We stand huddled together at the top of the path, where the edge of the forest meets the edge of the concrete parking lot.  We stand with clipboard rosters in gloved hands, our breath making little clouds in the crisp morning air.  We stand as our elders many generations before us may have stood, beckoning to our people to come out of all that is man-made and into the grove of green below.  Saul, Julie and I invite the young parents and their bright beaming kids, the folks our age rediscovering faith and old friends, and the elder couples, to make their way down the path in silent reverence and heightened awareness of all that is growing, pulsing, alive in the forest.  One by one, and four by four, the folks descend on the trail to the ritual space.  And then it is time for us go, two by two, the first to arrive and the last to make the journey.

We turn a corner in the muddy path and the music of singing wafts from the trees below – we can hear the ritual far before we can see it.  My people are ahead!  Steps quicken, heart beating, and at once the surreal motions of the early morning awaken to the reality: it is time for the seasonal gathering of the Wilderness Torah tribe.  I am smiling now and taking a songsheet from Kait and finding a place to nestle my bag and my body amidst the circle of singing friends nested in the circle of redwood trees.  We are dozens of Bay Area folk who have come together today in observance of a sacred Jewish tradition to honor the trees, Tu B’shevat.

We are delving into four worlds, journeying into the foundation and rising to crown.  Now is the time for innermost reflection in the core of winter; now is the time to embrace the growth that will come at the tips of the branches,  that will come into our lives unexpectedly and most necessarily.

The children rush out of the grove to play in the emerging sun and sing happy birthday to the trees.  Zelig and Brian lead us adult-folk on a mystic journey from rabbinic stories to presence with breath to savoring the first bite of a sweet tangerine.  Rose white, rose red, the coming of spring blushes in each cup.  We must get into the earth now, splaying our bodies down and digging a hole for our noses to root into the decomposing pines, searching for fertile soil beneath.  Arising we embrace the sturdy trunks, praying alongside these tall, shady friends whose language we can no longer speak, but for whom we have not forgotten to be grateful.

We pass around plates of wrinkled dates and plump figs; here in California our harvest bears a Mediterranean semblance to our ancestors’ bountiful harvest in the holy lands halfway across the globe.   This year, what seeds will we plant in our hearts, and will they lead to peace faraway, and right here at home?  Who will water the painful roots of our history, and nurture them to grow anew into beautiful trees with sweet fruits?  Where will we each put down our roots and what ways will our branches intertwine?  And how will we care for the tender sapling that is this new, fledgling community called Wilderness Torah?

Now more than ever before our sacred traditions of honoring the earth are needed. The United Nations met last December for a Climate Change Conference in Copenhagen that not only failed to conclude a new global climate deal but also to find a way forward.  The earth’s temperature is rising, polar caps melting, hurricanes are brewing, earthquakes shaking, and people keep cutting and cutting the trees.  Does anyone remember reading The Lorax by Dr. Seuss?  The moment a trufula tree was cut down the magical creature with a moustache more-hip-than-the-hippest-Mission-hipster popped out and gave warning not to destroy the trees, or all life would be destroyed.  But the people kept on chopping until finally all the trees were gone, except that one golden seed that was passed on…

Tu B’shevat is a day to gather under the belly of the full moon and become the Lorax:  We speak with, and for, the trees through our prayer followed by right action.  As our tradition teaches us to braid our challah for Shabbos, so to do we braid these sacred ingredients on the fifteenth of the month of Shevat: reverence for life, renewed commitment to personal growth, and a pledge to plant, cultivate, protect, and respect the forests and all their wooded, wondrous creatures.
The ritual is ending – I see that Joti’s hair has literally become braided with pine branches.  Our group breaks out in song about loving the earth, the waters, the fire, the wind.  The four worlds and the four elements mingle with our four central chakras and our bodies zing back to life after sitting in meditation for so long.  Julie calls us into reflection on paper, and I can’t help but get caught up in the cycle of life that is tree, paper, composting soil, all spinning through the circle before my eyes.  The kids have returned and there is a general clamor to make the ascent to the parking lot where metal gilded beasts are waiting to take us far away from here.

That night, my beloved and I put on 3-D black rimmed glasses and dive into the mythic world of Avatar.  I cannot think of a better movie to see on this holiday!   Gaia’s interconnected spirit shines through the iridescent trees and all the creatures, and emerges triumphant and whole.  May we aspire to such lasting wisdom and grace in the face of our increasingly militarized and polluted culture.  May we each do our part to honor the life force of trees and make it so.

Rae Abileah is a grateful member of the 2010 Pesach in the Desert planning committee… and hopes to see you in the desert in April, scrambling along the rocks on a vision quest, in downward dog under the shade of beautiful tapestries, rhyming to a drumbeat across a blazing bonfire, singing “Let my people go!” while reenacting the journey from mitzrayim to freedom, or biting into a morning matzoh covered in local sweet chile sauce and Avishai’s yummy tehina!

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