The Trees Grow Light, Shabbat B'Haalotecha

A guest post by PA IPL friend Rabbi Arthur Waskow of the Shalom Center and Interfaith Action on Climate.  This reflection was originally published in the Shalom Center's e-newsletter.

Twice a year – on Shabbat Hanukkah, when the sun and moon are darkest, and on Shabbat B’Haalotecha (this year, May 24-25, in the light-filled days and nights of a full moon between spring and summer) – Jews read a Prophetic passage that focuses on Light, and – unexpectedly – on the earthy roots of Light.
We read the passage from the Prophet Zechariah that envisions the future Great Menorah, taking its sacred place in a rebuilt Holy Temple after the Babylonian Captivity. 

Zechariah, in visionary, prophetic style, goes beyond the Torah’s description of the original Menorah (literally, a Light-bearer). That Menorah was planned as part of the portable Shrine, the Mishkan, in the Wilderness.
First Zechariah describes the Menorah of the future that he sees: “All of gold, with a bowl on its top, seven lamps, and seven pipes leading to the seven lamps.” It sounds like the original bearer of the sacred Light. But then he adds a new detail: “By it are two olive trees, one on the right of the bowl and one on the left.” (4: 2-3)
And then –— in a passage the Rabbis did not include in the Haftarah reading for Shabbat Hanukkah — Zechariah explains that the two olive trees are feeding their oil directly into the Menorah (4: 11-13). No human being needs to press the olives, collect the oil, clarify and sanctify it. The trees alone can do it all. 

Now wait! This is extraordinary. What is this Light-Bearer that is so intimately interwoven with two trees? Is the Menorah the work of human hands, or itself the fruit of a tree? 

Both, and beyond. In our generation it might be called a “cyborg,” a cybernetic organism that is woven from the fruitfulness both of “adamah” (an earthy sprouting from the humus-soil) and “adam” (a human earthling). Just as earth and earthling were deeply intermingled in the biblical Creation story, so the Divine Light must interweave them once again, and again and again, every time the Light is lit in the Holy Temple. 

What stirs Zechariah to this uncanny vision? Once we listen closely to the Torah’s original description of the Menorah for the wandering desert Shrine, we may not be quite so surprised. For the Torah describes a Menorah that has branches, cups shaped like almond-blossoms, blossoms, petals, and calyxes (the tight bundles of green leaves that hold a blossom). (Exodus 25:31-40 and 37:17-24)
In short, a Tree of Light, a Green Menorah. Small wonder that Zechariah envisioned its receiving oil directly from the olive-trees! 

Since Zechariah is seen as a Prophet by Christians and Muslims as well as by Jews, his vision may invite all three Abrahamic communities to connect with the Green Menorah Covenant. 

And in the more specifically Jewish legend told by the Talmud as the origin of Hanukkah, the Light itself is a miracle. Oil that would normally have been enough only for one day’s worth of light lasts for eight days, until more oil can be consecrated. 

At the physical level, this is about conserving energy, the triumph of sustainable sources of energy over the Hellenistic Seleucid Empire that guzzled oil and other forms of material wealth. Seen this way, the Green Menorah can become the symbol of a covenant to renew the miracle of Hanukkah in our own generation: Using one day’s oil to meet eight days’ needs. By 2020, cutting oil consumption by seven-eighths 

Hanukkah also reminds us of the victory of the guerrilla band of Maccabees over the great idolatrous empire of their generation. We might easily look at our own world and think it would be overwhelmingly hard to accomplish change against the entrenched power of our own Big Oil corporations – the empires of our day. But Hanukkah reminds us:  Small groups of seemingly powerless human beings can face huge and powerful institutions – and change the world. 

But let us not stop at the economic, political, or even ecological levels of meaning. At the spiritual level, what does it mean that One day embodied Eight days? Since “Seven” is the number of fulfillment, “Eight” is the number of “Beyond.” Always “Beyond”: the Infinite. 

So the storied eight-day miracle reminds us that the Infinite is always present in the One. It reminds us that conserving oil, or coal, or our planet, is not just a political or economic or even ecological decision. It comes when we take into our hearts the knowledge that seeking more and more and more – even more and more and more Light – can become an addiction to material possessiveness, hyper-ownership.  
That addiction is a form of idolatry. 

More and more and more is not the pathway to the Infinite; indeed, it blocks the way.  If we dare to choose the One, we can achieve the Infinite.

Religion begins with wonder

This post is reprinted with permission from our friends at COEJL.  You can see it in its original here.
Passover: The Four Signs of Climate Change Action

Jewish Energy Guide: D'vrei Torah

By Rabbi Barry L. Schwartz

“… for the place on which you stand is holy ground.” (Exodus 3:5)

One: Religion begins with wonder. We stand in awe of the universe around us. We sense the miracle that is existence. Abraham Joshua Heschel called this spiritual feeling “radical amazement.” Such amazement, he taught, is the root of religion and the responsibility that flows from it. We want to preserve that which is precious; safeguard that which we deem sacred. We sense a calling; an obligation. The spiritual is prelude to the ethical.

Passover is a statement of radical amazement. Later, Passover comes to commemorate the miraculous rebirth of a people, but at its most ancient heart, the holiday celebrates the miraculous rebirth of the Earth as it emerges from the dead of winter to the glory of spring. In the same way, the people of Israel emerge from the dead of slavery to the glory of redemption. These foundational stories of radical amazement are retold year after year, generation after generation, to keep the motivating spirit of Jewish identity and responsibility alive.

Moses experiences his own transformational moment of radical amazement while in the embrace of nature. He arrives to a great mountain and on that mountain side beholds a burning bush that is not consumed. Precisely when Moses turns aside to marvel at this sight does he hear the voice of God. Moses feels summoned in that time and place. He hears God call him by name. Moses responds with that classic affirmation of presence, “Hineni” — here I am.

Is it because Moses feels so truly awed and humbled that he removes his sandals in recognition that he treads on holy ground?

Do we recognize the miracles around us? Do we turn aside to marvel? Do we hear the commanding voice? Do we affirm our presence? Do we acknowledge that the very ground upon which we stand is holy?

“Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God!
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes.”  (Elizabeth Browning)

Two: The Torah tells us that Moses is “tending his flock” when he comes upon the place that is called “Horeb, the mountain of God.”

Indeed, Moses has withdrawn into the wilderness of his personal isolation. At this point he is far from family and community, minding his goats and his business. He has observed the desperation of his people, reacted impulsively to the injustice before him, but now has withdrawn from the fight. The encounter on the mountain changes something at his core. Moses is still reluctant and afraid. Yet inertia is no longer a plan; apathy is no longer an option.

“God says to man as he said to Moses: Put off thy shoes off thy feet — put off the habitual which encloses your foot and you will recognize that the place on which you happen to be standing at this moment is holy ground.” (Martin Buber)

Moses has come upon a sacred place of understanding that compels him to act. The rest, as they say, is history. The Exodus hinges on this pivotal moment. Moses reengages the fight. He returns to the belly of the beast. Against all odds he will overcome not only the heartlessness of Pharaoh but the despondency of a broken people.

One would like to think that the memory of a mountain, of that amazing encounter that birthed the vision of a covenant restored, sustained him through the darkest period.

That mountain of God is identified as one and the same with Sinai. Moses’ personal epiphany foreshadows the grand event of communal revelation yet to unfold. An entire people will experience their moment of radical amazement. Like Moses, they will be changed forever — not completely, not perfectly, but enough to dare to dream of a different destiny.

Three: The dreariness of winter and the renewal of spring; the dark of Egypt and the light of Sinai; the crush of despair and the release of hope: All this propels the mixed multitudes forward during the long and winding trek toward the promised land.

The eternal rhythms of the Earth, echoed by the story of a people, will animate our ancestors in their annual celebrations of the cycle of the seasons. The Torah commands that the first of three great pilgrimage festivals shall be “…in the month of spring, the time when you came out of Egypt.” (Exodus 23:14)  Radical amazement at the turn of the Earth, and the turn of history, cannot be missed.

“Arise, my darling;
My fair one, come away!
For now the winter has past,
The rains are over and gone.
The blossoms have appeared in the land;
The time of singing has come…”  Song of Songs 2:10-12

The flowers push through the soil to greet the sun.

“Fueled
by a million
man-made
wings of fire
the rocket tore a tunnel
through the sky —
and everybody cheered.
Fueled
only by a thought from God —
the seedling
urged its way
through the thickness of black —
as it pierced
the heavy ceiling of the soil —
up into outer space
no
one
even clapped.”  (Marcy Hans)

Flowers, flocks, family, community — all is reborn. Pesach applauds the miracle of the seed of life sprouting anew. Of course this festival also memorializes the dark side of degradation — the winter of discontent is an inescapable part of the story — but it does so in the context of the stirring song of spring.

Four: When we sense with radical amazement this spring awakening we will reengage both the fight for the planet and the fight for humanity.

We understand that a more responsible environmental policy in general, and a drastically more disciplined energy program in particular, is called for to insure that “so long as the Earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease.” (Genesis 8:22)

During Passover, with close proximity to Earth Day, a discussion on the perils of ignoring energy conservation and the spiraling consequences of climate change as a series of modern day plagues can be provocative. So too can an exploration of our personal enslavements to habit and inertia, coupled with the entrenched indifference and hostility of modern day bureaucracies that echo Pharaoh’s insecurities and hardened heart.

Signing on to an energy covenant as a family and as an institution becomes an ethical imperative and a sacred task. Passover shows the way — the reawakening of the Earth to new life, the reawakening of our spirit to new possibilities, the transformative recognition of self-empowerment — for we stand on holy ground…and our name is called.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Rabbi Barry Schwartz is the CEO of the Jewish Publication Society. He has served on the grassroots advisory committee of the Coalition on the Environment and Jewish Life, and he helps lead the environment committee of the Central Conference of American Rabbis. He was a founding member of the Washington chapter of Shomrei Adamah, the first national Jewish environmental organization. Schwartz is also the author of several books, including Judaism’s Great Debates: Timeless Controversies from Abraham to Herzl.

The Jewish Energy Guide presents a comprehensive Jewish approach to the challenges of energy security and climate change and offers a blueprint for the Jewish community to achieve a 14% reduction in greenhouse gas emissions by September of 2014, which is the next Shmittah, or sabbatical, year in the Jewish calendar.

The Jewish Energy Guide is part of COEJL’s Jewish Energy Network, a collaborative effort with Jewcology’s Year of Action to engage Jews in energy action and advocacy. The guide was created in partnership with the Green Zionist Alliance.

Sign up here to join the Jewish Energy Network and receive weekly articles from the Jewish Energy Guide.

Of Sheds and Songs

A reflection from Rabbi Daniel Swartz, Rabbi of Temple Hesed in Scranton, PA, and vice president of the PA IPL Board.  He also carries the important title of dad to Alana, who wrote for this blog last year

Of Sheds and Songs

This past week, I've had some experiences that have highlighted for me both our connection to the world around us and what we should be doing about that connection.  I learned my first series of lessons as my wife Marjorie and I worked on getting a shed set up in our back yard.  We needed to first create a completely level gravel pad for the shed to sit on.  The problem was that our yard, like most of the natural world, was not level.  So we built a retaining wall -- and that's where the first lesson came to my attention.  Just a few years ago, you had to look far and wide to find any wood treated for outdoor that did not incredibly toxic chemicals put on it, including significant levels of arsenic.  At that time, the Environmental Protection Agency tried to issue a "health standard" on arsenic that protected the chemical companies involved with treating wood, but did not protect children.  Faith groups helped convey two key messages to our government -- first, that children both need and deserve special health protections, and second, that "environment" is not something that consists of faraway parks and pandas, but is where we live, eat, play, work, and pray.  EPA was forced to issue a stronger standard -- and now, I can go into a store and don't even have to ask about arsenic -- because its use has been banned.

The second lesson was a bit more physical.  Once we finished the retaining wall, we were supposed to get 11 tons of gravel (from a nearby quarry, so the carbon footprint was lower!) put into it. Because of the warm winter (climate change all around us!), however, the ground was too soft for the truck to get all the way to where it was supposed to be.  So in the end it delivered about 3 tons of gravel into the walls, and about 8 tons outside of them.  Marjorie and I suddenly had to shovel 8 tons of gravel!  At first, it looked completely impossible.  And even after an hour of shoveling, it didn't look like we had made even an dent in the wrongly-placed pile of gravel.  But we didn't give up -- and by the end of the afternoon, all the gravel was inside and beautifully leveled!  The next time that I start feeling despair about the difficultly of changing our society from its current dependence on fossil fuels into one that functions sustainably, I'll remember the gravel pile and how the impossible can become very doable with a little persistence.

My next lesson wasn't quite so fun.  A couple of days after we were done shoveling, my wrist started to swell up painfully.  About a day after that, it actually began to squeak when I moved it -- loudly enough that someone sitting next to me could hear it clearly!  A quick call to my doctor (and a quick Google of "squeaky wrist") made it clear that I had tendonitis.  The lesson -- all of us, and the ecosystems we live in as well, have limits.  When we exceed those limits, things might still appear to be fine -- but over time, problems become clearer and clearer.  By the time these problems become clear, however, it is really too late.  It's much better to make the effort to prevent them in the first place!

The final lesson of the week took place today.  We were having a PAIPL executive committee call.  I had to leave just a bit before the end to go teach a music class at the local Jewish Senior Home.  Without having planned it in advance, I realized that the psalm we were going to explore musically, Psalm 92, had some very relevant themes in.  It read, in part, "How great are Your works, O Eternal, how very profound are Your designs.  The brutish one cannot know, the fool cannot understand this."  Wow, what a vivid description of the current situation of the world -- some appreciating the wonder of the world around us, some being foolishly unaware.  The psalm then continues, "The righteous bloom like a date-palm, thrive like a cedar of Lebanon."  In the Hebrew Bible, righteousness and the flourishing of the natural world are inextricably intertwined.  Without righteousness, the world withers -- and no one can be truly righteous if they don't consider the treatment of the world around us as part of their moral calling.  But when righteousness is tied to care for the earth, then we, like the earth, bloom and prosper.

So, even though I am typing this with a wrist brace on, all in all, I'd have to say its been a very good week.  Kind of reminds me about another week called "very good," come to think of it.
Daniel Swartz

Changing Our Climate: an Op-Ed by Rabbi Daniel Swartz

Our climate is changing – both literally and figuratively.  The list of weather events that may be linked to changes in the global climate is already long, and it keeps growing longer with each passing season.  Droughts, floods, record-breaking heat waves, fires, even monster snow storms are all signs that climate change is part of our present, not just our future.

But the “climate” is changing in other ways as well. Many have been focusing on negative changes – the climate of acrimony and vitriol in political discourse, or the still sour economic climate.  But there are some positive “climactic” changes as well.  For me, one of the most significant is the growing involvement of faith communities around the globe in addressing environmental concerns, including global climate change.

How is something that seems intensely scientific, like the changing composition of our atmosphere, or intensely political, like global treaties dealing with use of fossil fuels, a faith issue?  Prayers don’t yield scientific data – but once science tells us what IS happening, our faith traditions can help us figure out what we OUGHT to do about it.  And while even a close reading of such traditions won’t reveal a detailed energy policy, certain basic guiding principles are shared by many faith communities.

For example, our world is good – one might even say “very good” – and we are supposed to help tend it and protect it.  It is simple wrong to think selfishly only of ourselves and to ignore the needs of generations to come.  Making money should not be the ultimate goal of humanity – we are meant to look after each other, particularly those who need the most protection – the “widow, the orphan and the stranger” or the “least of these.” Finally, one can find even in quite ancient sources an understanding that it is better to prevent harm than to try to repair damage after it has occurred. 

Taken together, such principles do at the least suggest a course of action to address climate change.  Solutions that especially benefit the poor, like increasing energy efficiency and thus reducing the disproportionate burden from high energy costs that those in economic straights face, should be a top priority.  Even in the present political climate, it should be possible to forge tax incentives and the like to make our homes and businesses more energy efficient.

We also should take the needs of future generations into account by promoting clean and sustainable energy sources – which, as was noted in the State of the Union, also can be a wise investment in the future of our economy.  Last but certainly not least, attempts to strip EPA of its power to address CO2 emissions and thus protect public health and the environment from the various ravages of climate change is not only short-sighted, but could be viewed as immoral.

But does thinking of climate change from a faith and moral perspective actually make a difference?  After all, you don’t have to be religious to think that fairness is a good thing.  A faith perspective, however, brings not only a sense of moral authority to an issue – it also can move us beyond paralysis.  Looking at the scientific and political difficulties facing any attempts to address global climate change, one can feel downright depressed and overwhelmed – and so there is a natural tendency to want to ignore or deny the whole thing, to remain stuck with our head in the sand.  But understanding that we can bring our faith to bear on this issue first of all fills us with the added strength of knowing we are doing the right thing.  And because faith has so often triumphed against great odds – worse odds by far than those facing a lasting and just solution to climate change – we can begin to replace depression with hope, paralysis with sustained action for the good. 

That is why this weekend (February 11-13^th) Pennsylvania Interfaith Power and Light is joining with IPL affiliates across the country in sponsoring a “preach-in” on climate change.  I’ll be addressing these concerns from a Jewish standpoint at Temple Hesed this Friday, and others across the state and nation will be doing so from a wide variety of other faith traditions.  Because we already know that the climate is changing – and we know what type of solutions are needed. The only question that remains is – do we have enough faith to make it into a change for the better?

Shabbat and Shehechiyanu

Lynn Schlow opened our Friday evening PA-IPL Interfaith Convocation service with the Shabbat prayer, offering it in both Hebrew and English, and graciously explained the ritual.

On the Sabbath the celebrant (generally the woman of the house) lights at least two candles, representing the dual commandments to remember the sabbath and to keep it holy.  After lighting, she waves her hands over the candles, welcoming in the sabbath. Then she covers her eyes, focusing more fully on the blessing, and so that she may also postpone the enjoyment of the fruits of the blessing (seeing the light) until after the blessing is recited.

Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam

asher kidishanu b'mitz'votav v'tzivanu

l'had'lik neir shel Shabbat. (Amein)

Blessed are you, Lord, our God, sovereign of the universe

Who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us

to light the lights of Shabbat. (Amen)

She removes her hands from her eyes, and looks at the candles, completing the mitzvah of lighting the candles. You can hear the Hebrew words either sung or read here (unfortunately not in Lynn's voice).

Later in the service Lynn shared her uncle's love of the Shehechiyanu prayer, offered at any first (enjoying the first ripe blackberry of a summer, for example).  The Shehechiyanu is a prayer thanking God for sustaining our lives that we might enjoy each of God's blessings, and can be heard here.

Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Ha-Olam 

Shehehchiyahnu vekiyamanu vehegianu lazman ha-zeh.

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, 

Who has kept us alive, and sustained us, and enabled us to reach this moment.

What a beautiful and appropriate way to begin our first meeting of Pennsylvania Interfaith Power and Light.  May we respond to the twin blessings of Earth and atmosphere by caring for them, that they may sustain others in the way they have sustained us.