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.

A Typical Day at Adamah

At the CC, filling crates with jars of
pickles to sell at markets and on campus.

When people ask me what I’ve been doing this summer as a fellow on a farm, my mind starts swimming, trying to decide what to say first, what to say last, what I can possibly leave out that would still give the person an idea of the type of experience I'm having, yet not allow the conversation to go on for hours. The things we’ve been doing have been endless, taking up all our time while here, causing my parents and other family to question what it is I’m so busy with. So I decided to list out all the things we may be doing on a typical day at the Adamah Farm.

A Typical Day on the Farm

6:00am- Avodat HaLev, led by staff or Adamah-nik,either at the Beit Adamah or at another location (in which case wake-up as at 5:40)

7:00am- Chore, which may consist of tending to the chickens or the goats, milking, taking out compost, or housekeeping at the Beit Adamah

8:00am- Breakfast and get ready for the day

9:00am- Work session

Work option 1: Field

                            - Harvesting tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchinis, green beans, or other fruits and vegetables on any of three different field areas.

                            - Hand weeding or hoeing

                            - Working with irrigation hoses or drip tape, ensuring they are connected and placed correctly on the beds

Work option 2: Maintenance- 

                           - Collecting garbage from around campus

                           - Painting or remodeling the Beit Adamah

                           - Installing an air conditioner in one of the retreat buildings

Work option 3:  Cultural Center

                            - Making or jarring pickles

                            - Placing labels on pickling and jam jars

                            - Washing vegetables

                            - Loading or unloading crates into and from the truck that goes to main campus or for CSA

12:00pm- Lunch

1:30pm- Work session

  Option 1: Field

  Option 2: Maintenance

  Option 3: Cultural Center, lead tour for guests in various areas (compost, chickens, barnyard, hiking)

  Option 4: Work in the main kitchen

4:30pm- Class about farm workers and pesticides

6:00pm- Dinner

7:00pm- Class about active listening

On days we have class, our day ends at 8:30pm, when Adamah-niks return to BA to go running, cook a late dinner, watch "Orange Is The New Black," schmooze with a beer or ice cream, or update their blogs :-)

We rotate on chores and work sessions, and generally when we request a certain type of work that we particularly enjoy, the staff is relatively accommodating. My favored job is working in the field using the stirrup hoe and weed wacker (which I've only had the chance to do once), and leading Avodat HaLev for kids in the morning during various retreats at the Isabella Freedman. The classes range from that on agricultural skills and information, Jewish topics (like one called "Torah of Earth"), and leadership and communication skills.

In case you have been wondering what I've been up to this summer... I hope this gives somewhat of an idea and answers your questions about what the Adamah fellowship is all about.

They Were Schechted... and I Shaken- A Ritual Ceremony

“So, where are you from?” I turned to the fellow asking me the question, an Adamah alumni who had joined us for a few days.

“This isn’t something I want to talk about right now,” I said, as I plucked feathers out of a rooster up on Beebe Hill.

We had just witnessed a fowl schechting, the ritual slaughtering of an animal, a style of killing where the animal is guaranteed no pain during the process, thereby making it Kosher. Three ducks had been purchased over the last few weeks, taken and fenced in a small area; the rooster was also a recent arrival. Folks had been talking about the slaughtering ritual for a couple of weeks before the ceremony. I, apparently was in my own world- or perhaps in denial- and didn’t realize this was the week they were be slaughtered. We would get to witness, and eventually eat the three ducks and the rooster.

The schochet, the man who would be slaughtering the birds- also an Adamah alumni- prepped us for the ceremony, speaking about the schechting process and allowing us to express our thoughts and feelings. For many, it would be our first time watching an animal being slaughtered for food. Some were excited; others, like me, were anxious and nervous. The schochet donned an apron and took hold of the knife- a specific slaughtering knife, with no nicks, a perfect slaughtering device, to ensure the process would be quick and clean-cut.

“Who wants to hold the rooster?” he had asked. A few brave souls stepped up to hold each bird upside- down, while the schochet gently twisted the neck and made the cut straight through. My friend broke down; others stood amazed; I was shaken. During each round, the bird was slaughtered and placed inside a large bin, allowing it to spasm for a few minutes before dying. Following this process, the schochet invited us to partake in stripping the feathers from the birds, and then cutting off the head, the legs, and the wings.

“So where are you from?” the man, who must have been in his 30’s, asked me. I didn’t want to speak; I was processing these moments. My connection to animals is so strong- for chickens less than goats, another type of farm animal here scheduled to be slaughtered in the Fall. Nevertheless, another being- another four beings were gone from this world.

The ducks panicked before the schechting- I’m not sure whether they had sensed what was coming- but I walked over to a duck being held, stroked its fluffy white feathers, hushed it, whispered, “It’s okay,” while inside, I myself wondered it really would be. The ducks I had learned to tend on frequent mornings- the four ducks, who had made me laugh as they played “Following The Leader” as they quacked away in their little fenced space, would no longer be there when I showed up to obtain the eggs from the chickens, to clean their waste. Would this cage be used for yet another set of ducks, or birds, who would live for a short time before being slaughtered and given to us to partake as a meal?

I haven’t yet decided whether I would eat the rooster and the ducks when they are served later this week, or perhaps next week. Since the schechting, it’s been a mellow day. I yearned for silence as we watched the fowls die, as we plucked the feathers from their bodies, as we pulled the organs from their insides and soaked the meat before they were carried away. I tried to block out the chuckles and screeches from fellow Adamahniks taking part in the process. This was a period of mourning, and all I wanted was a moment of silence.

In a debriefing after the ceremony, we spoke about our experiences. “I’m a little shaken,” I said. “This is a beautiful thing to be a part of, but all I can think of is how another animal, another being was taken from this Earth.” I suppose expressing my gratefulness in witnessing a schechting would have been appropriate, as many in the group did. Of course I was glad I had the chance to be a part of this. But as I stood outside the chicken coop just moments before, I wanted to apologize to the chickens for taking away a member of their community- four members of their community. It’s hard to imagine I will ever spend my time with the chickens the same way again, automatically taking their eggs and scooping their excrement. Four beings were taken from the top of Beebe Hill today- it seems my relationship with birds and animals may never be the same.

Thank you to Chani Markel and Allen Purvin for recently contributing to my upcoming Hazon bike ride.

Education on a Wider Level

Here at Adamah, the staff mainly breaks up the summer into three components- working in the field, in the cultural center, or elsewhere on campus; sessions consisting of Jewish studies, agricultural knowledge, and leadership and interpersonal skills; and field trips related to the work that we do. The education I have received here is unique beyond measure, enabling me to academically and personally grow after Adamah ends. Some things I’ve learned should have been obvious long ago, but even the most obvious things are not always realized when in a specific mind set- raised a certain way, and/ or have experiences that place us in this mindset.

I’ve learned that tomatoes should be harvested when they are 50% ripe, the Manny cucumbers when they are at least a thumb’s length and zucchini when they are at least eight inches long.

I learned that if you give a lot, you may receive a little, but even creating this connection is worth the possible lasting friendships beyond the summer.

I learned that compost must be produced through a process that combines plant and animal materials with a Carbon: Nitrogen ratio of (ideally) 30:1.

I learned that active listening entails listening to another person fully, pushing away the temptation to think about what you are going to say during their statement.

I learned that vertical farming is a skyscraper greenhouse, a system of farming that has not yet been invented, but would prevent the need to create more farmland.

I’ve learned that when a group here on a week-long retreat practicing our culture in a manner that I feel goes against what I was brought up to believe, my presence as a spectator, rather than as a participant, is possible and valid.

I learned that the focus of permaculture is not its components, but the relationships created among them by the way in which we place them in the landscape.

I learned that stepping up to take care of (sometimes another person’s) job is something each individual in a cohort understands is essential to creating and building on this community.

I learned that when working in commercial kitchen areas, food safety requires covering the head, wearing close-toed shoes, and sleeves.

I learned that the act of listening does not always require a response or express desire to suggest a solution, but sometimes specifically mandates only an ear to listen and simple acknowledgment.

Indeed, I can concur to the words of a chant at Adamah-“I can feel it in my spirit, in my body, in my soul.”

Thank you Dan Sivils and Pam Dunn for supporting my 40-mile bike ride this week by donating funds and bringing me closer to my goal of raising $1000.00 for Hazon!

Retreats Galore and Making Friends With The Chickens

This last week featured three different programs at the Isabella Freedman- DLTI- the Davvenen, Leadership Training Institute; Kohenet; and Torah Yoga. It was a packed week with activities for the three different groups, in addition to prayers and classes the Adamahniks were invited to when not scheduled for work and programming. DLTI trains participants to lead worship and other communal events in a Jewish context; Kohenet trains women to become Jewish ritual leaders by tapping into earth-based spiritual practices that they believe precedes pre-rabbinic Judaism. Torah Yoga offers an experience of Jewish wisdom through Yengar yoga instruction together with the study of traditional and mystical Jewish texts. I had joined DLTI davening on Tuesday and Thursday, two different versions Tuesday involving mostly singing, music, and explanations, and the other more of a traditional style with some music. The various programs consist of adults of all age ranges of different backgrounds looking for a meaningful way to connect with Judaism. Though there was little time for conversation with these folks, I spoke to a girl in her 20’s part of Kohenet group who expressed her gratitude for being able to get out of the city twice a year to connect to her roots at Kohenet; a man in his 40’s or 50’s and participant of DLTI who wanted to deepen his skills, insight, and passion for Judaism and expand his circle of Jewish travelers.

Often during retreats I place myself mainly at the Isabella Freedman main campus. A lot of spirituality ensued this weekend, and it seemed whenever I had turned to leave, I was drawn back by a group singing to acknowledge the Shloshim (traditional ritual 30 days after the passing of someone) of Reb Zalman Schachter- Shalomi, the founder of the Renewal movement; or mingling with Adamah staff and members of Torah Yoga; or eating post-Shabbat ice cream while dancing to the drums that accompanied a community-wide havdalah.

A friend had asked me to cover her chore of the chickens today so she could go out this evening. I had never been assigned to doing chicken duty so I was pretty excited when she asked me to take her place. She relayed to me the requirements of the evening part of the job- go to the coop at 8pm, make sure all the chickens are inside, and then close the door, securing it with a metal bar. Since we also recently obtained ducks, I also needed to ensure the ducks were locked inside their cage. When I got to the coop just before sunset, most of the chickens had retreated inside, save two still hanging around outside. Now I understand my roommate’s pain when she said she spent 20 minutes chasing the chickens into their coop. The dark brown rooster, which we recently bought, and a beige-colored chicken played hard to get as I ran after them in my white Shabbos shirt (grateful that I changed into pants for this duty), helplessly trying to get them in so I could get back before it gets dark. Maybe asking the girl on chicken duty for a more efficient way to get the chickens in would be helpful to save me time during my assigned week on chickens.

The last couple of weeks, I had been thinking about staying at the Isabella Freedman for the coming year. The option to apply as an educator for Teva, an outdoor educational children’s program for kids in schools throughout the East Coast excited me, to the point where my job in Manhattan seemed dull and perhaps something to reconsider. I could imagine becoming a part of the Isabella Freedman community for good. After much thought and going back and forth between deciding whether I would continue apartment searching in order to be able to go to work on the Upper West Side or apply to Teva, which would save myself the trouble of looking for living arrangements for the Fall, I realized that this potential seasonal position, where I was not guaranteed hire, sufficient pay, or a job after December- at the culmination of Teva- would not be a realistic option for this year. So it’s back to planning for Gan Eden preschool and notifying staff I would be away the last week of Adamah, the week my supervisor wants me back for school prep. Teva will have to wait- but a career as a Jewish outdoor educator doesn’t sound like a bad idea… as doesn’t a visit back to the Jewish retreat center every now and then following this summer at Adamah.

Looking Towards The Future- But Living in the Present

Things have been different since I returned from New York on Monday. I love it here at Adamah, but working here this week didn’t bring out the level of excitement it had in the beginning of the season. It feels a little like seminary (gap-learning program in Israel often attended by young women after high school)… like being away for a short-term experience, and then after getting used to the agenda, the initial enthusiasm dwindles, while getting more involved with classes and routine.

We’ve got four more weeks of living on the farm- I want to give it the best that I can, but logistics and reality are getting in the way of my experiencing Adamah fully, as I was in the beginning. I have a job on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, but have not yet confirmed an apartment to move into in a month. Brooklyn? Manhattan? Queens? Roommates or a room in a private home? Living with Jews or non-Jews?

And following a meeting with my supervisor during my New York visit, I need to send in paperwork and documents; plan a sample curriculum; come up with a solution as to how I’m going to balance being at school the week before it starts to prepare and participate in an annual bike ride, as the culmination of the program.

But I’m still here- attending Avodat HaLev, singing out to G-d in praise, where my passion comes alive and my neshama (Jewish soul) feels it goes straight up to Heaven; harvesting Manny cucumbers in on Field Aleph, the far end of the field; using the hoeing wheel to rid of the weeds along the trellis beds on Beebe Hill; slapping labels onto jam and pickle jars in the Cultural Center (more officially known as the Center for Cultural Proliferation); driving with a staff member to deliver vegetables to CSA in Hartford (Community Supported Agriculture-an alternative, locally-based economic model of agriculture); attending a class in the Beit Adamah about oppression and how it may affect us as individuals.

And growing- getting physically and emotionally stronger; continuing to learn about myself as an individual- recognizing my comfort level and sometimes pushing my boundaries in order to create a sense of Shalom Bayis (peace in the home) among the members of my cohort and in the Isabella Freedman community; learning to let go of things that really aren’t so important. What’s important to me is connection and remembering this as a positive, unique experience- despite the challenges I may be currently dealing with among other folks. Despite my feeling that as an Orthodox minority, I’m somewhat of an outsider in this community of pluralism and open-mindedness about religious practices.

I’ll be taking it all with me when I leave in September- and hopefully placing it into my metaphorical, and physical “feel good” file.” Soon, believe it or not, this summer will be history. But for now, I’m trying to take it all in and bring back the excitement I felt here on June 11, the first day of Adamah.

A Stopover, and Some Reflection

I’ll be heading up to New York this weekend to check out apartments for next year. I’m in denial about leaving Adamah, even for a few days. I predict culture shock, hesitation about eating foods bought from the grocery store instead of grown from our very own farm, arriving in territory that used to be familiar, but now just may seem foreign, in transitioning from rural to city life.

And I’m experiencing anxiety about searching for an apartment- wishing that Adamah, despite the setbacks, could last longer than the 2 ½ months it’s planned for. I don’t want to look for an apartment, for roommates, to either return to the community in Washington Heights, or join a new community in Brooklyn. Adamah is my safe space- where I work hard during the day on the field or participate in agricultural classes, and socialize with Adamahniks in the evenings, squeezing in a visit with the goats when I have time. Heading up Beebe Hill during my 30-minute jog; spending Shabbos afternoon chilling by the home of a staff member; catching up with friends in the Beit Adamah meditation room- it’s only so long before this will all be a piece of history.

The meditation room at Beit Adamah- my favorite room;
the place I saw as holiest and made it my own commitment to
keep clean and tidy, retaining its holy space.

As an introvert, a lot of deep emotions are going on- emotions that don’t necessarily get shown. But even though my comfort zone generally features a one or two-person conversation, I’ve been breaking out of my shell over the last few days, whether through a game of volleyball, harvesting tomatoes, or mopping the floors- my chore for the week. Admittedly, the cans of beer I used to turn down and now accept as my taste buds get used to the blandness, enables me to open up, allowing others to see the Shira who is comfortable speaking to more than one person at a given moment, who has a sense of humor, who talks about mundane topics without the feeling of fakeness and trying hard to impress. But, beer aside, this seems to be a new stage in these relationships- the one that surpasses the same “Where are you from, what do you do?” questions. It’s this major step that makes leaving at this moment such a struggle- when I recognize that I’m beginning to trust, to show a side of myself that was shut out for the first few weeks I was here.

It will be a short trip- I’ll see my mom, my brother and his family, perhaps some friends while I’m back home- or what is seemingly home- and then I’ll be back. But this trip is a preview of coming back for real come September. When I return in the fall, I’ll be jumping into my new job as an assistant preschool teacher on the Upper West Side, settling into my new apartment, wherever that ends up being, and continuing my life as a career-oriented young adult aspiring to become a teacher for young children. “Live in the moment,” people always say. Okay, I think as I take a deep breath- experience Adamah, put in everything I’ve got while I’m here; focus on finding a place to live while home, and when I get back, be in Adamah, so when it’s over I can really say I got as much out of it as I could; recognize how much I’ve learned and grown from this program; and know that I’ll be back to the Isabella Freedman in the future.

The Calm After The Storm- A Lesson in Conflict

I’ve always been pretty accepting of people from other faiths and communities. While my commitment to Judaism is strong, I love discussions about other faiths- the ideas that others have about their religion, where they came from, what it is about that religion that enables them to feel secure and strong.

But I was hit with a challenge this week after an individual from our cohort tragically lost a loved one- while her mother is Jewish, her father is not, and this girl, closely connected to her father’s heritage (of a sect of Christianity, I believe) placed a photo of the virgin Mary at the entrance of the Beit Adamah. She felt connected to the virgin Mary, or to that particular photo, and that in order to go through with the grieving process, and cope with her loss, to display this photo in public.

I’ve never lived with someone who was not Jewish, aside from a short period of time when I had returned home to California and stayed with my mom, who had rented out a bedroom to a goy (non-Jew). But my mom was the head of the household, and held her Kashrut (Kosher laws) to strict standards in order to comply with the Jewish law of keeping Kosher.

When I came to Adamah, I did not expect to butt heads with someone who also feels strongly about her religious faith. This program believes in pluralism, acceptance, and openness. But I didn’t think it went this far. How do I cope with a situation where the virgin Mary is displayed in the same room as siddurim (prayer books) and chumashim (Bible)? What happens when I want to pray or learn in that room, when an image of that which goes against my religion is staring me in the face? In a Jewish home shared among young Jews from various backgrounds, hoping to connect to Judaism in some way through the Adamah program, what does this image represent?

I’ve probably had three of the most difficult conversations I’ve ever had when I sat down with this girl, one time with a mediator, two times without, delving into my beliefs, explaining why her gesture was uncomfortable for me, and allowing her to explain her side of the story- that being that the picture of Mary was not meant to represent Jesus or Christianity, but rather her friend, who had given her this photo, the only physical memory she’d had of this girl.

There was drama, gossip, tension, anger, and resentment for the few days between our first conversation and our final discussion- people who should not have gotten involved did, and this issue blew up into something I had never expected when I first arrived at Adamah. I didn’t want to be at odds with members of my program, yet I had felt the Beit Adamah was no longer a safe space. I felt my religious faith was being threatened by a photo so admired by a specific community, one that has persecuted Jews for so many years.

I learned a lot over the last few days- I learned that an image does not necessarily represent what I think it does; I learned how to sensitively approach a topic so deeply tied to someone, particularly when it involves someone who is coping with death; I learned that when something occurs that I feel threatens my identity- religiously, or on another level, it helps to look within  myself to figure out why I’m feeling threatened- is it the image itself, or does it reflect more about my personal journey and my individual tie to Judaism?

It’s a feeling of the calm after the storm. This girl and I have had the difficult conversations, and I believe it’s made me stronger, and created potential for a friendship in the midst of our differences.

Familiar Surroundings or New Adventures?

It’s been 5 ½ weeks here at Adamah. Everything here has become so routine, it feels like I’ve been here for months- waking up at 5:30am for Avodat Lev, chores, breakfast, rushing out to work at 8:40, Lunch at noon, second work session at 1:30, and then either class or free time, finally collapsing from a long day at 10pm. But two activities this week disrupted this routine, providing some variation in our schedule. Sunday we went on an Urban Sustainability field trip, where individuals in Hartford spoke to us about their methods of farming, the programs they run to help families in need, and policies about helping individuals find jobs, particularly those with histories of crime, generally unable to find work. After a brief group recap, enabling us to reflect on what we learned, we were given some free time in the afternoon to roam about and go shopping before heading to the Moishe House of West Hartford for a barbecue. The Moishe House staff gave us a tour, talked to us about the work they do for college students, and we headed back to Falls Village with our stomachs and minds full of everything we had consumed that day.

Later that week I had co-led a pickle workshop at a JCC camp in New York. Four of us left Falls Village early in the morning with an Adamah apprentice, a staff member who had participated in Adamah in the past and was currently working as a helper and mentor to current participants. We drove out to the camp and demonstrated how to make pickles, allowing the children to do so on their own, while explaining to them that the food we use is grown on our farm at the Isabella Freedman. The children asked questions and commented on the pickle-making process as we, the staff members helped guide them with this process.

Both of these outings were fun and fulfilling, but returning to the Isabella Freedman on both of these days was relieving beyond measure. There’s something  special about living in a kibbutz- like environment, where you are familiar with the area, with the participants and staff around you, with the familiar routine that makes going away on a trip or adventure slightly unsettling. I know that I’m going to wake up at 5:30 in the morning for the prayer service and leave three hours later for work. I know that lunch will be waiting for us at noon (or 12:30, with some slight changes in this week’s schedule), and work session with frequent classes on leadership or farming in the evenings. I know that Sunday evenings at 7:00pm are fellowship meetings, where Adamah-niks discuss topics involving how to make the Adamah House a better and more manageable living situation for everyone. I know that on Fridays at 1pm, we are all expected to be at the “Sadeh” (more formally known as Sadeh HaChalomot, or “Field of Dreams”) for pre-Shabbat planting or weeding. While familiarity can sometimes get monotonous- such as when I’m scheduled to work on the field for several days in a row and know that I will be weeding or harvesting  during that time- it’s comfortable. I know that as a farmer, as an Adamah-nik on an intense work schedule, I’m counted on to be somewhere and I get settled in that routine. When going on an Urban Sustainability trip, working at a camp two hours away, or even hoeing and weeding on a farm a half away from the Isabella Freedman, I enjoy the adventures, but soon find myself anxious to get back to Beebe Hill, on campus, or the Cultural Center, to wash, cut, and pickle the vegetables we harvest out on the field.

Harvesting tomatoes with a Hazon intern- one of a few
individuals who came to the Isabella Freedman for a week
to help out on the field.

Calling the Isabella Freedman and Adamah my safe space, my home away from home sounds cliché. But that’s kind of what it is. To leave this place, despite only being here for more than a month, seems strange and intimidating, when I’ve gotten used to life on the farm with the Adamah fellows and Isabella Freedman staff. After spending a summer where many things are predictable and basic needs, are taken care of, it’s figuring out how to transition myself back to reality so I can check out apartments next weekend in New York; be able to start my new job on the Upper West Side come September; begin to think about graduate school and my career-bound life- that will not be so simple. 

Avodat HaLev and Another Meaning of Acceptance

In addition to the farming education we receive out here at the Isabella Freedman are classes that teach us about communication, interpersonal relationships, and leadership skills. After spending the first couple of weeks doing Avodat HaLev, the morning service with various staff members at Adamah, the staff oriented the Adamah members to be able to lead Avodat HaLev ourselves, using some of the basic songs and chants from the staff-led prayers, and incorporating our own ideas into the early morning service. Last week there were two days reserved for Adamah-niks to lead Avodat HaLev… ironically, the two participants who had decided to step up and be the first ones to lead seemed to have been at opposite extremities in religious observance and ideas of prayer. Tuesday, we entered the Red Yurt, a regular location for Avodat HaLev and other educational sessions, where the girl leading sang a couple of songs from the Adamah song sheet, but for the majority of the time inserted some meditation and recited poetry that she felt appropriate for the early morning prayer. During the silent meditation, generally lasting about 10 minutes during Avodat HaLev, the girl went around the circle practicing energy healing with each individual, rubbing an energy-uplifting solution on our temples. This was supposedly meant to increase the positive energy, whether we were out working on the farm, or washing vegetables at the Cultural Center. Meditation and English versions of prayer have become familiar to me while at Adamah, but the traditions still differ, and seem somewhat strange to one who grew up modern Orthodox, having learned to pray from a traditional siddur (prayer book).

Thursday featured an Adamah-nik leader who grew up in a secular home, but recently started keeping Shabbat and Kosher, and following Orthodox traditions. While he had used a couple of the songs from the Adamah song-sheet, as required as per the guidelines of leading Avodat HaLev, he had us open up the Artscroll siddur, and recite the morning blessings, thanking G-d for various gifts He has given us as we wake up to another day. I was impressed with the balance this particular fellow created, using the traditional prayers, and explaining them to those less familiar with these blessings. While this form of prayer was still outside of my comfort zone, it nevertheless provided for me a piece of “home” because I was used to saying these prayers in Hebrew on a regular basis, and also allowed me to look into these prayers in more than just an automatic way, when I usually say the words so quickly that the deeper meaning may surpass my mind.

It was conversation afterwards that set off thoughts and emotions within me- the fact that a girl unfamiliar with the traditional prayer felt it was oppressive and misogynistic; the fact that a guy who had grown up religious felt the prayers at Adamah needed to be tweaked so that those who were brought up more secular would feel comfortable, despite what the more observant community thought; the fact that even a male attending Rabbinical school felt the traditional prayers did not fit in with the ideas at Adamah- creating a safe space, tweaking things so that everyone feels warm, welcome, and accepted.

As for me, these were conversations I don’t remember having- either ever, or in a very long time. The prayers are not misogynistic- they were written thousands of years ago in a certain society where, yes, men were seen as the leaders of the household, of society. Why would we change prayers that were set so long ago just because we feel uncomfortable with it? Perhaps there’s an explanation for why men were created to do so-and-so and women were not. Perhaps women are on a higher, not lower level because we don’t need these commandments, because we were given Rosh Chodesh (the new month) as a reward for not succumbing to the action of the sin of the golden calf. And if we are talking about a pluralistic community, then does it not make sense for each person to feel a little discomfort at the unfamiliar practices, secular or observant alike? Feeling welcome and accepted is so important, but what about the written and oral commandments given to us thousands of years ago… should we change prayers and traditions because we are living in a society in which we feel everyone should be equal, and we should do what’s right for us, because we feel we have that privilege? Yes, these thoughts, based on my modern (yet open) Orthodox upbringing come tumbling out like blocks falling out of a box they were in for perhaps years too long.

I led Kabbalat Shabbat services this past week- I received positive feedback from everyone who was there. I spent hours writing up an agenda that would enable me to daven (pray) the Orthodox prayer, including explanations about the prayers, while inserting an interactive portion in which people were able to share their thoughts and feelings about the themes that came up during the service. It was a win-win-win for everyone.

But is it possible to create a community where it’s always a win-win? When these young adults range from one who is the child of a intermarried couple and another who is trying to build up towards becoming the young Orthodox man he can be, how do we find a balance that will satisfy everyone? We won’t- all the time. Yes, this program is about acceptance. But acceptance is not simply “everyone should be equal,” and “let’s change the prayers so that we are all comfortable.” Acceptance is learning how to open up our minds to that which is different- whether in a so-called "secular" manner, meditating and reciting poetry, or religious format, reciting the traditional prayers during Avodat Halev. Acceptance is about letting go sometimes, and not putting up a fight because of something we may not understand or agree with. When something is different, it’s not a threat- it’s just a different way of doing things. Yes, let’s ask questions, but let’s be open to answers we may not feel comfortable with. Let’s have discussions and agree to disagree. The Torah was not meant to create a sense of “This is the law, and tough luck,” but rather learning how to live our lives within a framework that is beautiful, sometimes limiting, that pushes us to find out answers, and want to learn more.

Compost and Questioning My Own Proconceived Values

While living on the farm, one thing that is talked about and done on a regular basis is composting food (and sometimes other materials). Compost is a natural process of recycling organic material, like leaves and food scraps, into a soil mixture. It helps retain moisture of the soil and enables vegetables to withstand common diseases, among other benefits. 

It is pretty remarkable to witness the full cycle of composting while living at the Isabella Freedman. After harvesting vegetables and eating these foods for meals (or otherwise served to retreat participants spending a weekend out in rural Connecticut), we dump the remains of the food, as well as compost-able plates and plastic-ware into a special compost bin. We take the compost out to the chicken coop, where the chickens may eat the food they desire while we cover the food with leaves and dirt. After doing this for several weeks, we begin a new compost pile (or rather one that already exists but hadn’t been used in a while), allowing the food in the first pile to slowly decompose. A tilling truck then gathers the dirt from the newly fertilized pile and dumps it evenly throughout the field, allowing farmers to begin planting again for the next round of harvesting. There are scientific details involving nitrogen and natural, nutritional substances that enable the process of compost to occur, and keep the soil healthy, but this is a process I haven’t quite grasped yet.

The idea of composting food at the Isabella Freedman, providing a healthy environment and diet for people, the plants and animals relates somewhat to a topic discussed and argued about extensively among Adamah-niks- Yiddishkeit (the Jewish religion and traditions). While the Orthodox population generally tries to preserve the Torah (Bible/ The Old Testament) and keep the laws in the highest and strictest fashion, more secular communities may perhaps decide to tweak these laws to fit their lifestyles and needs, and the modern way of life. In preserving that which the religious community feels is the "right" way, or the only way to abide by the halachot (laws), it enables the new fertilizer, the new plants (in this case, modern life) to grow and flourish in the way that is completely aligned with G-d’s desires- still turning out to be deliciously natural home-grown crops. 

But hearing from others who were not brought up with an Orthodox background makes me wonder whether my knowledge and understanding surrounding these laws is complete, accurate, and even sufficient. While we want to ensure that every extra piece of knowledge is used the right way, to follow in the ways of G-d, sometimes this “composting” is so automatic that not until someone unfamiliar with these laws asks about the reasoning for these traditions, do I wonder whether I even understand them myself. Is it important enough for me understand that the compost is put in one pile for weeks before being used as new fertilizer, without knowing why? How does nitrogen play a role in the process of decomposing the organic matter? Does it matter? My friend who observed her first Shabbat while on Adamah had many questions about why things are done the way they are in Judaism, according to Orthodox law. Is the Torah a patriarchal society, in which only the forefathers are privileged to be mentioned in the Amidah (Jewish prayer), but not the mothers? Why do we light a candle at the conclusion of Shabbat… does it have to do with the concept of having an extra soul on the seventh day of creation, holding on to that light before it leaves us as we enter a new week?

So many questions, so much to learn- things I may have thought I knew having grown up in a religious home, but never thought to question... and elements of the farm which I am much less accustomed to, and question every day.