And in the end, it was the poetry of the thing. Two hundred and fifty Jewish women, men and children planting twenty-five redwood trees in the rain on Tu B'Shvat, the 3,000 year old Holy Day of the Trees, on the property of Charles Hurwitz, a Jewish man who would cut down every redwood tree on his land, almost 200,000 acres, if he could, including the last privately owned stand of virgin-growth redwoods in the universe. There we were, drenched to the skin and in ecstasy, knowing we were one, with the trees, with God, with each other, and knowing that a great healing was beginning, like a ripple in a pond, restoring our souls from the wounding of knowing that a brother was missing the mark and hoping to restore his aim so that this corner of an irreplaceable universe, this stand of redwoods that were here when the first Tu B'Shvat was celebrated, will not perish.
We were hoping to restore something in Charlie Hurwits's soul that surely must have been placed there on his Bar Mitzvah: that what profiteth a man to gain the whole world and looseth his soul. How much is enough, Charles? Is it really true that in the end whoever has the most wins? Really?
You should have been with us Charles. Out in the rain, dancing and singing and watching our children celebrating their Jewishness with joy in their hearts and pride in who they were and what they were doing. Restorng the balance. You should have been there. Maybe next time.
Copyright Mendocino Environmental Center 1997
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