At Least Try & B’har

Every time I visit my friend Debra in Connecticut, I am reminded what it means to live more in harmony with the Earth.

Or at least try.

That’s kind of her whole purpose—besides encouraging, teaching, and helping others do the same.

I hadn’t been there in three years.

Too long.

I’m sure I’ve introduced you to her before.

She has a dairy farm with the most beautiful Jersey cows.

She used to sell her raw milk.

It’s called Local Farm (“More Than a Memory” is her slogan).

(You can still visit her and she’ll be more than happy to show you around! Find some photos of our time together and of the farm here and also see her amazing piece of art that is her Earth Scroll on Facebook, which she tours around when asked!)

While there, I had her cows’ milk in my coffee, watched her make cheese, and got to eat it.

Together, we ground wheat berries with an old grinder on her porch.

Then she baked bread with the flour (one became a challah loaf for Shabbos!).

We ate it with her own butter.

She had me taste her homemade sauerkraut to see if it was ready.

Then we ate tons of it with the burger meat that came from her cows.

We ate eggs from a neighbor.

And mixed in wild greens she picked from the road and behind her house.

We walked many miles every day, some of them barefoot through the woods.

We slept in hammocks on her porch in the moonlight (or at least tried).

We prayed together and sang together late into the night.

We laughed together.

We cried together.

Sometimes we were two women alone.

Sometimes we were three or four or five, talking about what’s real.

And that’s a good piece of my story of our almost-four days together.

A piece of the Torah this week in the Parsha called B’har (on the mountain), we get a good dose of what it means to live in harmony with the Earth.

And with our community.

Or at least try.

We are given the laws of Shabbat, of the Sabbatical, and then the Jubilee.

We are told we must rest, our animals must rest, those who work for us must rest, those within our community must rest.

And that the land must rest.

We are told how to fair with transactions and how to treat those in need.

And when the Jubilee comes, all houses and property go back to their original owner.

No ifs, ands, or buts.

So.

In this fraught time, when everything is so tense and frightening and uncertain, we must find time to rest.

And refresh ourselves.

Or at least try.

In whatever way that translates for each of us.

And if you’d like to share with me how you are finding time to take care of yourself, and trying to live in harmony with the Earth, I welcome your comments.

They are always meaningful to me, and I thank you.

Shabbat Shalom.