A Wild Faith - From Geography to Ideology and Back Again
Rabbi Jaime Arnold, Beth Evergreen Bulletin, Colorado
When I first came to Beth Evergreen, two years ago, I was repeatedly cautioned about the diversity of this community with the statement, “We are a congregation united more by geography than ideology.” I repeated this phrase myself in a recent interview with the Intermountain Jewish News because I take some pride in it. We are blessed to have been granted residence in such a geographically beautiful place. Our shared appreciation of this geographical majesty provides a more than adequate starting place for the formation of sacred community. And yet, ever since Rabbi Mike Comins' visit to Evergreen at the end of June (and especially after reading his book, A Wild Faith: Jewish Ways into Wilderness and Wilderness Ways into Judaism), I have been challenged to consider not only how we can deepen our connection to our natural environment, but how that endeavor can deepen our connections to each other.
Rabbi Mike led a minyan of [10] us on what he calls a TorahTrek at Alderfer/Three Sisters Park. We took several hours to cover a trail that I could have sped through in 20 minutes on my mountain bike. But our intention was to experience the difference between ‘being in the wilderness' and ‘being [mindfully] in the wilderness.' So we took our time – to listen in silence, walk with more acute awareness, see with ‘eyes remade for wonder,' to hear the prayers and learn the torah of the trees and rocks, and to give new voice to the blessings/prayers of our nefesh (ensouled-body). The physical beauty of our surroundings seems inspiring enough, but pales in comparison to the experience of being receptive to the chiut [lifeforce or energy] that sustains and flows through what our eyes perceive. In his words, we went on more than a hike; we took on a mission ‘to connect our inner and outer geography.'
In A Wild Faith, Rabbi Comins shares a very accessible and compelling array of texts and practices to facilitate this process of connecting our inner and outer geography. Like many of us, he draws on a variety of personal experiences, ideologies, faith traditions, and teachers. And yet, in grounding his wild faith in the landscape of Jewish literature, tradition, and community, he reminds me that our shared love of this land can not only enrich our congregational life; so too can our encounters with Jewish tradition and practice deepen and enrich our relationship with our geography, helping us link up the inner and outer landscapes of our lives.
If this were all to be gleaned from Rabbi Comins' Wild Faith, dayeynu – it would be enough for us. But there is more, much more. Consider the following insights from the latter part of his book, insights that I see as critical for us at this time – a time permeated by threats of terror and instigations of fear. As a potential antidote to this cultural bombardment of the threats of ‘natural' disaster, violence, and terror, this ‘wild faith' seems all the more important to cultivate and share.
“In wilderness we learn how to live fully aware of danger without anxiety .” (p.173)
“In nature, the awareness of mortality is constant. Unlike the sanitized world of the supermarket, birth and death are encountered together in the natural world. Yet most of us see beauty, not terror. … If one learns to listen well and act in sync with the rhythms of season and habitat—the sweet lesson of informed surrender – one feels safe, even protected despite the risks. …An instinctive trust in oneself and the universe is acquired. A spontaneous, naïve, organic faith arises; leaps are unnecessary.”
“Consider this: The generation that left Egypt during the Exodus is the generation of miracles. They experienced the splitting of the Reed Sea and witnessed God's revelation at Mount Sinai . Yet all but two (Joshua and Caleb) were condemned to die for lacking faith before entering the Promised Land. Who did merit entry into the Land of Israel ? The generation of the wilderness. The ones who learned to overcome their anxiety and trust in the goodness of the world despite its dangers; … the ones who witnessed the daily miracle of sunrise and sunset.”
Hiking with him and reading his book has fortified my intention to spend the early part of this month intensifying my teshuvah work [personal moral and spiritual reflections and repair in preparation for the High Holiday season] by pulling out the dusty camping gear and returning to wilderness, finding a ‘Soul-O spot,' and actively realigning my inner and outer geography.
Hodesh Tov -- May it be a month of renewal and reconnection for us all.
Rabbi Mike led a minyan of [10] us on what he calls a TorahTrek at Alderfer/Three Sisters Park. We took several hours to cover a trail that I could have sped through in 20 minutes on my mountain bike. But our intention was to experience the difference between ‘being in the wilderness' and ‘being [mindfully] in the wilderness.' So we took our time – to listen in silence, walk with more acute awareness, see with ‘eyes remade for wonder,' to hear the prayers and learn the torah of the trees and rocks, and to give new voice to the blessings/prayers of our nefesh (ensouled-body). The physical beauty of our surroundings seems inspiring enough, but pales in comparison to the experience of being receptive to the chiut [lifeforce or energy] that sustains and flows through what our eyes perceive. In his words, we went on more than a hike; we took on a mission ‘to connect our inner and outer geography.'
In A Wild Faith, Rabbi Comins shares a very accessible and compelling array of texts and practices to facilitate this process of connecting our inner and outer geography. Like many of us, he draws on a variety of personal experiences, ideologies, faith traditions, and teachers. And yet, in grounding his wild faith in the landscape of Jewish literature, tradition, and community, he reminds me that our shared love of this land can not only enrich our congregational life; so too can our encounters with Jewish tradition and practice deepen and enrich our relationship with our geography, helping us link up the inner and outer landscapes of our lives.
If this were all to be gleaned from Rabbi Comins' Wild Faith, dayeynu – it would be enough for us. But there is more, much more. Consider the following insights from the latter part of his book, insights that I see as critical for us at this time – a time permeated by threats of terror and instigations of fear. As a potential antidote to this cultural bombardment of the threats of ‘natural' disaster, violence, and terror, this ‘wild faith' seems all the more important to cultivate and share.
“In wilderness we learn how to live fully aware of danger without anxiety .” (p.173)
“In nature, the awareness of mortality is constant. Unlike the sanitized world of the supermarket, birth and death are encountered together in the natural world. Yet most of us see beauty, not terror. … If one learns to listen well and act in sync with the rhythms of season and habitat—the sweet lesson of informed surrender – one feels safe, even protected despite the risks. …An instinctive trust in oneself and the universe is acquired. A spontaneous, naïve, organic faith arises; leaps are unnecessary.”
“Consider this: The generation that left Egypt during the Exodus is the generation of miracles. They experienced the splitting of the Reed Sea and witnessed God's revelation at Mount Sinai . Yet all but two (Joshua and Caleb) were condemned to die for lacking faith before entering the Promised Land. Who did merit entry into the Land of Israel ? The generation of the wilderness. The ones who learned to overcome their anxiety and trust in the goodness of the world despite its dangers; … the ones who witnessed the daily miracle of sunrise and sunset.”
Hiking with him and reading his book has fortified my intention to spend the early part of this month intensifying my teshuvah work [personal moral and spiritual reflections and repair in preparation for the High Holiday season] by pulling out the dusty camping gear and returning to wilderness, finding a ‘Soul-O spot,' and actively realigning my inner and outer geography.
Hodesh Tov -- May it be a month of renewal and reconnection for us all.