Radical Torah

Editor’s Note: This is a guest post by Rabbi Peter Stein

Over the last few years, I have come to understand that the laws, teachings and exhortations of the Bible can be summed up in one central idea: What the Bible is trying to teach us is how to build a sustainable society. Specifically, it is trying to teach us how to build a society that is economically, ecologically, socially and spiritually sustainable.

These four criteria are the lens through which we must view everything we do. They are the measure by which we must evaluate every choice we make, whether it is a personal decision, such as where to settle or how to eat; a decision at work, such as what kind of product to market; or a political decision such as land use, taxation or trade policy. Everything is subject to the test of sustainability.

When evaluating a decision by these measures, we must ask many hard questions. I would like to suggest just a few in each area.

When considering if a choice is economically sustainable, we must ask basic questions about propriety and scale and responsibility, the most basic of which is ‘Can I afford this?’ or ‘Can our society afford this?’ We must ask: ‘Will this decision create greater equality or greater inequality?’ ‘Does this choice strengthen the essential connections between ownership, profit and responsibility or does it further abstract these notions, severing these essential connections?’ And most importantly we must ask: ‘How much is enough?’

When considering if a choice is ecologically sustainable, we must first remember the intimate and essential connections between all parts of God’s Creation. Then we must ask: ‘Will this decision lead to greater health for human communities and the natural surroundings on which they depend or will it destroy their health?’ ‘Can this decision be repeated on an on-going basis without degrading the soil, plants, animals, air and water?’ ‘Will this decision deplete the abundance God has blessed us with or enhance it?’

Social sustainability addresses some of the most emotionally and politically charged issues we know, most of which our society is not prepared to deal with. We must ask: ‘Will this decision increase segregation by race and class, or will it reduce it?’ ‘Will it create communities in which people of different racial, ethnic and economic backgrounds live together in close proximity and relate as neighbors and equals?’ ‘Will this choice create opportunities for reconciliation and sharing and trust, or will it promote division, fear and distrust?’

Finally, we must inquire if our choices are spiritually sustainable. This is the most difficult of the four to conceptualize, but I think it can be explained in two ways. On the one hand, it is the sum-total of the other three. If our decisions are not economically, ecologically and socially sustainable, they will not be spiritually sustainable. If we make decisions that perpetuate economic injustice, degrade God’s Creation or provoke social tensions, there is no way that we will be on good terms with God or ourselves.

But spiritual sustainability is more than just the sum of the other three. It has its own meaning and its own set of questions. When considering if a choice is spiritually sustainable, we would ask such questions as: ‘Is it beautiful?’ – for the soul needs beauty to survive and flourish. ‘Will this increase my material needs and dependencies or reduce them? – for a spirit reliant on ever more material goods will never be satisfied. ‘Is it meaningful?’ – for if we spend our time doing things that are void and worthless, we will not feel good about ourselves. And finally: ‘Is it humble?’ – for while we were meant to create and aspire and achieve, if we do so without bounds of humility and propriety, we will suffer despair when we one day, unexpectedly, reach our bounds.

These are the questions we must ask.

And we must be very clear about their implications: if we do not choose what is sustainable, then we have chosen what is unsustainable, and what is unsustainable, by definition, will not last. These questions will be hard and they may make us uncomfortable. They may call into question many of the comforts and material standards to which we have grown accustomed. We may not like the answers we find to these questions. But they are the right and necessary questions.

Rabbi Stein can be reached at peterdstein-at-yahoo-dot-com.

Cross Posted on Jewschool

Posted by Rabbi Brant Rosen

In this week’s Torah portion, Shoftim, we read the following commandment, which is presented amidst various Biblical laws of warfare:

When in your war against a city you have to besiege it a long time in order to capture it, you must not destroy its trees, wielding the ax against them. You may eat of them, but you must not cut them down. Are trees of the field human to withdraw before you into the besieged city? Only trees that you know do not yield food may be destroyed: you may cut them down for constructing siegeworks against the city that is waging war on you… (Deuteronomy 21:19-20)

Interestingly enough, the importance of this law to Jewish tradition has had absolutely nothing to do with war. Rather, it has subsequently become the foundation of a Jewish ethic of energy efficiency (known as “Bal Taschit” or “Do not Destroy.”) In characteristically subversive fashion, the rabbis of the Talmud took the Torah’s concern over destroying fruit bearing trees during wartime and extended it to address the general overuse of the earth’s natural resources. In one famous example they warn against creating a Talmudic era “oil shortage:”

Rav Zutra says, “Whoever covers an oil lamp or uncovers a naphtha lamp violates the law of Bal Taschit (BT Shabbat 67b)

For his part, the Rambam (Moses Maimonidies) extended this list even further:

Whoever breaks vessels, or tears garments, or destroys a building, or clogs a well, or does away with food in a destructive manner violates the negative mitzvah of Bal Tashchit (Hilkhot Melakhim 6:10)

Thus we learn that energy efficiency is not simply a fad or bandwagon - the concern about the exploitation of the earth’s natural resources has deep roots in Jewish tradition. This concern stems from the fundamental conviction that we are but temporary residents upon a natural world that does not ultimately belong to us (see for instance Leviticus 25:23: “for the land is Mine; you are but strangers resident with Me.”) In an era that is consuming earth’s sacred resources at an unprecedented rate, this conviction speaks to us more powerfully than ever before.

(Want a more contemporary list of things you can do to observe the sacred art of energy efficiency? Click here for more ideas!)

As delicious as meat may be to some people, there are serious environmental implications for a carnivorous diet. While global warming has been making headlines in recent months, I believe most people have a limited understanding of some of the causes. On some level it has become a one-dimensional issue; the more I drive, the more I contribute to the slow death of the planet as we know it. But, in fact, according to a 2006 report by the Food and Agriculture Organization of the UN, what we eat is actually more important that what or how much we drive. It states that animal-based agriculture causes approximately 18% of greenhouse gas emissions, which lead to global warming, an amount greater than that caused by all forms of transportation on the planet combined (about 13.5%).

There are numerous explanations for the laws of Kashrut and the intricate processes required of us if and when we choose to eat meat. These are based on the seemingly simple commandment not to cook a kid in its mother’s milk. One reason given for this statement is that the milk is the life source to the newborn kid. To take its source of nourishment and survival and turn it into the vehicle by which this animal is killed, would be truly disrespectful. I understand the laws of Kashrut as tools towards awareness and mindfulness that there is a life that was taken in order that we may eat. We must recognize the impact of our choices.

So where is the line? When does the impact become so great that we simply decide that we cannot, in good conscience, continue to eat meat? According to Dr. Richard Schwartz, over 70% of the grain grown in the United States is channeled to livestock. The land use practices of the meat industry generally lead to overuse of fuel and water, degrade the land and pollute the water around it, contributing to additional environmental and health problems.

In Schwartz’s article “Global Warming isn’t Kosher,” co-authored by Dan Brooks, it states, “An animal-based diet also uses energy very inefficiently. It requires 78 calories of fossil fuel for each calorie of protein obtained from feedlot-produced beef, but only 2 calories of fossil fuel to produce a calorie of protein from soybeans. Grains and beans require only 2 - 5% as much fossil fuel as beef. The energy needed to produce a pound of grain-fed beef is equivalent to one gallon of gasoline.”

There are numerous studies and articles making a strong case for a vegetarian diet based on moral, environmental, political, economic and spiritual reasons. A few of these are linked below. These sites contain more than just facts but also loads of resources, recipes and information to make this transition smooth. And if you are someone who does eat meat, the shift can be gradual. Become a “meat reductionist” by reducing your meat consumption by one meal a week, and then go from there.

But I also think that the shift to a sustainable and plant-based diet is more than just practical; it is philosophical. It means that we move away from feeling entitled to eat whatever we like, but rather reintroduce the awareness that was required of the Israelites when they were first explained the intricate laws of Kashrut. It means we recognize that we are part of something much larger than our own narrow perspective allows us to see, that we educate ourselves about the repercussions of our lifestyle, and make better, more informed choices.

Signing off,
Nati Passow

Nati Passow is a carpenter, writer and educator living in Philadelphia, PA. He is Co-Director of the Jewish Farm School .

Check out these websites for facts, videos and other resources on the benefits of a vegetarian diet. JewishVeg.com, The Meatrix, GoVeg.com and the E Magazine article, “Another Inconvenient Truth.”

The book of Vayikra/Leviticus, which we begin reading this week, is almost exclusively devoted to details of the sacrificial rituals of ancient Israel. Many commentators have pointed out that there is, in fact, no one Hebrew word for “sacrifice” per se. The Torah presents many different words (e.g. olah, zevach, minchah) for various types of sacrificial offerings that function in different ways depending upon their specific purpose.

The most generic word for sacrifice is “korban,” which comes from the Hebrew root meaning “close.” The clear implication is that sacrifice was the spiritual means by which the ancient Israelites were able to feel close to God’s presence.

This, then, is the central focus of Vayikra: the ways in which sacrifice can help us effect a sense of closeness with the Divine. In this way, Vayikra makes it abundantly clear that spirituality and sacrifice are irrevocably intertwined. Only by giving up something precious and valuable could the Israelites find communion with God. To be sure, animal offerings represented a significant personal sacrifice for a community whose wealth was fundamentally tied up with their flocks and herds. Vayikra emphasizes repeatedly that only the best animals - “without blemish” - were worthy of sacrifice upon the altar. These offerings were, without question, truly sacrificial gifts.

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This week’s Torah portion, Parashat Terumah, is one of those portions that can be the bane of every Bar or Bat Mizvah kid: a seemingly endless litany of picayune details regarding the construction of the Mishkan (Tabernacle). What on earth can we possibly learn from this parade of dolphin skins, acacia wood, crimson yarns, loops and clasps?

If we understand the constructions of the Mishkan as a metaphor for creating sacred community, the lesson is should be obvious: details matter.

I’ve been acutely aware of this lesson as my congregation (Jewish Reconstructionist Congregation in Evanston, IL) is currently constructing a new synagogue building. In addition to the many details that come with a construction project of this magnitude (e.g., fund raising, location, budget, design, zoning, etc.) our board made one important decision early in the building process: that we would build our building in the most environmentally sustainable manner possible. Guided by the sacred Jewish value of Bal Tashchit , we have now begun construction on what we intend to be the first certified “Green Synagogue” in the world. (more…)

“See, I shall strike the water in the Nile with the rod that is in my hand, and it will be turned into blood; and the fish in the Nile will die. The Nile will stink so that the Egyptians will find it impossible to drink the water of the Nile.” —Exodus 7:17-18

Many commentators point out there is a well-structured literary artistry to the Torah’s portrayal of the Ten Plagues. Biblical scholars generally divide the first “natural” nine plagues up into three groups of three each, with the “supernatural” final plague standing alone unto itself. It is also commonly accepted that the plagues serve to underscore the power of the Israelite’s God over Egypt, and in fact, over all nature. Scholar Nahum Sarna’s comments typify this well-known interpretation:

The controlling purpose behind this literary architecture is to emphasize the idea that the nine plagues are not random vicissitudes of nature; although they are natural disasters, they are deliberate and purposeful acts of divine will - their intent being retributive, coercive and educative…They are to demonstrate to Egypt the impotence of its gods and, by contrast, the incomparability of YHVH, God of Israel, as the one supreme sovereign God of Creation, who uses the phenomenon of the natural order for His own purposes. ((JPS Torah Commentary on Exodus, p. 38.))

The theological agenda of the Biblical author notwithstanding, it is also possible to detect a powerful environmental attitude expressed in the description of the plagues - and the first six in particular. What does it mean that the waters of the Nile were turned to blood? Some have suggested that this phenomenon might be viewed as a naturalistic reference to the overflow of red silt that is produced from the Nile during Egypt’s heavy rainy seasons. It has also been suggested that the mixing of bacteria with the red earth could conceivably affect the oxygen balance of the Nile’s waters, resulting in the killing off of the river’s fish described in verse 18.

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Editor’s note: With the start of a new book of the Torah, Radical Torah would like to welcome another new contributor, Ben Pachano, who has written for the Earth First! Journal and No Compromise magazine . Ben currently works with Root Force . The following dvar Torah is the first of a four part series analyzing parshiyot Sh’mot through Beshalach as a blueprint of the various stages of revolution.

“When the child grew up, she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter, who made him her son…. Some time after that, [Moses] went out to his kinsfolk and witnessed their toil.”
—Exodus 2:10-11

“A true revolution of values will soon look uneasily on the glaring contrast of poverty and wealth…. It will look at our alliance with the landed gentry of South America and say, ‘This is not just.’”
—Martin Luther King, Jr.

This week, we arrive at one of the most dramatic, narratively detailed par’shot in the Torah. And no wonder: although we read the entire Torah every year, it is this story in particular that we are commanded to recount to our children, that is given as the reason for commandments both ritual and moral—because you were slaves in Egypt. We are commanded to tell it in the present tense, so as not to consign the struggle for freedom to a distant past. And it is told in such detail, I would suggest, because in this detail it presents a veritable blueprint for revolution. The rest of the Torah will command us to create a world of justice; the Exodus story shows us what that struggle looks like.
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Radical Torah’s resident “anarchitect” David Sheen recently caught up with writer Daniel Quinn in Portland, Oregon, in the backyard cob cottage of Mark Lakeman, co-founder of City Repair. Author of Ishmael, The Story of B, and the just-published Tales of Adam, Quinn spoke about human nature, tribal peoples, and civilization’s chances of survival.

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Perhaps the greatest archetypal tale in all of human culture about addiction to top-down, unaccountable power is the story of Pharaoh in the Book of Exodus.

Now, today, we are seeing this tale lived out before our own eyes. The present government of the United States has become so addicted to its own power, so swept away by its own arrogance, that it is playing out the tale of Pharaoh.

And the US government is not alone: the present government of Iran is talking like Pharaoh; Al Qaeda acts like a mini-Pharaoh.

Pharaoh begins by hardening his own heart to the plight of the poor and powerless, and after a series of disasters (the “plagues”) brought on by his own arrogance, his addiction takes over.

God – read “Reality” – takes over, and from then on it is God Who hardens his heart.

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