by Catie Damon for newvoices
Across from Red Sea tobacconist and flanked by a dive
bar, parking lot, and storage unit is Urban Adamah, a one and a quarter acre
Jewish urban farm in the heart of Berkeley, California. Rows of collard greens,
chard, onions, beets, and peas radiate from a newly-built yurt and cob oven.
Inside the farm, the surrounding city falls into a distant hush. Young people
pushing wheelbarrows occasionally look up to greet wandering strangers.
Urban Adamah is completely open to the public so long as tasty fingers are kept to themselves. Host to a residential fellowship, a Hebrew school for children from the San Francisco Bay Area, and a farmer’s market, the farm donates every vegetable and flower they grow to the community. Founded by Adam Berman in 2010, Urban Adamah originated as a spin-off project from Adamah, a Jewish leadership residential program in Connecticut.
Now they are their own, unique program, mixing organic farming with social justice. They offer sustainability discussions along with their public Jewish holiday feasts and are a part of the growing number of environmentally mindful Jewish farms across the U.S.
I was able to talk to Zach, one of the program’s participants, this week. He told me most of the eleven to fourteen fellows that work at the farm are not San Francisco Bay Area natives. The majority are twenty-somethings with roots scattered across the country who felt disillusioned with Judaism after college. Now, they all live together in an “ugly cement” house with big kitchen a couple of blocks away while working full time at Urban Adamah.
For fellows like Zach, Urban Adamah has given them a fresh approach to Judaism that centers on gratitude. Gratitude for all living things and an awareness of the transformative process of nature we are all a part of.
“Like the laws of Kashrut, what is it really saying?” he explained to me. “Pay attention to what goes into your body. Be aware of your food source.” I notice that the entire farm is sprinkled with these “back to basics” biblical references.
Zach leaves to continue farming and I go up to a sign that reads: Bal Tashchit, translated as “do not destroy” from Deuteronomy. The principle prohibits us from cutting down fruit trees in times of war, even if it were to help us defeat our enemies. This law was later expanded to include avoiding all types of waste.
Continue reading.
Across from Red Sea tobacconist and flanked by a dive
bar, parking lot, and storage unit is Urban Adamah, a one and a quarter acre
Jewish urban farm in the heart of Berkeley, California. Rows of collard greens,
chard, onions, beets, and peas radiate from a newly-built yurt and cob oven.
Inside the farm, the surrounding city falls into a distant hush. Young people
pushing wheelbarrows occasionally look up to greet wandering strangers. Urban Adamah is completely open to the public so long as tasty fingers are kept to themselves. Host to a residential fellowship, a Hebrew school for children from the San Francisco Bay Area, and a farmer’s market, the farm donates every vegetable and flower they grow to the community. Founded by Adam Berman in 2010, Urban Adamah originated as a spin-off project from Adamah, a Jewish leadership residential program in Connecticut.
Now they are their own, unique program, mixing organic farming with social justice. They offer sustainability discussions along with their public Jewish holiday feasts and are a part of the growing number of environmentally mindful Jewish farms across the U.S.
I was able to talk to Zach, one of the program’s participants, this week. He told me most of the eleven to fourteen fellows that work at the farm are not San Francisco Bay Area natives. The majority are twenty-somethings with roots scattered across the country who felt disillusioned with Judaism after college. Now, they all live together in an “ugly cement” house with big kitchen a couple of blocks away while working full time at Urban Adamah.
For fellows like Zach, Urban Adamah has given them a fresh approach to Judaism that centers on gratitude. Gratitude for all living things and an awareness of the transformative process of nature we are all a part of.
“Like the laws of Kashrut, what is it really saying?” he explained to me. “Pay attention to what goes into your body. Be aware of your food source.” I notice that the entire farm is sprinkled with these “back to basics” biblical references.
Zach leaves to continue farming and I go up to a sign that reads: Bal Tashchit, translated as “do not destroy” from Deuteronomy. The principle prohibits us from cutting down fruit trees in times of war, even if it were to help us defeat our enemies. This law was later expanded to include avoiding all types of waste.
Continue reading.
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