into the tradition, engaging with the wider world, engaging with the physical world that sustains us.
And then inspiring ourselves, and inspiring others.
And then driving positive change, from that place.

This is what our JOFEE Fellowship is about, or our work in Detroit or Colorado, or Teva or Adamah or the Israel Ride or our retreats at Isabella Freedman – all of it is about inspiring change through positive vision.

I could use any part of our work as an exemplar of this, but I want especially to mention our Israel Ride, because I haven’t mentioned it for a while.

Do you not feel depressed at what is happening in Israel or the Middle East? Violence and terrorism, intransigence, enmity? Of course – those things are real and they are depressing.

But it’s almost literally impossible to come away from our Israel Ride not feeling more hopeful. It is not just from getting on a bike and pushing yourself and being outdoors and off social media and with good people and eating good food and sleeping just fine – that, of course, is true, but it is the least of it. What is at its heart is relating to the students and alumni of the Arava Institute for Environmental Studies. They are Israeli, Palestinian, Jordanian, and American; Jewish, Muslim, and Christian. And they are friends. Friends in a way that you can’t fake. Not friends, by the way, who agree on everything. They disagree, sometimes extremely strongly. But it is in disagreeing amidst friendship that they are so inspiring. They argue and they change each other. They learn to give the benefit of the doubt, to see nuance, to understand things from someone else’s shoes. That’s what the whole of Jewish tradition is about. That’s what Hillel and Shammai are about, and Rosh Hashanah, and Tisha b’Av, and so much else.

So – yes, let us “respond” to anti-semitism, to racism against immigrants or Muslims or Christians, to prejudice against people who are trans, or Trump-supporters or old or young or anything. Let’s strive to see the goodness in each person and the possibility of the world looking differently through their eyes. But most of all, let’s stay on our game. Let’s hold out a positive vision. Not a foolish vision, not a naïve vision, not a pie-in-the-sky vision. But a vision, nevertheless, grounded in hope.

And I invite you, of course, in having hope, to keep counting.
This count, from Pesach to Shavuot: it doesn’t matter if you have remembered it every day or not, if you are counting with the bracha, the blessing, or without.

What matters is that this is our annual meditation on freedom. Be aware of it, each day. Journal, reflect, think on it. It should not be a given. We should not stumble through our lives, going from meeting to meeting, meal to meal, app to app, without really registering that it is a blessing that we have clean water, or medical care, or live without fear of walking the streets. (None of these is absolute, we know. But relative to Shakespearean England, or anywhere in Europe 75 years ago, or Sudan today – we are so blessed.)

Freedom from, relatively speaking, has been given to most of us reading these words. But freedom to – this we are not using well enough. How do we live as citizens, not as consumers? How do we limit some of our freedoms – those that diminish our society’s future, in the long run?

So let’s be inspired by heroism in Poway. Let’s count up our days, in goodness. And let’s build, day by day, the vision of the world we believe in.

A few last things:

• 175 people are signed up for this November’s Israel Ride; which is to say, there are just a few slots left. If you’d like to join us, you’re invited.
• And secondly – after the 49th day of the omer comes Shavuot. Please join us at Isabella Freedman for our Shavuot retreat. All-night learning, a midnight hike to the top of the mountain, sunrise Shacharit, our Shavuot parade with costumes and goats (and goats-in-costumes), outdoor fun for kids, and more for all ages. We have an exciting line-up of presenters including Reb Art Green, Rebbetzin Eve Ilsen, Rabbi Jill Hammer, Shir Yaakov Feit, Basya Schechter, Rabbi Avram Mlotek, Yael Kornfeld-Mlotek, Eden Pearlstein, Shoshana Jedwab, Sarah Shamirah Chandler, and Julie Seltzer. Register at hazon.org/shavuot.
• We’re hoping to make a significant new hire – a new Managing Director of National JOFEE Programs. If you’re interested, please be in touch. If there’s someone who you think might be the perfect person – feel free to forward this to them.
• Finally – this Sunday is the Five Boro Bike Ride, here in NY.  If you are a registered rider and would like to skip the craziness at the start – wear any Hazon jersey, and join me at the corner of Central Park North and Adam Clayton Powell at 8am sharp. We will set off to join the ride at 8:15am. Email me if you plan to join us and/or have any questions.

Shabbat shalom,

Nigel

The post Vision. appeared first on Adamah.

Friday, March 30, 2018 | 13 Nissan 5778

Dear All,

Sefirat Ha’Omer – the counting of the Omer – is rooted in the Biblical mitzvah of counting the 49 days between the Jewish holidays of Pesach and Shavuot, when the first sacrifices of the barley and wheat offerings were made. The kabbalists of Sefad added their own psycho-spiritual overlay to it. Now, here in 2018, we have the chance to take this ancient tradition and breathe powerful life into it.

Counting the Omer is the journey from “freedom from” to “freedom to.” This has never been more salient than in the West in 2018. We have – many of us – the blessings of “freedom from.” From totalitarianism or starvation or civil war. But the question of “freedom to” – freedom to what end; how do we use our freedoms; how do we not hurt ourselves from the cumulative impact of our freedoms… these are the big questions of our era.

So Saturday night – second night seder, for those of you who are sedering outside of Israel – is the start of this seven-week period. Let’s make it count.
​​
These suggestions are rooted in all of Hazon’s work.

Week 1 (April 1-7) Chesed – kindness and the absence of boundaries. 
What does it mean to show kindness to the earth and all its inhabitants? The first week of the omer is Pesach. It’s a time of celebration. We count with love, not with heaviness.

Pesach is chag ha’aviv, the festival of spring. With a bit of luck the sun will shine. Go for a walk. Go to your local park. Use this moment of spring to reconnect with a place that you love, and be inspired – “hiddur mitzvah” – to start to beautify our world…

Week 2 (April 8-14) Gevurah – Discipline, boundaries.
The second week of the Omer starts the Saturday night that Pesach goes out. We’ve celebrated and we’ve been free – and perhaps we’ve eaten too much. Now we put away our Pesach dishes, and we bring back our chametz. But as we do that – let’s do it healthily.

So, first – just chuck out the things that actually aren’t healthy, or don’t replace them. Sauces and things with too much sugar and additives. In the words of one of the rabbis: “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.”

And secondly: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch – growing and doing damage every day – is fed by the plastic bottles that we use for 30 minutes (if that) and which take a century or more to dissolve. We’re inspired by @TheBayit on their Post-Pesach Plastic Purge Challenge. Just quit plastic bottles. Soda and fizzy water. You can do it. You’ll be healthier. You’ll save money. Get a Sodastream.

Week 3 (April 15-21) Tiferet – Compassion and balance.
Share your awareness and practice with others. But do it in a nice balanced way. Don’t beat anyone over the head – including yourself. Find a way to gently encourage the people you love, live with, work with, to give up or take on practices that help to create a healthier and more sustainable world.

Week 4 (April 22-28) Netzach – Endurance. Keep going!
Keep on not eating crap and not using plastic bottles and going out to the park… And how long of a walk do you take? Go an extra 20 minutes. Do you bike? If not, try going for a gentle 2-mile ride; if you do, ramp it up a bit.

Week 5 (April 29-May 5) Hod – Humility, simplicity, beauty.
This may be a week for trying to live more simply in some way. Giving some things to goodwill? Clearing out a closet? Look around at what you may have accumulated to feel “better.”  Can we use an aesthetic, a sense of beauty and simplicity to inspire us for positive change?

Week 6 (May 6-12) Yesod – Fundamentals.
Let’s think about basic things. Food waste, for instance – fundamental to the western world we live in. But so…. wasteful.

Consider the long-term effects of the waste we can avoid putting into landfills. It’s time to compost! One other thing to do – then or now – please become a Hazon monthly sustainer. Our Sustainers are the rock upon which our work rests. It’s as fundamental as it gets. We hope that, like the people who’ve become Hazon Sustainers, you’ll feel proud and happy to know that, month in and month out, you’re supporting some of the most vital work of this moment.

Week 7 (May 13-19) Malchut – Leadership.
The last week of the Omer is the lead-up to Shavuot. We’re about to receive the Torah. Take a stand. Malchut is about playing it forwards. We each have the ability to help lead our institutions in sustainability. 

If you only do one thing to make the Omer count, be in touch with us and start a process leading up to having your institution – a synagogue, a school, a JCC, a place of work – in joining the Hazon Seal of Sustainability this fall. More than 65 institutions are already in the pilot. We’re aiming for at least 360 institutions by September 2022, and more than 1,800 by September 2029. If, together, we succeed, we will drive systemic change within and beyond the American Jewish community. If you want to be part of that, be in touch.

May we live in a time of liberation and of healthy freedom…

Shabbat shalom,
Chag kasher v’sameach,

Nigel

PS Hazon has an array of sustainable Passover resources as well as a seder supplement focusing on the egg on the seder plate which we encourage you to print and use at your seder. We also want you to share with us how you’re making your Passover more sustainable.

The post Not just “Counting the Omer;” also making it count… appeared first on Adamah.

Parashat Beha’alotcha

“Make thee two trumpets of silver; of beaten work shalt thou make them; and they shall be unto thee for the calling of the congregation… And when they shall blow with them, all the congregation shall gather themselves unto thee at the door of the tent of meeting.”
Bamidbar perek yud, pasuk bet (Numbers 10:2)

I recently recalled to a friend— just after our festival of Shavuot — that I had now been in attendance at the Isabella Freedman Jewish Retreat Center for all three of the Shalosh Regalim, which are the three main pilgrimage festivals. Shavuot, Passover, and Sukkot all took on very different energies at Isabella Freedman. There remained a constant, though: the spirit, joy, and sheer heart that was poured into those festivals by everyone who attended, and by everyone who worked so tirelessly to make those retreat and community gatherings manifest.

An incredible sense of community occurs during Jewish holiday retreats at Isabella Freedman, where I am currently a JOFEE Fellow. After spending the seven weeks of the Omer preparing ourselves, the Jewish people traditionally celebrate the festival of Shavuot to commemorate the receiving of the Torah — the divine energy from God. At Isabella Freedman, we hosted two hundred and fifty people for Shavuot. It was an amazing spectacle of community coming together in revelation. We facilitated all night learning, a bikkurim/ first fruits parade, night hiking, bonfires, singing, and more. Wow! 

Now that we as Bnei Yisrael  (the children of Yisrael), have collectively received the Torah and concluded the festival of Shavuot, that brings us to this week’s parsha of Beha’alotcha.

Beha’alotcha touches on a multitude of ideas, as Bnei Yisrael is given the laws of Passover, we are commanded to build and kindle the light for the menorah in the temple, we are given instruction to assemble trumpets, and we are also making our way as a nation from Mount Sinai and into the wilderness.

What seems to tie all of those seemingly random instructions together, is that they are all things that lead to the building, strengthening, and assembly of our community. In the opening verses of this week’s portion we are given instruction from God to assemble a menorah for their dwelling place and to kindle that menorah daily:

“Speak to Aaron and say to him: ‘When you light the lamps, the seven lamps shall cast their light toward the faces of the menorah. Aaron did so; he lit the lamps toward the face of the menorah, as the lord had commanded Moses. This was the form of the menorah: hammered work of gold, from its base to its flower was hammered work; according to the form that the Lord had shown Moses, so did he construct the menorah.’”

The fire of the menorah was tended to daily by the priests, and it was made sure that every day it was lit. This is a beautiful metaphorical act that entails maintaining God’s light or burning fire, in a physical form that will emanate from their resting place, outward to the entire community. The priests are kindling and tending to this holy fire everyday, so that it is present and available for the community to tap into.

This important act that is introduced to Bnei Yisrael at the beginning of Beha’alotcha seems to wonderfully tie in to the work that I have been taking part in here at Isabella Freedman. While planning and preparing for the festivals that will bring the Jewish community together here at Isabella Freedman, my fellow colleagues and I like to remind each other, that we are actively tending this holy fire just like the one described in Beha’alotcha. Everyday we are tending to that figurative fire and keeping it going strong, so that when it is time for the next festival, it will be burning and ready for the community to tap into, and ultimately make more powerful.

The next of the physical items that we are instructed to build in Beha’alotcha are the trumpets:  “The Lord spoke to Moses saying: Make yourself two silver trumpets; you shall make them from a beaten form; they shall be used by you to summon the congregation and to announce the departure of the camps. When they blow on them, the entire congregation shall assemble to you, at the entrance of the tent of meeting.” The trumpets acted as a means to mobilize the nation, especially in times of celebration, festival, and also when they were to move into the wilderness. Each time there is a Jewish festival, we here at Isabella Freedman blow those collective trumpets to invite the rest of Bnei Yisrael to come together in celebration as a community.

The final corollary that I want to make from this week’s parsha to what occurs here in Falls Village Connecticut, is the act of moving into the wilderness.  In Beha’alotcha we witness Bnei Yisrael taking their first collective steps out into this space of the wilderness. Isabella Freedman very much acts as a wilderness to many, who may be attending from urban or otherwise much more populated areas. People set time to intentionally uproot from their usual communal settings, to come here and experience the wilderness for themselves, in the form of retreat.  Every time prophecy is received in the torah, it is received when a person is alone and out in the wilderness. This is where we as humans are most capable of discovering ourselves, and becoming more aware of the forces that surround us. When out in the wilderness, we can really begin to listen more closely to that divine voice that is constantly present. Just as in this parsha, where we see Bnei Yisrael taking their first steps into the wilderness, so to should we all take the time to make it out into our own personal wilderness, so that we can truly tap into that light that is seeking us, and ultimately do the the work of bringing it back into our communities.

Jacob Weiss returned as a JOFEE Fellow to Isabella Freedman after being part of the summer 2016 Adamah cohort. He has studied permaculture at Hava v’Adam Farm in Israel, received his chef’s training at Natural Gourmet Institute in New York City, and has cooked at restaurants El Rey and Lalo in the city. Read his full bio here. 

—

Editor’s Note: Welcome to D’varim HaMakom: The JOFEE Fellows Blog! Most weeks throughout the year, you’ll be hearing from the JOFEE Fellows: reflections on their experiences, successful programs they’ve planned and implemented, gleanings from the field, and connections to the weekly Torah portion and what they’ve learned from their experiences with place in their host communities for the year. Views expressed are the author’s and do not necessarily represent Hazon. Be sure to check back weekly!

The post Calling the Congregation | D’varim HaMakom: The JOFEE Fellows Blog appeared first on Adamah.

May 4th, 2017 | 23rd day of the omer; gevurah she’b’netzach | 8th Iyyar 5777

Halachah and Aggadah

Dear All,

Let me start at the end.

Shavuot this year falls midweek. It is one of the most glorious times of the year at Isabella Freedman. The sun, we hope, will shine; the goats will parade; much Torah will be learned; and much cheesecake consumed.

We have a truly remarkable group of teachers and leaders for this year’s Shavuot Retreat, including Shir Yaakov Feit, Rabbi Dr. Jill Hammer, Rebbetzin Eve Ilsen, Rabbi David Ingber, Shoshana Jedwab, Yael Kornfeld-Mlotek, Rabbi David Evan Markus, Rabbi Avram Mlotek, Rabbi Mike Moscowitz, and Arna Poupko-Fisher. I was thinking about when JFK hosted a group of Nobel laureates for dinner and began with the famous line – “this is the most extraordinary collection of talent that has ever been gathered together at the White House – with the possible exception of when Thomas Jefferson dined alone…”  I say that because we will miss Reb Zalman, z”l, who for so many years led the Shavuot retreat, and his spirit and his memory and his teachings will be with us. And/but this really is a quite astounding group of people. So if you are minded to – or, indeed, if you’ve never been to Freedman for a retreat, or for Shavuot – do come and join us. We hope and intend that it will be very special indeed. Click here for full bios of our teachers and for more info.

Now I want to go back to the beginning…

Chaim Nachman Bialik wrote a famous essay titled “Halachah and Aggadah”, and if you have never read it I commend it. A lovely edition was published in 2000 and you can get that here – if you want. (And here, fyi, are the Wikipedia essays for halachah andaggadah, respectively, if you’re not familiar with those terms and want some background.)

Bialik’s essay is short, readable, and beautiful. It is also not quite what you expect. One might assume that Bialik (the co-author of Sefer ha’Aggadah) must be ish aggadah – “aggadic man”, as it were. That turns out not to be the case.

“Halachah is the master-art that has shaped and trained a whole nation, and every line that it has graven on the nation’s soul, be it coarse or fine, has been inspired and guided by a superb wisdom which sees the end in the beginning.” (This many years before Eliot, by the way.)

And: “The value of Aggadah is that it issues in Halachah. Aggadah that does not bring Halachah in its train is ineffective. Useless itself, it will end by incapacitating its author for action.”

These are fighting words. Take a moment to chew them slowly. Aggadah that does not bring halachah in its train is ineffective. Useless itself, it will end by incapacitating its author for action. And the more fascinating because Bialik was not in a traditional way halachically observant.

Bialik wrote these words a century ago, give or take. But they are both prescient and timeless because the tension they engage lies at the heart of Jewish life, and of its evolution. We live in the least halachic of times; but the ultra-orthodox minority is growing sharply, in Israel, the US and the UK. Non-orthodox rabbis routinely (privately) express frustration or sadness at the inability of their congregants to open themselves to the authority of tradition; yet they – we – are exemplars of a world of antinomian choice.

So the worlds of halachah and aggadah are drifting apart. The communities that most espouse halachah don’t always seem to respect aggadah. (The chasidic world is arguably an exception, and the difference between the relationship to aggadah in the chasidicharedi communities, as opposed to the non-chasidic parts of the haredi world, is one reason that those of us who are not haredi sometimes use too broad a brush, failing to understand the significance of these differences.) And the communities whose Torah is essentially aggadic miss something core to Jewish tradition and life.

And, to be clear, “halachah” and “aggadah” go also to the heart of contemporary life. What boundaries do we have? What narratives? What are the stories we tell about ourselves? How do these elements interact?

The thing that made me go back to Bialik was thinking about the counting of the omer.

“Counting the omer” is a funny thing. Most Jews on planet earth don’t count the omer. Of those who do, I’d guess that the majority simply remember to say the bracha (blessing) and to count, each evening. They check off a mitzvah, well done, if they make it through complete to the 49th day. This is halachah without much aggadah.

But counting the omer has flourished in recent times. In the early years of Hazon we gave away more than 400 copies of Reb Simon Jacobson’s beautiful little The Counting of the Omer. That book alone has had enormous impact, and it has been followed by equivalent books by other authors, a range of art projects, and in due course I think a series of apps.

The kabbalistic overlay to counting the omer is for me a fascinating example of what I think Bialik was getting at. You can “count the omer” without giving it frankly more than a moment’s thought. You can have some awareness of the kabbalistic aspects, brought out by Rabbi Jacobson and others, and not count each day. But properly understood, counting the omer goes so deeply to the heart of Jewish tradition. It offers us a new texture in relation to time, a new way to wake up, a new sensibility when you ride your bike or walk about. The halachic count leads to a different kind of aggadic awareness, and aggadic self-commentary leads back to halachah. Thoughts spool and unwind.

As an example: what does it mean that today – for instance – is ‘gevurah she’b’netzach?’ Netzach is about endurance and gevurah is discipline and boundaries and law. So gevurah she’b’netzach is precisely the day to think about the endurance of the Jewish people through the time, the persistence of both halachah and aggadah, and the role of gevurah – halachah, and boundaries of all sorts – in enabling us to persist.

Meanwhile, the late great Jacob Milgrom z”l was once at my Shabbat table during the omer. He shared with us, in response to some of my comments along these lines, that the kabbalistic overlay to counting the omer was “nonsense, as I’m sure you know.” He had a twinkle in his eye, as he said it. But he was a bible scholar and the omer was for him the harvest, growing from Pesach to Shavuot – all the rest was commentary, and insubstantial esoteric commentary at that, in his view.

Finally, let me leave you with one more line from Bialik:

“The halachah which is sublimated into a symbol… becomes the mother of a newaggadah, which may be like it or unlike.”

The work of Hazon, and the retreats and teachings at Isabella Freedman (and elsewhere) are rooted in halacha and in the symbolism of Jewish tradition. We are sprouting new aggadah, both like and unlike that which came before us.  And my blessing is that this in due course helps us to develop a reverence for the halacha of our parents, and a new post-halachic halacha for those who come after us.

Shabbat shalom,

Nigel

The post Halachah and Aggadah appeared first on Adamah.

Jews across the world this week commemorated leaving Egypt to become free people for the holiday of Passover. Friends and family sit around the table together for the seder, celebrating freedom with comfy pillows to recline on and lots of kosher wine.

Unfortunately, Passover can also represent something else: the holiday of waste.

Those who keep kosher for Pesach (Passover) deep-clean our kitchens before the holiday, rooting out bread, tortillas, muffins, crackers, and every other kind of chametz (leavened or yeasted products) that’s sitting around the house. And to ensure that everything is kosher, we switch out our regular sets of dishes with a special set of only-for-Passover dishes.

But who wants to keep an extra set of dishes around the house? It takes up storage space. It’s inconvenient. Understandably, many of us – out of convenience, or out of necessity – use disposable plates, cutlery, cups, and more. Ironically, many of us end up celebrating this holiday of freedom and liberation with trash bags full of styrofoam.

Thankfully, Passover is also a holiday that reminds us of our ability to make change — as individuals and as a society.

Nowhere is change more visible than in Moshe Rabeinu’s transition from an adopted son in Pharoah’s household to legendary leader of the exodus from Egypt. First, Moshe observes something that he knows is wrong: “[Moshe] went out to his kinsfolk and witnessed their labors. He saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, one of his kinsmen.” (Exodus 2:11). Witnessing this injustice then pushes Moshe to change his life. He thrashes out in anger, killing an Egyptian taskmaster; he runs away from the palace to become a shepherd; he educates himself and, with the help of God, becomes a leader capable of ending the enslavement of the Israelites in Egypt.

We, too, have the capacity to make prophetic change in our relationship to the world through Passover. This year, follow in Moshe’s footsteps and take strides towards renewing and increasing your responsibility for our planet’s future.

One example: during a family Seder this year, my aunt provided stickers for everyone to use to mark their disposable cups. These stickers ensured that we only used one disposable cup each, as opposed to dozens.

And in two weeks, as we count the Omer, I will be heading down to Washington, DC to march with Hazon and Jewish communities around the country at the People’s Climate March and Shabbat. With federal climate protection in question, this is an important step in maintaining our role as shomrei adamah, planet protectors. Interested in joining us? Click here for more info on A Week of Action for the Earth, April 22-29, including Earth Day and the People’s Climate Shabbats.

As we travel through Pesach, let’s all try, in whatever ways that we can, to take an action, big or small, that reminds you that we are all responsible for the planet and each other. We all have the potential to make change.

__

Rachel Aronson is an educator, dialogue facilitator, and nature lover living in Brooklyn. She has worked on a community farm, lived in an environmental co-op, and planted gardens on her fire escape to bridge her passions for building community and being around fresh-grown vegetables, and is a member of Repair the World NYC‘s Advisory Board.

 

Editor’s Note: Welcome to D’varim HaMakom: The JOFEE Fellows Blog! Most weeks throughout the year, you’ll be hearing from the JOFEE Fellows: reflections on their experiences, successful programs they’ve planned and implemented, gleanings from the field, and connections to the weekly Torah portion and what they’ve learned from their experiences with place in their host communities for the year. Views expressed are the author’s and do not necessarily represent Hazon. Be sure to check back weekly!

The post This Passover, Take Action for the Climate – D’varim HaMakom: The JOFEE Fellows Blog appeared first on Adamah.

Rabbi Shir Yaakov is a teacher, singer, composer, designer, producer, and “aba” (Dad). He is the leader of an emerging spiritual community in the Hudson Valley, Kol Hai. In addition, he is a lead teacher in DLTI, and he serves both Romemu and ALEPH as Creative Director and is well known as a stage artist and liturgist performing with The Epichorus and Darshan. Working in both Jewish and multi-faith contexts, Shir Yaakov weaves a tapestry of Kabbalistic wisdom, contemporary songwriting and deep personal spirituality to offer a spiritual cultural Judaism that is contemporary, alive, and innovative. He has recorded and released four albums of original music. shiryaakov.com

The 7-week period between the holidays of Pesach and Shavuot is called the Omer. For each of these 7 weeks, we will be making available one offering per week from 7 leaders of our upcoming Shavuot Retreat. Join us Memorial Day weekend for the Shavuot retreat to go deeper and get higher with these wonderful teachers. (Use early discount code EARLY10 through April 24th for 10% off.) In the meantime, enjoy our Omer experience!

[myspacer]

The post Omer Week Five: Olam Shana Nefesh appeared first on Adamah.

Rebbetzin Eve Ilsen is our featured teacher for this year’s Shavuot retreat. For the past decade she and her late husband Reb Zalman Schachter Shalomi זצ׳ל built this retreat into the amazing experience that it is today. Eve comes to us this year still in the first year of mourning for her beloved, and yet bringing an incredibly insighful and inspiring perspective on Life. This week’s video blog offers us a taste of her talents, her presence, and her power. Join us for the retreat and learn with her in person.

Rebbetzin Eve Ilsen is a psychotherapist, teacher, storyteller and singer. She has studied closely with mythologist Joseph Campbell, Eutonia bodywork founder Gerda Alexander, and trained for years in Jerusalem in waking dream and the therapeutic use of imagery with Mme. Colette Aboulker-Muscat. Since returning to the United states in 1986, Ms. Ilsen has also worked in tandem with her husband of blessed memory, Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi זצ׳ל, co-creating the Wisdom School, co-leading workshops and partnering at holy day retreats. In 2008, she was ordained as a Rabbinic Pastor. These days, Eve is invoking transformative states by performing in concert, as a singer and a storyteller.

The 7-week period between the holidays of Pesach and Shavuot is called the Omer. For each of these 7 weeks, we will be making available one offering per week from 7 leaders of our upcoming Shavuot Retreat. Join us Memorial Day weekend for the Shavuot retreat to go deeper and get higher with these wonderful teachers. (Use early discount code EARLY10 through April 24th for 10% off.) In the meantime, enjoy our Omer experience!

[myspacer]

The post Omer Week Four: Here’s to Life appeared first on Adamah.

[myquote author=”Rachel Dewan”] Shavuot at Isabella Freedman is a powerful experience. We literally stand at the foot of the mountain together, klal yisrael, and receive Torah anew. We march together in the Parade of First Fruits, grown in the very ground we walk upon. We sing and dance and swim and boat and walk through the glorious nature that surrounds us…and we do this all with our bodies, which is why embodied practice is such an important part of this retreat.

The practice of Torah Yoga at the Shavuot retreat prepares our bodies, our minds, our hearts to receive all of these experiences more fully by connecting the physical with the spiritual. Join me and we will walk this path together. Whether you have been practicing for 30 years or 30 days or never set foot on a mat, Torah Yoga will bring a deeper level of awareness and richness to your Shavuot experience.[/myquote]

Rachel Dewan, Certified Anusara Teacher, E-RYT500 , is a graduate of the Yoga and Jewish Spirituality Teacher Training.  and in addition to a full schedule of yoga classes, has been teaching Yoga Teacher Trainings, Prenatal Yoga Teacher Trainings, Yoga Therapeutics, and a wide variety of workshops since 2004. She has studied many different yoga styles and regularly immerses herself in a range of both Jewish and yogic texts and practices.  It is Rachel’s ultimate goal as a teacher to cultivate a sense of community in her classes, bring a sense of fullness and joy to her students by inspiring them to expand to their highest possible potential both on and off the mat, and helping them to strengthen their connection to their own unique and divine nature.   Her classes infuse dynamic asana and skillful pranayama (breathwork) and meditation,  interwoven with deep teachings of the heart and spirit, designed to awaken the deepest longing of the soul to connect with it’s Source. Read Rachel’s thoughts on yoga and life.

The 7-week period between the holidays of Pesach and Shavuot is called the Omer. For each of these 7 weeks, we will be making available one offering per week from 7 leaders of our upcoming Shavuot Retreat. Join us Memorial Day weekend for the Shavuot retreat to go deeper and get higher with these wonderful teachers. (Use early discount code EARLY10 through April 24th for 10% off.) In the meantime, enjoy our Omer experience!

[myspacer]

The post Omer Week Three: Embodied Tiferet appeared first on Adamah.

13 Ways of Looking At Tiferet

1.  It was so beautiful I had to catch my breath.

2.  It’s not the blending of kindness and discipline; it’s the tension between them. It is the love and the abyss between a father and a son after the Akedah. It is a feminine word but it is always associated with Jacob. It is untranslatable, not just beauty, not merely glory, a moving swirling river of colors and feelings. It receives in one hand and gives with the other. Imagine a dervish dancing, one hand cupped upward to catch spirit, the other open and relaxed, letting go, sharing. In receiving, giving; in giving, wholeness.

3.  He didn’t give up when he saw he didn’t fit in, he had willingness to spare, so he wrestled with the angel until dawn. Yes he was wounded, I know, we all know, but wasn’t he beautiful as he staggered toward honesty?

4.  He is the kind of man who stands and stares at one painting in the gallery for an hour. He is the smooth talker who says to his brother, “You go on ahead – I’ll walk with the children.” He moves slowly on the road to Jerusalem so as not to leave himself behind.

5.  A woman walks into a bar at night. She orders one of everything to go, but she is not a drinker. Instead she packs it all into a baby carriage and brings it to the park, where she gives it out to people living in boxes so they can toast each other by moonlight, when they become beautiful.

6.  There was a hummingbird outside my window. I had never seen one before. It was my first morning far away from home. I was waiting to pray because my heart felt so closed. That tiny movement of color and vibration startled me awake.

7.  Why did I choose that color, that brushstroke? It wasn’t my head, it was my body. If my body recognizes rightness, can it lead me home?

8.  Rabbi Isaac Luria sits and thinks. His project of reorganizing the Passover Seder plate is simply not working, and he considers moving on to another task. Some elements make perfect sense, but the whole is broken. He meditates for hours, staring at the Seder plate on his wooden table, the cool Tzfat air waltzing with the room’s single candle. Time slows, pauses. He catches his breath, and slowly moves one piece, with the singular focus of a chess player, so that the center of the plate is empty. Then he lifts the bitter herb, his hand trembling slightly, and places it in the vacant spot. In the Tiferet spot.

9.  When I ate maror at the Seder, the horseradish face-reddening kind, it hurt, and there was fear that my sinuses would explode or that my heart would stop. But even in the midst of that, I felt how beautiful it is to feel so much.

10.  The first time he went to the Wailing Wall a bird pooped on his shoulder. And he laughed. And became religious.

11.  It was the smile that did it. She told me of her burden, she spoke of her pain – and she smiled. In a recent interview Louis CK said that when he goes to any sort of live play or theater production he always finds himself crying during the first minutes of the show. It’s the realness, the vulnerability. Leonard says, “Everything has a crack in it/that’s how the light gets in”.  Tiferet softens the armor we wear.

12.  When David went to fight Goliath (and he didn’t know the story of David and Goliath), Saul gave him his armor. David tried it on, but after a few moments he took it off. We know he was armed with a slingshot and the Name of God. But David went to war with a third weapon, the most powerful of all: the absence of armor.

13.  Can you feel your heart, how vulnerable it is, how soft and sweet? It’s a child, my God, it’s only a child. Oh, sweetie.

The post Omer Week Three: Tiferet appeared first on Adamah.