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 as 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 areas. As a retired professional, a mother and grandmother she believe it is her responsibility to contribute in her ways to improve life and possibilities for others in a renewed way.
0 Comments
by Rabbinic Pastor 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.
by 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.
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 malignment 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.
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.
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 technician suggests my vision is blurry. No, I say, it’s just soft. I don’t see anything wrong with tree tips a little hard to make out, spring creeping up the branches pulling a prayer: may all changes be as gentle as this one. After days of hard night rains the white and pink petals of the cherry and 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 caring to give it voice. We’re both scanning for chicken bones, a game for her: can she swallow before I open her jaw wide enough to pull out death. I focus on what’s in front of me: a new flush of petals are hole-punched paper. Same pink, same white, same sidewalk though. There’s always kids around here, bicycles and toys dropped and spinning, running down to pet the dog. It’s a small choice I make, to pause with time for their hands, their questions, to pause and look harder: poetry comes from looking but so does heartbreak, and right now I can’t see 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.
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.
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.
by 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. Our waterways are cleaner; for better or worse, the increased number of shark sightings in Long Island waters is testimony to that. That said, we’ve had 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 teshuva–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.
by Dr. Cara Judea Alhadeff Objects As Storytellers: CoEvolving with Thomas Berry (a Sephardic Perspective) - YouTube
Notes related to the video can be found on the YouTube page. Dr. Cara Judea Alhadeff has published dozens of books and essays on interreligious eco-justice, philosophy, ethnic studies and gender. Her photographs (in collections including MoMASalzburg and San Francisco MoMA) have been defended internationally by freedom-of-speech organizations. Former professor at UC Santa Cruz, Alhadeff teaches, performs, and parents a creative-zero-waste life: www.carajudeaalhadeff.com. |