Zelig Golden | 12 Elul 5768 | September 12, 2008

We were not always the people of the book. Our Hebrew ancestors were the people of the land. They lived by the cycles of the moon and the sun, worked the earth for their food, and taught through a vibrant oral tradition.

Largely out of necessity — because we were displaced from our land and repeatedly persecuted in foreign places — our oral tradition became a written one, codified in the Jewish laws of today.

Our tradition of experience gave way to a tradition of the mind. Our survival as a Jewish people hinged on our books and the stories of the Torah. Yet this movement into the book disconnected us from the fundamental source of our inspiration.

It is time to move beyond the book and rekindle our direct experience with the Divine in nature.

To help individuals spiritually connect to nature and themselves, and to mark life transitions, the Santa Rosa-based nonprofit Rites of Passage has led individuals on “vision quests” for more than 30 years. After my vision quest with Rites of Passage last summer, I knew I had to guide members of the Jewish community in this way — so I trained in Rites of Passage’s yearlong guide program.

Last month Mike Bodkin, the executive director of Rites of Passage, and I guided eight individuals into the White Mountain desert on the California-Nevada border to embark on the first Jewish Vision Quest. We began our journey by celebrating Shabbat Hazon, the Sabbath of Vision, among granite giants, a maze of fragrant sage and a show of shooting stars. Our voices echoed “Lecha Dodi” through our base camp canyon as we welcomed the Shabbat bride and prepared for three days and nights living alone in the desert, fasting and opening to the death of an old life and the birth of a new one.

I believe we’re entering an age of post-rabbinic Judaism, a time when many of us are aching for direct experience with the Earth and the Divine. The Zohar teaches that humans are imbued with the powers and elements found in nature. Thus, directly connecting with the elements allows us to awaken to our true nature. This requires no rabbi, no turning the pages of a prayer book.

We go to bamidbar, the wilderness, the expansive desert, because we believe the Divine is more accessible in this empty, still landscape. Like Jacob, who wrestled with the angel and returned to his people with the name Israel, and Moses who climbed the mountain for 40 days and nights and returned with the words of G-d, each of us goes on a vision quest for our own reasons and returns with our own gifts.

On this quest, some found deep Jewish ancestral healing and some returned with a new vision for their lives. All found a sense of renewed connection to the Divine in nature, as well as a deeper sense of self.

The prophets of the Torah found inspiration in this way. Many people believe prophecy is dead; I think we have estranged ourselves from prophecy by going too far into the book. But it’s possible to reconcile the estrangement.

Although our written tradition saved us as a people by preserving the inspiration we discovered in our ancestral land, our focus on texts has cut us off from the living, breathing world where God is found. While we must continue to cherish and learn from our written tradition as a gateway into the past and as signposts for the future, we must also emerge from our exile from the land.

Of course, we Jews are not alone in this exile. The entire world is facing a great crisis of displacement from land and spirit. The immersion in books has given way to an obsession with the Internet. Given the environmental issues we face today with global climate change and the growing food crisis, a reconnection to the land has never been more critical. I urge us to be a light unto nations in service to the Earth and ourselves by rediscovering and rebuilding our personal relationships to nature.

The Jewish calendar is replete with opportunities to celebrate this connection. To reinvigorate these traditions, a group of us at Chochmat HaLev are creating accessible, land-based pilgrimage festivals. For example, during Sukkot next month, we will pray and study the Torah in the fields of our farm in Dixon, harvest the vegetables for our dinner, sing our ancient songs and camp out under the stars.

As we enjoy a respite from the distractions of modern life, we will put ourselves back in touch with what is real — the cycles of life, and the miracles of nature. On the land in this way, we will be constrained by the rhythms of the moon and sun. The raw conditions of nature will bring us closer to our ancestral minds, helping us receive the truth of our lives.

Published September 12, 2008, as an editorial for j.Weekly.