If we examine the biblical narrative of Abraham, it is clear that a careful, considered questioning of relationships is fundamental to a healthy Jewish experience. This analytical process is also quintessentially ecological and may offer the Jewish environmental movement a valuable perspective on its practice. Abraham recognized the hypocrisy of his father’s idolatry and embarked on an investigative journey that led to the understanding of One. What operational relationships are we investigating, personally and as a movement? Can we expect (or hope) to have an equally monumental discovery?

It is probably unrealistic to expect such a profound revelation. However, as a ‘Jewish environmentalist’ I firmly believe that our movement has the capacity to enrich, enliven, and contribute to the contemporary practice of Judaism. In fact, I believe we are already living up to those expectations. However, if our aim is more ambitious and we expect our movement to contribute to a broader reevaluation of global systems, then we have an obligation to interrogate our movement’s relationships at multiple scales.

Are we diversifying our networks so that they are resilient and strong? Are we developing the operational capacity to respond to unexpected futures? Do our organizations exist as intersections or islands? Are they polyfunctional or monofunctional?

Collectively, the answers to these questions represent an ecological timestap for our movement. To evolve and innovate, we must continue to ask questions. It is not enough to have a Jewish environmental movement. To be successful on a global scale we require a dynamic Jewish ecology that is rooted in the discourse and rigor of ecological science as well as the tradition and heritage of the Jewish people. We need a Jewcology.

The multiplicity of ideas and approaches in both Judaism and environmentalism is fundamental. Historically, each has been and continues to be committed to critical and creative inquiry, a divergent process that is neither interested in nor capable of generating a definitive, all encompassing position. By crossing these two disquisitive and curious –isms the number of possible permutations for Jewish environmentalism is seemingly endless.

As a founding member of Jewcology it was and is my hope that this site can enable those of us grappling with these questions to collaborate, discuss, and share our experiments in thought and action. As individuals engaged in both Judaism and environmentalism, as well as any other –ism or profession we draw inspiration from, each of us has unique processes for enriching our lives and inspiring those around us. The axioms and assumptions that these processes generate can and should be shared, but I do not believe they can answer my initial question. The processes and pathways we promulgate as Jewish environmentalists are what defines the movement. To stay vital and innovative it would be wise to remember that what we do as Jewish environmentalists may not be as important as how we do it.

It is a sobering realization, but it is not paralyzing. In fact, in a sense I find it liberating. I know longer have to concern myself with convincing other people that Climate change is real. Summers are getting hotter. Extreme weather events are increasing. Our outdated economic systems are failing. In light of these observable (and fairly obvious) facts, persuasion becomes a mute point. Either we all get on the bandwagon or we bust.

The real challenge now is figuring out effective strategies for dealing with uncertainty in an unpredictable world. Some questions that I grapple with include: How do we create transportation networks that take in to account dwindling fuel supplies? What is the most efficient way to produce food without polluting fresh water supplies or relying on chemical fertilizers? How can communities protect their most vulnerable members when climate catastrophes occur? Will the human race find a way to coexist with other plant and animal species on this planet?

I think the answer to many of these questions may rely on embracing dynamism. By embedding change in our strategies we can begin to take in to account the forces that shape the world we live in. Instead of thinking technology will somehow shield us from the winds of change, we need to find a way to harness those winds (both literally and figuratively). Despite what we have been told nothing stays the same for very long. The good times never last forever. If we don’t start acknowledging the difficult times ahead they are going to be here before we have a chance to make any contingency plans. The sooner we get to local, regional, national, and international adaptation strategies the closer we will all be to survival.

The picture I’m painting may seem bleak, however, there is plenty of good news. Architects, landscape architects, urban planners, engineers, and even policy makers are beginning to work together to create “what if” scenarios. London’s climate change adaptation plan is a great example of forward thinking. New York City and Chicago have been at the forefront in the US. And in Israel grassroots activists are starting to gain traction on the municipal and national scale.

Over the coming weeks/months, I will outline some of these plans in detail to see how we as a Jewish community can learn from these inspiring examples. If we can translate and apply the strategies laid out in these documents, we may be able to weather the coming storm. Better yet, we may find our personal and communal lives enriched and enlivened by the excitement of engagement and the joys of discovery that accompany the unknown.

As Jews we tend to shy away from describing ourselves this way. We prefer to stress our godly characteristics; reason, free will, and control (after all, it was a snake that got us banned from the Garden of Eden). However, our inner animals don’t wither away and die when we deny them. They wait. Like a lion stalking its prey.

Then when our defenses are down the animal strikes. We enter a feeding frenzy, overeating, lashing out at our friends, and buying all the unnecessary things consumer culture insists we must. The carnage can be frightening, but more often than not we ignore it. Happy to return to our “civilized” lives, we quickly forget about the incident.

With our beasts sated we move on, leaving a wake of disaster behind us. We write off the damage, claiming the whole thing was an apparition and swear it will never happen again. Until the next time.

Which is why after 27 years, I’ve decided to break the cycle. I am going to be proactive and embrace my inner animal. Instead of denying its existence, I am going to harness it. When I get a craving to indulge in something sweet, this time of year it’s going to be Virginia peaches, grown locally and without any harmful chemicals. If I feel the need for speed, I am going to hop on my bike and find the nearest hill. When I feel frustrated and need to let off steam, invasive species beware – I’m coming for you. And when its time for something new, I’m going straight to the wood shop to build it with my own two hands.

What are you going to do when your beast comes calling?

In 1983 the Bruntland Commission formally defined sustainable development as, "development that meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs." Many hard-core environmentalists and deep ecologists reject this definition because it presupposes development as the foundation for sustainability. However, many free-market capitalists think this definition goes too far and encourages unnecessary government oversight of global markets. Given the opposing viewpoints sustainable development can be considered a compromise between environmentalism and capitalism.

Many readers might balk at the notion that sustainable development is a compromise position. I know I certainly did when it was presented to me that way. However, I have come to realize that between heaven and earth few things are what they seem. The world is full of contradictions and surprises, and I like it that way. Sustainable development is an idea that balances human needs within the context of limited material resources. It rejects the atavism of hard-core environmentalism and the pantheism of deep ecology, while subduing the avarice of free-market capitalism.

Judaism's approach to sustainability is strikingly similar. We are told to take what we need from the world, but not to waste it (Ba'al Tashchit). As Jews we are entitled to use the earth's resources to meet our needs until the byproducts of that work begins to harm our neighbors. Plants and animals are given respect and protection under Jewish law, but are not elevated to the status of gods or human beings (Sa'ar Balechaim +).

For me, these definitions of sustainability work. They acknowledge contradiction while simultaneously setting guidelines for sensible action. More importantly, both positions remain open for debate and discussion. Neither one claims to have all the answers, but nonetheless engage in asking difficult questions about humanity's relationship with the world. It has and continues to be a pleasure to be a part of a Jewish community and an environmental community that has the courage to ask hard questions and the honesty to search for meaningful answers.

The parceling out of land (the Dawes Act in the US, the Inclosure Acts in England, and many more) for individual ownership and sale has and continues to be a major driving force in economic development. It is a precondition for the commodification of natural resources that characterize industrialized nations and global capitalism. The divvying up of land may also be responsible for the psychological and spatial fragmentation that cripples our communities, and our conceptions of complexity, continuity, and connectivity. By owning property and controlling production individuals fool themselves in to believing that they “can afford” to isolate and insulate themselves from the vagaries of life – an important shared experience that has historically helped bring people together. Our isolation is so acute in fact, that this author believe many people now seem immune to the concerns of their fellow human beings.

The avant-garde movement in Europe in the 1920’s made a point of calling out these often hegemonic and oppressive relationships through their work in philosophy, literature, and art. Postmodernism in the US in the 1960’s similarly critiqued and attacked iconoclastic institutional art and narratives that supported repressive policies (Huyssen – After the Great Divide). These two movements provide fertile ground for thought in their investigations and conceptions of space, power, relationships, ecology, and culture.

Judaism also provides symbolic and scrupulous tension to the conversation of public space, property, and ownership. In addition, it introduces an element of spiritual possibility and redemption that has historically been a major impetus for action (both for the good and bad) that is often embryonic or completely undeveloped in secular philosophical, literary, and/or artistic movements. I believe that by exploring the multiplicity and conception of place in Jewish thought through the characteristics/attributes of the divine name “Ha-Makom” (“The Place) in the Tanach we may be able to find clues and insight in to new ways of conceptualizing and managing property, ownership, and production that merge the spiritual and the secular.

To this end, I hope to develop a series of lectures and action workshops that tie together my interests as a landscape architecture student (avant-gardism, postmodernism, reception theory, everyday design, community empowerment, guerilla landscapes, and more) with my interest in Jewish ideas of space and justice (as expressed in the traditional agricultural laws of the Jubilee, Shmitta, Leket, Shichichah, and Peah. As well as through the diving name "Hamakom").

The next month or so will be crazy as I finish up the semester, however, expect a more in-depth post on the topic then. In the meantime, I would love to hear what you all think about the topic!

Chag Sameach and cheers for now.

As a landscape architecture graduate student, I am forced to grapple with these issues on a daily basis. A lot has been written about what landscape architecture is and is not, but from what I’ve gathered to this point it is about shaping earth, organizing plants, and working with ecological systems to generate a meaningful and embodied experience.

In a real and metaphorical sense then landscape architecture is an act of creation. In his book Inner Space Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan explains how the 5 "olamot" of Kabbalistic thought correspond to architecture and design. He states that Adam Kadmon is the decision of the architect (or landscape architect) to build and to know what he/she wants to build before laying out the blueprints. Atzilut is the comprehensive plan and design of the project. Beriyah occurs on site and is the adaptation and implementation of the design through Yetzirah, which is the transmission of design (speech) to the workers. Finally, Asiyah is the actual building and realization of the original plan.

The final product of the design process, however, is ultimately imperfect, a reflection of the limitations of the human experience. Poetic as that may be, I find myself searching for more. How can I, as a landscape architect create spaces that invoke what Heschel would describe as the ineffable – the mystery and wonder of God and the universe? How can I give form that speaks to the fullness of God and intricacies of life?

I have attempted to utilize the sefirot as an organizing principle in some of my projects (most notably a playground based on the Ari’s diagram of the sefirot). The triads and pairs of opposites embedded in Kabbalistic thought and embodied by the sefirot have been helpful in arranging and orientating space, but these explorations, fruitful as they may have been, have not yet provided me with satisfactory answers.

The history of landscape architecture is rife with methodological approaches to making and charging a site. I believe Jewish conceptions of creation are also laden with tremendous performative potential. As I continue to explore conventions of space making and landscape architecture, I hope to uncover new ways to shape earth, organize plants, and work with ecological systems that are meaningful and respectful of all life. So that one day I may not only be created in the image of God, but that I also learn to create in the image of God.

Note: This is the first essay in a series of essays that I will write as part of the Jewcology blog that explores the intersection of landscape architecture and Jewish thought. I hope you all enjoy the ride and please leave comments, suggestions, questions, sources to explore, and anything else that you think might enrich the dialoge. Thanks!

The class is part of a two sequence workshop entitled “Israel: Beyond the Conflict”, that Rabbi Tom Gutherz and I developed for the Hebrew High School. Given the complexity and richness of Israeli culture and the limited time frame I have, I chose to focus on two iconic Israeli social systems – agriculture and the Kibbutz.

Last week’s class focused on the history of Israel’s organic agriculture movement. We watched a documentary called the Garden of Israel that Sasha Perry, videographer, cycler, and chef extraordinaire and I made together in 2008. We analyzed, discussed, and shared the lessons that we learned from the pioneers of Israel’s organic agriculture movement such as Mario Levy from Kibbutz Sde Eliyahu, Avi Esterson from Moshav Modi’in, and Leah Zigmond from Kibbutz Lotan.

One of the recurring themes that we encountered was the power of one committed person, a “mishugah l’davar” in modern Hebrew, to change their world. As the father of Israel’s organic movement Mario, planted the seeds, which were cared for and cultivated by farmers like Avi, who in turn paved the way for people like Leah to organize and operate Israel’s first CSA programs (Community Sponsored Agriculture). Several other interesting themes also emerged such as the strength and support provided by community and the importance of remembering that we are each a link in a long chain of history that stretches forward and backward in time.

This week (today) we are going to try and synthesize the ideas and values that we gleaned from the documentary and our conversation in order to envision a new kind of Kibbutz where we might want to live. The first part of the exercise is to write a set of ground rules that will form the basis of personal and communal conduct. Then we will put the rules to the test and see how well they hold up to conflict and scarcity.

Assuming all goes according to plan (which it almost never does the way I plan), we will all be more thoughtful, compassionate, and wise when the night is over. If that doesn’t happen, I’m hoping for fun, but at the very least I’ll have another blog post.

As a child, there was only one garden, the Garden of Eden. There were no difficult questions. The garden was paradise, the place where God took care of all of Adam and Eve’s needs. Then I learned that Adam and Eve were kicked out of the Garden for eating from the Tree of Knowledge. You can imagine the shock a first grader must have felt. If my parents threw me out of the house every time I disobeyed a direct order, I would have grown up on the street (thankfully, they were patient with me and I was only grounded a few times). Paradise was lost and I made a point of telling my parents and teachers how I felt.

Like most children though, I was only indignant while there was an adult around encouraging my theatrics. So eventually, I put the tragedy of it all behind me and moved on. I couldn’t help but be fascinated by the plants, animals, and hidden wonders that I found in the overgrown corners of backyards, parks, and gardens.

This sense of wonder and surprise has stayed with me to this day. The experience of gardens – their light, smell, and texture has provided me a place of pause and reflection. As a professional designer, I am being taught to see and analyze gardens through a host of new lenses (new names, formal characteristics, history, and context). However, these lenses are still secondary to my experience of a particular place. Inevitably, I lose points on exams for this, but the fact remains that gardens (be they baroque, renaissance, picturesque, or otherwise) are phenomenal and sensory. They make you feel.

In an age of information and sensory overload the garden may be losing ground to the internet, smart phones, and ithings, but in this writer’s opinion the garden still holds sway and captures the imagination. No matter what you grapple with in your personal or professional life, I encourage you to hold on to those things that genuinely and deeply make you feel. There is no substitute for direct experience and I might argue (maybe in another post) that that is why the entire story of creation is set in a garden. So go out, experience the world, and remember how it makes you feel.

Pedestrian malls as well as highways, rail lines, suburbs, and cities are all human artifacts. Designed by landscape architects, architects, and urban planners, these spaces at their best are a reflection of the culture and environment in which they exist. When functioning properly, they can enhance local ecologies, foster healthy human interactions, and encourage virbant economies. Unfortunately, as we all know, poorley designed spaces can have an equally profound negative impact (think big box stores, strip malls, super highways etc.). The key to a successful place is a thoughtful designer, which brings us back to Lawrence Halprin.

Lawrence Halprin, Bar Mitzvahed at the Kotel (Western Wall) in 1929, was until his death in October of 2009 one of the most acclaimed landscape architects of the 20th century. A pioneer of modernist design, Halprin believed that modernism was "environmental design as a holistic approach to the matter of making spaces for people to live." He took stock not only of the aesthetics of his proposals, but also the social and environmental implications. This sensitivity may have been cultivated while Halprin lived and worked in Israel in the pre-state years. He was a founding member of Kibbutz En-Hashofeth and according to his wife Anna Halprin, a renowned choreographer, "His personality and his thinking were totally shaped by his Jewishness, and his Jewishness was reflected in so many subtle ways in his life and work."

As a first year graduate student studying landscape architecture at the University of Virginia, I too look back on my time in Israel (I lived in Be'er Sheva for 4 years founding and running Earth's Promise) and the Jewish values I hold close to my heart. As a Jew and a citizen of Earth, I think it is critical to strike a balance between the personal and the professional, the individual and the collective so that we can begin to heal the wounds our unchecked consumption has inflicted on our planet and on each other. Lawrence Halprin is a shining example of what a committed Jew can do both for his people, his profession, and the planet. I challenge us all as we move forward in our lives to find the Lawrence Halprin in us and help shape a better future for the Jewish People and all Mankind.