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.