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.

An International Tragedy and Finding Common Ground

“I would like to take a moment and dedicate a tribute to the three teenage boys who were found lifeless in a field yesterday in the West Bank, 18 days after they were kidnapped,” I said today during Avodat Lev. I had asked the staff member leading the first activity of the day if something could be mentioned about this terrible tragedy- when it was thought that members of Hamas shot and killed these civilians after kidnapping them while they were on their way to school two weeks ago. The staff member said he was not aware of the incident and invited me to take over our morning ritual to publicize the news and attempt to understand this tragedy.

Two songs into Avodat Lev, Arthur turned the stage over to me, where I briefly spoke about the murder, the constant search for the last 2 weeks to find these individuals, and the way in which it brought together Klal Yisroel (nation of Israel). I requested we remain silent for a full minute to remember Naftali Frankel, Eyal Yifrach and Gilad Shaar. “May their memory be a blessing to Klal Yisroel,” I concluded, nodding to Arthur indicating he can continue with the regular morning service.

The conflict between Israelis and Palestinians continues- since the search for Frankel, Yifrach, and Shaar, 422 Palestinians- 335 members of Hamas- were arrested in the West Bank, more than 80 rockets and shells were fired at Israel, and dozens of targets struck in the Gaza Strip.

But life continues, there in Israel, here in America. We are keeping busy at Adamah, continuing our attempt to reconcile our differences as secular and religious Jews. Israel has attempted to keep its people safe, make compromises with the Palestinians, though whether this is true on the other end is questionable, and certainly doubtful with regards to Hamas. It is difficult for the Orthodox population here to wake up 10 minutes earlier- that perhaps being 5:20 instead of 5:30- to daven (pray) the morning Shacharit (morning prayer), in order to create Shalom Bayit (peace in the home) and participate in the communal prayer, which excludes several of the traditional prayers. But we do it because we are attempting to create a community of peace, love, and understanding- and perhaps to understand these other experiences of our fellow Adamah-niks. It is a sacrifice to those who are less observant at home to refrain from using electricity and participate in other Shabbat-desecrating activities in the common area, in order to create a more comfortable environment for those who are more observant. There is a sincere attempt on both ends to make this a manageable and safe space for everyone involved. Perhaps when there we practice more love for each other within Jewish communities, as is such in a unique manner at Adamah, we can begin to face the difficulties and threats directed at us from outside our community.