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.