Unpack, laundry, repack

Planning for a month away on the road is complicated.

We've done all kinds of crazy travel, but this might be the craziest yet. After being away for two weeks at camp, we unpacked all four of us, did 8 loads of laundry, trimmed some seriously overgrown hair, paid all of the bills for the next month, shopped (with great joy!) at Campmor, bought non-perishables for camping and driving needs, acquired 10 (!) books on CD to listen to in the car, purchased 5 new movies for the portable DVD player, got Lys a pedicure (bright purple :) ), did all the summer homework, got the mail, held the mail for the next month, mowed the lawn, made a 359 song travel mix on the I-Pod, did some other necessary housework-- and that's all in just 48 hours!

Tomorrow, we have to pack for this wonderfully complex trip.

Here's how it's shaping up so far:

8 nights in Chicago area
1 night in Minneapolis, MN
2 nights near Mt. Rushmore in Rapid City, SD
1 night in Cody, WY
1 night camping in Yellowstone
1 night in Spokane, WA
6 nights in Portland, OR
2 nights in Canon Beach, OR
1 night in Boise, ID
1 night in Salt Lake City
2 nights in Aspen, CO
1 night in Lincoln, NE
2 nights in Chicago

I'm so psyched!

Hello Muddah

Two weeks at the Eisner Camp in Great Barrington, MA. In many ways, it was the most "routine" part of my sabbatical, in that I go to camp every summer to serve on faculty. By my rough estimate, this was my 25th summer spent all or in part at a URJ summer camp, in fact.

Perhaps that fact is what made it perfectly obvious that, whatever I would do differently this summer-- whatever I needed to let go of so that I could let God-- camp wasn't it.

I needed to be part of my extended camp family. I needed to give Elyssa the two weeks to pretty much sit under a tree and read 10 books that camp provides every year.

I needed to teach for 6 hours a day-- teach 9-16 year olds-- the next generation of the Jewish people. I needed to teach them and, as always, be re-energized by their passion for learning and growth. I needed to interact with the 18-25 year olds who comprise the bulk of the staff, doing what I could to nurture their continued Jewish development.

I needed to spend time with the close colleagues with whom we've been sharing this same two-week faculty slot for some years now. I needed to brainstorm High Holiday sermon ideas with that cadre (and now I need to write them!). I needed to play endless rounds of Apples to Apples (Jewish Edition, of course!) until all hours of the night with those same crazy rabbis, cantors, and educators.

And while it might not have been anything extraordinary to blog about (sorry for the lay-off, for those who have been following this blog), camp, too, was a part of what I needed during these months. The fact is, camp is a reminder that, although I needed this sabbatical leave, my work as a rabbi is also nurturing to me.

Today we came home with Ari in tow, after his 4 week stint at camp. After giving him two baths and a shower, he is beginning to smell like the boy we know and love. His laundry after one washing? I'm not so sure...

But we have little time to waste-- Thursday we depart on our month-long driving journey to the Left Coast. The preparations have already begun, as we gather gear, clothing, food, a tent (thanks, McVeighs!), music (thanks, I-Tunes) mitbrings (my grandfather's word for gifts), and all that we'll need to keep ourselves sane and happy for thousands and thousands of miles.

Trip Day and Trip Planning

This afternoon, half of the camp left for an overnight trip; tomorrow, the rest of camp will also be gone, so we faculty essentially have 1 1/2 days off-- pretty good since we've only done 1 1/2 days of work so far!

On full days, we teach from 9:30 a.m. to 4:00 with a lunch break, so we work pretty hard. Fortunately, we teach different things throughout the day, so we don't get bored. I've been having a great time teaching various units-- youngest unit is learning about mitzvot-- Shabbat, mezuzah, and so on; the middle units are learning about sacred space. One of the older units is learning about Israel-- I'm doing a course on Israel through film, eg., The Syrian Bride and The Lemon Tree. They're loving the films. For the other older unit, I'm teaching about what we were learning at the farm-- peah--the Jewish obligation to leave the corners of the field for the poor. There's a small garden here that is reminding me alot of the farm in terms of the crops that are planted there-- tomatoes, squash, herbs, eggplant, peppers-- and it'll be a useful little space to talk about peah and what it might teach us.

Tonight, a bunch of us are headed to a local dive to watch the All-Star Game. I love camp!

This afternoon with our first half-day off, Lys and I had fun planning for the first part of our driving trip. We were able to find a hotel in Keystone, SD (near Mt. Rushmore), a hotel for one night in Cody, WY (near Yellowstone), and then a campsite in Yellowstone (yeah!!). We really weren't sure what we'd find at this late date, and we're thrilled with what we've found. We'll continue working some more tomorrow on our itinerary-- so much fun!

From the Farm to Camp

Landed back at another one of the places that feels like my home-- Eisner Camp. My experiences at OSRUI summer camp in Wisconsin growing up, largely made me the person I am; those experiences were the prime reasons I became a rabbi. And I love that I get to go back to camp each summer.

For the past several summers, we've had the pleasure of coming the same two weeks each summer, with essentially the same set of other faculty and their families each summer. That makes it fun for my whole family to reconnect with this community.

This summer, it's interesting to go from the quite diverse Jewish community at Kayam to the relative homogeneity of this great Reform summer camp. I'll be working with the other rabbis, cantors, and educators here to teach about mitzvot and sacred space to the younger units; I'll be teaching about Israel through film to one of the older units, and teaching about Peah (the Jewish obligation to leave the corners of the field to the poor) to the other unit. It's so great that I'll get to use much of the stuff I learned at Kayam to teach to these 10th graders!

Looking forward to Day 2 at camp tomorrow. I'll be checking in on the 25 or so kids from my congregation who are here as campers... 

Breathing In

I took my leave of the farm on Friday morning, with much emotion, knowing that it wasn't shalom (goodbye), but rather l'hitraot (see you again).

Nearly the whole community went out for Karayoke on Thursday night, which was a blast; four of us took our beards (such as they were) and turned the evening into "Mustache Night" (pictures soon)!

Friday morning was deeply emotional for me, and, I gather, for others in the group, too; they gave me a card which everyone had signed; the card was alternately hysterically funny and deeply moving. There were tears all around. I cried when I woke up, as we gathered for the morning announcements, as I did my last work on the farm, as I showered and shaved, as I pulled away in the car... It was an intense experience to leave Kayam, and I've been reflecting on that experience, too, for the last 48 hours or so.

I was very excited to reunite with Lys, Lev, and, today as we head to Eisner Camp where I'll serve on faculty for the next two weeks, with Ari. He's been up there for two weeks already. I am so psyched to be back with my family, period, full-stop. I've missed them tremendously, and some of the tears were tears of joy to be coming home.

And also, I felt like I was leaving another home as I drove down Mt. Gilead Road for the last time (for now).

I think, though, that many of the tears, much of the emotion I feel as I write these words, comes from a recognition, and acknowledgement, of how powerful this first part of my sabbatical has been. As I read the words of the silly/beautiful/touching/ego-boosting card, one of my most intense feelings was just how much I had already accomplished one of my primary goals for this sabbatical-- to breathe in.

I love my work as a rabbi- love it. I know that I'll be psyched to return in September. And one of the metaphors I thought about and used as I planned and spoke and wrote about the sabbatical in preparation is that the work I do involves lots of what feels like breathing out-- speaking, preaching, teaching, counselling, mentoring. It's deeply rewarding work-- don't get me wrong. I get so much out of all of those experiences; it's certainly NOT all give and no get.  That's not what I'm implying. When I teach, I learn. When I pastor, I grow. When I organize, I get my self interests met.But somehow, stepping away for a bit has given me the sense that this rabbinic calling metaphorically requires an intense amount of breathing out-- giving of my self emotionally, intellectually, spiritually, and so on.

What I couldn't possibly anticipate-- what I couldn't have known in advance having never been there or done that before-- was the extent to which these past six weeks would allow me to breathe in. I spent 6 weeks taking in learning, soaking in knowledge through my pores; being challenged intellectually in sustained, daily ways I haven't since my time at HUC.  I spent 6 weeks "letting the earth teach me Torah."I spent 6 weeks not being in charge. I spent 6 intensive weeks being renewed by the great, diverse community around me. I spent 6 weeks doing intense, sweaty, physical work, using and building muscles I didn't know I had, working harder physically on a daily basis than anytime in my life since at least Avodah 1987. I spent 6 weeks eating really really well and healthfully, with a diet consisting of at least 25% of things that I had been a part of planting, tending, and harvesting.

I breathed out carbon dioxide and breathed in oxygen, as I do every day of my life, thank God. But it felt different, somehow. I didn't really know what I needed as I began this sabbatical journey. And yet, my experiences at Kayam turned out to be deeply, meaningfully, exactly what I needed.

Have I mentioned that I really enjoyed my time at Kayam?

P.S. I intend this sabbatical blog to continue as I continue on this part of my life's journey. As I mentioned, today we head to camp, a place that has been a part of Lys and my annual renewal for 8 years now. I plan to write about that experience, as well, and then continue with the great road-trip Lys and I are planning with the boys. Keep reading!

Kashrut at Kayam

I have spearheaded a six-week conversation here, essentially entitled, "can we develop a kashrut policy that goes beyond the system of hechshers (formal kosher seals of approval)?" which would, for example, allow us to buy things at a Farmers Market and eat them in them in the farm's kosher kitchen. This has been an absolutely fascinating conversation in a highly pluralistic community, one where some folks care most about the Jewish law aspects of diet, others care most about the local/organic aspects of their diet, and still others care about both.

Each week, a small working group has made some progress in moving towards this goal. Tonight at our community meeting, we discussed the draft below, which will be the last one I participate in this summer. :( It's still a work in progress, but I'm immensely proud of both the process we've gone through, and the progress we've made. I'd love to hear your thoughts and your questions....

DRAFT—July 7, 2010

The kitchen in the village of Kayam Farm is an

eco-kosher vegetarian kitchen.

This means:

Klal Gadol--A great principal: The more whole foods and the fewer the ingredients the better. The more processed and the more ingredients there are in an item, the harder it is for us to know where the food comes from, what we’re putting in our bodies, and the more complicated it is to establish the kashrut. (Ideally, all things we buy would have a hechsher AND be local, organic, and seasonal.)

Two questions arise: a) what if something doesn’t have a hechsher but we know suggested addition: we can converse directly with the producer and they tell us that it contains only kosher ingredients and is cooked using only vegetarian utensils? or b) what if an item has a hechsher but isn’t organic, or contains ingredients which aren’t identifiable as food?

The following are the eco-kosher vegetarian requirements for Kayam’s kitchen:

1. Items purchased suggested addition: from producers we have been able to speak to, e.g. at a Farmers Market, can be considered kosher even though they do not have a hechsher, as long as the items:

a. contain only vegan ingredients

b. contain only ingredients identifiable as food.

c. do not contain anything “sharp,” such as onions, garlic, leeks, scallions, radishes, acidic foods (those that you can eat raw are fine, all others are not), or things which have been pickled in vinegar

2. Bread suggested edit: from producers we’ve been able to speak to is kosher as long as it follows the three above rules.

3. Milk being sold commercially does not need a hechsher, with the exception of flavored milk. Raw milk which is sold legally is kosher. All milk for our kitchen must be hormone free and organic.

4. Cheese must have a hechsher and be hormone free. Though the Tablet K hechsher is not accepted by some members of our community, it is permitted in our kitchen. We will strive to obtain a selection of cheeses which are acceptable to everyone.

5. Other dairy needs a hechsher (eg. Yogurt, whipped cream, butter and sour cream)

6. Store-bought processed products need a hechsher unless we are able to speak to the producer.

7. Any cooked item without a hechsher that contains ingredients which are not typically eaten raw is not kosher, eg. cakes or muffins. Cooked things which contain only ingredients might be eaten raw are kosher, such as jam, tehina, or roasted peanut butter (as long as the rules in #1 above apply)

8. We will strive to have everything in our kitchen be chemical and hormone free.

For those who will be going to Farmers Markets, here are the questions to ask of the vendors to determine if their wares meet our requirements:

1. What ingredients does this item contain? (mentally apply requirements in #1 above)
2. What else do you cook using the same utensils?(mentally apply requirements in #1 above) 

Baruch Dayan Emet, Take 2

Sitting with one of my co-workers here, listening to him speak emotionally yesterday of love and sudden loss, I couldn't help but think of my father, and the way our family endured (and still endures) his sudden death. My friend here was commenting on how the shiva for this close family friend had felt less healing than most others he had attended. He attributed it largely to the family's lack of deep spirituality/religiosity. I wanted to say, but refrained, that I know something about what it's like when there is no time to say goodbye; that the shock of the sudden loss throws the "normal" mourning processes and timing completely out of whack. The family can barely be expected to find shiva healing when they are still just trying to accept the reality of the loss... But I didn't say anything; I suppose because it didn't seem the time to share my own terrible story of loss.

A part of me has wondered whether some part of my interest in this intensive farming experience might be an effort to connect with my dad in a spiritual way. He loved loved loved to garden; next to the White Sox, my mother, my brother, and I, (not necessarily in that order) to my mind, there was nothing he loved more than his garden. I wish I had spent more time with him there; I have no doubt that had I paid more attention to the process he went through of dressing the soil, planting, weeding, and harvesting, I wouldn't have been so clueless when I first came here. For my dad, no weather was too hot or too rainy to be out in his garden-- a garden that seem to grow larger and larger each year. It might have been so that he would have less lawn to mow, but I don't think so. He was just so happy when he was out there, and even happier when the fabulous dinner he or my mom would make would contain fresh lettuce or tomatoes or herbs which were the fruits of his labors.

Working here at Kayam, I feel like I've had an intense immersion in that love he tended for many years-- not enough years, sadly. I don't know that I really believe in spirits, or loved ones speaking to me from beyond the grave. But I do know that, from time to time, especially when my hands have grown black from working the tomato plants, I feel his presence with me, as if he's got his hand on my shoulder. I wish I could hear his voice once more; I wish he would tell me what I was doing wrong with the plants, or tell me how proud he was of me.  I'm crying now as I long for his presence in my life; I feel like railing again at the universe, at his unknown assailant, at God. And yet, the rich soil into which I immersed my hands this morning as we planted first melons, and then zucchini, and then squash, has served as a kind of a mikveh for me. I have felt, at certain moments, as if the richness of this soil,and the possibility it holds, is infused with the life force of all who have come before-- plant and animal. As I lifted my eyes to the broiling sun this morning, hands in the rich loam, I felt the warmth of my father's spirit somehow.

Baruch Dayan Emet. I miss him everyday. And I'm so glad to have drawn ever nearer to him during this time.

The Grim Corn Reaper

My love of power tools has left me in the position more than once here at the farm of being asked to use the gas-powered weed-whacker to clear a plot. Back in Avodah 1987, a weed whacker meant a wooden pole with a semi-circle of metal attached to it, with a double-sided blade attached to it. It was powered by 17 year old hormones, and that's it. But now, we have these cool new-fangled gas powered thingys. And while I like to pretend to be old and wax nostalgic for the good old days, I'm liking the 2010 version of weed-whacking just fine!

So anyway, I weed whacked a field a few weeks ago that had contained cover crops. That was fun, and I had no qualms about it; the next day, Jakir tilled the field under and now there are melons growing there.

But on Friday, Abby approached me solemnly and asked me how I'd feel about weed-whacking. "I'd love to!" I responded, eager to get back into power-tools usage. "What needs eliminating?" I asked.

"The corn," she said, sadly.

"Really? The corn?" I asked. "Why?" I asked, incredulous.

The farm tried growing corn for the first time this year. The field as I stood in front of it with my tool of destruction contained perhaps 30 plants identifiable as corn-like.

It seems that the powers that be had determined that a) it was not at all clear that the few plants were numerous enough or close enough to cross-fertilize as they'd need to, and b) too few stalks had actually grown, and the plot was too big to be this unbountiful-- we'd need the space for something else.

And so, "The Salad Spinner" became "The Grim Corn Reaper." And I couldn't help but wonder (in the spirit of Carrie Bradshaw), why is that we don't have a blessing for such a moment?

I've wondered aloud before with my friends here about why we don't have a planting blessing or a harvesting blessing. The long and short of it seems to be: we don't say a blessing until the process is complete, as in, once we harvest the food and prepare it, we say a blessing before we eat it. I guess that makes some sense, but only to the extent that human beings, and our needs, are the measure of all things, which I'm not sure I ascribe to.

We do have blessings for when observe kings and comets and lighting; we do have blessings of joy and sorrow; maybe that's what I felt like saying before I slew the (not so) mighty corn: Baruch Dayan Emet. Blessed are You, Adonai, The Truthful Judge. That's what we say when we hear of a death. Distinctly not: Blessed are You, who makes bad things happen along with good, but rather, Blessed is the Truthful Judge, as in, acknowledge that God is in the good and the bad. I wanted to acknowledge-- even name, that, despite OUR best efforts at preparing soil, planting, and weeding, God with whom we are partners in the unfolding work of creation evidently answered our (non) prayer for a bountiful corn harvest by saying no. In that spirit, for the corn that wasn't meant to be, I say,

Blessed are You, Adonai, the Truthful Judge.

It feels better somehow. I think. I'll get back to you. But i hope not to have to whack any more innocent produce anytime soon.

Potatoes, Tomatoes, Sheep and Chickens

Another busy busy day on the farm...

It began with a Torah study session I lead on Parashat Pinchas; we discussed the amazing heroism of the daughters of Zelophechad-- what a way to begin the day (at 6:30 a.m.!)

I spent the first two hours of the morning harvesting potatoes with Dan. We have a few potato plants each year in our home garden, and it's always a treat to be able to find potatoes under those 9 or so plants-- whatever we find always seems a pleasant surprise. We usually bake them or nuke them or mash them (Lys's favorite choice). But when you've got hundreds of plants and 40 CSA shares to fill, the novelty pretty quickly wears off. You pull up the plants hoping that many many potatoes come up with the whole root system (I never had more than 4 come out of the ground in this easy manner), and then you go digging, mostly be hand (a shovel would work but it has the tendency to damage any potatoes it strikes) in the dirt that has been gradually mounded up around the plants. Repeat 40-50 times, and you hopefully get 25 pounds or so of potatoes. Fun digging in the dirt, not so fun the 40th time in a row. But we filled our quota!

Then after some breakfast, Yoni and I headed to the new field. You know those tomatoes I bragged about weeding single-handedly a couple of weeks ago? Well, now those plants are huge and droopy with branches and leaves and growing tomatoes, and they need to be trellised. That involves pounding posts into the ground every 10 feet or so (I love the post-pounder) and then tieing twine back and forth between the posts to get the tomato plants to stand up. It's tough but rewarding work to actually see the rows re-emerge from a bushy mess of plants.

This afternoon we finished our study of Tractate Peah, which speaks of the farmer's obligation to leave the corner of the field for the poor. Then we went off on a field trip to the Blackberry Field Farm, run by two Jewish women from Baltimore who raise sheep and chickens. We heard about the trials, tribulations, and rewards of running this farm, a project of 4-H in Baltimore.

Then back to the farm for dinner and the siyyum (summary session) of the week at the farm. A great and fulfilling day...

Can't wait for Shabbat, and I can't believe that it'll be my last one at the farm... :(