Agriculture in Israel

By Joshua Mitnick for MyJewishLearning

Reprinted with permission from The AVI CHAI Bookshelf.

My family had the Sukkah de rigueur when I was a kid. There was enough room for four folding tables to seat 30. The walls were brown burlap to complement the pine branches overhead. Decorations of orange and yellow gourds along with purple and browned cobs of corn hung from above. And although I enjoyed their autumnal colors and strange shapes, the significance of the dangling vegetables was lost on a suburban kid who thought anything could be found in the supermarket.

Reclaiming the Land

In Israel, however, the agricultural motif of the holiday isn't missed, whether you're from the city or the country. It's part of the history here. For the many Zionist pioneers who first settled in the Land of Israel at the beginning of the last century, the most important theme of Sukkot was found in a biblical passage that called for a week long thanksgiving at the end of the harvest season:

"You shall hold a festival for the Lord your God, seven days, in the place the Lord will choose; for the Lord, your God will bless all your crops and all your undertakings, and you shall have nothing but joy" (Deuteronomy 16:1).

Still, farming meant much more than providing a daily sustenance for Israel's founders. They wanted to reclaim what they saw as a barren country and realize the vision of a "land flowing with milk and honey.'' At the same time, the kibbutz movement spread its agricultural communes along the frontiers of the land in order to set up outposts that would one day be used in defense of the Jewish state. So when Sukkot came, the relevance of the holiday went beyond religion. It gave Israelis a chance to celebrate the agrarian enterprise and the national socialist values of the settlement movement.

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Coal: The Dirtiest Fuel

Originally printed on COEJL

By Benjamin Kahane

Depending on how much pressure and temperature to which it has been subject, coal is a sedimentary or metamorphic rock comprised mostly of carbon. Coal is a fossil fuel used primarily in the generation of electricity. To turn coal into electricity, the rock is pulverized then combusted in a furnace, the heat from which converts water into steam used to spin turbine blades to create electricity.

Coal is mined from the Earth in one of two basic methods: surface mining and underground mining. Surface mining — or strip mining — is the most economical way to extract coal if it is located close to the surface; it’s also the most ecologically devastating method, since the surface of the land, complete with trees, topsoil and all plants, are removed. This method is particularly common in the Appalachian Mountains, where the entire tops of mountains are removed, with debris pushed into valley streams.

Underground mining accounts for about 60 percent of world coal production and is the preferred method when the coal seams are too deep or the land is protected. Strip mining accounts for the remaining 40 percent. However, in the United States the numbers are reversed, and surface mining dominates.

There are many negative environmental impacts to using coal. Although coal is comprised mostly of carbon, smaller quantities of sulfur, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, and other heavy metals including mercury also exist in the coal we burn. There are higher and lower qualities of coal, just like petroleum, however the use of lower quality coal is widespread due to more widespread availability. If these harmful byproducts are not removed before or during combustion, they can lead to damaging events such as acid rain, background radiation exposure and cancer in humans and animals. Carbon dioxide emissions are also a cause for concern since carbon dioxide is a major contributor to climate change.

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Why Jewish Environmental Education Matters

By Nili Simhai for Zeek

When we hear the words “Jewish environmental education,” we often only hear “environmental education” and not “Jewish education.” It’s easy—too easy—to think of environmental programs as a fun add-on, rather than core, to Jewish learning. That is a mistake. At a time when educators are rethinking the content, methodology and even purpose of Jewish education, Jewish environmental education has much to offer.

Here’s just one example. I was called into Manhattan one chilly fall day to do a training for congregational educators. As usual, I found myself in a roomful of skeptical middle-aged women. While everyone was very pleasant and polite, there was an undertone to the conversation which I am now very familiar with. The unspoken questions: How did I end up being in the group that has to shlep to Central Park instead of the one drinking coffee in a warm room? Is this really going to help me teach the Amidah / the aleph bet / my fourth grade chumash class?

We read a few lines from Bereshit that detail how God created the world, put on our coats and headed out. It was a gorgeous autumn day outside, with sunlight sparkling on leaves in changing colors. When we arrived at the park, there was one of those low, foot-high fences between us and the grassy area I wanted to use. So I asked them, are you ready to hop the fence? They looked at me with more skepticism, but then, with a little nervous laughter, they did it. The minute they got over the fence, it was as if they became different people. The change was incredible. One woman started picking up leaves and throwing them into the air; another scrambled up a tall rock; they all began smiling. It was as if the fence was a literal barrier between their “educator” selves and their more playful selves.

We did our project—a great exercise in nature art based on the work of Andy Goldsworthy—and closed with a discussion around how to create things in this world with more Godly intention. Both our experience and the text from Breishit fueled the discussion. When we went back inside, I couldn’t help asking these women: what happened when you went over the fence? Why did you change? They each had specific reasons, but the general answer was that they felt they were finally being given permission to do something different—given permission to be more expansive in their thinking, more playful, more spiritual.

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Trees in Jewish Thought

Jewish sources single out trees as one of the most important aspects of the natural world.

By Rabbi Akiva Wolff for MyJewishLearning. Reprinted with permission of Canfei Nesharim.
The Mishnah teaches that Tu Bishvat is the new year for the trees.

By Tu Bishvat, the majority of the winter rains have already fallen, sap is rising, and new fruits are beginning to form. Therefore, when it comes to mitzvot such as orlah (fruits prohibited in the first three years of a tree's production), Tu Bishvat distinguishes between the last year’s fruits and the fruits of a new year.Forest

That Tu Bishvat has come to be associated with sensitivity to and appreciation of the natural environment is not by chance. Trees occupy a special place in Jewish thought, which closely relates to man's relationship with the natural environment, our life-support system.

Trees in the Midrash

For example, the Midrash in Kohelet Rabbah teaches: "When God created the first man he took him and showed him all the trees of the Garden of Eden and said to him, 'See my works, how beautiful and praiseworthy they are. And everything that I created, I created it for you. Be careful not to spoil or destroy my world--for if you do, there will be nobody after you to repair it.'"

This Midrash singles out the trees of the Garden of Eden--rather than the Garden of Eden itself--to represent the natural world, the work of the Creator. Why should trees be chosen to symbolize the natural world?

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