3 Elul: Earth Etude for Elul

I live on the prairie. Not a desert. And yet I have spent the summer thinking about water. I live on a lake.  Ok, it’s a retaining pond.

It’s beautiful. We watch all kinds of birds: herons, egrets, sandhill cranes, ducks, and too many geese.

Our little lake has shrunk. Part of it is so dry that it looks like pictures of the Dust Bowl. The bottom of the lake is completely dry and cracked. There’s a rock beach where there should be water.

While there are seasonal fluctuations, this isn’t normal and is the result of climate change. Yes, I dare say it.

We can pray.

I’m reminded of the story of Honi, the Circle Drawer. In the Talmud, there was a time of drought. Honi was asked to pray. Honi drew a circle in the dust, stood inside it and told G-d that he wouldn’t move until it rained. A drizzle fell. The people demanded he pray again. This time, Honi’s prayer was answered by overflowing cisterns and ditches and caves. Too much rain. Honi prayed again within his circle. This time he was rewarded with a calm, gentle rain, relieving the drought. (Ta’anit 19a and Ta’anit 23a)

It’s the original Goldilocks story, too little, too much, then finally just right.

Psalm 93 says, “The rivers may rise and rage, the waters may pound and pulsate, the floods may swirl and storm, yet above the crash of the sea and its mighty breakers is Adonai our G-d supreme.” We pause to remember those threatened by natural disasters.

For me, another thought emerges. Is G-d really above all, supreme? The second paragraph of the V’ahavta, taken from Deuteronomy 11:13-21, says that if we follow G-d’s commandments/mitzvot, G-d will give us rain in its proper season.

Really? Didn’t G-d promise to never destroy the world again with water after The Flood, you know, the one with Noah? Don’t we have some responsibility here as denizens of earth, as partners with G-d?  

After watching the devastation in North Carolina last summer, the fires in California and Canada, and the heartbreak in Texas this summer, I can’t put that on G-d. Why would some be killed and others spared? 

I demand prayers. Praying is what I do. But I demand action, too. I want early warning systems. I want people to use less water. I want water jugs left for people struggling in the desert, whether they are hiking for pleasure or crossing our southern border. I want people to plant native gardens.  

Then I remembered a quote I often use during the High Holy Days: 

“Like water, teshuvah is both destructive and creative. It dissolves the person you were but simultaneously provides the moisture you need to grow anew. It erodes the hard edges of your willfulness but also refreshens your spirit. It can turn the tallest barriers of moral blindness into rubble while it also gently nourishes the hidden seeds of hope buried deep in your soul. Teshuvah, like water, has the power both to wash away past sin and to shower you with the blessing of a new future, if only you trust it and allow yourself to be carried along in its current.” Dr. Louis Newman 

Let’s go into this High Holy Day season helping to find the right balance between rain and sun. Then maybe, just maybe a rainbow will appear.