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... :(

A few skills I've learned on the farm

I'm trying to keep track of the farm skills I've learned so far, so here goes:

How to live in an intentional community
How to use an oscillating hoe.
How to pinch off tomato plant suckers
How to tie up tomatoes
How to properly harvest garlic scapes, lettuce, mustard greens, turnips, radishes, strawberries, sugar snap peas, garlic, zucchini
How to weed just about any vegetable plant
How to string up garlic for curing
How to operate a chain saw
How to operate a tiller
How to set up a drip irrigation system
How to set up a tunnel to protect plants from excess heat or animals
How to properly smush bugs that are eating eggplant leaves
How to water a 3 acre field with a single hose
How to pot up plants
How far apart to space starts for carrots, tomatoes, eggplant, lettuce, peppers
How to break apart a hay bale
How to mulch with hay
How to prepare a bed for planting with mushroom and leaf composts
How to build a frame to hang slaughtered goats on (so that their blood can drain)
How to build a platform for an army tent
How to erect an army tent
How to build wooden bunk beds

Wow-- I've learned a bunch... I'm sure I'll think of more!

Turning up the heat

Today I was reminded about why I am a proud Reform Jew.

I slept gloriously late on this Shabbat morning. I got up and found my way to the kitchen, where an intense discussion was underway. It seems that the cholent pot, containing the slow-cooking traditional Shabbat stew, had been set on “low” before Shabbat, and there was concern that it had not cooked enough, and wouldn’t be fully cooked through for lunch, three hours hence.

A debate was raging. Could someone go over to Pearlstone, find a two-year old, bring them to the kitchen, and place them in front of the cholent pot until they happened, in innocent play, to turn the pot from low to high?

The discussion went on and on as I sat and ate my Cheerios. How old could the child be? Three was deemed too old, as they would no longer simply play, but need to be told what to do, and it was forbidden to instruct someone to turn the heat up, because it’s against Jewish law to benefit from the product of intentionally telling someone to violate Shabbat. In good halakhic form, one person told a story of a time when they were in a house where a major fuse blew, and one of the heads of household held a small child in front of the fuse box and said something like, “wow, Sammy, do you see anything to play with?”

Then, a woman in the process of conversion to Judaism said that she has to do one thing each Shabbat to violate the laws of the day, and she’d be willing to turn the pot up. Another lengthy discussion ensued, in which it was established that as long as no one had asked her to turn the pot up, and as long as it would redound to her benefit (ie. that she herself would be eating the cholent), the rest of us, if we happened to benefit from her self-interested actions, would be fine to consume it. She went and turned up the heat.

Having listened to what seemed to me a crazy conversation, especially in light of the fact that there is a ton of other food available for consumption in the kitchen, I blurted out something I now regret in front of the gathered group of 5 or 6 of my fellow intentional-community cohorts: “This,” I said, “is why I am a Reform Jew.”

I now sit here typing away furiously on this box that halakhah prohibits me from using on Shabbat, feeling terrible about having uttered what must have sounded a horribly judgmental statement. I really and truly feel bad—it was unlike me to do something like that.

It’s not an excuse, but I know that whatever my ideal Shabbat looks like, it’s not in that discussion. I get turning the cholent on and then not doing any formal cooking on Shabbat—I actually really like to idea, and intend to try it when I get home. I get regretting that it was set on low, and bemoaning the fact that what should have been outstandingly tasty beans and potatoes will alas go to waste; this fits in with a religious ethic of letting go of some sense of control on Shabbat. What I don’t get in any way, shape, or form, is how luring in an unwitting baby into the kitchen, hoping (but not asking in any way) that the child might accidentally turn the pot up makes any sense at all. What I don’t accept as a part of my halakhah is how the concept of a Shabbes goy can be acceptable Jewish ethics. I admit that, early on in the conversation, I had half a mind to just go in and turn it up.

But if knew one thing, it was that I wasn’t going to be the Shabbes Reform Rabbi. I like intellectual discussions and debates as much as anyone. But to me, there’s a point where the discussion has to end. Either someone turn the pot up, or get out the cold (but yummy) pasta from last night. But if ritual practice in meant to lead to righteous living in the larger world, what are we teaching when we ask (in however veiled a way) our two year olds and our potential Jews by choice to do what we ourselves are unwilling to defile ourselves by doing?

Let Shabbat be a special time for honesty and straightforwardness in our dealings.
Let it be a time of simplicity rather than intense complexity.

Postscript:

When I returned to the moadon to apologize after hiding out, stewing, thinking, and writing for two hours, I found a few interesting things:

1) No one had actually been mad about my comment; some found it funny.

2) For a few people, the comment actually sparked curiosity about Reform Judaism, both in specific regard to this issue, and also more generally an interest in Reform Judaism in general

3)One Orthodox woman shocked me when she admitted quietly, "Yeah, I also was thinking what a ridiculous debate we were having!"

What a strange people we are...

The Kollel Begins

Happy Summer!

The Kollel finally began today, with 11 of us studying texts I had prepared from the tractate of the Talmud called Berachot, and it all went really well. There's a range of text ability here, and I am at the lower end of the spectrum, which made putting the texts together rather intimidating. We ended up having great conversations, though, about the blessings we are taught to say before we eat, and why we are instructed to say them. The Talmud gives many reasons as to why we are supposed to bless in this way, but the basic gist is that the food doesn't belong to us, even if we grew it--it belongs to God, and the way we redeem it from God is by saying a blessing. By blessing the food, we bring God into the world.

It was wonderful to finally begin this three week part of the journey; I was very nervous and tonight I'm feeling partial relief...

The study followed a great and hot morning of farming-- removing the suckers on tomato plants, planting purple peppers, and finally finishing the weeding of the kale in my plot.

My plot is turning over quickly; the beans are really done and will soon be plowed under; there are now four types of micro greens growing in the front of the plot, and more kale was planted where the spinach was. We're really transitioning from spring harvest to summer harvest-- there's actually a bit of a lull right now-- far less to harvest than there was in weeks past.

The times, they are a-changin'...

Had a great Shabbat with the family-- it was so incredibly good to see them! We had a fantastic time at the farm-- services and dinner on Friday night, sleeping in and a great hike of the loop trail on Saturday, and a good time harvesting this morning and going into Baltimore for the great, if sweaty, Farmer's Market. The boys popped right up this morning and helped pick peas, which was so fun! Here's some pictures from that harvesting:

Aren't they handsome?

Tonight, we met with the five folks who have come for the Kollel for this week. The Kollel is actually why I"m officially here, now that I'm more than halfway through my time. The idea is that, starting tomorrow, we'll work in the field until noon, and then study Jewish text related to agriculture in the afternoon.

So far, the folks I've been living and working with have been the Fellows who are working both at Kayam and the adjacent JCC Day Camp, plus the paid staff of Kayam. Now, things are changing; these new, great folks have come in, and as of tomorrow, camp starts-- the fellows will mostly be there, and I'll mostly be with Kollel group, which will change week to week as some folks are here for much of the summer, and some are here as short as one week.

Each week we'll be studying a Jewish text related to agriculture; I'm "captaining" this first week, which is based on the Talmudic text called Brachot. It's been more than a little humbling to put together study materials for this group-- most of the other folks have been in yeshiva or at least have Jewish day school backgrounds. Hopefull the study materials I've assembled will serve as a valuable jumping off point for each chevruta's (learning pair) study.

I've not been so intimated in a long time; hopefully it will go well. This being way out of my league, too, is a different experience-- hopefully a good one!

Off to try to sleep before the big day!

Note-- I've just (finally) added some photos from the watershed pilgrimage to that posting-- check 'em out!