Earth Etude for Elul 17 - Spiritual Charity and the Tale of Two Seas

 by Rabbi Ziona Zelazo

This post emerged during a summer stay in Israel. I heard the story from my friend Dalia, about her nephew, who got killed in a terrorist attack. In his death he donated his organs to save lives. And so he already enabled a man to regain his vision with the donated retina. I was thinking how amazing it is to be able to give to others. But in particular, I was thinking that there is no one way to give to others. People can choose to be givers in many shapes and forms.

And here is another Israeli hint for the idea of giving: 

There are two lakes in Israel. One is the Dead Sea, the other is the Sea of Galilee. Both are not really seas, both receive their waters from the Jordan river. And yet, they are very, very different. The Dead Sea in the south is very high in salt. You can float and read a book at the same time! Thus, there is no life at all; no vegetation and no marine life. Hence the name: Dead Sea. The Sea of Galilee is north of the Dead Sea. It is surrounded by the rich and colorful vegetation. It is the home to over twenty different types of fishes. 

Dead Sea

Sea of Galilee

Same source of the Jordan river’s water, and yet one sea is full of life, the other is dead. How come? The Jordan river flows into the Sea of Galilee and then flows out so it keeps the sea healthy and vibrant, allowing marine life to exist. But the Dead Sea is below the mean sea level, and has no outlet for its water. The water flows in from the Jordan river, but does not flow out. Thus, unfit for any marine life.

There are the Givers and the Takers. And in Judaism, giving charity is an obligation. In the Bavli Talmud we fine dozens of texts about this obligation. They say that charity, or in Hebrew - Tzedakah, is the most important commandment to fulfill. For example, we read in Baba Batra 10b the following: 

R. Yehudah says: Ten strong things have been created in the world. The rock is hard, but the iron cleaves it. The iron is hard, but the fire softens it. The fire is hard, but the water quenches it. The water is strong, but the clouds bear it. The clouds are strong, but the wind scatters them. The wind is strong, but the body bears it. The body is strong, but fear crushes it. Fear is strong, but wine banishes it. Wine is strong, but sleep works it off. Death is stronger than all, but charity saves from death, as it is written, Righteousness [tzedakah] delivers from death (Proverbs 10:2; 11:4).

If you are like me, who was taught that “Tzaddaka” is giving money to the poor or to other worthy causes, we are missing the point. Most often we think that giving relates to how much money one gives away. That if we donate to charity with a check, we are Givers. And if we do not have the means of money, we are out of the box of Giving. However, being generous is far more than a money issue. It is a code of behavior that requires generosity from the heart, the sharing of personal time, energy, talent, wisdom, love, compassion and many other resources. The act of charity also includes visiting the sick, burying the dead, and dealing justly with others.

The classic ethical work of “Orchot Tzadikim” – [Ways of the Righteous], written in Germany in the 15th century, liberates us from this conditional relationship between charity and money. Three categories of giving with generosity are listed: giving of one's wealth, giving of oneself physically by being present to others in need, and giving of one's wisdom. The last two are types of giving that money cannot buy.

The giving from our spirit of compassion and love, is the emotional quality of giving which is commonly referred to as Gemilut hasadim- deeds of loving-kindness. Investing from your own energy builds relationship, which does not depends on giving money to the poor. In Sukka 49b we read:

R. Elazar further stated: Acts of loving-kindness (Gemilut hasadim) are greater than charity (Tzedakah), for it is said, ‘Sow to yourselves according to your charity (Tzedakah), but reap according to your hesed (kindness)’ (Hosea 10:12); when one sows, it is doubtful whether he will eat [the harvest] or not, but when one reaps, he will certainly eat. 

Our rabbis taught: In three respects Gemilut hasadim is superior to charity: charity can be done only with one’s money, but Gemilut hasadim can be done with one’s person and one’s money. Charity can be given only to the poor, but Gemilut hasadim both to the rich and the poor. Charity can be given to the living only,Gemilut hasadim can be done both to the living and to the dead.

Have you considered visiting the sick as giving? Or, supporting someone by just listening to them without trying to fix them? Could we imagine that a smile, a recognition of someone with words could also be acts of giving? Bava Batra 9b affirms that our presence could lift one’s spirits at times of despair and sustains the recipient at least as much as any donation;

"Someone who gives a coin to the poor will be blessed with six blessings, whereas the one who addresses him with words of comfort will be blessed with eleven blessings (even if he does not give him a donation)."

Ketubos 111b also mentions that even a smile alone could be as important as a physical donation: 

The congregation of Israel says to the Almighty: 'Master of the Universe, wink to me with Your eyes for that exhilarates me more than wine and smile at me with Your teeth for that is sweeter to me than milk." The Talmud continues and says this is proof to what Rabbi Yochanan said, "Better is the one who shows the white of his teeth (in a smile) to his friend, than the one who gives him milk to drink.

I think that each one of us were, one time or another, the Giver of many versions, like the Sea of Galilee, where it enriched our lives with the sense of a moral fulfillment. And also being the Taker, where it left us spiritually empty. How do you see yourself today? Are you the Sea of Galilee or the Dead Sea?

Let’s not be like the Dead Sea. May we recall the joy we get when giving and what healing it can provide because the act giving from the heart makes a difference in people’s life.

Rabbi Ziona Zelazo was ordained at The Academy for Jewish Religion (AJR) in New York, a pluralistic seminary that trains rabbis and cantors. She is the daughter of Holocaust survivors, and was born and raised in Haifa, Israel. She served in The Israeli Defense Force and studied Biblical archaeology and ancient languages in Tel Aviv University. Rabbi Ziona completed her academic education in Cultural Anthropology at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and taught as an adjunct professor at Montclair State University, New Jersey. Rabbi Ziona officiates in life cycle rituals and provides Jewish education to adults. As a hospital chaplain, she ministeres interfaith pastoral care​ ​to all age groups. Rabbi Ziona believes in developing positive relationships between people of all faiths and has served on the bio-ethic committees of Valley Hospital and St. Joseph’s-Wayne Hospital for the last 20 years. She is a strong advocate for the Women of the Wall in Israel. Rabbi Ziona is married to Ron Zelazo, and they are proud parents of 3 adult children and 3 grandchildren.

Earth Etude for Elul 16 - Ram in the Bushes

by Rabbi Katy Z. Allen

And it came to pass after these things, that God tested Abraham, and said to him, “Abraham;” and he said, “Hineni, here I am.” And he said, “Take now your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell you.” (Gen. 22:1-2)

We are being tested. 
But not by G!d. 
We are being tested by the world in which we live. 

We are being tested by the actions of humans past and present. 
We are being tested by the changing climate.
We are being tested by the racism built into our institutions, our systems, and our lives.
We are being tested by rising sea levels.
We are being tested by white supremacists.
We are being tested by mass migrations.
We are being tested by divisiveness in our communities and our countries.
We are being tested by the scarcity of resources.
We are being tested by words of hate.
We are being tested by polluted air.
We are being tested by our fears and the fears of others.
We are being tested by a scarcity of clean water.
We are being tested by deep economic divisions.
We are being tested by melting glaciers.
We are being tested by the enormity of the problems.

We are being tested. 

How will you I respond? 
How will you respond?
How will we respond? 

God gave Abraham a ram in the bushes to sacrifice in place of his son.
But God is not testing us.
God cannot put a ram in the bushes for us.
It is up to us to prevent the sacrifice of our children.
It is up to us to put the ram in the bushes.
It is up to us to see the rams already in the bushes.

It is up to us.

We can do it.

Rabbi Katy Allen is the founder and rabbi of Ma'yan Tikvah - A Wellspring of Hope, which holds services outdoors all year long, and the co-founder and President pro-tem of the Boston-based Jewish Climate Action Network. She is a board certified chaplain and serves as an Eco-Chaplain and the Facilitator of One Earth Collaborative, a program of Open Spirit, and is a former hospital and hospice chaplain. She received her ordination from the Academy for Jewish Religion in Yonkers, NY in 2005 and lives in Wayland, MA.

Earth Etude for Elul 15 - Wasting Food

by Scott Lewis, Ph.D.

When you besiege a city for many days to wage war against it to capture it, you shall not destroy its trees by wielding an ax against them, for you may eat from them, but you shall not cut them down. (Deuteronomy 20:19)

The mitzvah of Bal Taschit, do not waste, helps frame Jewish environmental concerns. While most Jewish environmental activists recognize the importance of Bal Taschit for prohibiting wasting energy and polluting the earth, we might easily overlook the commandment’s important connections to Food Waste.

Our sages understood this link. The Rambam, for example, pointed out that the Biblical passage was not limited to wartime actions:

And not only trees, but whoever breaks vessels, tears clothing, wrecks that which is built up, stops fountains, or wastes food in a destructive manner, transgresses the commandment of Bal Taschit… (Maimonides, Sefer Ha-mitzvot, Positive Commandment #6)

About 30-40% of food that is produced is thrown away, a shocking figure in the face of worldwide suffering due to malnutrition and starvation. The scale of Food Waste also has global environmental implications. Clearly, we are squandering the energy that goes into the production and transportation of food that is later thrown away. But did you know that when Food Waste is buried in landfills, it creates significant quantities of greenhouse gases that exacerbate climate change? The author of the book Drawdown enumerates the top solutions for reducing greenhouse gas emissions, and lists the reduction of Food Waste as its third most important solution, stating, “Ranked with countries, food would be the third largest emitter of greenhouse gases globally, right behind the United States and China.”  (p. 42)   

Much of the Food Waste in the U.S. occurs after the food has been delivered to retailers. Stores often throw away any “ugly fruit,” thinking that a bruise may make it unacceptable to consumers, and they toss food items based on the “freshness” date, even though many foods remain edible long past those dates.

Surprisingly, the amount of food that we consumers throw away may be greater than waste at the retail level. Some of us forget to use what we’ve purchased, bury it in the freezer, or simply purchase too much to use in the first place and it spoils.

I find myself guilty of being part of this problem. So this year, my teshuvah will include reflecting on my food waste sins: the spaghetti sauce I left on the stove, the pickles languishing in the back of the fridge, and the beautiful Russian black bread that hardened into a brick before I could enjoy it. My teshuvah will also include a vow to do a better job of following the Bal Taschit mitzvah, especially as it applies to food.

Dr. Scott Lewis is a science and environmental educator and community instigator living in South Florida. His professional interests include project-based approach to science education, the interaction of culture and cognition, and electronic learning. Scott is involved in several community volunteer projects including exploring the impacts of Sea Level Rise and supporting efforts to grow environmentally responsible, fairly produced, delicious food.

Earth Etude for Elul 14 - Time to Rest

by Tali Anisfeld 

Night summoned day again this morning, and the dawn told me to rest. This surprised me. Isn’t it the setting sun – rather than its rising companion – that usually coaxes us into rest?  But then again, maybe she was hinting at something about rest that comes with motion (the reach and stretch of the day), rather than with stillness (the hushed retreat of night).

It is time to rest; it is time to be awoken in prayer and to laugh with the tickling grasses. To climb and jump and run and let the sweat of your body mix with the rain of the heavens. It is time to eat from the fruit of the bush, the tree, the vine. To kiss softly at night and softly in the morning and tell him you love him or say nothing at all. It is time to listen to music without singing along. To think not about the words or the notes, but the way it feels when an entire universe splashes over you and dives down down down. Chest. Belly. The soles of your feet. It is time to rest.

Look at that old tree. A tree that has stood, trembling but unwavering. Tell it your secrets. I’m tired. I want to dance and sing, but sometimes my legs weaken and my voice gets hoarse. How do you do it, old tree? Are you tired? Do you need to rest your weary legs and heavy head, too? Not even in the soft ache of a cold winter night?

I recently fell in love with the liminality of tidelands. Nowhere in the world does change make more sense. Ebb and flow – come and go, I need you, you need me -- the ocean’s mighty beckoning and gentle retreat. And a whole world of creatures. Clutching desperately yet calmly – not in fear, but in something related – to the earth moving beneath them. Needing water but not only water - and land but not only land.

Maybe when the trees quiver in the cold and rustle in the wind, they are resting. Maybe staying in one place – standing straight and still and stiff – is harder than bending over or craning backwards, stretching to dip and fold and roll and reach. Because to stretch demands breath and breath gives way to movement, and movement gives you strength.

Chant along with the beating rain. Gaze on the mystery of radishes growing in the yard. Shiver with the frog on the bank of the river who has lost his family. Weep for the flowers that wither too soon and rejoice with the morning songbirds. Let them do the same with you. Even let them do it for you, sometimes.

Tshuva is rest in motion.

To grow as a tree grows – to return to the earth as you stretch up up up. Shuv.

And don’t forget there are blueberries growing up in the mountains and the world is created each morning and so are we.

Tali Anisfeld grew up in Newton, MA, and attended JCDS, Boston's Jewish Community Day School and Gann Academy. She is now a rising sophomore at Princeton University where she plans to study Environmental Humanities: a growing field of environmental study that focuses on the artistic, literary, social, and cultural implications and manifestations of changing environmental conditions. She was a 2015 participant in the Bronfman Youth Fellowships in Israel. This summer, she has been working with the Jewish Climate Action Network and has been inspired by many members of the Jewish community who she has been partnering with in this important work.

Earth Etude for Elul 13 - Displaced Trash

by Nicci Meadow

Misplaced anger

causes me to

displace trash

from where I find it

to another place

where it ought

not to be;

Then,

picturing it clearly,

startles me,

helping me to see

what I too

have become,

acting out unintentionally

or carelessly.

Not very Jewish or Buddhist

of me.

It's time for a change.

Nicci Meadow is a mother, artist-photographer, "do-gooder" and seeker.  www.niccimeadow.com.

Earth Etude for Elul 12 - Returning to Diversity

by Rabbi Michael Cohen

The opening chapters of Genesis not only include the account of the creation of the earth but over and over tell us of the importance of diversity. All of creation is called "good," reminding us of the value of the multiplicity of the world that we live in. The text also teaches us, by describing everything that is created before humans as "good," that all things have intrinsic value in and of themselves beyond any value that we may place on them. Once humans are created, "very good" is the adjective applied by the text. An anthropocentric reading of the text would say this is because the world was created for our needs, and once we are in place we can do what we want with the world. A biocentric reading of the text says that "very good" only means that creation as described in the text was complete, and that we humans were the last piece of the biological puzzle.

This reading is supported by the reality that if humans were to disappear from the face of the earth all that had been created before us would go on quite well, actually better, without our presence. However, if a stratum of the diversity of life that had been created before humans were to disappear, we, and all that had been created after it, would no longer exist. In a bit of Heavenly humor on Darwin's survival of the fittest, it is actually the smallest and least physically strong species, like the butterflies, bees, and amoebas, which hold the survival of the world in place. Unlike the other species of the planet, we have the power to commit biocide if we do not protect and preserve those smaller forms of life.

The importance of diversity is emphasized a few chapters later, in the story of Noah, where Noah is told to bring pairs of each species onto the ark so that after the flood they can replenish the earth. After the flood, God places a rainbow in the sky as a reminder to never again destroy the world. It is both a symbol and a metaphor: a single ray of light refracted through water, the basic source of all life, produces a prism of diverse colors.

Immediately following the story of Noah we read about the Tower of Babel. The whole account takes up only nine verses. The conventional reading is that its message is one against diversity; the babel of languages at the end of the story is understood as a punishment. The Israeli philosopher Yeshayahu Leibowitz presents a different reading of the text. For Leibowitz, Babel represents a fascist totalitarian state where the aims of the state are valued more than the individual. In such a society, diverse thought and expression is frowned upon. The text tells us that everyone "had the same language, and the same words."

We read in the genealogies that link the Noah and Babel stories that the "nations were divided by their lands, each one with its own language, according to their clans, by their nations." Leibowitz sees the babel of languages not as a punishment but a corrective return to how things had been and were supposed to be.

That is still our challenge today. Diversity is not a liberal value; it is the way of the world. We know that the environment outside of our human lives is healthier with greater diversity; coral reefs and rain forests being prime examples. It is also true for humanity. We are better off because of the different religions, nations, cultures, and languages that comprise the human family.

Rabbi Michael M. Cohen is a founding faculty member of the Arava Institute for Environmental Studies (ww.arava.org) where for over twenty years it has worked to prepare future leaders from Israel, Palestine, Jordan, and around the world to cooperatively solve the regional and global challenges of our time. He also teaches Conflict Resolution classes at Bennington College and is Rabbi Emeritus of the Israel Congregation in Manchester Center, Vermont.

Earth Etude for Elul 11 - The Shemittah Cycle

by Rabbi Nina Beth Cardin

Do you know where this new year falls in the shemittah (seven-year) count? Or when the next shemittah year will be?

Even those of us who were deeply engaged in celebrating the last shemittah year may have difficulty remembering if it was 2 or 3 years ago. (It was 3 years ago – 5775, 2014-2015.) Yet shemittah, like Shabbat, is more than a slice of time. It is a presence, always with us. It is a practice, an attitude, a social, economic and spiritual ethic that guides our lives.

In the biblical era, this was evident, and the air of the shemittah ethic was an everyday reality. As weekdays counted up to the celebration of Shabbat, so years counted up to the celebration of shemittah. Years One and Two (as they were designated), as well as Years Four and Five, were years when the annual tithe (the gifts of the partnership of God, earth and humans - or the monetary equivalent thereof) had to be taken to the Temple and enjoyed there. Not just consumed or spent but enjoyed: “Use the silver to buy whatever you like: cattle, sheep, wine or other fermented drink, or anything you wish. Then you and your household shall eat there in the presence of the Lord your God and rejoice.”

Years Three and Six were different. In those years, the gift of the tithes was to stay in the farmer’s home community – stored in a publicly accessible spot so that those in need could readily take when and what they needed. The handling of one’s harvest demanded that the farmer – and the indigent - know what year it was.

Even more, given that any debts owed would have to be reconciled before, or else be forgiven in, the seventh year, anyone on either side of an outstanding loan would have had a very good idea what year of the shemittah cycle they were in.

What a deep awareness of shared time these traditions must have conjured up. Everyone was immersed in the collective passage of years, knowing what is expected of them this year and next, all leading to the grand pause, the reset, leveling and renewal of the shemittah year itself.

I wanted to feel this presence; to be immersed in this cyclical flow of time of my people, to know what time it was, not just in hours or days, but years. So for this past shemittah year, I created a shemittah Rosh Hashanah seder plate

It is designed to be placed on the table the first night of the year, every year, as a visual mnemonic of this particular year. it is a circular platter with six small bowls around one central receptacle - representing the fullness of the shemittah cycle. Each year, the bowls are to be filled with foods symbolic of that year, with a different bowl (corresponding to the year of the cycle) being the lead each year. Ideally, the food in the bowls – and the telling that accompanies them - will heighten our awareness of the values and the tasks we are called to do, with an emphasis on our part in renewing all of God’s creation.

The sample shown here is a pale prototype of what such a shemittah seder plate could be. I hope that this idea excites potters, and other artists, so that they might craft their own versions to inspire us all.

Rabbi Nina Beth Cardin is working to discover the many legal, ecological and economic lessons embedded in the concept of Shemittah and adapting them to the needs of today.

Earth Etude for Elul 10 - I Can Do Something

by Joan Rachlin

I recently retired and have since been immersed in climate change related activities. I once heard it said that most working folk are "denatured," so one of my post-retirement goals has been to “renature.” With this kavannah in heart and mind, I have been trying to more actively appreciate the boundless gifts nature offers us daily.

Most specifically, I’ve begun to notice, appreciate, and more consistently support those who produce the food that sustains my family and me. Through the physical labor of farmers we are given the gift of nourishment, which fuels us as we engage in our chosen pursuits and passions. And through the stewardship of farmers the earth receives the gift of care, which enables it to remain healthy and fertile. The farmers I’ve met love their land, respect their plants and animals, and recognize their synergistic relationship with the sun, rain, winds, and seasons. They rely on that relationship for their livelihood, but it is now threatened by climate change.

As Helen Keller said, "I cannot do everything, but still I can do something." I joined a CSA and went to farmers markets each week. I bought my eggs, honey, and beeswax candles from a farm where the chickens rest peacefully under bushes as though posing for a still life. I buy chicken from a farm family who feed their animals by hand, fretting over any who are not doing well. They “dress” those chickens by holding them gently and killing them softly and swiftly. This farmer accompanies his cows to the nearby slaughterhouse the night before they die in order to feed them their last supper; he then sleeps with them in the barn to ensure that they are calm despite the new surroundings.

The food I purchase from farmers feels holy and wasting it would thus be tantamount to disrespecting them. I therefore compost kitchen scraps, eggshells, coffee grinds, and ash from our grill, being careful not to squash the bugs and worms feasting on my garbage for they, too, are part of the food-waste-to-rich-soil continuum. Everything is connected.

I saw my first red leaf last week with its bittersweet message: Summer was turning toward fall and it was thus time for me to enter this season of self-reflection. I have missed the mark by taking farmers and our earth for granted, but teshuvah affords me the perennial gift of intentionality and change. I hope to put my time, money, and mouth where my words are when it comes to honoring and supporting local farmers, sustainable food producers, vendors, and nonprofits working for a just food system.

Among other things, I’ll be thinking about how I can contribute to inner city agriculture. The Urban Farming Institute, for example, runs training programs, provides land access, engages in public education, and produces food for those who are “food insecure.” A thriving urban food system combines the elements of tikkun olam (healing the world) and tikkun tevel (healing the earth) and I hope to find a way in which I might participate in that sacred work. If we're not careful and caring, successive generations might not have access to nourishing produce during Elul or at all. That prospect is overwhelmingly sad and frightening and although I cannot do everything to prevent it, I can do something.

Joan Rachlin is the executive director emerita of Public Responsibility in Medicine and Research (PRIM&R), an international bioethics organization dedicated to educating, informing and providing a forum for those involved in the ethical, legal and policy dimensions of biomedical, behavioral and social science research. In addition to her work with PRIM&R, she has practiced law and has taught women and the law, health law, and research ethics at several Boston-area colleges. An active member of Temple Israel of Boston, Ms. Rachlin serves on the Leadership Council and chairs the Green Team. She received a Distinguished Service Award from the Association of American Medical Colleges in 2013 and the Harvey M. Meyerhoff Award for Leadership in Bioethics from the Berman Institute for Bioethics at Johns Hopkins University in 2014. She holds a J.D. from the Suffolk University School of Law, and a M.P.H. from the Harvard School of Public Health. She found The Sacred Table helpful in her journey to a personal food ethic.

Earth Etude for Elul 9 - Natural Awe and Artistic Representations

by Rabbi Steve Altarescu

When we stood at Mt. Sinai the mountain was described as ablaze with fire and that the people heard the sound of God from out of the fire but did not see any form or shape -  

We learn that since we experienced God without a form or shape it would be wrong for us to make a likeness, a resemblance of anything in nature. We does Moses repeat this prohibition four times?!  

For the Torah there is power to an image, whether it be a sculpture, a painting or any other art form that stands in contrast to feeling the power of God. 

For me, there is a difference in the experience of being in the natural world versus seeing representations of what is in nature. Watching a hummingbird on our deck is very different then the hummingbird engraved on my coffee mug!!! The hummingbird fluttering around has the power to open ourselves up to an experience of great wonder and awe at the vast beauty, intricacy and inter-connectiveness  of the natural world.  Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote:

Our goal should be to live life in radical amazement....get up in the morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted. Everything is phenomenal; everything is incredible; never treat life casually. To be spiritual is to be amazed.

There is an awesome beauty to creation, alive and always changing - when we walk outside and quiet the chatter of our minds and listen to the birds, the cicadas, see a sunset, we can be blessed with moments of radical amazement 

The Torah wants us to see this world as holy, sacred, and mysterious. To look at the world and see the Divine Presence not in any particular form or shape but within the life energy of all forms and shapes. The Talmud wrestles with the reality that we humans will make and enjoy art. I remember visiting synagogues built in Northern Israel 2000 years ago and seeing beautiful mosaic tile floors with all the signs of the zodiac-- 

The rabbis of the Talmud wrestle with the permissibility of artistic representations.   One of the ways the Talmud resolves this question is to only prohibit making an image of anything that represents God or any of the items that were parts of the rituals of the of the tabernacle in the desert or the Temple in Jerusalem.  The reason given is that the Tabernacle and the Temple were the places for sanctioned artistic creation that God commanded.  

Maimonides said that the purpose of the prohibition against copying the ritual art that God sanctioned is to promote reverence for the sacredness of the Temple which would be lost if reproductions, copies of copies of Temple items are created. 

Maimonides took the concept of reverence and awe for the objects of the Temple and related it to how one behaves in the Temple including a particular sacred choreography performed by all the masses of people who attended a Temple service. This choreography had to circles of people who walked in circles that intersected each other. One of the groups was those who were fortunate in life and the script they follow was to ask those in the other circle, the unfortunate ones about their troubles and offer them words of comfort and strength. Like the cherubim in the Tabernacle the space were they faced each other was where the Shekinah, the Divine Presence would be revealed. 

Maimonides wants us to understand that awe and wonder of the natural world will hopefully lead us to reverence in its mostly sacred form. This is when we are facing another human being and in a moment of care and compassion invoke the Divine Presence. 

I suggest we begin the process of teshuva where we look inside of ourselves by spending time in the quiet and open spaces of the natural world. If we start the process of teshuva with awe and wonder we might see and grow the divine spark within and see this light in all we encounter. 

Rabbi Steve Altarescu currently serves as co-rabbi with his wife, Rabbi Laurie Levy, at the Reform Temple of Putnam Valley.  He was ordained in May 2014 at the Academy of Jewish Religion and holds a Bachelors degree in Religious Studies and Literature and a Masters degree in Counseling.  Rabbi Altarescu has completed his Chaplain Pastoral Education and served as a chaplain resident at Beth Israel Hospital in NY, NY and at Westchester Medical Center in Valhalla, NY.  

Earth Etude for Elul 8 - Where Are We Now?

by Rabbi Dorit Edut

These narrow, dark  cobblestone streets still echo with the click-click  of  many shoes, sandals, boots…. of the modern tourists, flamenco dancers and local yuppies who now populate  these gentrifying neighborhoods  where  once there stood a Jewish ghetto – Toledo, Cordoba, Seville, Granada… Small tiles with the words” Chai” in Hebrew or the Menorah symbol can be found scattered on the sidewalks. A Magen David is discovered above a balcony window, etched in the stone wall. The synagogues are now museums or churches or convents. Even at the advertised Sefardic restaurants there are no Jewish servers or managers. A statute of Maimonides sits alone in a small front courtyard, looking out abstractedly at the ongoings of generations after him, while a huge purple bougainvillea spreads behind him. The cathedrals of the Catholic monarchs, built purposely in the middle of these formerly Jewish neighborhoods like some kind of weeds -  are also museums today.

There are silent sentries who remember – the ancient olive trees – the granite, dolomite and sandstone rocks which form mountain chains – and the endless blue waves of the Mediterranean whooshing on the eastern shores of Spain upon which our ancestors first sailed to this land- and later fled in the Edict of Expulsion.  There were glorious “golden” years until the Moors and Muslim rule, when names like  Hasdai ibn Shaprut, Samuel ibn Nagdela, Solomon ibn Gabirol became household names for their high positions or their famous writings, when wealthy Jews donned silks and lace, made golden and silver candlesticks and other ritual objects, when Arabic, Hebrew, and Ladino were spoken on the streets and in the courtyards …..

Silence now as the wind rustles through the cypress trees and the husky smell of oleander bushes catches one’s attention. Suddenly there are strange sounds coming from the thick  top branches of a row of  acacia trees and several wild parrots sweep down and back around – non-native  pets brought here from Australia, now released, finding hiding places and adjusting to this new environment . Will they learn to sing the songs of Andalusia and Iberia? Will they be driven out by larger, more powerful native birds – the buzzard, the kestrel, or the grey heron, or the great white egret? Will anyone notice and put parrot feathers in a natural history museum one day?

But all this is but part of the great mystery of life. We are here today, the descendants of those Spanish poets, philosophers, merchants, craftspeople and viziers. And even if our days seem to be troubled now, we can find hope  as they did in the words of their inspired poetry and their belief in God’s infinite power:

From Thee to Thee I fly to win 

A place of refuge, and within 

Thy shadow from Thy anger hide, 

Until Thy wrath be turned aside. 

                      --from The Royal Crown by Salomon ibn Gabirol

For over 40 years, Rabbi Dorit Edut has been a Jewish educator in Metro Detroit. She was ordained in 2006 at the Academy for Jewish Religion, a pluralistic Jewish seminary, in Riverdale, NY. She served congregations for eight years and then brought together a diverse group of clergy and civic leaders in Detroit to create the Detroit Interfaith Outreach Network (DION), where religious and faith groups share their projects and gain support from this network. DION has also created a literacy tutoring service for two elementary schools in Detroit, holds interfaith services with potlucks and social/educational programs every few months to spiritually uplift Detroit, is working with an urban gardening group, and has created programs for career exploration, conflict resolution, and arts and cultural awareness for youth and families in Detroit. Expanding an annual program of Muslim-Jewish Twinning, in April 2015 Rabbi Dorit helped to create the Greater Detroit Muslim-Jewish Solidarity Council to encourage social action and cultural exchanges. Rabbi Dorit strongly believes in the power of interfaith work to bring peace and enlightenment into our modern world.