Monday, January 7, 2019.  It was cold and bitter out at the lake again, icy on the sidewalks – it must be winter in Cleveland!  If you look up the word “Shevat” online, you will find several interpretations, all invoking the Akkadian origin “sabatu”, variously translated as “conquest”, “destruction”, “strike”.  I prefer Chabad’s translation, “lashing”, as in the lashing of the rain on the land as winter comes to a close in the Middle East.

Shevat is a water month, its sign Aquarius, the water bearer.  I was in Arizona last week in a driving, cold rainstorm, one of many this winter, and all the naturalists in my circle were rejoicing at the likely spectacular desert bloom to come.  So much rain brings so much growth in a month or two, especially in arid lands.  So, too, in biblical Israel, the month of Shevat was a month of lashing cold rain, a blessing to be celebrated nonetheless, for it soaked tree roots and soil and established the foundation for a summer of growth, a good harvest.

How many cold rains have each of us endured in our lifetimes?  How many of us can say we celebrated them as necessary foundations for growth? How many of those rains have nourished our gardens, our families, our relationships? — May we grow into the coming month, as we celebrate Tu B’Shvat and honor the trees, and the rain that sustains them. — Kirby

Sunday, December 9, 2018.  It was so cold overnight that the lake has finally frozen over.  Arriving early, before sunrise, I could make out the form of a dog (perhaps coyote?) wandering across the ice, following a scent in the darkness.  Standing lakeside in 16-degree air, it is difficult to imagine that this was the month for sowing in ancient Israel – wheat, barley, oats, peas, lentils, vetch and flax were all planted, and the growing season began.

Or maybe not so difficult.  Wherever we are in the world, Tevet holds the equinox, winter or summer, a twice-yearly reminder of the cyclical nature of the universe.  Here in the Great Lakes, winter’s darkest day begins the cycle of light returning – it is only a short leap to imagine the spring and new growth to come.

Our sages teach that Tevet contains energy for the healing of anger.  This morning our little group talked of the cyclical nature of anger, of its return again and again, like all of our emotions. Anger is useful, spurring us to take action for change, to be aware of our imperfect humanness, to reconcile with those with whom we are in conflict.  But this is only possible if we are able to transform it from darkness into light, from ego-driven aggression to selfless concern for a better world, and for more human connections within our family and community. This month, may we each find ways recognize anger and transform it, growing it into good as the light grows on us. — Kirby

Friday, November 9, 2018.  It is fitting that the first day of Kislev, the “darkest month”, should also be the day of our first snow of the season.  Out at the lake at 7:30 am, it was blustery and cold, sleet turning to snow, and the water was dark and opaque, geese and migrating stragglers honking and splashing in the dimness.  We talked of the sleepiness and introspection of the month Cheshvan we are leaving behind, and the coming of Hanukah when introspection is turned into a vision for action.

Our source Jill Hammer tells of the bonfires set in the hills of Jerusalem in rabbinic times, to announce the new month of Kislev and the approach of the Hanukah holiday.  Far-flung villages would light their own upon seeing the Jerusalem fires, and even farther villages then light theirs, and so a chain of communication by fire would reach across the countryside.  Kislev is also the month of dreams, when we remember Joseph and Jacob, our ancestral dreamers and dream interpreters, who dealt in visions of the future.

After the events of the last two weeks, we sense the dark intensely.  We are calling from the numb dimness of mourning, despairing that we cannot ever effect any change in the circumstances that lead to tragedy.  And yet, the cycle of the year continues.  The light will come again, we are told, and we are not permitted to give up.  We are reminded that even though the universe returns the light to us, we must also light our own bonfires, and envision and create, together, our dreams of a better world.  May the Hanukah candles remind us of this, and be the renewal of light for our families and our community.  —Kirby

Wednesday, October 10, 2018. It was balmy, breezy and warm out on the lake this morning. We were well aware that the fall migration is underway – geese leaving the lake in gaggles, low overhead – and loons, herons both green and gray, and an egret were taking shelter for a little while on the lake and shore.

In ancient Israel, this was the month without holidays, when the agricultural cycle takes on a momentary quiet. The harvest is over, and the seeds not yet sown – we prepare the soil, carry water, pray for rain, and begin the work of the year. We talked about the water theme of Cheshvan on two levels – first, the universal flood: The flood at the time of Noah – and the parallels to recent and impending hurricanes and the increased flooding of our planet as the climate changes. On the more personal scale, our source Shimona Tzukernik draws the parallels between preparing the soil and beginning our spiritual work. We, and the rain, water the earth day in and day out, and the water “glistens” on our mundane daily existence – even as daily prayer waters our souls. Chodesh tov! — Kirby

Monday, September 10, 2018.  We began the New Year on a warm, cloudy morning, acknowledging that some projects of transformation are continuous.  We continue the hard work of the past year into the new one – glad to have the chance to renew our commitment.  Chodesh tov, L’Shanah Tovah!  Wishing everyone a sweet and happy new month and new year.

September 4, 2018.  It has been a whirlwind this month, and while we did not miss Rosh Chodesh at the Lake, I did miss getting a blog update posted.  Thanks to Stephen for being there while Linda and I were out of town.  Stephen took some photos of the marsh, and I went by when I returned for some of the lake itself.

There was no time to put together a meditation for the month – and yet the fullness of Elul is with me.  Forgiveness has been a theme – as a prerequisite for prayer, and as a principle for living. We are encouraged to ask for it from those we have harmed through our confusion; to give it to those who have harmed us, through their confusion.  And  to live it ourselves, for harm we have done to our own being.  With these thoughts we enter the Days of Awe.  L’shana tovah um’tuka – wishing everyone a sweet and good New Year. — Kirby

July 13, 2018. Av is the month of “Deconstruction” – and it is fitting that this was our first meeting at an alternative location on Horseshoe Lake (see sidebar), with the City beginning a two-year reconstruction project on the 150-year-old dam. In preparation, the water level has been drawn down, and our lake is not quite the same. But the future is bright: the reconstruction work should leave the lake and dam restored, beautiful and safe for another century.

In Av, we are in the midst of the heat and light of summer – some call it the beginning of the “dog days”, when even in the Great Lakes, the grass and trees and soil dry out, and soon cicadas will begin to buzz. We are just past the summer solstice, and so daylight begins to shorten toward autumn. In biblical Israel, the harvest began this month, with the ingathering of sesame, flax , millet, grapes and pomegranates.

In Jewish tradition, Av is best known for its commemoration of calamity. The first of Av comes halfway into the mournful 3 weeks, which began with a fast on the 17^th of Tammuz. We open the month with the beginning of the “Nine Days”, leading up to the ninth of Av, or Tisha B’Av, the saddest day of the Jewish year. The 17^th of Tammuz commemorates the breach of the walls of Jerusalem by our enemies; our stories tell us that the 9th of Av clinches the catastrophe, with the fall of both the First and Second Temples in biblical times. Since then, an accumulation of disasters have been associated with this day, from expulsions of Jews from Britain and Spain in the Middle Ages, to massacres during the Crusades, to events leading up to World Wars I and II.

Our source Alan Lew z”l sees the 9^th of Av as the beginning of the long annual process leading to the High Holy Days’ redemption: “There are two ways of looking at the way our tradition has collapsed history on this day… We can regard the ninth of Av and the weeks surrounding it as a cursed time … or we can regard the ninth of Av as a time when we are reminded that catastrophes will keep recurring in our lives until we get things right, until we learn what we need to learn from them.” (p. 41) In order to prepare ourselves for T’Shuvah, or return, we have no choice but to break everything down, and ready ourselves to start anew, with the hope of getting it right this time.

Like the walls that fell in Jerusalem, and many catastrophes thereafter, the Ninth of Av, and the Jewish cycles of the year, remind us of the resilience of humans: we fall down, and we pick ourselves up and reinvent ourselves, again and again. For every terrible event we read about in the news, there are stories of people who overcame adversity and redeemed us all with their actions. The cycle turns, and we turn with it — if we allow ourselves, in the midst of catastrophe, to listen for, and follow, and work to restore, the good that flows through the world. –Kirby

Thursday, June 14, 2018.  The Jewish lunar month of Tammuz is named after the Babylonian god Tammuz, or Dumuzid, who descended to the underworld for half of every year.   His absence brought about heat and drought, and parched the earth; water sources dried up, and plant growth ceased. Throughout the ancient Middle East, people spent the summer mourning the death of Tammuz as part of the cycle of the seasons. Our source Jill Hammer notes that in the heat of the Middle East summer, natural devastation by drought, locust, or terrible rainstorm can threaten crops and life itself. In Biblical times, the 17^th of Tammuz marked the breaching of the walls of Jerusalem by our enemies, leading to the destruction of the Temple three weeks later on the 9th of Av. These Three Weeks are a time of mourning to this day, starting with a fast on the 17^th of Tammuz.

So, we are reminded of the heavy and oppressive heat of summer, and the challenges that are before us. Here in the Great Lakes, we’re having a coolish week, but the summer light still penetrates. Our source Mindy Ribner reminds us that in the searing, bright light of the summer sun, we see the truth and the reality of every aspect of our lives. The light and the heat of the month are intense, physically, emotionally and spiritually. It is up to us to use that intensity well, to see with clear vision what is, and find opportunity for growth in the truth, especially when it is not what we would like it to be.

Seeing the truth is the first step in changing the world: only upon accepting the reality of a situation can we see it objectively enough to work on it. David Brooks, in an article in the New York Times last week (June 8, 2018), noted “The confrontation with …any sin is not just a protest but a struggle. Generalship in … any struggle is seeing where the forces of progress are swelling and where the forces of reaction are marching. It is seeing opportunities as well as threats. It is being dispassionate in one’s perception of the situation and then passionate in one’s assault on it.”

Whether that truth is the challenge of a difficult relationship — the suffering of our brothers and sisters who are hungry, lonely, oppressed, or ill — or conflict between our leaders — may seeing it clearly inspire us all to action, passion and compassion, for ourselves and for our fellow beings. — Kirby

Tuesday, May 15, 2018.  Today’s New Moon weather was bright and humid. After a long winter and hardly a  spring, it is possible that summer is upon us at last!  In biblical Israel, sowing was almost complete, just a little sesame and millet still being planted – and the first harvests were coming in, coinciding with the holiday of Shavuot – wheat, oats, peas, lentils.  Here in the Great Lakes, it’s all about flowers – the peonies are budding, and some irises are in bloom – along with cherry, crabapple and magnolia, and trillium and solomon’s seal in the woods.  Which brings us to the season of leaves, according to our source Jill Hammer:  a season of growth and greenery.  The quiet underground seasons of seeds and roots and buds have burst forth into leaf.  We can relax, take a breath, and begin to enjoy the fruits of earlier planting, whether that is in our gardens or our spiritual lives.  The counting of the Omer is almost complete, and the counting of the days of spiritual growth and reflection as well, as the holiday of Shavuot approaches. — Kirby and Linda

Sivan is the month in which we celebrate the giving of the Torah to the Israelites, at Shavuot.  At the moment the Israelites assented to the incorporation of the Torah into their lives, they ceased being clans of Israelites and became Jews as we understand the term today.  The Torah provided a blueprint, so to speak, that had to be interpreted.  And so the great spiritual adventure began with the Talmud and has continued without a break for millennia.  We are the inheritors of this grand journey and actively pursue it even in our literature, our music, our drama and especially in our lives.  Even without being explicitly aware of it, our daily lives as Jews have some aspects of the Torah and its explication.  So our celebration of Shavuot can be understood as a celebration of this grand tradition of arguing, studying and, hopefully, understanding the meaning of this great gift. — Stephen

(I should also mention that we had company today, in the form of a Double-Breasted Cormorant, settled and watching in a tree along the lake.)–KMD

April 16, 2018.  It was cold, very cold, damp and biting this morning – but the birds were carrying on anyway.  On the lake there were our resident Canada geese – back in the marsh, a stalking heron.  Two pairs of almost-unidentifiable ducks – one male with a hood and stripes, he had to be a wood duck – and another with so much white on his head and chest – dare I say bufflehead?  — So much rain the last few days, our basements are flooded, and the evidence of the creek overflowing its banks came in the bodies of small fish along the path.

Our source Jill Hammer calls this the season of buds.  Yes, here in the Great Lakes, they are plentiful and welcome in the freezing air – spring WILL come.

In biblical Israel, Iyyar is a month of growth – vegetables, peas, chickpeas planted last month – lentils, vetch and barley. Our kabbalistic sages noted that “Iyyar” in Hebrew is the letters “aleph yud-yud resh”, standing for “Ani Adonai Rofecha” – “I am Adonai, Your Healer”. Rebbe Nachman of Braslav refers to healing herbs that grow strong this month.  As we grow, we heal.  As Hammer so succinctly puts it, Iyyar is “the month to heal ourselves of what ails us.”  Here at home, we think of those we love who need healing energy, and send it their way. — Kirby