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by Cheryl Carmi  When you go out And the waves are crashing Over the breakwater Over the tops of the walls At the edge of the land When the rain is finely misting And the wind howls Around the circle at The end of the road You can breathe deep The salt, the gasp, The sudden question Of what sea level Actually is, can it be one Fixed point, and you think About how far you climb From this absolute, how Holiness climbs every step With you, from this unsure recess The whole way up. Cheryl Carmi is a Vermont-based writer, cohousing neighbor, and PhD student who has been engaged in a year-long project of poetic response to weekly parshiot (Torah portions), which are often about being in the natural world, and also frequently turn into transmedia improvisations with my ridiculously talented musician husband.
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by Rabbi David Seidenberg  Rashi expresses surprise when the spies come back from the land of Israel in just forty days. After all, he points out at Number 13:25, the land is 400 by 400 parsa’ot, and it should have taken many times longer to make their way through all the land from sea to river and north to south. Rather, God enabled the spies to jump the path – to be led along miraculous shortcuts that would “shorten the way”. Shortening the path is normally something that happens to rebbes and Chasidim in Chasidic stories, so that they can arrive someplace special to perform righteous acts that will redeem the world. Since the spies, except Caleb and Joshua, are seen as wicked, talking badly about the land, planting bitterness in everyone, why would they merit having their path shortened? If anything, they deserved to have obstacles block their path. The reason, Rashi explains, is that God knew they would destroy the will of the people and ruin the chance to enter the land. And God knew that God would have to decree that the Israelites wander in the desert one year for each day that the spies wandered in the land. God shortened their path so that the desert exile could also be shorter. In a time when the wicked seem to prosper, fomenting wars and destruction, killing the innocent, tearing down democracy, undoing laws that protect the earth and her species, torturing immigrants in prisons and concentration camps that violate human rights, may this teaching be a lesson about what is happening. Perhaps the journey of the wicked is being sped up so that they can be ushered off the world stage sooner, before it is too late to undo their damage. As the psalm for Shabbat (92:8) says, Bif’roach r’sha’im k’mo eisev, yatsitsu kol po’alei aven, l’hishamdam adei ad – “When the wicked bloom like grass, the workers of iniquity blossom, is it to destroy them forever.” So may it be. Rabbi David Seidenberg is the author of Kabbalah and Ecology and creator of neohasid.org. David's writing focuses on Jewish thought in relation to animal rights, human rights, and ecology. He was ordained by JTS and by Reb Zalman Shachter-Shalomi. David is also known for his liturgy and translations, and for activism on climate and human rights issues. David is also an avid dancer and a composer of classical and Jewish music.
by Erin Viola  Ecological grief, or climate grief, refers to the sense of loss that arises from experiencing or learning about climate change. In this time of ecological devastation, this loss is ongoing. The work of tending to our grief is therefore continuous. This ritual is intended to be revisited, revised and performed in community or with a chevruta, a learning partner. The Jewish ritual of tevillah, immersion, in a mikvah, a ritual bath, containing mayim hayim, fresh, running water, is an ancient and sacred practice. Water is life; our estuaries and watersheds shape our landscape and support our essential functions. Mayim hayim constitute a portal, facilitating the easeful transformation between different states of being, sanctifying transitions. This Wild Mikvah will honor our climate grief and facilitate our transition into meaningful collective action. Ritual: Choose your mikvah Choose your natural body of water. Bring a chevruta, or a collective of beloveds, to immerse with you. You will guide each other through the ritual. Prepare your body for tevillah Jewish wisdom teaches that there must be no barrier between the body and the mayim hayim. Ecological destruction is in part caused by the false separation between self and the environment. Part of our collective healing must be the reintegration of self and environment. Enter the water Have your chevruta read this kavanah: Akiva was a shepherd of 40 years old. One day, while standing by the mouth of a well in Lydda, he inquired, “Who hollowed out this stone?” and was told, “Akiva, haven’t you read that ‘water wears away stone’ (Job 14:19)? – it was water falling upon it constantly, day after day.” So, Akiva asked himself: “Is my mind harder than this stone? I will go and study at least one section of Torah.” We know this man as the legendary Rabbi Akiva. The softness of water has the power to carve and shape the hardness of stone, through steadiness and persistence. Repeat: May the softness of the water flow over me; may it soften my grief and carve a space for hope in my heart. May the softness of the water welcome my grief and hold it for me. Bless this mitzvah It is Sephardic Jewish custom to bless the mitzvah of immersion before immersing in the mikvah. Bless: Barukh ata Adonai, Elohenu melekh ha’olam, asher kideshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al ha’tevillah. Blessed are You, Adonai, our God, Eternal Sovereign, who has sanctified us with Your commandments and commanded us to immerse. בּרוּךְ אַתָּה י’ אֱלהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם אֲשֶׁר קִדְשָׁנוּ בּמִצְוֹתָיו וְצִוָנוּ עַל הַטְבִילָה Immerse Immerse yourself fully each time. Your chevruta will read a kavannah (guiding intention) before each dunk based on Joanna Macy’s “Work that Reconnects.” First immersion: Coming From Gratitude Kavannah: Modeh ani l’fanecha, ruach hai v’kayam. I am grateful to you, Living and Enduring Spirit, and I am grateful to the waters for supporting my lifeforce. Second immersion: Honoring Our Pain for the World Kavannah: I am grieving the loss of (name your grief). I give my grief to the water, knowing that it is big and generous enough to hold it for me. Third immersion: Seeing with New/Ancient Eyes Kavannah: My wellbeing is intertwined with the wellbeing of all creatures and our shared environments. As my skin meets the mayim hayim, I enter into sacred communion with the wilds, and assume my humble place in connection with all Life. Fourth immersion: Going Forth Kavannah: With this final immersion, I commit myself to the belief that a better world is possible because we can build it. I will take bold climate action with my beloved community to help ensure a livable future for all. Closing Havdalah, or separation, is our ritual for marking the transition out of sacred time, Shabbat, and into the mundanity of the week. The preliminary verses of the havdalah liturgy include “Ush’avtem mayim b’sasson mima’aynei hayeshua”: You will draw water in joy from the wells of Salvation. (Isaiah 12:3) Climate action, in essence, is a practice of faith. These times require the courage to imagine that another world is possible, that we must build it. Together, sing Isaiah’s prophetic vision, the words that accompany us every Saturday night as we make havdalah: Mimainei by Avra Shapiro מִמַּעַיְנֵ֖י הַיְשׁוּעָֽה שְׁאַבְתֶּם מַ֖יִם בְּשָׂשׂ֑וֹן Mimainei hayeshua Shavtem mayim b’sason We will draw water in celebration From the wellsprings of liberation Mayim Chayim מים חיים As we move forward from the sacred intensity of this ritual, we take with us our grief, and our commitment to collective climate action. Erin Viola is a gardener, community weaver, and rabbinical student based in Philadelphia, PA.
by Judith Black  Despair is not an option There is no food down that hole, And I like to eat. I have children. I have grandchildren. So I have learned to weep, Expelling grief on a regular basis. Then I get back to work, Fighting for our living world. Judith Black is an internationally known storyteller and climate activist. For more information about her work: www.storiesalive.com
by Rabbi Suzanne Singer and Cantor Steven Puzarne  We cannot become whole until we heal the damage that we have inflicted on God’s creation which includes both the Earth and the creatures that are an integral part of the natural world. And we will not experience the healing benefits of the natural world until we have made this tikkun. The sanctity of animals is exemplified by the story of Judah HaNasi: For thirteen years, Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi, the redactor of the Mishnah, suffered from terrible pain. The Talmud (Baba Metziah 85a) traces his suffering to the following incident: A calf was once led to slaughter. Sensing what was about to take place, the animal fled to Rabbi Yehudah. It hung its head on the corner of his garment and wept. The rabbi told the calf, “Go! You were created for this purpose.” It was decreed in Heaven: Since Rabbi Yehudah failed to show compassion to the calf, the rabbi should suffer from afflictions. Rabbi Yehudah was only healed many years later, when he convinced his maidservant not to harm small rodents she discovered in the house. Why was Judah HaNasi made to suffer in this way for his dismissal of the calf? Rav Abraham Kook, the first Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of British Mandatory Palestine states: “It demonstrates an overall moral deficiency in our humanity when we are unable to maintain the proper and lofty emotion — [a natural aversion] to taking the life of a living creature for our needs and pleasures.” Animals were not created to be slaughtered or to serve our appetite. So many animals have been, and continue to be, harmed by factory farming, neglect, and abuse. We are currently involved in a project in Israel whereby trauma is treated with Animal Assisted Psychotherapy (AAP). Animals are not “used” to help humans. The people we are working with practice the reciprocal approach whereby humans and animals help each other to heal from trauma. We call it “Healing Together.” We were inspired by Steve’s experience with his cousin Larry who was born blind, facing immense physical and emotional challenges. By his late 50s, he had lost his motivation to get out of bed. Nothing seemed to help—until his cousin Steve brought his dog, Emma. The change was immediate. Over the next two years, Larry went from feeling hopeless to celebrating his adult Bar Mitzvah just before his 60th birthday. His deep bond with Emma played a key role in his emotional and physical recovery, showing firsthand the incredible healing power of animals. This experience opened Steve’s eyes to the profound impact animal companionship can have on human well-being, inspiring a mission to bring this healing to others. A link to the short documentary about Larry can be found here: https://vimeo.com/214075528 As we enter the month of Elul, let us endeavor to recognize the sanctity of the Earth as well as of the animals that inhabit it with us. Translation of the story and Rav Kook quote from: https://ravkooktorah.org/SHEMINI-78.htm Rabbi Suzanne Singer lives in California and is the Co-Executive Director at Rayor Center/Breeyah. As the daughter of a Holocaust survivor, she is keenly aware of the need to make our world a better place. In her capacity as a rabbi, she has served several congregations and has been engaged for over 20 years in social justice work. She has also served on a variety of non-profit boards and has led advocacy efforts through local interfaith organizations. Before becoming a rabbi, she was a television producer and programming executive in news and public affairs as well as children’s programming. In that capacity, she won two national Emmy awards.
Cantor Steven Puzarne is the Founder and Executive Director of Breeyah, a not-for-profit organization whose mission is to respond creatively to the changing needs of the Jewish community, including providing holistic, spiritually based care to special needs children and adults and their families. After the October 7th attack, Cantor Puzarne established Breeyah’s Israeli branch, The Rayor Family Center for Loving Kindness of which Healing Together is the first major project. In addition, through the Rayor Center, Cantor Puzarne manages the “smitten with kitten” initiative, striving to significantly reduce the number and the suffering of stray cats within Israel/Palestine. by Lois Rosenthal
(a prose tanka) We modern humans, we Homo sapiens, evolved from our primitive ancestors during the Ice Age. With our increasing brain power we created clothing, built shelters, and learned to control fire, all to stay warm in a cold climate. Our bodies evolved to larger stockier shapes that minimize heat loss. Metabolic changes that conserve heat developed. Despite our archaic origins in the warm climates of Africa, we are better adapted to extreme cold. We are not adapted to extreme heat. Heat is upon us lungs reject the hot moist air legs can barely move we are exiled from Eden and there will be no return Hear this shofar call heat storms floods overwhelm us despair will not help we know what needs to be done now we must turn to the task Lois Rosenthal is retired from a career in academia (Chemistry) in California. She also taught Hebrew School and tutored B’nai Mitzvah for a decade. She is a member of Temple Beth Israel in Waltham. Lois is also a member of the MA State Poetry Society / local CREW Poets branch and lives in Winthrop, where temperatures have been running 5o above Boston’s, and legendary sea breezes are nowhere to be found.
by Rabbi Malkah Binah Klein When Truth sprouts from the earth then Justice looks down from the heavens (Psalm 85:12)  Photo: An artist’s prayer on the Palestinian side of the separation barrier, Bethlehem truth sprouts from the earth be quiet and still listen for her preparing to poke through the soil wait for her keep listening do not pretend that you already know her how can you know that which you have not yet seen? Rabbi Malkah Binah Klein is founder of Merkava: Transformation and Healing through Creative Ritual. She is a member of Sisters Waging Peace, a Philadelphia chapter of the Sisterhood of Salaam Shalom. Her website is thrivingspirit.org.
By Rabbi Judy Kummer  This summer, I haven’t been able to spend as much time as I’m used to spending at my family’s lake house on Cape Cod. After weeks away at conferences, I could feel the siren song of the lake drawing me for miles ahead of my arrival. When I arrived, though, I found my beloved place had changed, and it was a bit disorienting. We are drawn to return, to head back to the familiar. Especially at this time of the year, we Jews are tasked with doing teshuvah, repenting or returning. I learned recently about the lifecycle of salmon. They hatch upstream, swim downstream and out to the ocean, where they live most of their lives. Then, when they have matured -- when they’ve grown old and look craggy and hook-nosed — they swim back upstream to their birthplaces to spawn. Shortly after spawning, they die, their bodies dissolving into nourishment for the environment. For salmon returning from the ocean, this business of swimming upstream is no small feat; they are swimming up waterfalls, battling the pull of gravity and defying the odds of becoming dinner for bears, eagles and other wildlife. A friend from the Pacific Northwest described with a smile her family’s tradition: they love to stand by waterfalls, cheering on the salmon as they make their valiant upward leaps, rising again and again. And the fish are returning right during Elul! I marvel that these fish are compelled to complete their cycle of returning to the very place where they hatched, there to spawn the next generation. My friend described another interesting Pacific Northwest phenomenon. For some time after Mount Saint Helens erupted in 1980, the surrounding landscape was barren and gray; in pictures it looks like the surface of the moon. After a while, vegetation began to regrow and the rivers began to flow again— but now, the rivers were flowing along completely different courses. I’m thinking of those fish, searching for the places where they had hatched, desperate to get back home to repeat their lifecycle, to be fertile and multiply. Against all odds, they were rising again, determined in their returning. We human beings also want to return. We yearn for old familiar places and old and better parts of ourselves— but like those salmon, we may find that the places we are returning to no longer look familiar. Like the salmon, we too may have changed, sometimes beyond recognition. We all know the old saw, “change is the one constant.” One of the tasks of being human is meeting change and trying to accept it. We acknowledge a new normal, ever-new in each moment, and we respond with as much grace as we can, despite the disorienting newness we encounter. It is in figuring out how to move forward, how to respond and find equilibrium despite the changes, that we determine the quality of our lives. Like the salmon, may we rise again. Rabbi Judy Kummer is a board certified chaplain in private practice, offering in-person and remote skilled spiritual care visits, eldercare programing and 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.
by Shosh Madick  Deep down, the return, where the Mississippi flows so close to the sea. A great, miraculous journey. A turning. A deep cleansing breath in the water, here where there is an abandoned oil rig. Where journals were kept, money was made and the earth was extracted from. Where humans lived their lives. What do we turn to when only the river and the metal structures are left? Return to the earth on the floor of the water. A tree project. Regenerate. Growth. Renewal. Land will catch here. We rode with gasoline to swim. There is no perfection in humanity, yet Elul begs us to consider. What is your ground beneath the river? Rabbinic Student Shosh Madick lives in Bulbancha, colonized name New Orleans, in a meaningful Jewish community and with great admiration for the Mississippi river.
by Sheryl J. Shapiro  A Rabbit. A Rat. A Guinea Pig. Crushed. Drowned. Botched Surgery. Each gathered. Buried. Welcomed by Cedar and Locust. Brilliant green drapes the sky Aerial silk for acrobatic Crow. Stellar Jay. Sturdy trapeze for leaping Squirrels. Curvaceous limbs extend a wide berth for Raccoon Mama. Kits. Child. Seed cones dangle generously Banquet for Black-capped Chickadee. Nuthatch. Bushtit. Sparrow. Robin. Flicker. Golden Crowned Kinglet. Songs of feasting, delight and gratitude. Downy woodpecker descending ascending furrowed ladder to the heavens. Long creamy white earrings sway in the breeze whispering invitation to Hummingbird. Full hearted-presence. Rest now. Here. Mere human. Watching. Witnessing. Humming love to my Friends. The hard line is drawn. Death is imminent. Questioning. Fighting. Raging. Weeping. Weeping. Weeping. Sheryl J. Shapiro seeks to deepen her presence as a companion on healing journeys, explore and share the depths of her Judaic roots, whispers from nature, and the complex beauty of Community. Sheryl loves integrating spiritual, creative and embodied expression. This journey has included facilitator training programs in Sacred Hebrew Chant with Rabbi Shefa Gold, the Educator’s Leadership and Prayer Project Intensives with the Institute for Jewish Spirituality and in experiential environmental education. Sheryl practices 5 Rhythms Dance/Open Floor movement, chanting, meditation, yoga and qigong. Her poetry appears online at Ritualwell (2021, 2022, 2023) and Salish Magazine (2022), in print in Peregrine (2024), Like a Tree by Water: Poems, Prayers and Rituals, an Anthology by Advot members (2023), We’Moon Datebook (2020, 2022), Dirt? Exhibit and Catalogue, University of Puget Sound (2015) and Poetry on the Buses, Writing Home Collection, King County Metro (2014). Sheryl lives on Duwamish/Coast Salish land (aka Seattle, WA) and was born and raised on Lenape land (aka Brooklyn, New York).
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