Friends, I received this alert from our District 11 representatives concerning an expansion of a local gas pipeline through our neighborhoods and protected land. The Falls River Community Association has more information on their cite; and they are working on organizing local community opposition.
Check out their link as well.
May 4, 2012
Urgent Alert - Columbia Gas Proposing Construction of Major Gas Pipeline Through Owings Mills, Greenspring Valley, Falls Road Corridor, and Northern Baltimore County
Pipeline Threatens Environment, Wildlife, and Individual Homes Across Area
From Senator Bobby Zirkin, Delegates Jon Cardin, Dan Morhaim & Dana Stein
Dear Friend,
We are writing to alert you to a proposal by Columbia Gas to construct a major natural gas pipeline through many parts of our District. The route being proposed by this Corporation may have serious impact on many of our homes, communities, and natural environments in the 11th District. We are writing to you with serious concerns and urge you to educate yourself about this project.
A number of constituents and community organizations have raised questions about the impact of this project. We are working to insure that everyone is as fully informed as possible and that citizens know where to raise those concerns.
The proposed pipeline by Columbia Gas would involve digging ditches across a 21 mile path, impacting over 300 acres, following a path of their current line which was built many decades ago. Columbia is not required to follow this path. Construction of this magnitude would impact natural environments in its path, necessitate clearing of trees and vegetation, cross streams and wetlands, and impact wildlife. Although lobbyists from Columbia Gas assure that they will mitigate damage, we are not convinced of this. Environmental impacts could be severe and long-term.
Further, the project will have a serious impact on property rights and individual homes. If approved, Columbia can add an additional 25 foot easement on properties. This means that Columbia would essentially take for their own an additional 25 feet of someone's property. Citizens will be forced to deal with many months of heavy construction throughout our area. Homes may be forced to deal with the loss of forest and the natural environment. If the project is approved by FERC, citizens could be forced to remove structures such as playgrounds and decks. Citizens may face the choice of being paid money for the removal of such structures or eminent domain.
We are not at all persuaded that this project is necessary. Even assuming that a line is necessary, we believe that any line should be built with minimal impact on the environment and the community. In addition, we believe that to date, the process followed by Columbia Gas has, at best, met a minimal standard of transparency.
Please take the time to educate yourself and your community on this issue. Whether you are personally affected or not by the specific route, we all share in the tremendous value of our beautiful environment and community and we should be united in this effort.
Columbia Gas must make application through the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC), the national agency that regulates interstate energy matters. We are working hard to understand how state and local governments, community organizations, and citizens can impact those decisions.
It is important to send written comments to FERC. They may be sent to: The Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, Attn: Kimberly D. Bose, Secretary, 888 First St. NE, Room 1A, Washington, D.C. 20426. You can also comment on line at www.FERC.gov and follow the link to "Documents and Filings." There is an "eFiling" link that may be followed. In any comment, reference Docket Number PF12-6. This is critical as comments must be filed by May 16 in order to be taken into account in the "pre-filing period."
There are two meetings scheduled on this issue where you may offer testimony as well as learn details. The first is May 8 at 7:00 pm at Oregon Ridge Lodge, 13401 Beaver Dam Road, Cockeysville, MD 21030. The second is May 9 at 7:00 pm at Youth's Benefit Elementary School Cafeteria in Fallston.
Because FERC is a federal agency, we recommend contacting your federal officials. Please contact Congressman John Sarbanes (202-225-4016), Dutch Ruppersberger (202-225-3061), Elijah Cummings (202-225-4741), or Andy Harris (202-225-5311), depending on where you live. And also contact U.S. Senators Ben Cardin (202-224-4524) and Barbara Mikulski (202-224-4654).
Columbia Gas fully intends on moving forward with this major new gas pipeline in our community if FERC allows them to do so. Note that this is for gas transmission only and it will not provide any benefit to our community in any way. Your utility bills will not go down as a result of this project at all. Constructing the line in the heart of our area will have serious impact from Owings Mills to Greenspring Valley to the Falls Road Corridor to Cockeysville to Northern Baltimore County to Fallston.
As this is a federal interstate project, it is unclear what impact our efforts will have. But we believe it is critical to try to influence this process before FERC grants approval and it is too late.
Sincerely,
Senator Bobby Zirkin
Delegate Jon Cardin
Delegate Dan Morhaim
Delegate Dana Stein
Nina's Blog
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Friday, May 4, 2012
Cleaning House
What better way to cleanse your house and your spirit than by getting rid of old things - and doing it the right way!
BJEN held the Jewish community's first electronic recycling event three years ago. Since then, we have helped safely recycled literally tons - mounds and mountains! - of materials that have since become part of our culture's technological recycling stream (parallel to nature's recycling stream).
We are very proud that now, several congregations are sponsoring their own community recycling events.
This Sunday, check out Beth El's electronic recycling (E-cycling) and document shredding event.
Shredder Truck & Ecycle
Sunday, May 6
Back Parking Lot at Beth El Congregation
9:00 a.m. - 12 noon
$10 processing donation is requested.
Shabbat shalom!
BJEN held the Jewish community's first electronic recycling event three years ago. Since then, we have helped safely recycled literally tons - mounds and mountains! - of materials that have since become part of our culture's technological recycling stream (parallel to nature's recycling stream).
We are very proud that now, several congregations are sponsoring their own community recycling events.
This Sunday, check out Beth El's electronic recycling (E-cycling) and document shredding event.
Shredder Truck & Ecycle
Sunday, May 6
Back Parking Lot at Beth El Congregation
9:00 a.m. - 12 noon
$10 processing donation is requested.
Shabbat shalom!
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
I forgot to tell you: we had a six-foot long black snake in our kitchen the other day. Actually, it was on tax day (which seemed appropriate, some long dark arm of government reaching into our private domain).
Evidently, the snake snuck in while the door was open during a lengthy delivery of windows.
It was immediately clear that the snake, once it got its bearings, wanted no more to do with me than I wanted to do with him. So he slithered beneath the overhang of our cabinets and proceeded to slink under our sofa in the sitting room. And stayed there 'til the nice man from critter cop came with a grabber, gloves and a bag and snatched the snake, ever-so-gently, bagged it and took it out to release it.
My friend, Charlie, has since told me that the (1) the snake was not dangerous and that (2) the state is interested in such stories. Preferably with pictures.
The Natural History Society of Maryland and the MD Department of Natural Resources are jointly conducting a five-year reptile population project called MARA: The Maryland Amphibian and Reptile Atlas.
So, if you bump into a snake while out walking, mowing, or hanging your laundry out to dry (just thought I'd mention this now that summer is coming), please take a photo of it and send it along to MARA at atlas@marylandnature.org.
They can even tell you what kind of snake you saw.
Happy hunting.
Evidently, the snake snuck in while the door was open during a lengthy delivery of windows.
It was immediately clear that the snake, once it got its bearings, wanted no more to do with me than I wanted to do with him. So he slithered beneath the overhang of our cabinets and proceeded to slink under our sofa in the sitting room. And stayed there 'til the nice man from critter cop came with a grabber, gloves and a bag and snatched the snake, ever-so-gently, bagged it and took it out to release it.
My friend, Charlie, has since told me that the (1) the snake was not dangerous and that (2) the state is interested in such stories. Preferably with pictures.
The Natural History Society of Maryland and the MD Department of Natural Resources are jointly conducting a five-year reptile population project called MARA: The Maryland Amphibian and Reptile Atlas.
"The goal of the MARA project is to document the current distributions of
Maryland’s amphibian and reptile species using a systematic and
repeatable approach.... The information gained through your volunteer
effort will be used to promote the conservation and protection of
Maryland’s 90+ species of frogs, toads, salamanders, turtles, lizards,
and snakes. Understanding the current distribution patterns of
amphibians and reptiles within the state is needed to create effective
conservation strategies."
So, if you bump into a snake while out walking, mowing, or hanging your laundry out to dry (just thought I'd mention this now that summer is coming), please take a photo of it and send it along to MARA at atlas@marylandnature.org.
They can even tell you what kind of snake you saw.
Happy hunting.
Getting from Here to There
Quote of the week:
"We
are a Star Wars civilization [with] Stone Age emotions, … medieval institutions…
and god-like technology. And this god-like technology is dragging us forward in
ways that are totally unpredictable." E. O. Wilson in an interview with Grist.org.
Not a bad assessment. We know our emotions and our structures lag far behind our curiosity, imagination and scientific discoveries.
The question is how do we - and the world - stay safe while we build the future of our dreams?
My sense: stay with the basics -
* care for each other - remembering the legacy of the past, honoring those here today and protecting those to come tomorrow;
* pause a moment to think things through; then talk about it with those who might agree AND those who might not agree;
* be passionate but not impatient
* speak out boldly and often when necessary (E.O. Wilson also asked in that interview why the youth of today weren't on the streets protesting to protect the world that their leaders and parents are consuming before their eyes? Environmentalism was a cause of social protests in the '70's. Why not now?
Add your own wisdom and spread the word.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Earth Day 2012
Below is the talk I had the privilege of delivering today at the Maryland Presbyterian Church on Providence Road, in honor of Earth Day.
Hope you all are celebrating - the earth is, with all this wonderful rain.
“Midrash” is the ancient
rabbinic technique of taking tantalizing verses in the Bible and creatively
unfolding and reshaping them, tucking them a bit here and tweaking them a bit
there, until voila, a new meaning emerges that is deftly applied to the author’s
rhetorical purpose.
The text this morning comes
from such a midrash on Ecclesiastes 7:13.
“Consider all that God has
done: Who can make straight what he has made crooked?”
The text’s meaning is clear.
It proclaims: How powerful God is! No one and nothing can countermand his word.
Yet, along came a rabbi of old who decided that he could tweak the verse just a
touch – changing the meaning of just one word – and thus teach an important lesson.
In doing so, he created the midrash that has become the anthem of the Jewish
environmental movement today.
Why, this anonymous
rabbi-of-old asked, would the God of goodness make something crooked, twisted, broken?
Rather, the verse must be
referring at the end not to God, but to man: “Consider all that God has done:
who will be able to straighten again that which he – mankind - makes crooked?”
With this one change in mind,
from “he” meaning “God”, to “he” meaning
man, the rabbi creates the following story:
"When the Holy One,
blessed be He, created the first human, He took him by the hand and led him
around the garden, showing him all the trees.
God said to the human, 'See
all my works, how good and beautiful they are? Know that all I have created, I
created for you. But be mindful that you do not spoil and destroy My world
- for if you do, there will be no one after you to set it right."
This is a stunning sixth-century
rabbinic warning that teaches us that as big and magnificent and divinely-wrought
as the natural world is, it is not indestructible, not immune to degradation by
human hands.
The midrash teaches us that all
creation, in all its detail, in all its particularity, is God’s work, glorious
but vulnerable. Like a proud artist giving a tour of their studio, God took the
human by the hand and showed him each and every tree and animal and stream and
hill and the ways they all fit together.
And the human was told, all
this is for you! All this I did for you! Remember, it is not impervious to
harm, or steeled against ruin. It is the work that I love. Be sure to treat it
well.
Note that the midrash notably
and I would argue intentionally does not say: “All this I give to you.” It rather says: “All this I made for you.” This
world is here for us to cherish, and use, and even improve. The human is to
acknowledge it, admire it, be humbled and grateful and awed by it. It is ours
to live fully with, but it is not ours to possess.
As big and magnificent and
important as we humans are, we need to be humble about our place in creation.
We have been given great power, and great latitude in how we use that power. We
need to be mindful and deliberate and discerning so that we use our knowledge,
our appetites, our curiosity, and our power for good and not for evil, for
growth and not destruction.
Along with this message, it
seems to me that this story is pointing to yet something a bit deeper: that in
the biblical imagination, nature is not just a gift, or commodity, or necessary
accessory to the good life. It is the very
currency, the language, that God uses to speak with humanity. And therefore, it
is the currency and language that we should use to speak back to God.
In the Bible – if we are good
and God is pleased, the rains are soft and timely and come in just the right
amount. If we are good and God is pleased, the land is blessed and giving; the
harvests are bountiful and filling.
If we are not good and God is
not pleased, the rain is hard and damaging, or sparse or absent; the land is
parched and unyielding; the harvests are meager.
Deuteronomy
11 says:
13 If you
faithfully obey the commands I am giving you today—to love the LORD your God
and to serve him with all your heart and with all your soul— 14 then
I will send rain on your land in its season, both autumn and spring rains, so
that you may gather in your grain, new wine and olive oil. 15 I will
provide grass in the fields for your cattle, and you will eat and be satisfied.
But if not, if 16
… you will be enticed to turn away and worship other gods and bow down to them.
17 Then the LORD’s anger will burn against you, and he will shut up
the heavens so that it will not rain and the ground will yield no produce, and
you will soon perish from the good land the LORD is giving you. 18
We tend to dismiss these words as quaint,
outdated theological beliefs of cause and affect. After all, we moderns don’t believe as the
ancients did – we know droughts and floods, extreme weather and climate change
don’t come as punishment from God in response to our bad moral behavior.
Perhaps not. But it is true
that our behaviors affect the natural world, that how we manage and manipulate
the environment determines the abundance, availability, health and distribution
of the goodness of the natural world.
It’s true that hording and
wasting, taking too much and returning too little, poisoning and trashing our
waters, our land and our air upsets the ebb and flow of nature and the very
systems we depend on.
So, while the Bible speaks of
the necessity living in good relation to God, we can extrapolate that to mean
living in good relation to God’s world. That is what the midrash is teaching.
Whether through theology or natural law, failure to respect the vibrancy, integrity
and moral laws of nature will bring havoc to the earth and all its inhabitants.
And it is we humans who will be held responsible. And, as the midrash says,
there will be no one after us to set it right. And it is in the way we treat
nature that our devotion to God is measured and weighed.
The midrash continues with a
haunting vision:
To what might this be likened,
it asks:
To a woman who is pregnant
and gives birth in jail. The child is raised in jail; grows up in jail, and his
mother dies in jail. One day, the king
was travelling by the jail, and as he passed by the son shouts out to him and
says: Oh King: it was in this prison that I was born, and it is here that I was
raised, and here I live: but I ask you, by what sin have I earned this
punishment of being here? And the King answers, Because your mother gave birth
to you here.”
If we destroy the world, if
we create out of it a prison of destruction, we curse our children with living
in that destruction. That is something we cannot do.
How do we avoid it? In the
very first chapters of the Bible, we read a phrase, a formula, that helps guide
us in the task of living well with God’s gift, and of avoiding the fate we dare
not bring about.
In Chapter Two of Genesis, in
the story of the creation of Adam, the Bible tells us that:
“The
LORD God took the man he had made and put him in the Garden of Eden “to work it
and care for it.”
It
is in this pairing of verbs, this yin/yang of purpose, this balance of consumer
and protector; manipulator and preserver, that the vision of how humans should
and must relate to the earth is revealed and measured.
L’ovdah
ul’shomrah. To till and to tend; to work and protect. These are not to
be seen as two separate, sequential tasks, doing one now and the other later:
mountaintop removal here and preserving the Tetons there. Our agriculture,
manufacturing, energy production, recycling, waste disposal all must be a piece
of preserving and not just consuming. That is the message of living right in
the Bible. That is the message we in the faith community must know and speak.
This,
then, is the task of the faith community:
· To live in
sync with the flow and pulse and patterns of the world
· To live humbly
and joyously with God’s awesome gift
· To advance
and preserve the work of creation
· To be
witness to the truth that living our lives this way is a most blessed and
purposeful way to be.
· And to teach
the lessons of the midrash to our neighbors and children, our businessmen and
politicians, our farmers and bankers, and to ourselves, saying:
'See all God’s work, how good
and beautiful it is? Know that all God created, he created for us. But we
must be mindful that we do not spoil and destroy it - for if we do, there will
be no one after us to set it right."
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Rethinking Hametz
We often hear that hametz - the puffed up, leavened food that we banish from our homes on Passover - represents the less attractive parts of being, our puffed up egos that slowly bloat the boundaries of self and ooze onto the protected space of others. Or the encrusted coating of pride or psychological armor that builds up over time to protect our wounded, vulnerable inner core but that needs to be periodically scraped away so that our souls can breathe and be restored once more.
I like that view and have taught that in years past.
But I am thinking of hametz in a slightly different way this year. What if we thought of hametz not as bad, but as "dirt"?
Mary Douglas, the eminent anthropologist (of Purity and Danger fame), taught that "dirt" was not a thing but a concept, not an essence but an attribution. Dirt is not something that can be scientifically catalogued the way pathogens or bacteria are. You cannot put something under a microscope to see if it is "dirt" or not.
"Dirt" is stuff out of place, something existing where somebody thinks it shouldn't. Just as a weed is a plant growing where you don't want it, so dirt is something being where you don't want it.
This explains a lot. It explains why, for example, when there are clothes all over your son's bedroom floor, you may think the place is "dirty" while he thinks the clothes are just arrayed on the biggest shelf in the room. Or why a child's hair-clippings found in a mother's keepsake box are precious whereas that same hair found on the bathroom floor is a mess.
Which helps me - and challenges me - when I think of hametz.
What is the right place, and time, for things? Why are things that were perfectly good for us yesterday forbidden to us today? How did this thing that is a staple of life on other occasions become so virulent on Passover that it must be totally banished, or at least nullified and transformed?
Perhaps, as Avram suggests, it is a matter of degree. A bit of pride, a bit of ambition, a bit of selfishness is not bad. They are even essential. How else do we build and discover and push beyond contemporary limits without the urgings of ambition or pride, or genuine curiosity? But what dangers lie, as well, in uncontrolled pride, greed and voyeurism? And where do we draw the lines?
Perhaps Pesah is that annual season of line-drawing, re-setting the boundaries, of cleaning out the expanding, crusty accretions of too much pride, too much desire. Perhaps Pesah should be seen as a radical reboot, a cleansing that offers a stark exercise trimming back the excess and re-evaluating the value that guides these impulses. What, Pesah might be asking us, are all those urgings for? What service should we properly put them to?
Perhaps that, too, is why Pesah is a week long. We could not bear to strip ourselves of our protective coatings, rid ourselves of the armor of pride, and return, so exposed, to the unchanged rigors and dangers of the world. We need a week to live in this pristine world of the wilderness, in the company of each other, in a taste of a place where all is in balance, where manna comes with the dew, where the world protects us. We need a week to take in this gift of freedom, to bask unafraid in the presence of each other, to understand where - when we return to the world of hametz - we should direct the power of our urgings.
And then, with that as our armor, return to tangle, or tango, with hametz.
I like that view and have taught that in years past.
But I am thinking of hametz in a slightly different way this year. What if we thought of hametz not as bad, but as "dirt"?
Mary Douglas, the eminent anthropologist (of Purity and Danger fame), taught that "dirt" was not a thing but a concept, not an essence but an attribution. Dirt is not something that can be scientifically catalogued the way pathogens or bacteria are. You cannot put something under a microscope to see if it is "dirt" or not.
"Dirt" is stuff out of place, something existing where somebody thinks it shouldn't. Just as a weed is a plant growing where you don't want it, so dirt is something being where you don't want it.
This explains a lot. It explains why, for example, when there are clothes all over your son's bedroom floor, you may think the place is "dirty" while he thinks the clothes are just arrayed on the biggest shelf in the room. Or why a child's hair-clippings found in a mother's keepsake box are precious whereas that same hair found on the bathroom floor is a mess.
Which helps me - and challenges me - when I think of hametz.
What is the right place, and time, for things? Why are things that were perfectly good for us yesterday forbidden to us today? How did this thing that is a staple of life on other occasions become so virulent on Passover that it must be totally banished, or at least nullified and transformed?
Perhaps, as Avram suggests, it is a matter of degree. A bit of pride, a bit of ambition, a bit of selfishness is not bad. They are even essential. How else do we build and discover and push beyond contemporary limits without the urgings of ambition or pride, or genuine curiosity? But what dangers lie, as well, in uncontrolled pride, greed and voyeurism? And where do we draw the lines?
Perhaps Pesah is that annual season of line-drawing, re-setting the boundaries, of cleaning out the expanding, crusty accretions of too much pride, too much desire. Perhaps Pesah should be seen as a radical reboot, a cleansing that offers a stark exercise trimming back the excess and re-evaluating the value that guides these impulses. What, Pesah might be asking us, are all those urgings for? What service should we properly put them to?
Perhaps that, too, is why Pesah is a week long. We could not bear to strip ourselves of our protective coatings, rid ourselves of the armor of pride, and return, so exposed, to the unchanged rigors and dangers of the world. We need a week to live in this pristine world of the wilderness, in the company of each other, in a taste of a place where all is in balance, where manna comes with the dew, where the world protects us. We need a week to take in this gift of freedom, to bask unafraid in the presence of each other, to understand where - when we return to the world of hametz - we should direct the power of our urgings.
And then, with that as our armor, return to tangle, or tango, with hametz.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
The spirituality of rain
Passover is when the rain stops. It is the close of winter in the Mediterranean climate of Israel, the end of the wet season, and the time when we usher in the summer. It is the time our prayers shift from gratitude for the seasonal bursts of rain to the appreciation of the miraculous morning dew.
It seems like a perfect time to muse, for a moment, about the place of rain, geshem, in the rabbinic imagination, and how it morphed from the realm of physics to the world metaphysics.
Gashmiut (from geshem) is how the medieval rabbis referred to life's "physicality," the earthy, material dimension of this created world. It is juxtaposed to Ruchniut, the non-corporeal, spiritual dimension.
You won't find Gashmiut in the Bible. You won't find it in the Talmud. It was a word formed by our medieval ancestors to encompass one half of their world-view divided into two: "stuff" on one side and "essence" on the other.
The choice of Ruchniut is clear. Ruach is wind, breath, the intangible but enduring essence of life as expressed in Genesis 1:2 "the ruach of God fluttered over the waters." It is a fine root for spirituality.
But the choice of geshem, rain, is curious. It seems the opposite of substance. Episodic, fluid, impossible to hold, "raininess" hardly seems to convey the sense of sturdy "materiality". A stronger candidate might have been "earth," adamah. Earthiness powerfully carries the meaning of physicality, groundedness, something solid and enduring.
"Even" or "tzur," stone and rock, could have conveyed an even better sense of sturdiness, physical presence. It was good enough to serve as a metaphor for the reality, presence and steadfastness of the Divine. And its hard substantiality contrasts nicely with spirituality.
But the medieval philosophers didn't choose those. They chose geshem, rain, instead. I haven't yet found a study that explains why, so I take the opportunity to muse. (I haven't nailed this one yet so your guidance and responses would be most welcome.)
What are the material dimensions of rain that the rabbis wished to emphasize as the essence of physical life? It is not possessiveness. Rain neither owns things nor can it be owned. It cannot be held long in the hand or carved or mined. And though we can gather it in cisterns and guide it through water races, we cannot possess the rain, only the pools in which it gathers. There is something, then, mercurial, evanescent, otherly and fragile about it.
Yet, rain is powerfully, desperately desired, but only at the right time and only in the right amounts. In its parts, it is insubstantial. Drop by drop it amounts to little. Single drops do not make rain; single drops do not bring life. It takes a cloudburst to make a rainfall. And it takes a rainfall to bring life. Too much, though, and life is destroyed.
Captured and horded, it can go stagnant and stink. It is through its flow, when it is shared among the land and trees and streams that it is vibrant and yields life.
Rain is, in the rabbinic imagination, the major currency between God and humans. It comes from the heavens and descends upon the earth. It is stored in the vaults on high and released in its time as blessing or curse. It captures the mystery and majesty of God's hold over all nature.
So, what does all this tell us about ourselves? What does this tell us about our bodies as material husks and our desires for material possessions and well-being?
What does it tell us about one and many, enough and not too much, having and sharing? And what, in the end, does it tell us about the rabbis' sense of purpose and the world's best way of being?
There is, as always, something ever more interesting in the curious than in the obvious. I am eager to hear what you think.
It seems like a perfect time to muse, for a moment, about the place of rain, geshem, in the rabbinic imagination, and how it morphed from the realm of physics to the world metaphysics.
Gashmiut (from geshem) is how the medieval rabbis referred to life's "physicality," the earthy, material dimension of this created world. It is juxtaposed to Ruchniut, the non-corporeal, spiritual dimension.
You won't find Gashmiut in the Bible. You won't find it in the Talmud. It was a word formed by our medieval ancestors to encompass one half of their world-view divided into two: "stuff" on one side and "essence" on the other.
The choice of Ruchniut is clear. Ruach is wind, breath, the intangible but enduring essence of life as expressed in Genesis 1:2 "the ruach of God fluttered over the waters." It is a fine root for spirituality.
But the choice of geshem, rain, is curious. It seems the opposite of substance. Episodic, fluid, impossible to hold, "raininess" hardly seems to convey the sense of sturdy "materiality". A stronger candidate might have been "earth," adamah. Earthiness powerfully carries the meaning of physicality, groundedness, something solid and enduring.
"Even" or "tzur," stone and rock, could have conveyed an even better sense of sturdiness, physical presence. It was good enough to serve as a metaphor for the reality, presence and steadfastness of the Divine. And its hard substantiality contrasts nicely with spirituality.
But the medieval philosophers didn't choose those. They chose geshem, rain, instead. I haven't yet found a study that explains why, so I take the opportunity to muse. (I haven't nailed this one yet so your guidance and responses would be most welcome.)
What are the material dimensions of rain that the rabbis wished to emphasize as the essence of physical life? It is not possessiveness. Rain neither owns things nor can it be owned. It cannot be held long in the hand or carved or mined. And though we can gather it in cisterns and guide it through water races, we cannot possess the rain, only the pools in which it gathers. There is something, then, mercurial, evanescent, otherly and fragile about it.
Yet, rain is powerfully, desperately desired, but only at the right time and only in the right amounts. In its parts, it is insubstantial. Drop by drop it amounts to little. Single drops do not make rain; single drops do not bring life. It takes a cloudburst to make a rainfall. And it takes a rainfall to bring life. Too much, though, and life is destroyed.
Captured and horded, it can go stagnant and stink. It is through its flow, when it is shared among the land and trees and streams that it is vibrant and yields life.
Rain is, in the rabbinic imagination, the major currency between God and humans. It comes from the heavens and descends upon the earth. It is stored in the vaults on high and released in its time as blessing or curse. It captures the mystery and majesty of God's hold over all nature.
So, what does all this tell us about ourselves? What does this tell us about our bodies as material husks and our desires for material possessions and well-being?
What does it tell us about one and many, enough and not too much, having and sharing? And what, in the end, does it tell us about the rabbis' sense of purpose and the world's best way of being?
There is, as always, something ever more interesting in the curious than in the obvious. I am eager to hear what you think.
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