Author: Susan Levine

Aytzim (https://aytzim.org) is a Jewish-environmental nonprofit active in the United States and Israel.  Aytzim has five projects: •Green Zionist Alliance: The Grassroots Campaign for a Sustainable Israel~The Green Zionist Alliance works on issues related to the environment of Israel and the Middle East.  •Jewcology: Home of the Jewish Environmental Movement~Jewcology.org is an online resource for information on Jewish environmentalism. https://jewcology.org/ •Shomrei Breishit: Rabbis and Cantors for the Earth~An environmental-advocacy group that Aytzim runs in partnership with GreenFaith. •EcoJews of the Bay~EcoJews holds Jewish-environmental events in the San Francisco Bay Area.  •Jews of the Earth~Jews of the Earth organizes Jews locally and nationally for environmental action. Tax-deductible donations may be made via PayPal at: https://tinyurl.com/donate2aytzim

A Flower’s Call by Rabbi Malkah Binah Klein Hello! Hello there! Yes, you! I’m calling to you! Slow down See me Let me reveal my face to you Let me delight you and delight in you Join me in the New World, the world beyond worlds that opens through our face to face encounter Rabbi Malka Binah Klein, founder of Merkava, a new organization which supports the transformation and healing through creative ritual and spiritual practice. Her website is thrivingspirit.org.

The Path of Blessings by Rabbi Josh Breindel ~In our journey through the month of Elul, the ancient Rabbis call to us across the years. They encourage us to engage in teshuvah – to turn from destructive behaviors and mend our ways. This practice has a special urgency today, following one of the hottest summers on record. We know that humanity has great power over our environment and the climate. The Rabbis shared this same perspective. While this midrash (Rabbinic story) was written 1,500 years ago, it’s just as relevant in our own day.  When the Holy One created Adam, God took him before all the trees of the Garden of Eden, saying to him, “See how good and how fine are my works! Everything that I have made, I created for you. Reflect upon this and do not spoil or lay waste to my world. If you spoil it, there will be none to repair it after you.” (Kohelet Rabbah 7:13) The midrash concludes without a reaction from Adam. This invites us to ask how Adam might have replied to God’s words. And, by extension, we’re challenged to form our own response to this powerful truth. Dare we imagine that Adam promised to care for the earth, committing himself and his descendants to tend to it with willing hands, open ears and loving heart? No matter Adam’s response, we cannot afford to imagine any other answer to God’s warning for ourselves. We do not have the luxury of ignoring this charge with the assumption that the next generation will clean up after us. This month of Elul is a critical moment for us to consider how the call to teshuvah challenges us to engage meaningfully in the face of climate change. While the reality of human agency in this issue is beyond scientific question, we are blessed by having practical and constructive ways to respond.  The Rabbis tell us that we must not spoil the earth. Our scientists tell us that our actions are leading to ruin. The holy path of teshuvah, of honestly assessing the impacts of our actions, is the only path that will lead us to blessing. We must recommit ourselves to being good stewards of the earth, lest there be none to repair our world after us. As the High Holidays draw close, let’s share this story of God and Adam far and wide. Let’s be guided by its wisdom to craft a world in which we – and future generations – will long endure, embracing the wonders of Creation with awe and in joy! Rabbi Josh Breindel has served at Congregational Beth El (Sudbury) since 2018. Previously, he served nine years as rabbi of Temple Anshe Amunim (TAA) in Pittsfield, Mass. He earned a B.A. in philosophy with a minor in classics and a concentration in legal studies from Brandeis University. He was ordained at Hebrew College, where he also received master’s degrees in Jewish studies and Jewish education. He and his family love to walk the cool green hills of Boston’s MetroWest.

A Narrow Bridge by Chaplain Dr. Rabbi Leslie Schotz Rabbi Nachman of Breslow says the world is a very narrow bridge. The main thing is not to be afraid. We are created from the earth and to the earth we will return. The heavens are water above. The lakes and oceans hold the mystery and life force below. We walk a path of hopefulness even as we reflect about the future of all life on earth. Our days are numbered. The Psalms remind us to treasure each day and open our hearts to its wisdom. The path we take can lead us to transformation. Like the swan appearing so graceful, yet vigorously paddling underneath. We too struggle within to make teshuvah, an inner turning. We tefillah we pray. And tzedekah justly empowers others to be nurtured and supported by community resources. As we remember each of us is created in G!d’s image: B’tzelem Elokim. Chaplain Rabbi Dr Leslie Schotz is a Board Certified Chaplain who works as a hospice chaplain on Long Island, New York. Rabbi Schotz is the author of two books. One is entitled “Spiritual Direction for Jewish Children.” The other is “Congregational Guide for Jewish Meditation.“

Refuge from Numbness by Anonymous ~In Genesis, G-d calls out to the Human, Ayeka, Where are you? However, where do we find Earth’s call for Humanity? How do we reconnect with our first potential soulmate, ADAM to ADAMAH? Amidst the stress, heartbreak, and numbness of daily life, how do we connect our little body to the body which is our Home? One of my spiritual practices in this daily chaos has been a dance practice called 5 Rhythms, except I don’t go there to dance. I go there because amidst the music and the evening darkness, is one of the few places where I can simply let my body “tell the truth” and move how it wants to move. Sometimes, I do dance upright. More often than not, I sit or lay down, and let my body move itself. I turn towards the somatic intensity that is always rushing through me like electricity, with nowhere to go. On the eve before the 17th of Tammuz, I arrived late, exhausted, numb and overwhelmed. I tried to dance, making my way across the giant open room, trying to find the beat of the music inside my heartbeat. On the other side of the world from everything and everyone I know and love, I collapsed on the floor, finding comfort in the clear boundary that is its surface. I let the waves of my body’s energy take me, my body convulsing as usual, like a stray wave which has forgotten its part of the ocean. And then something inside of me did remember and I cried out to Mama Earth, “Please hold me, I do not know where I am going and I can walk no longer.” I begged something inside me, bigger than me, “Please wake up!” My body convulsed in even bigger waves, then my legs began to spread out, the soles of my feet reaching out with my toes curled inside. And I felt my (cis-male) body, as if in waves of orgasm giving birth. Or, attempting to give birth. I let out a deep guttural moan, drowned out by the music. And I remembered myself as a tiny wrinkle of an ADAM/Earthling, held inside the AH of ADAMAH/Earth. I cried and I screamed, some more. And the waves gushed forth from the deep. You might say, G-dess opened up the flood waters. Dozens of people danced around me in the darkness, each dancing their own dance. Then I rose up, perhaps as if lifting this little newborn me from the waters and holding him high. Or perhaps, as if lifting water and pouring it over myself. This Moshe, pulling another little Moshe from the waters, again, over and over again. I nuzzled him back into, forward into, life. I poured water over myself, over us, over, and over again. Dozens of people danced around me in the darkness, each dancing their own dance. I was surrounded by people but they were dancing their own stories in that evening’s darkness. The only real witnesses were, me, Mama Earth, and my Self. And now you.

Jewish Foraging: What we give, what we take, praising our past, ensuring our future by Rabbi Michael Birnholz ~In the 1990s I was a counselor at URJ Camp Coleman. Now in a later part of my life, ordained as a Rabbi, with a family of my own, I have been honored to serve as faculty there. Camp has always been a place of powerful experience for me. This year, when I was asked to offer an elective, I realized I could incorporate a favorite activity, wild fruit foraging, into camp as an illustration of a valuable spiritual dynamic. While I certainly get a chance to forage fruits from my local environment, picking berries from bushes scattered around Camp, located in northern Georgia, is always fun. As part of this activity, even as we looked to find these natural treats, I offered to teach a bit about general and Jewish rules for foraging. One of the crucial imperatives of foraging is to be aware of what you leave in the environment. Even as one takes from the natural world, the goal is to also preserve and protect that place for the future. While we ate blueberries at Camp Coleman, we also planted a Paw Paw Tree. With one hand we ate, were satisfied and praised the Holy One of Blessing. With the other, we gave energy to create an opportunity for future generations to get special sweetness and sustenance.  Yet, this was not just an exercise about natural sustainability. There is also the metaphorical foraging as campers, staff, faculty are constantly “taking” experiences from Camp and leaving impressions behind. We are always enjoying the “fruits” of our ancestors (Zechut Avot), planting seeds of knowledge and experience, as well as maintaining traditions, culture, and wisdom for those who follow. So much of Judaism, of our sense of Lador Vador/Generation to Generation, follows the rules of foraging, what we take and what we leave. For example, at Camp Coleman, while we ate and planted, we talked about our favorite experiences and things we learned at Camp and we looked for examples of what past generations left for us, discussing what we leave behind for those who follow. After my experiences at Camp and now, as this year comes to an end and a new one arrives, I find myself very aware that we are always taking and giving, foraging in a sense. As I challenged those campers and myself this summer, I have to wonder, can we do forage, physically and metaphorically, and work to ensure that we infuse these actions with Kavanah/intention? Do we feel the weight/Kavod and show appreciation for what we take, and, in turn, invest energy and thought and care into what we leave behind…? Let us in this new year, even just once in a while, show care and appreciation for what we are taking and give energy and attention to what we are leaving behind. Rabbi Michael Birnholz arrived at Temple Beth Shalom in Vero Beach in 2002 following his ordination from Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion. Over the 20 years that Rabbi Birnholz has been in Indian River County, he and his family have had a chance to grow in body, mind and spirit right along with Temple Beth Shalom. Rabbi Birnholz enthusiastically shares his ruach and koach -spirit and strength – with the many diverse generations and facets of the Jewish community. From the biblical garden to Tot Shabbat, from Men’s Club Breakfast to adult learning while making challah, he is proud to be part of vibrant and meaningful life of his congregation. Rabbi Birnholz has also enjoyed his wide variety of community opportunities to teach and preach Jewish values and wisdom. His hope is to build Temple Beth Shalom into a House of wholeness, harmony and peace and see these efforts spread caring, compassion and justice to the whole Treasure Coast and beyond.

Onyinyechi (“Gift of God”) by Asher Hillel Burstein ~Blood-red light on a golden chainHangs low and onto me, overflowsLike a waterfall, I drown in its millionLambent drops formed at the other endOf the Earth, I am but a speckle butThe fiery stone holds the world entire inHer field where God, though too immenseFor the heavens may abide with comfortIn her breast where my eyes are led asIron to a magnet, moths to a candleThat consumes me and drains the lifeFrom my veins, a myriad of spritesTake flight and leave me wilted.I die in her flames. Asher Hillel Burstein is a teacher, poet, singer-songwriter, and cantor. Besides his education in various yeshivot, a bachelor’s degree in Hebrew, an MFA in Fiction Writing, and a master’s in Jewish Studies, he is working on a third master’s degree in Secondary English Education while finishing up his doctorate in Creative Writing.

You Shall Teach Them to Your Children by Rebecca Heisler ~ For many, Tisha b’Av is an arrow pointing towards the start of the cycle of teshuvah, that leads us through Elul and into Tishrei. The themes, questions, and prayers of this holiday can lead us to find meaning and connection in the season of returning. This year on  Tisha b’Av, as I sat around a fire, I found myself praying for the children. It began with “I’m sorry.” And it continued, “I’m sorry for the world you are inheriting, and even more for the earth you are inheriting.” I’m sorry you have to ask “is there lead in this soil?“ when a perfect heirloom tomato sits in front of them. I’m sorry that the air is toxic on these hot afternoons, making your eyes burn in your lungs ache. I’m sorry for all the days you can’t swim this summer, because the waters are filled with the overflow of sewers. The next day, in the haze of a difficult fast, I walked through the forest, asking questions of the trees. On the path before me, a bird burst out of the leaves. I scared them, and they scared me. When I approached, I saw that they were unwell, maybe hurt or maybe sick. I sat with that bird as their chest heaved up and down, the look of pleading and panic in their eyes. I thought to myself, I can’t stop their suffering. I can only sit here with them and accompany them.  I can breathe with them and sing to them. So then we sat. I started to sing, they continued to breathe, we both closed our eyes. Soon after, I returned from my walk in the forest with a clear call to witness suffering. To come close to suffering. To sit with suffering. If I walk around with my head in the clouds, shouting to the heavens about climate chaos, displacement of humans and our kin, the end of species, the degradation of ecosystems, the theft of land and the pollution of waterways, I miss out on my chance to love. Love both as a feeling and an action. Climate action for me most often takes the shape of teaching children to love the world, to deepen their relationship with the earth they will inevitably have to fight for. I spent much of this summer teaching children to notice. To step outside of the story of the world, and into an experience of it— less mind, more body, placing their senses and questions at the center of their awareness. And that’s the call that I carry forth: to remember to smell, touch,  taste, hear,  and see the world around us, to grieve with it as it changes and to remember joy and pleasure I have a place in our relationship. To not lose connection, even as so much is lost.  The call is to teach our children to befriend the plants and animals, to notice when they’re hurting and to not look away from suffering, to witness life and death with compassion, to witness change and loss with presence, and to look to the east, and remember that even amongst all this, the sun will rise again tomorrow. Rebecca Heisler is a student at The Rabbinical School of Hebrew College in Newton, MA and the Director of Y’ladim BaTeva at Ma’yan Tikvah. She has worked at Wilderness Torah as a B’naiture Mentor and Youth Programs Manager, a Youth Mentor, Backpacking Trip Leader & JOFEE Fellow. She has taught Hebrew school, worked at Urban Adama in Berkeley, CA, and been a community organizer for Jews on Ohlone Land in Berkeley. She is a place-based Jewish educator and brings gentleness, compassion, liberatory frameworks, creative curriculum, and a laugh that fills a room. Becca is steadfast and wholehearted in her commitment to care, joy, curiosity, storytelling, and song.

Rosh HaShanah in the Northern Latitudes by Louise Quigley (Written in a year when Rosh Hashanah, the Autumn equinox, and the first killing frost in the garden all came together)Now frost-blighted fuchsias start to rot,crumpled tomatoes sag against their poles,and sap’s ebb spreads across the leaves like gold;dark outlasts day again, and it gets cold.And this is the world’s birthday, this the daywe call the head and start of another year.For now all nature turns to its decay:dun yard trash molders into fertile loam;Earth turns towards winter’s still, which turns towards spring;We turn again on our twisting journey home.Louise Quigley is a gardener, writer, family person and activist.

Turbulence Within and Without by Rabbi David Seidenberg Rabbi Nachman of Breslow taught: The divine name “YOU” (in Hebrew “Atah“) is propitious over the sea to calm the waves. This is the inner meaning of the verse “YOU (Atah) rule over the magnificence/swelling (gay-ut) of the sea; in lifting its waves, YOU (Atah) will make them still.” (Likutei Moharan 1:256 on Psalm 89:10) Waves of feeling can stir us up and arouse our passion, and they can arouse confusion. Amid turbulence can we see magnificence? Is there splendor to match the chaos and confusion of these times, amid political strife, division, and turbulent torrents from a disrupted climate? How can we make ourselves more present, more centered, and able to take on the challenges brought on by wild hurricanes and mega-fires, by glaciers melting and seas rising, by the human destruction of the Earth’s ecosystems? In the midst of turbulence, one can take a moment to look toward the divine “You” and say “You are” — that is, one can both recognize the divine and also address it. In the moment one says “You are”, one also says “I am”. There is a center-point within that addresses the divine. Knowing that point is the beginning of moving calmly forward. During this time leading up to Rosh Hashanah, however, the direction in which we seek to move forward is the direction of t’shuvah, which means returning. There is a tension there — how does turning back help us move forward? The obvious answer is that if we are moving in the wrong direction we must turn backwards to move in the right direction. But the less obvious answer is that returning means calming the waves and returning to stillness.  May we harness all the emotions we feel about the planet so that we can bring all our energy to bear as we enter upon the renewal of Creation in the New Year. David is the creator of neohasid.org and the author of Kabbalah and Ecology: God’s Image in the More-Than-Human World. He has ordination from JTS and Reb Zalman, and is an avid dancer and composer.

Healing the Soil, Healing the Soul by Rabbi Robin Damsky ~ I live a life of privilege. From being a single mother, I have a student loan debt for myself and my daughter that would take 20 debt cancellations to settle. I am approaching Medicare age and my hair thins by the hour. But I am healthier than most. I dance. I understand and prepare healthy food. I teach people about the earth. As a Jew I am in the minority, but I have a voice, and a platform through which to share and amplify that voice. I am newly married to the love of my life. And I live atop a mountain that has views from here to forever. Just over 2.25 acres, our plan is to turn this property into a food forest with a meditation labyrinth of native pollinators. So much richness.  And with all this privilege, we have a worry about water. Our property has a well that is slow producing. We now await a third opinion, as in recent months we’ve been told the well is healthy; and conversely, told not to grow food here because the well won’t produce enough water. A microcosm of water concerns we see all over the globe.  Me not growing food is not an option. Not just because it’s a way to care for the earth. Not just because it’s a way to provide healthy food for family, neighbors, community. Not just because it’s a way to facilitate others in enhancing their relationship with the land. But because this is my teshuvah. It is my way to express my gratitude to the Creator for my life and my sustenance, and it is a way – albeit very small – to mitigate climate change even a tad. Composting, building soil, using permaculture and other regenerative practices to grow ecosystems – this is my return to Source, return to my soil soul.  How do you experience your soil soul? Are you fueled to grow things? Are you impelled to political work on climate change? Are you teaching people about the ocean, the air? Going hybrid or electric, biking or using public transportation? How do you feed the soil-being that you are – the adam from adamah: the human built from earth? Nourishing your soil self is the teshuvah that the future of the Earth’s ability to sustain us is dependent upon.  I recommend slowing down. When I do, I breathe better. Try it. When we’re breathing, our interconnectedness with All That Is pervades our cells, our knowingness. We remember. We remember that we are one with the soil. In that remembering, the right teshuvah for our essence manifests itself. And we blossom.  We’ll grow food on this mountain. We’re looking into cisterns. Swales. Ponds. Any way we can catch water, store water, send water back into the soil to nourish life. We’ll keep feeding the earth and feeding each other. Returning to the earth over and again for our guidance. Remembering that every breath is a privilege.  Rabbi Robin Damsky, identified by Kenissa (kenissa.org), as an innovator redefining Jewish life, leads Limitless Judaism, a project of learning, movement, meditation, melody, art, tilling and tending the earth, that draws the lines of connection between our physical bodies, our spiritual expression and Gaia, our earth-cosmos. She serves as Rabbi-In-Residence at Judea Reform Congregation; and leads meditations regularly for the Institute of Jewish Spirituality. Robin lives in Efland, NC. Find her on Instagram or Facebook: @limitlessjudaism, or https://hy.page/limitlessjudaism.

A New Way to Do Teshuvah by Maxine Lyons ~Doing teshuvah means to me being responsible for turning toward my better or higher self to improve personal relationships and as well as performing my share for all beings in this coming year. I feel more responsible to contribute to and join others in actions that promote more beneficial positive actions for climate change. In that spirit of responsibility and commitment, I am also honoring the memory of Rachel Carson and her impactful and revolutionary book, Silent Spring. She advocated that each generation had to reevaluate its relationship to the natural world as no one had done decades previously. Her important legacy provided insight and scientific knowledge about the future of life and its sustainability, as well as sustaining our human spirits. Her research, writings and actions proved how many chemicals were corrupting the earth and she focused on our self-preservation and for the preservation of the ecosystems of the earth. In that spirit, she wrote that, “It seems reasonable to believe that the more clearly we can focus our attention on the wonders and realities of the universe about us, the less taste we shall have for the destruction of our race. Wonder and humility are wholesome emotions, and they do not exist side by side with a lust for destruction.” May we each do our part of our teshuvah to attend to our personal and global concerns. Maxine Lyons is more energetically responding to local and personal commitments in retirement, as an advocate and activist in several social justice areas. As a retired professional gerontologist, a mother and grandmother she believes it is her responsibility to contribute in her ways to improve life and possibilities for others in a renewed way, informed by Jewish values and kavanot.

Selichot [forgiveness] by De Fischler Herman ~What is the color of forgiveness? Is it pink, delicate as the bloom of a Peace rose? Is it green, refreshing like the mist from the sparkling sea? Is it red, warm as the rock in the desert sand? Is it yellow, bright as the sunflower in summer’s field? Is it blue, cool as the water under the azure sky? Is it brown, rich like the soil beneath our weary feet? Is it black, dark like the night surrounding each of us? It must be white, reflecting God’s light Crafting peace Healing wounds Spreading love Holding all. De Fischler Herman received smicha from the ALEPH Ordination Program and served as Hospice Chaplain. Now in “retirement,” she writes, makes art, grows vegetables, rides her bike, and does climate activism in her Takoma Park, Maryland community. De also serves on the Jewish Earth Alliance Steering Committee and is a volunteer docent at the American Visionary Art Museum in Baltimore.

On Green Burials by Rabbi Nina Beth Cardin ~For seventy years this earth has cared for me. It has sustained my body with gifts from its own; given me firm places to take a stand and soft places to lay my head; it has thrilled me and comforted me, delighted me and frightened me. It has cradled my children and helped them grow. And it has done all this asking only one thing in return: “Tend well to me so that I may tend well to others after you.”  For the last fifteen years I have tried to live up to this request. I have worked in the environmental arena to strengthen places, people and laws that protect the earth. I have done what I could to plant fruit trees, champion environmental rights, promote environmental justice, cheer community gardens and celebrate urban forest patches. And I compost.  But I know I have also fallen short. I came late to the game; my house consumes more energy than it should; my diet can be more earth-friendly than it is. The balance sheet between me and earth does not even out. I will try fix that in the years left to me. And when my time is done, I hope to offer a final gesture of teshuvah, an expression of return and gratitude –- and be placed in the earth plain and simple.  I am one of several folks here in Baltimore working to create a natural, green cemetery for the Jewish community where our bodies can be returned to the earth without liners, concrete vaults or other obstacle delaying what will eventually be reclaimed anyway.  It seems the least we can do for all the good the earth has done for us, a humble way to offer thanks. And a way to offer a gesture of hope – and teshuvah – to future generations, that their journey on earth be healthier, wiser and more balanced than ours. Rabbi Nina Beth Cardin is an environmental activist whose latest initiative is working to create a green cemetery for the Jewish community of Baltimore.

Learning Turning from the World of Plants by Nina Judith Katz ~I like to spend time playing with plants, both in the woods and in the garden. There is something profoundly grounding about connecting deeply with the earth, whether through my feet feeling the tree roots as I walk a forest trail or my hands burrowing in as I wildcraft, weed, plant, and harvest. This grounding helps me feel my place in the world: among the plants, part of their world, their roots merging with mine. Through them, I feel my own place in the world. As I both weed and harvest weeds, I think a lot about them and the labels we cast on them. So much that we are used to rejecting is actually useful, from the highly nutritious amaranth and purslane that can feed us from late spring into autumn to the goldenrod that can treat allergies, colds, and UTIs to the Japanese knotweed that can nourish us and treat Lyme. The weeds remind me not to reject anyone too hastily; we are all both helpful and harmful. The plants also remind me, again and again, to speak out against xenophobia—whether towards humans or plants—and other forms of bigotry. Their benefits remind me that we need to help feed, nurture, and heal each other. Their malalignment reminds me that we need to disrupt this impulse to malign. Many of the weeds also take in both water and nutrients from deeper in the earth than the more celebrated cultivars. The weeds that do this share some of the water and nutrients with other plants, as they do their healing compounds. We, too, must get better at sharing resources. Purslane, a delicious plant uncommonly rich in Omega 3s and good at taking up water and nutrients from deeper than its neighbors and sharing them As we engage in tshuva, the annual process of turning ourselves over and returning to our deepest selves, turning over the soil and returning to our green world can help us find our way. Nina is a writer, editor, Ma’yan Tikvah teacher, herbalist, and gardener.

Embracing Change or the Muck at the Bottom of the Pond by Rabbi Judy Kummer ~Change doesn’t come easy for most of us.  Many know the joke about the Buddhist monk who says to a hot dog vendor: “Make me one with everything.”  Chuckling, the vendor assembles the hot dog, gives it to the monk and says “that will be $4, please.” The monk hands over a $20 bill, which the vendor pockets. After a moment, the monk asks for his change, at which point the vendor taps his chest and responds, “Change? Ah, change must come from within.” I grew up in a family not known for a love of change. My late grandfather was in fact so set in his ways that for some 50 years, he used a particular hair oil — in the days when men wore hair oil— and it turned out he hated this brand. So why continue using it?  “I’ve used it all these years,” he said — “why should I change now?” Why change, indeed?  Well, there are things we might do better, or might do at all, if only we were to try to change… Our Jewish tradition actually encourages us to change!  When we wish each other a shannah tovah, a happy New Year, we can remember that the word shannah comes from the verb l’shanot, to change – so in fact we are wishing each other “a good change.” ************************ I’m a distance swimmer.  Lately, I have faced a somewhat distressing situation: in the middle of blissful summertime lake swims — with blue skies overhead, green trees all around and sunshine spangling the silky water through which I glide, my body exulting with good health and my soul feeling full to overflowing— it’s been distressing that I have run aground, not once this summer but several times.  It seems this year that my kick is off; one stroke has me swimming in less than straight lines. As I come ashore unwittingly, my hand will suddenly graze an underwater rock, my foot will touch the muck at the bottom of the pond.  Limbs that had expected to feel nothing but the steady glide through water are now coming into contact with objects —and I will admit that I find the muck especially yucky.  It feels slimy and rotten; while it’s been lying there placidly, it makes me wonder about any small creatures whose homes I had just disturbed who, creepily, might be swimming up to join me.  But this is my new reality: until I get my stroke straightened out, I may be swimming ashore, whether I’ve aimed there or not. It seems like encountering this newness, this muck at the bottom of the pond, may be an experience I will need to learn to accept.  And then, if I can accept this, who knows what other newness I might be open to, might even embrace? As we approach the High Holidays, we are asked to do a cheshbon hanefesh, a spiritual stock-taking, identifying patterns of behavior that might not have served us well in the past and experimenting with changing them. Perhaps we don’t have to go wading gleefully into the muck we might find, but putting a toe or even a foot down onto unfamiliar terrain can lead to a realization that it’s not so bad, that there’s been no harm, that newness could even possibly lead to good things – and it might result in our broaching some things we might have shied away from trying until that point.  Our Jewish tradition holds hope that a new future might unfold for us, sparkling in the sunlight, if only we will be willing to try to change. Shannah tovah, a good change! Rabbi Judy Kummer is a board-certified chaplain in private practice, offering skilled spiritual care visits, eldercare programing and warm lifecycle events. She has served as Executive Director of the Jewish Chaplaincy Council of MA and other nonprofits, and has served congregations in DC, NY and NJ. She is happiest outdoors hiking in the woods, swimming in a lake at sunset or tending to her Boston organic garden. She can be reached at rabbikummer.com.

For Gentle Change by Rabbi Ora Nitkin-Kaner The term ‘climate change’ can feel overly vague in part because of the ambiguity of the word ‘change.’ Change can come quickly or slowly. Change can feel welcome or catastrophic. Change can be the result of concerted, value-based effort—teshuvah—or carry the blunt force of surprise. June of this year was the first time I breathed in the smoke of distant wildfires. I knew it was a mix of luck and privilege that had shielded me up til then. I knew the smoke was coming, but the lived experience was still a surprise and the change still an invitation I never wanted to receive. Two months earlier, after I turned forty but before I breathed in the smoke from wildfires, springtime held the heartbreak of disasters that were still distant. From that place, I prayed that change come gently. I continue holding this prayer for myself, my dear ones and communities, and for you, as the seasons change once again. Woman at Forty[after Donald Justice] Forty, and the ophthalmologist’s techniciansuggests my vision is blurry.No, I say, it’s just soft.I don’t see anythingwrong with tree tips a little hard to make out,spring creeping up the branchespulling a prayer: may all changesbe as gentle as this one. After days of hard night rainsthe white and pink petals of the cherryand the stinkpear are scattered,some glued to the sidewalk,some breathed by the wind.Walking the dog, my right knee grumbles,pokes my brain to predict our future: fewer steps, maybe one day a replacement.The dog jaunts pain-free, or at least without caringto give it voice. We’re both scanning forchicken bones, a game for her:can she swallow before I open her jaw wideenough to pull out death. I focus on what’s in front of me:a new flush of petals are hole-punchedpaper. Same pink, same white,same sidewalk though. There’s always kidsaround here, bicycles and toys dropped and spinning,running down to pet the dog. It’s a small choice I make, to pause with timefor their hands, their questions, to pauseand look harder: poetry comes from lookingbut so does heartbreak, and right now I can’tsee the difference. Rabbi Ora Nitkin-Kaner (she) is a climate change chaplain and founder of Exploring Apocalypse. Originally from Toronto, she now lives in New Haven.

Skit: Can Humans Be a Blessing? by Bill Witherspoon Historical note: The Green Team at Congregation Bet Haverim, Atlanta created a lay-led service on July 15, 2022, called “Blessings on the Climate.” Our guest d’var presenter was meteorologist and JCAN-GA advisor Mark Papier. To balance Mark’s serious (also hopeful) message, we did this silly skit with two of our funniest members as mimes.  Because of a technical glitch, only the tail end of the skit was preserved on YouTube, so you will not hear Bill Witherspoon, the writer and narrator, bray from the bimah; but all of Mark’s d’var can be heard. The unicorn went home with Mark as a gift to his young daughter. The event inspired last year’s Etude, ”Unfinished Blessing.” Bill Witherspoon is a geologist-educator and for 21 years a Jew by choice. At Congregation Bet Haverim in Atlanta, he sings in its remarkable chorus and occasionally leads services. He is a native of East Tennessee where he was blessed with many visits to its huge national park throughout his formative years. Bill encourages fellow humans to check out Citizens Climate Lobby

Growth and Re-Growth by Rabbi Shahar Colt ~I used to work in a building next to what appeared to be an abandoned parking lot. Mostly it was a sheet of broken up concrete. The lines separating parking spaces were barely visible, and a huge tree stood somewhere near the center. Over the course of the spring and summer, weeds would grow, pushing through the spaces between the concrete, breaking it further with the slow persistence of plants. By late summer, the goldenrod was blooming and I sneezed as I biked by. From the street, the space was so full of weeds you couldn’t see the concrete anymore, the greenery had fully overtaken the lot, a mix of indigenous and invasive species vying for dirt and sunlight, creating the illusion of a meadow. At some point each year, someone came and mowed down the weeds, revealing the parking lot all over again. It was always disappointing, all that life cut down. I missed the greenery. But I was always more struck by the re-growth. Year after year, the plants took over the parking lot. I marveled at the capacity of all those plants to grow around pavement, despite it. My uncle’s words would repeat in my head, “A weed is only a plant that YOU don’t like.” Perhaps the plants growing in the parking lot were weeds to the lot’s owner, perhaps even the city had rules to prevent pests from moving in…but collectively they made something beautiful, a natural environment softening the landscape of an otherwise urban area.  Each year I found comfort in the transformation from parking lot to “meadow” and back to parking lot.  Humans may try to cover over the rich earth, we might try to cut down the plants, but the life force of the natural world pushes through. On a larger scale, while our own behaviors threaten the livability of earth for humans, the life force present in the diversity of plants and creatures will continue to push evolution in a changing environment. Natural beauty prevails.  May that same life force continue to push me along the path of my own growth, through my own choices and mis-steps, as long as I live, and may it be a source of growth and re-growth for you, too.  Rabbi Shahar Colt serves as the executive director for the Community Hevra Kaddisha of Greater Boston, and spiritual leader for Congregation Ahavas Achim in Westfield, MA. She lives in Watertown, MA with her spouse and children.

50 Years Later, the Work Continues by Rabbi Susan Elkodsi ~When I was in junior high, I was in the Environment Club, and one of our activities was a monthly recycling drive for newspapers and magazines. People would save them, bring them to the school, and we’d load up the truck. Then, the advisor would drive it to a place that would pay the club. The guys loved it, especially when someone included back issues of Playboy in with the rest of the papers. Then the girls were doing all the work. It’s 50 years later, and where are we? We’re now recycling all kinds of things, and people and companies are figuring out ways to make new materials out of recycled ones, but so much is ending up in our ocean; the Great Pacific Garbage Patch is twice the size of Texas! On the positive side, laws such as the Clean Water Act have helped to improve our waterways over the past 50 years. For example, the Cuyahoga River in Ohio no longer catches on fire–but we still have a long way to go. This summer has seen weeks of unseasonably hot and humid temps, poor air quality from Canadian wildfires, and devastating rains and floods. Our planet is warming at an alarming rate. According to our ancient sages, The Holy One created humans on Rosh Hashanah, and our midrash (Kohelet Rabbah 7:13) teaches, “The Holy One of Blessing planted a garden, and put ha-adam, the human in it, l’ovdah u-l’shomrah, “to work it and guard it.” Because after all, “if you destroy it, there will be no one after you to repair it.” As we move towards Rosh Hashanah, with a focus on teshuvah–turning back, repenting, making a commitment to do better, may we be blessed with the ability to learn how each of us can work to improve the condition of the earth; to help mitigate climate change and leave a better world for future generations. As Rabbi Tarfon (Pirkei Avot 2:16) said, ” It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it.” Rabbi Susan Elkodsi is the spiritual leader of the Malverne Jewish Center on Long Island. She is committed to helping Baby boomers and older Jewish adults create meaning and purpose in their lives in a Jewish context, and to fighting ageism. She can be found at www.babyboomerrabbi.com.