Diving Back Into Society, and Top Adamah Moments

This has been one of the most hectic weeks of my entire life. The first day of Hazon’s bike ride on Monday was followed by a barbecue dinner, and the performance of a cute song by the Teva (children camp) leaders about Baal Taschit, or the importance of minimizing waste. I collected by belongings and, rather awkwardly, said my dued (and second) goodbyes. It was a miracle I found a couple driving back to New York after that first day of the Hazon ride, who gave me a lift back to my home in Queens. As is often the case with those generous enough to offer rides, I found myself forced to converse with the couple about myself, my Adamah experience this summer, and of course, my future plans- when all I wanted was silence, to ponder the experience and quietly mourn my exit from the retreat center, as I anticipate my (hopeful and) speedy return for the Chagim (High Holidays).

While Labor Day provided me the chance to unwind, Tuesday I was in school all day cleaning, organizing, and moving classroom furniture to prep for parent orientation on Thursday and first day of school on Friday. But my work was unclear, and the agenda disorganized. Coming from a place where I knew exactly what was expected of me, where I knew exactly where to be and when, my internal frustration with my fellow teachers, some expressing intense stress among their own confusion, and others who didn’t show up at all, was overwhelming.

Moving my things out of storage on Wednesday went relatively smooth, and I was grateful and satisfied with my decision to remain in a place where I was so familiar with my surroundings.

With Thursday came a full day of classroom preparation, followed by parent orientation in the evening. I wondered what was on the minds of the teachers who didn’t show up until the late afternoon. When a fellow on Adamah failed to come to work without a legitimate reason, at least in my experience, it was not tolerated. When one or more individuals are absent, it creates more work on those who are there, and shows a lack of responsibility and commitment to the program. Following this strict work experience made me wonder, What could these teachers possibly have going on that is more important than ensuring the children have a clean, organized environment in which to play and learn this coming year?

The same day I learned that the amount of funds in my bank account was at an insufficient level. I also learned that one of the buildings at the Isabella Freedman, the one I had stayed in during my first retreat there, had caught fire and burned down. Nobody was hurt- but the accumulation of events this week reminded me of the things I hadn’t needed to be concerned about while on Adamah. And the fire didn’t make me grateful I wasn’t there, but rather caused me to wish I were there to grieve with the community I had lived with for almost three months. A friend on Adamah was in the room at the time the fire started. It was in these ways that I was connected to this incident, and it was in this sense I felt the loss of a part of the campus.

Dear readers, call me obsessed. I’m coming to a point where I need to let go. I know that. For my health, well-being, and success, I need to loosen that reins a bit and allow myself to dive back into the society I chose to live in five years ago.

I just needed this week to continue living Adamah, rural Connecticut in my mind to allow the mental transition back to Queens. Come next week, the next stage of my life- it will indeed be time to dive right back into the ocean. With the hopes and anticipations of coming back to the farm soon.

Top Adamah moments:

First Friday night tisch at BA, with song and Dvar Torahs
The first Avodat HaLev- going up to the Overlook
The fourth Mikveh ceremony- reflecting on the past week
First trip to the CSA drop-off... and stopping off at Dunkin Donuts
Visiting the goats, and watching baby Mozza hop onto a ledge
Reciting my assigned "Speak Your Truth" the last week
Watching the schechting of 3 ducks and a rooster
Having a 2-hour DMC with an apprentice the day we partook in the meal of the bird schechting
First Avodat HaLev with the Teva children
Experiencing my first *real* run up Beebe Hill
Singing folk songs in the lounge after a Teva children's performance
Milking the goat Zola for the first time
The first Kabbalat Shabbat and Friday night meal at BA
Leading a fellowship meeting
Bringing in eggs from the chicken coop for the first time
Hoeing the weeds with a stirrup to the point where I couldn't feel my arms
Weed wacking for the first time
Hiking up the Appalachian trail
Learning how to spin honey
Harvesting flowers for Shabbat
Playing "Cheers Governor" and drinking on Shabbat

Thank you, readers, for being a part of my journey.  Wishing you a restful, inspirational Shabbat and a wonderful year ahead.

Hazon- An Accomplishment, That Just Didn't Fit

I’ll be honest- the Hazon retreat and bike ride was not the way I would have liked to end my summer at Adamah. I almost felt cheated- the way Shabbos was spent with 80 others (not hundreds, as I had originally thought, but still), instead of the usual 15 that generally show up to a Shabbos meal at Beit Adamah. We were moved out of BA by then, so that the Fallniks could move their things in for their season at Adamah.

Granted, I missed the last week of the program due to my necessity to be in school for teacher preparations. Just as the first scene and last scene of a movie are always the most important, the first and last weeks of a program such as this is, I believe, crucial to getting the full experience. But, ‘tis is life.

I wouldn’t go as far to say that Shabbos was a complete disappointment, but it was a strange weekend. I returned to the Isabella Freedman that Friday in the middle of a work session, joining the Summerniks and Fallniks on the field for the last hour of work for the week- and, for the summer. And I lived in the Kfar cabins on the far end of campus with the other Summerniks, and some Fallniks. It was strange to have been gone, and then to come back. It’s always a good feeling to be acknowledged by others. But when you leave- or at least, when I leave- coming back seems so out of place. Like things have changed, and it takes a few days for things to get back to normal. Well, I didn’t have a few days to get back into the swing of things- I was there for two days, and then would be returning to New York for good.

I met some Hazon riders that weekend; I saw some of my friends from back home; I occasionally mingled with the summer Adamah crew; but, to be perfectly frank, I was trying a lot of the time to screw my head on straight. It was disorienting- the return, packing into the Kfar, joining the group of 80 (or perhaps more) in the tent outside, and simply changing the routine I had gotten used to for the past 12 weeks.

Where is everyone? I kept thinking to myself as I searched for familiar faces of my cohort, hoping to share our last hours together among the chaos of Hazon and the Fallniks transitioning into the Adamah life. I felt that even though I was still there, Adamah was over, the communal feeling among the Summerniks was gone. I would have liked to think of my returning as finishing Adamah- but maybe, as Dad had said just a few days before- it was already over, I’m just returning for a separate piece of the summer.

The ride began at 7:30 Sunday morning. I was not ready. While a staff member at the Isabella Freedman had lent me her mountain bike for the ride, as oppose to my road bike, I ran around at the last minute trying to find a helmet and suitable backpack, stressing about the fact that I had decided not to buy a Hazon T-shirt that would enable me to ride more comfortably, as oppose to the cotton shirt I was specifically told not to wear.

But, like running, getting on a bike and riding for 50 miles took my mind off the stress I was feeling just moments before- I felt energized- grateful that an apprentice gave me her helmet; that a stranger, and fellow rider, allowed me to use a small backpack of his, assuring me that all I needed was a water bottle… despite my concern that not having sunscreen, a notebook I carry around at all times, and a hat would deem me unprepared.

Non-riders went as crew to cheer us on and give us flowers, water, and snacks during rest stops. I rode with various small groups of people throughout the ride, conversing and gazing at our surroundings. My fear of riding so long with little training dissipated as I found myself responding to concerned peers with a confident, “I’m doing great.”

I had to push myself to get through the last 10 miles- amid steep hills and a seeming never-ending road. “You can do it!” I yelled out to a fellow peer who had stopped on the road to adjust, when really, I was subconsciously telling that to myself. As I crossed the finish line and pulled into campus, I was hurting, but proud that I had decided to turn my would-be 37-mile ride into 51 miles.

Hours later, Hazon held a barbecue to acknowledge the riders and prepare many for Day 2 of the ride (which I would be missing so I could be in school again for preparations). I said my goodbyes to friends and peers- but didn’t feel like this departure was the same as the last. The second to last weekend of August was when I felt I had really left. “You’re coming back in a few days,” people had reminded me.

I’m happy and proud I returned for Hazon’s annual ride, the culmination of the summer, the event that so many had contributed towards my $1000.00 goal in order to allow me to participate in the ride. But mentally, by the Hazon weekend, I was already gone.

Pokeach Ivrim- Opening the Eyes of the Blind

On June 12, a bright summer morning and the first full day of our program, Adamah leader Sarah Chandler brought us up to the top of the Overlook. We were blindfolded, and after given instruction, we removed the covering from our eyes, and yelled out “Pokeach Ivrim!” gazing out in silence at the view of the trees and nature below. Little did I know it would indeed be a summer of Pokeach Ivrim (generally a traditional section of the morning prayer thanking G-d for “opening the eyes of the blind,” and giving us the ability to see).

“Blessed are You, Lord our G-d, King of the Universe, Who opens the eyes of the blind.” Of the legally blind. Of the visually impaired. Of those whose sight is blinded by our own experiences, our own sheltered lives. Of those who embark on a summer expecting to live and work within the realms of our upbringing and traditions, and leave with a totally different picture. Recognizing the world is a rainbow of human beings, trying to create something together despite, or as a result of our differences.

Reciting the blessing of “Pokeach Ivrim,” it no longer has the same meaning it did when I first opened up a siddur at age 5 in my beginning stages of prayer. In my early childhood years, giving someone the gift of sight was a foreign concept, one that didn't involve me. Now, we all need the gift of sight on some level, at some point in our lives.

Siddur Shiloh, the first prayer book
I had used at the age of 5.

Post- Summer Withdrawal

The journey from my home to the city
Is a long one.
Thinking time.
The chance to ponder my recent past.
Trying to fill the hole that was left
Inside me as my life turned around in one day.
Downing multiple cups of coffee.
Getting another piercing.
Taking a shopping trip.
Consuming popsicles in the freezer of my school, by the hour.
What could possibly fill the gap
Of the loss of the life I was living,
Just a few days ago?
I've been taught, time and time again
To be in the moment
Allow myself to feel these feelings.
And then make plans. Look towards the future.
Keep busy.
Rinsing crates of kale outside the Cultural Center,
Was replaced with the organizing of my classroom for the first day of school.
Instead of slicing hundreds of carrots for retreat guests in the main kitchen,
I am now shuffling file cabinets for relevant school material.
Connecting to others always took me time.
But when I did, I always held on tight.
Which makes letting go difficult beyond anything.
Friendships, experiences, retreats.
Embracing and living up every possible moment.
While on the organic farm.
Because as of next week, the farming fellowship will be history.
Keeping the connections, but letting go.
A deep sadness, a loss I know will linger
As I re-begin my new life in the city as a child educator
And will eventually, at some point, disintegrate back into thin air.
Just a memory.

Changed Cultures, Changed Attitudes

The last time I came back to New York, I was checking out apartments to live in for the fall. It was a stressful visit and, even when I was spending time with family over Shabbat, I was thinking about how much I wanted to be back in Adamah- in the loving community when I could go off and talk to a peer for hours… where I could visit the chicken coop, the barnyard, the Cultural Center, just to see what was going on when work was not officially in session.

The last time I came to New York, the fast-paced lifestyle proved too much for me to handle after living in rural Connecticut for the last six weeks. I broke down in the parking lot of a fast-food take-out after being unable to properly communicate my needs to the employer. After five years of boasting how much I loved New York, how I was proud to have moved here after spending 18 years in California, I recognized that being outside the Big Apple gave me an outside, or perhaps realistic, perspective of the city. I didn’t want to be here- I wanted to be home, in the loving community of the Isabella Freedman.

I returned to New York this afternoon after 10 weeks of work and introspection- a stronger woman. The girl I had had intense challenges with at the beginning of Adamah and I had connected in a unique way- she drove me to the train station at 7:30 in the morning before her work session. How things change in a mere seven weeks.

During my trip back, I had five heavy bags with me- in the past, I felt weak with so much luggage, a reminder of how often I had moved from one place to the other. But this time, the strength I gained from my farming fellowship made the trip manageable, and even somewhat of an adventure. My shoulders ached from my laptop bag and tote bag carrying random miscellaneous items that would come back with me to Queens. But I was upbeat, excited to be returning to a place that was familiar to me, one where I knew that, as an accumulation of the positive and negative situations I’ve had with past roommates and among my cohort at Adamah, I would remain at this apartment, and it would work.

The train conductor barked at a couple of passengers, demanding we move our suitcases to create space for a handicapped fellow; people paced quickly and stressfully through Grand Central station, bumping against me, anxiously trying to make their trains; the taxi cab driver, who, by the way, clearly didn’t know his way around New York City, reminded me accusingly and impatiently to pay him his owed amount plus tip after dropping me off in Queens.

But like water rolling off a duck’s back, these typically frustrating scenarios bounced off me, and the negative psychological responses went somewhere else. I was the luckiest girl in the world- I’d experienced a summer like never before, a program that gave me skills for life, doing things people may never do in their lifetime- I witnessed a schechting, I harvested my own vegetables, I found a soul sister, I spoke deeply and articulately to my peers, something that frequently comes difficult in the fast-paced NYC. I collected eggs from the chicken coop, took out my own food compost, and watched it turn back into soil.

I would never see that taxi driver again- as for the Isabella Freedman, I plan to return for the High Holidays and frequent Shabbatot thereafter. It’s long-lasting, and those in New York will soon learn from the farming and sustainability measures, and attitudes of those in this mishpacha (family), and kehillah (community). I feel blessed to have gone, and to return and educate New York City on what life is really all about.

Wrapping it up- Recognizing Adamah as Real Life

This is it. It will be our last Shabbos at Adamah as a cohort- next week we will be spending Shabbat as part of a retreat at the Isabella Freedman. The weekend will feature people who are participants and supporters of Hazon’s annual bike ride. (Hazon is the umbrella organization of Adamah).

So much happened this summer, and it seems so much was left out from this written record of my experience here at Adamah- the incredible day of Tisha B’Av (a commemorative Jewish fast day), that started with a mini-kumzitz (sing-along) by a group of guys, and ended with a communal Kohenet gathering, singing “Stone by Stone” as we placed rocks in the center of the circle; the random and spontaneous community bonfire hangouts after classes ended; even the arguments at fellowship meetings, that ultimately brought us closer as a community.

I had considered the Isabella Freedman a safe, comfortable space that allowed me to get away from city stresses in the past- but now, it’s truly home. It’s a place where I can go anywhere on campus when I’m feeling down, to pick me up. It’s a place where we can sit in a circle, retreaters and staff, playing instruments and singing songs that I remember from my childhood. It’s a place where I had a conversation that lasted two hours with a young woman whom I now consider to be my soul sister; it’s a place where I can visit the goats at any time because, as a member of Isabella Freedman staff, I have the privilege of releasing the barn gate and going out to their pasture just to say hello. Goat therapy, is what I like to call it.

As I prepare thank-you gifts and postcards to those who have generously donated to Hazon as part of my assigned fundraising efforts, I recall the couple of CSA market runs with apprentices out in West Hartford; our first Shabbat at Adamah, where 10-15 people joined in an inspirational singing gathering following dinner; attending a “Buy Local” market to sell our products;  those few mornings when I co-led children’s Avodat HaLev, as their parents attended programming at the Isabella Freedman, which sticks out in my mind as a highlight of this summer. I’m pretty sure I had more fun than the kids, chanting Modeh Ani as we marched in the gazebo, accompanied by musical instruments.

With an apprentice, organizing fruits and veggies for the
CSA market in West Hartford.

It’s a world so different than that which I’m used to, and somehow, I’m going to need to let it go- at least for the time being. I plan to return for the High Holidays, frequent Shabbatot, for perhaps the goat schechting (slaughtering) in the Fall- an experience that would probably be of the most difficult I would ever experience, but one that, to witness, would be a bracha (blessing)- and a real honor.

In the meantime, this summer was when I truly understood and resonated with the phrase, “You can sleep when you’re dead.” Before this summer, my required eight hours of sleep was essential to my health and well-being. But Adamah is life, and before returning back to what others refer to as the “real world,” I’ve been pulled to these late-hour non-required activities that enabled me to live it up while on this transformational experiential journey.

Thank you to Jackie Cohen, Allison Green, Anne Cohen, and David Frager for their recent donations to Hazon, and for helping me reach (and surpass!) my goal of $1000.00!

Helping Others and Helping Myself- Finding That Balance

There have been few times over the last several weeks when I’ve gotten into the space I fell into this evening- a space I didn’t want to be in just a few days before I head back to New York to prep for my job this coming year.

All the Adamahniks were required to present their “Speak Your Truth,” an assignment that encouraged us to think about our summer here at Adamah and how we feel it has affected us and our plans for the future. 

One young Israeli woman was the last to speak- she got up and recited a poem in Hebrew, translated it into English, and then spoke about her Adamah experience. Her talk was confusing, and it seemed to me that she had decided to relay the negative experiences she’d had this summer, and all her struggles in dealing with a culture and language with which she was unfamiliar. While she was up there talking, I was thinking, “No, don’t do this, just be positive, end off on a good note.” I think that, having had five individuals get up before this girl and open up their hearts, expressing how Adamah has made them a better person, we were all in a sensitive space, needing to hear the same type of response from this girl. But it seemed she had decided to say what was really on her mind. She later told me that what had come across to me as negative was really just part of her poem recitation that ended off on a positive note on something that made her feel alive while at the Isabella Freedman.

But that’s not what’d I’d heard- perhaps I was anticipating something a little too truthful from someone who was not the typical American who may decide to sugar coat a summer experience, but to speak from the heart. Perhaps I’d allowed myself to get too involved in her struggles with feeling excluded from spontaneous group outings; in her trying to communicate messages that were not being heard, or at least understood, by those in our cohort; with the horrific events of Israel, affecting her family and community, that the others seemed to diminish among all that happens on the program. She was the first Adamahnik I had met as we took the train together to Falls Village, and I admit that I had felt a certain connection to this girl I hadn’t felt with others. We both grew up Orthodox and were passionate about remaining connected to our Yiddishkeit (Judaism), despite the number of instances in which this became difficult, with so many Adamahniks who grew up, or became secular. 

But after ending a difficult year, I swore this summer would be different- that I would go to Adamah with open arms and an open mind, distancing myself from negative people who may affect my summer for the worse. This girl and I got along well, and had some good conversations. But how close did I want to get to someone who may end up pulling me down with her, among all of her struggles?

Following her speech, the others went off to dinner, as I remained sitting silent, confused. Did I misunderstood what this girl had said? Was the summer really all that bad, that she spoke about “death everywhere around me,” from the squirrel having been run over on the road, to her family friend who was killed in a car accident just a few weeks before, to her feeling dead inside from being excluded and unheard in her Adamah community?

After speaking with a friend, I recognized that was this girl said was a trigger- of years earlier, when I had felt alone and depressed… excluded from everyone and everything. Trying to reach out to people, but feeling ignored; trying to be understood as a religious teenager in a world, on a high school campus where social pressures were everywhere. Feeling hopeless and helpless, and wondering if there was anyone in the world who cared, or wanted to support me and help me in my challenges. When a friend turns to you in need and you want to help, but feel that it will cause conscious or subconscious triggers that will cause you to be in a space that you’ve tried to shut and lock away, how do you respond?

I’ve tried to distance myself from negativity, anger, intensity, drama, passive aggression- the responses and activities that had caused anguish, and used up so much of my energy. I’m done, I said to myself at the beginning of the summer. Now, positivity, newness, positive energy. If I sense drama, just let it go.

But Israel is so much a part of me that all of this will come back to me, whether through the news, or through a messenger sent as a fellow Adamahmik… I’ll be going back to the stresses of New York in under a week, and all of this may show up once again, whether I’m ready or not. So do I push it away, decide that these qualities are “not for me,” or do I support my friend, my religious country in times of need?

Yes, Adamah has helped me in so many ways- it was good, good, and good. But it wasn’t all good for everyone. Perhaps it’s finding that balance in helping others… but also taking care of myself in times when I really just need positive energy in my life.