The Avian Rebbe: Shemitah and Release (Aaric Eisenstein)
Sometimes the hardest thing to do - is to “do” nothing. Shemitah teaches us to release agency and replace it with faith.
Mississippi Kites
Shemitah and Release. These are Mississippi Kites. As I was parking, I saw a trio overhead seeking a hunting perch. I knew where in my park they’d end up, and sure enough they did. The sun still hadn’t quite crested the ridge, and the birds were still too shadowed for a good photograph. I stood there willing the sun to go faster. I may even have risen up on my toes, putting a little body English into it…. Would they wait? Or would they go hunt in the false dawn and leave me with only “what if’s?” I stood there, anxious and frustrated. I took hundreds of too-dark exposures, as if somehow by clicking the shutter I could force the lighting to improve.
This Jewish year, 5782, is a shemitah year. The Torah prescribes a 7-year cycle for letting agricultural land replenish; for six years we plant and harvest, and then for one year the land rests. It is a life-and-death leap of faith to forgo cultivation for a full year, and scholars debate shemitah’s historical observance. Literally, though, the word “shemitah” means “release.” My rabbi taught beautifully that this shemitah year, especially, we should think about what we can release. Can we find ways to acquire less and instead utilize better what we already have? His question’s simplicity belies the profound challenge it raises. Can we release ourselves from the internal urge towards “doing/getting more and more?” Can we substitute a trust in “provide-nce” for our individual, active agency?
As an artist, precise control is the defining paradigm of what I do. My photography fuses technological proficiency with wildlife knowledge and adds aesthetic considerations. My teaching needs to be concise, informed, and resonant. It is all controlled. So what to release? Perhaps I can release the urge to control that which can’t be controlled. Perhaps I can release worry and replace it with surety that there will always be another bird. Can I simply rotate the dial away from agency and towards acceptance? Can we, all of us, release anxiety and supplant it with faith? The Kites remained; the sun rose; and my faith in shemitah, in release, was confirmed.
See less, and feel more. Let the feeling of the light wash through you, and gently absorb the scene. Listen to the wordless message of the Niggun.
Black-Necked Stilt
The Wordless Message. This is a Black-necked Stilt. The photo’s power lies in its exposure. This photo is less about focusing on the subject, the Stilt, and more about the feeling created by the entire frame. This offering is an appeal to emotion rather than intellect. See less, and feel more. Don’t focus on all the busy elements. Better to narrow the eyes a tad and allow the scene to wash through you. Don’t process, just accept.
Originally from the Hasidic tradition, niggunim are wordless melodies. These profoundly simple tunes are expressions of our heart, part of our liturgy, and part of our daily lives. Some reflect exultant, triumphant moments; others rise up out of anguish, reminders of pains lived and remembered. Niggunim, sung in community, forge strength and deepen bonds. And at times standing alone, when words are inadequate, only pure feeling can tell a soul’s tale. Niggunim are pure emotion given flight.
Our Jewish Tradition, of the People of the Book, might seem an odd candidate to embrace wordlessness. The Torah opens with HaShem’s (God’s) words creating the universe and closes with the Mitzvah, or commandment, to write our own Torah. Words. To be whole, though, to live Shalom, requires acknowledging all facets of our lived reality, both intellectual and emotional. In our love of HaShem (God), we embrace and align both heart and head. We direct these entwined complements in service of life’s work. Wholeness comes when we embody both our thoughts and our feelings, whether from an evocative Stilt or a heartfelt Niggun.
The Wren starts our morning with an impossibly large song. The day’s door opens, and we are blessed with the opportunity to be grateful.
Carolina Wren
Morning’s Joyful Prayer. This is a Carolina Wren. Each morning, first thing, its impossibly loud song bursts out of its tiny little body. I typically start my walks before sunup. It’s silent then, but it’s an expectant silence, saving room for the music about to start. The Wren is always the first voice I hear. A whole chorus joins right after: other birds singing, wing flaps close overhead, scratches in leaf piles digging up bugs. It’s like the Wren’s song breaks the surface tension, and everything else can burst through afterwards.
My day starts like the Wren’s. Dark. Expectant. For a critical few moments, I stay in bed. More softly, but no less emphatically, I start my every morning singing Modeh Ani, a Jewish morning prayer of gratitude. This so-simple song acknowledges the so-profound gift we are given each morning - a restored soul, entrusted to us by our Creator. My first expression of the day is equal parts thanks and promised commitment, and like the Wren’s song, opens up the gates for all the goodness to follow.
No one (yet) knows what the Wren is saying. Scholars have proposed various theories about territoriality, feeding, mating, etc. Maybe it’s even more fundamental than those. What if the Wren is simply singing, “Hineini!” - “Here I am.” I won’t strain to argue that the Wren is praying like we do, but to say that all creatures - in their own way - have been created by HaShem (God) and acknowledge their own presence in creation, that I won’t contest. That gratitude is an inherent component of every Divinely-created soul, whether in a man or a bird, that I can believe.
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Aaric Eisenstein, the Avian Rebbe, lives in Austin, TX, and is a grateful member of Congregation Agudas Achim. Visit AvianRebbe.com to see more images and learn more about Aaric’s work. Prints of these and other images with text can be purchased at the site: Mississippi Kites, Black-Necked Stilt, Carolina Wren.
This collection is part of our Winter 2021 collection, Shmita Now, guest-edited by Yaira Robinson.
