Towards the beginning of the pandemic, I remember seeing photos of animals who, enjoying empty beaches or deserted parks, were encountering the natural world without the usual crowds of humans. Even in the sadness of stay-at-home orders and the inability to congregate, there was a joy about seeing these animals enjoy the outdoors in a way they probably hadn’t in their lifetimes. And of course, it made me realize how much our presence, as humans, has a profound effect on the natural world around us.
Yesterday was Tu B’Shvat, the birthday of the trees. In our contemporary Jewish world, it’s become the day where Judaism asks us to connect to our natural world. But we know, sadly, the state of our natural world isn’t so great. There are ecological crises all around us, from fires in California to hurricanes in the Gulf Coast. As humans, we often interact with the natural world as if it’s a mere resource for our benefit. That’s what struck me about the pictures of those animals - they were able to just enjoy nature, when we’d often been using nature.
A Talmludic principle here feels particularly meaningful. It offers the concept that it is forbidden to pour out water from a cistern as long as others may have benefitted from it (Yevamot 44a). Essentially, this principle teaches that even if I want to use the cistern for some other purpose, if anyone else could have used the water inside, a precious natural resource, I cannot empty it out for my own benefit. Simply because I don’t care about or want the water inside does not give me permission to discard it.
Our planet is the cistern with water inside, precious and needed not only by us but by the generations of people who will need it afterwards. I find this Talmudic principle to be deeply meaningful and the metaphor captures my sense of connection to this earth. The cistern asks us to consider transforming our relationship with the natural world. The cistern asks us to prioritize preservation as opposed to utilization. We as humans may find some immediate benefit from the cistern, but we must remember there will be others in this world who need its contents unaltered and uncontaminated.
I know that when this pandemic is over, we humans will all re-emerge and the animals will once again keep some distance. While I pray that day comes soon, I hope that the images of those animals serve as a reminder of the relationship we, too, can cultivate with our natural world. May we remember the cistern, may we work to preserve its contents, and may we allow others to benefit from it.
Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Sarit
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