Leave No Trace
[First Person]
Rievi and I sit on rocks near the shallow stream, the water cascading over tangles of rocks, branches, and fallen tree trunks, seeking its way, as water always does, to the lowest point. We eat the food we brought along. I take a hotdog and a container of sautéed liver from my black plastic bag, which I got at Mechel’s Takeout on Route 59. Rievi has a sandwich his mother packed for him and a water bottle.
It is only Rievi and me. I had taken the train earlier from Penn Station to Suffern, where my friend Aron Yidel picked me up and whose car I borrowed for the evening. I stopped at a photo store in Monsey to print pictures of the boys taken on our previous outing, in the intermediate days of Passover, at Bear Mountain Park. Outside the photo store I stood having a smoke as the photos were being printed, and out of nowhere Yoely, my former-brother-in-law and now Chief Intermediary and General Pain in the Ass, appeared. He looked astonished, as I must’ve looked too. He smiled warmly. “Amazing to meet you here,” he said. “I’d been meaning to call you, except I have three cell phones, none of which are working.”
I waited for him to continue about the call, but he went on about how amazing it is that he bumped into me here. Eventually he got to the point.
“I’d wanted to tell you before you left, just so you’d know, that Burich doesn’t want to go along. I thought you might want to make other plans, but since you’re here already I guess it doesn’t matter.”
It doesn’t matter? Does anything matter then? “Why—Why not?” I ask, the message by now only like a blunt knife scraping against my skin, causing a minor cut, a bruise at most, annoying but bearable; I’d heard it so many times before about one or the other.
“I’m—I’m not sure,” he stammered, avoiding eye contact. “He had a wedding last night—Zeldy thinks he’s just tired—I’m not really sure.”
It’s been six weeks since I last saw the boys. Thirteen weeks since I last saw Chaya Leah’le. Thirteen months since I last saw Tziri and Freidy, I can hardly believe it’s been more than a year, although occasionally I wonder whether they look different, whether Tziri, going on sixteen, now sports a new hairstyle, how she looks in beige stockings – which the boys told me she now wears since she entered high school. I wonder how Freidy did in the school play she talked about last time I saw her, and whether she still enjoys scrapbooking. One by one, each decided they no longer wished to see me, speak to me, and now, the latest, is Burich. Only Rievi still calls, his sweet old self, always agreeable, bravely putting up a cheerful face even though I know it’s not always easy.
I suggested a hike in the woods to see the waterfalls a mile along the Pine Meadow Trail, off Seven Lakes Drive in Harriman State Park. We’d walked along the trail, Rievi eagerly pointing out the blazes of red circles on white rectangles, jumping over knobby tree roots that brazenly rose twelve inches or more above ground, most likely due to the erosion of soil by the thousands who’ve hiked there before, one of the most popular trails in the park.
As we eat, I point out the beauty of nature, although I was never good at identifying species of flaura or fauna. I don’t know an oak from a pine, a poplar from an evergreen, a cedar from a redwood. Instead I explain the history of the trails, the early hikers who, in the early part of the last century, mapped out the hundreds of miles of crisscrossing trails. I answer his questions about who puts the blazes on the trees, builds bridges over streams, and cuts away fallen tree trunks from blocking the trails. I make him sit still and listen to the sounds of the forest, the chirping of birds, branches swaying in the wind, the rustling shrrrrip shrrrrip of a deer taking off at the sight of us, the sounds of water rushing in the stream alongside the trail.
“Leave No Trace,” is the environmentally conscious hiker’s motto, and after we eat, I tell Rievi to take the trash back to the car.
“Why?” he asks.
“Because we shouldn’t leave trash in the woods,” I tell him. “There is no one to clean up after us.”
“So?” he asks. “It’s only the woods. Who cares if there’s trash?”
“We don’t want to spoil nature,” I tell him.
“Why not? Who cares?”
“Because animals live here. And if we enjoy their habitat, we must respect it.”
He doesn’t seem to understand. It’s not a value he’s heard or entertained before. Just as I hadn’t for most of my life. Hasidim are unsentimental about the environment. Preserving the environment for practical purposes might have value, but few worry about the threatened extinction of the North American Condor or the dangers the logging industry poses to gorillas in the African jungles.
I tell Rievi that we want to preserve the beauty and natural balance of our surroundings. He keeps asking why, in innocence, with no agenda, simply, why? It’s hard to answer a question whose answer you take for granted. I find it hard to explain to a ten-year-old in a few words how much damage can be done to an ecosystem by a few careless acts. More importantly, the child-like wonder forces you to think about things carefully. To a child, concepts must be made simple, but simple answers can be elusive, accustomed as we are to thinking in adult-like, overly complex, overly politicized processes. But I try. I use endangered species as an example he might relate to.
“What if all the jungles of Africa were cut down to use trees to build houses and to make paper? What if all of the African deserts were to become inhabited by people? Where would the lions, the tigers, the elephants, and the giraffes go?”
“In the zoo!” he says with a laugh, although I suspect he really thinks it’s a feasible solution. Is that not what zoos are for?
I tell him of long extinct species, the saber-toothed tiger, the wooly North American mammoth, the dodo, how sad it would be if we didn’t pay more attention to the currently endangered ones.
“I don’t really care,” he says with a shrug. But his expression is bashful, as if he’s ashamed to admit it – perhaps only because he knows his apathy would displease me.
He stops asking, appears to have tentatively accepted the value I’m preaching, or he’s grown tired of expecting a satisfying answer. But his acquiescence isn’t understanding, only blind acceptance. He’s tired of challenging the notion, tired of wielding the power of simple questions, in the same way that he doesn’t challenge other ideas, like God’s existence, the gemara as the fiery word of God passed down to Moses at Sinai, the saintliness of the rebbe, the fact that he must go to school every morning and that he shouldn’t dirty his pants. Some things, a child learns instinctively, aren’t worth arguing about. The adult will always win. They won’t necessarily explain, only insist. It makes me wonder about the values of society in general, and how much we accept blindly because questioning a given orthodoxy is too tiring, too political, perhaps because we don’t think about the issues but adhere to fashionable ideas simply because they’re, well, fashionable.
We trek back the mile or so to the parking lot, where a vending machine stands and I tell him I want to buy a soda. He observes the machine with hungry curiosity. “Can I put in the money?” he asks. I hand him a dollar bill, but the machine doesn’t take it. “Haha,” he laughs. “It’s spitting it out.” I give him another bill, a crisp one, explaining that the first may have been creased, or worn out. The second bill takes, and he pushes my hand away from making my selection. “Let me press it,” he begs with the innocence of a child to whom a soda vending machine is a novelty, pressing the button inducing the magic of the soda-can going plop! in the bin below.
We drive home on the Palisades Parkway. He speaks eagerly, without the reticence of some of his siblings, cheerfully babbling about school trips and neighborhood news, content now with the simple enjoyments of a hike in the woods with his father, and now, sitting in the front seat (illegally), just the two of us. He notes the speed on the speedometer, 70 mph, and then the 55 mph sign. He asks about the RPM gauge, and I explain about tire rotations, although I know little about it. “Farchap yeneh car,” he says, and points to a blue Honda Civic ahead of us. He delights as I press down on the gas and switch lanes, while I wonder if I’m setting a good example.
As we get off the exit ramp I take the envelope with the pictures laying near the gear stick, and as I wait for the light to turn green I remove the pictures. “I want to look at these again,” I tell him, and he leans over to my side, stretching his seatbelt, and looks at them with me. We laugh together at the fun and crazy poses he and Burich did for the camera. The light turns green, and I put the pictures on my lap.
“Are you going to look at the rest at the next light?” he asks. The next light is the last before we turn into New Square.
“If it’s red,” I say. He points as we pass the parking lot of the New Square wedding hall at the side of Route 45.
“You can park in there to look at them,” he says. His concern is obvious. He doesn’t want me lingering in front of the house.
I tell him I’ll pull over near the bus garage, right after the turn at the traffic light.
“Ok,” he says. I sense relief, but I wonder whether I project too much anxiety on him, imagining how I would feel in his place.
“Where should I drop you off?” I ask. “At the Breuers’ or at home?”
The Breuers are cousins, living only one block away. For reasons I am unclear about, that’s the place the children chose for pick-ups.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, “whatever’s easier.” Then he says, “Near home, at the corner is fine.”
He says it as if he doesn’t want to trouble me; in truth, he probably doesn’t want the ever-present band of yentas to stare. But as we approach the corner his expression shows sudden anxiety, almost fear. A group of neighbors are at the corner chatting, mothers in turbans and housedresses with baby carriages and young children at their sides. The Yenta Club, it appears, has shifted to the corner.
“Better at the house,” he says nervously, eyes fixed on those who might see him with his non-Hasidic father.
At the house he grabs the bag that held his sandwich and the envelope with the pictures and hurriedly fumbles for the door latch. “Bye,” he says quickly without looking at me, eyes scanning for passerby. He closes the door and steps onto the curb, glances back at me quickly, unsmiling, as I wave to him. I watch him run up the pathway. The door slams shut behind him.
I pull away, stepping lightly on the gas, and I see a familiar blur passing behind a car parked upward on the road alongside the curb. The blur comes past the car, and it’s Burich on his bike, zooming down Reagan Road with all the energy of an eight-year-old, oblivious to my presence. I think to honk, but before I have a chance he’s zoomed past. I see him in the rearview mirror, still going full-speed down the sidewalk. I drive ahead a short distance and make a u-turn. I come back down Reagan Road looking for the familiar round shape of his head, the payess trailing behind struggling to keep up, arms in an outward swagger, with which I’d seen him grip the handlebars so many times before. He’s not outside the house, nor do I see his bike at the door, which means he didn’t go inside. At the corner, a group of boys of various ages rest on their bikes and huddle around in conversation. I scan their faces for Burich. He isn’t among them. He isn’t around anywhere. He was here a moment ago, and now he is gone.
Printable Version
Rebel,i realy feel for you,how sad,had tears in my eyes reading this.
in the end was it worth it?
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Very moving prose.
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Heartbreaking. Couldn’t hold back and burst out crying. I empathize with you.
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Woohsh! So sad!
I’m grateful I had the brains not to make that move.
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Shemegegi asked “In the end was it worth it?”
It’s not the end. Far from it.
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One of your best pieces yet
Don’t push time. Tziri is only turning 16.
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Yo, guys, take it easy. Appreciate the sympathetic sentiments, but this isn’t a sob story. Granted, it may seem heart-wrenching to those who can’t imagine being so cut off, and in many ways it is. But the point of this piece is about a meaningful relationship salvaged from the chaos. Such relationships become all the more valuable, the interactions more poignant, the bonds deeper and more cherished.
While some of this may seem tragic, keep in mind that the alternative, for some, is even more so.
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How could the alternative, remaining with your children and living it double be more tragic then the agonizing pain you and the likes go through daily???? It’s hell on earth man!
I wish you had it better man, I had tears in my eyes…
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Rebel, before you left, did you ever think of trying to take your family with you?
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Insider — I appreciate the sentiments. But “Hell on earth?” Very presumptuous. Largely a projection of those who don’t understand this choice. It’s a common enough canard, but largely a mistaken one. Not because this life is necessarily easy, but because the “hell on earth” judgment is not one that comes from those who leave; it comes from those who stay. It’s in the same category as “Vus far a leben ken a goy huben, az er veist nisht fin kein toireh tzi zugen.”
Don’t forget — such a path is a very individual choice. It’s easy to classify family life as the better of two evils. But that doesn’t take into account individual circumstances and private matters that lead one to take certain steps. For all you know, family life might’ve been an even greater hell.
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The “Hell on Earth” sentiment comes from reading stories like the one you just wrote. What you described translates to “HOE”. Hope I’m not adding insult to injury.
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Rievi would probably best grasp a more anthropocentric explanation for the “Leave no trace” concept of preserving the natural order, like explaining to him the importance plants play in animal/human survival by producing our oxygen and thus, our need not to pollute these beautiful park reserves full of plants which are quickly dying out. It’s still an explanation that has its bottom line in favor of humans (which may not be bad), but it’s the first step to seeing ourselves as a part of our ecological system, not as owners for consumption and despoliation.
Perhaps next time.
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Shpitzle — Of course, one can opt to give a ten-year-old a scientific lecture on ecosystems. Hard to imagine you’ll retain his attention span for more than five seconds.
As an aside — there’s an argument to be made that preserving the environment shouldn’t be seen in a strictly utilitarian sense — which is precisely the anthropocentric view you’re taking. What if it can be proven, for argument’s sake, that the disappearance of one specific plant species will have no effect on its ecosystem, let alone on humans? Should we therefore discount the value of preserving it? I’m not sure about that.
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Here’s five seconds: plants make our air, without it — [demonstrate death in sixth second]. That should do it.
I don’t disagree with the fact that we don’t always have to benefit in order to preserve, although there probably will be a human benefit some way or another, but I think it’s a good way to put it for a child with a chassidish worldview.
0n another note: The chassidish kids (and adults) are alarmingly unable to deal with life’s complications. That the little kids should be so afraid to accept their reality and find it necessary to avoid it and hide it because of the specific unpleasant social stigmas, says something very disturbing about the emotional resources these kids are (not) taught to deal with life’s hurdles. This concept of “Tho shall not be different from thy neighbor” has implications on many situations like illness, disability, abuse, death, mental health etc. It’s IMHO one of the most unacceptable parts of the chassidish education.
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“That the little kids should be so afraid to accept their reality and find it necessary to avoid it and hide it because of the specific unpleasant social stigmas, says something very disturbing about the emotional resources these kids are (not) taught to deal with life’s hurdles.”
Hear, hear!
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HR, While you say “But the point of this piece is about a meaningful relationship salvaged from the chaos”, I think the title of this beautiful piece belies that statement. It’s as if you’re telling us that’s it’s about Burich, not Rievi.
Anyhow, I wish you great times ahead.
Shmegegi, I think your comment is way off base for many reasons, some of which have been touched upon by others, but I wanted to summarize.
A) It’s not over.
B) Hindsight is 20/20. This “end” was not neccesarilly a foregone conclusion. It could have played out in different ways.
C) Maybe it was worth it.
D) Maybe it’s none of your business.
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Oish, a hartzveitug!
I need to show this article to my wife. She is worried lately that I might leave it all behind, including her, especially lately that she hasn’t been “clean” too much… I tell her that I am happy with her, but she needs to accept me. I tell her, and it is the truth, that Unpious has helped me have a realistic view of how things might be if I decide to chunk it all out the window.
I feel bad for her, though. She married a top bochur, she worked so he can learn, and he was takke matzliach. Now this?! She still asks me any shailos that she has, and I promised her that I wouldn’t lie to her and I’ll tell her what “the books” say, but she says, rightly so, that it feels weird asking shailos from someone who doesn’t believe!
Should I try convincing her of how crazy it all is (as I do from time to time, such as what I was implying this week by showing her the videos on youtube of the protest in KJ. Little kids screaming “Aron Teitelbaum, tzei tumeh!” For what? Politics! What a chinuch!), or should I let her stay with the illusions she was brought up with, which is what she prefers? She has made it clear to me that even if it is all balogne, she is happy with her life, and she wouldn’t want to change anything. And so, she continues, it would make it much easier for her to just continue believing. Yes, she actually said that. Should I push it, or should I let things be?
What do I tell my son, when he asks me after I stuck candles in his birthday cake, “are these candles kosher”, as I had taught him in the past? Do I tell him, “tzaddikel, it was all a mistake,” and risk leaving him totally scarred and confused, or do I tell him that he is right and these candles should be checked, thereby perpetuating the myth?
Questions questions questions.
“That the little kids should be so afraid to accept their reality and find it necessary to avoid it and hide it because of the specific unpleasant social stigmas, says something very disturbing about the emotional resources these kids are (not) taught to deal with life’s hurdles.”
Oh, those kids were taught how to deal with life’s hurdles; “hide it and sweep it under the rug,” and they have learned their lesson well!
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Since I’m in exact same boat as you I would suggest you don’t do anything drastic, take it slow and you always have the chance of oifklering them after they grow up, if you do anything drastic, you will lose them anyhow, so you don’t have another choice.
On a side note, since I’m officialy barred from talking to my kids about science or anything that smells like it, I just tell them “don’t behave like animals, or imagine everyone throwing garbage on the ground we would have to walk through garbage to get to work”.
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Gosh…
You twisted my mind so easy this time
At first I was so mad at you for making fun of Yoli – a good old friend, who (still not the same as with you-) thinks I’m still a close person to him.
He’s this not-too-smart kid, who being a family member of his family, in addition to where he grew up, you can’t await from him much more than he has become…
But then, as you went on with the outing with Reivi, you just broke the water, and made me feel so sad for all involved in this not-far-off-from-a Movie episode
This whole Innocent child not understanding type of thing, its so funny for some to read, but most don’t realize how the majority if not most of Chasidim, no matter on their age, believe and disbelieve is so many nonsense, just cause they haven’t been told any better. Me included… (For now)
Its really sad, and as many times you’ll say ‘nah, I’m fine’, and all that, I aint gonna buy the fact that the transition isn’t as easy as you make it sound. I’m not planning on doing it, so for now doesn’t effect me anyhow.
And talking about Yoli – gosh, you should listen to this –
In the past, when I was with him in Yeshiva, he always had these stories of ‘My Shvuger Din this’ and ‘My Shvuger Din that’, he felt so good with you, and always made sure to relate and let people know ‘he is his Shvuger’ – as soon as you ‘left’ (according to how he labeled it- I’d rather call it ‘joined’), he distance himself with this Chasidic denial, like he never knew a person with such a name.
Was funny to me
Keep up this Site – love every part of it. I’m not sure ‘I’m on the Fringe’, but sure can relate to all this!
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first of all, i want to compliment you for your wonderful writing skills, for someone growing up chassidish and not even getting a high school diploma, this is beyond beyond amazing.
i am in my low twenties. i grew up in new square. i have seen it and lived it and rejected it. i struggle with my identity as i try to make sense of my religious beliefs, or non-beliefs. all i can say is that it is very painful.
i hear your words, and i feel for you. the pain of leaving behind all that was once dear to you might be intense. but it is your life, and it is your choice. and you have to believe in yourself. every decision has consequences and one might never be sure if their decision will be the ‘right’ one.
may you find peace and joy in your life.
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Kaf, denial isn’t learned, it’s simply what you get in the absence of learned coping methods.
As for your many dilemmas, advice isn’t doled out among the “non-judgemental” as graciously as among giteh yiden. You’re left to burden the choice and blame. However, I will opine that I think there’s a possibility to outgrow the chassidic lifestyle, and if you do no amount of good will will help you squeeze yourself into its too-tight many, many restrictions. There will constantly be popping buttons, pinching waists, steady discomfort and friction – to put it metaphorically. If you’ll find a way to stretch the Chasidish limits to fit the maturing you, say by having more social or intellectual breathing space, kol hakovod. But if you can’t, because the Chasidic world doesn’t take kindly to stretching its limits, then… You’re screwed. You’ll probably somehow do something to warrant you ostracized and your family will be turned against you. And oh, you’ll spend your life justifying to others your “choice”. Fun.
These two are the buffet of your options
. Or go to a rebbeh with a kvitl for hadrucha.
Kvitl option wins, methinks.
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Kaf,
Too much info. But since you mentioned it, cranberry juice might help, if she stains on the 30th bedika. If it’s on th 31st shmateh, however, I advise a garlic clove scotch-taped to the shameful place.
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Here is a simplistic environmental philosophy:
The planet isn’t ours to ruin.
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Boy you getting real down to places, names, and speeding limits.
You shouldn’t take Burech’s averting you personal. It’s just that he is getting old enough to realize his goy father is the devil and that devil is contagious. He had forgone on an outing to that end; something to be commended for. Pretty sure he recognized you and vanished. A decent Chassidic boy will peer into all passerby cars to make sure it’s not a goyta driver. If it is, he will say “feh” and instinctively veer his head away.
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BHB — You correctly intuited that the non-relationship with the others is indeed a part of this. Will leave it at that.
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Bingo — Just to note, the Yoely in the piece is Yoely B., not Yoely L. The latter is a delightful kid, still and all.
Kneehigh — So it seems we almost have a Skver expat community going here. Sorry everyone else, looks like we’re gearing for a private party…
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Oh, now you’re making more sense. B. Is like you designed him. Oh, I grew up learning in NS too – if that’s considered a plus here… Was there for 20 years, and yeah, had a chat with you once over a Bilke by a Shalash Sidos in one of their Shtiblach…
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Misyavni — “You shouldn’t take Burech’s averting you personal.”
I don’t. He’s an 8-year-old kid, with an 8-year-old’s concerns. As for his declining to join, I don’t think it’s that calculated. Given the environment of hostility in which he is surrounded, some of it’s bound to rub off. But his personality it such that he just lives in his own world and probably just had better things to do, like ride his bike or something. That little tooter will come around yet. I ain’t concerned.
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To layle 10, shlomele 8.
im so sorry i was to pissed off to care about ur intense anxiety and fear as i drove into monsey to drop u guys off.
im tired of being ashamed of, and u my babies must be tired of putting up with the constant fear of being found out u have a non chasidishe mommy.
thanks for posting. I feel the same.
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Rebel, mine want to be less frum so I am too Haredi for them. Ha!
I would hypothesize that, a part of the problem is, as you state, that you are no longer “Square”, the other part, which is divorce standard, is that you broke up with mommy and now we can’t all be one happy family. The reactions manifest themselves as rejection of the non-custodial parent. 4 years elapsed between communication with my daughter, now I hear from her every so often. One son, 4 years and who knows…..
On the other topic, you could explain the Reivi that it is Hashem’s world and he counts on us to keep it clean. This might resonate
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You can always tell your “tooters”, that according to Rav Samson Refoel Hirsch enviromental conservationism has roots in the Torah, in that Adam was appointed as guardian of Earth. “Le’ovdoh uleshomroh.”
HR, would you prefer your “tooters” to come around and follow in your footsteps? Or would you just hope that they are happy wherever they are? If it is the former, I would ask that since you admit that the choice of leaving doesn’t suit everyone, how do you know that it suits them well? Maybe they won’t be able to cope with all the turmoil as well as you did?
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Kaf, it’s the latter, not the former. Obviously, if the choose to follow in my footsteps when they’re mature enough to make that decision, I’ll support them. But I wouldn’t particularly persuade them to do so. In fact, I think they’re doing perfectly well right where they are, and IMO it’s an environment to which they’re best suited.
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Some pieces on this site have been so heartbreaking and this is one of them.
Articles such as these make me cry. Comments like those of Kneehighs and Malky make me weep. Why do Chassidim have to be so crazy? Why can they only remember the smoil doiche part?
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Beautiful writing. Thank you for sharing this.
It’s interesting to learn how different a journey it is for those of us who leave as teens vs. those who leave as adults. It seems like there is a very different set of challenges and experiences for both groups, each with a generous share of heartbreak.
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HR,
Great story, very well written, thanks.
As a father, this story really touched me.
I hope one day your children realise they can disagree with you and still have a close relationship.
Wishing you all the best.
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Frummer “Why do Chassidim have to be so crazy? Why can they only remember the smoil doiche part?”
Your use of chassidim in your rhetorical question needs further designation. Are you contrasting chassidim with litvishe people? Litvaks are more accepting of the members of their community that left? They are more understanding? Or are you using chassidim as a general designation meant to indicate all Orthodox Jews? Please expand.
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Mordechai Chaim Rumkowski:
I’m referring to Chassidim bcs being one myself, they are the ones I have direct experience with.
You are implying that the Litvishe are no better. Perhaps and probably.
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HR,
What a sad story! I can only imagine what it felt like watching your own son trying to figure out his best escape route! HORRIBLE!
I wholeheartedly agree that such outcomes are a result of the community we live in; however, ultimately it was your decision to leave and it was in YOUR hands to prevent this suffering, for you and your family. You come across quite intelligent and as someone who would make his decisions in a rather calculated manner, especially such difficult decisions. So it begs the question, what were you thinking? Being from the community it must have crossed your mind that this was a potential outcome, regardless of what arrangement you may have had with your wife and her family. In the Chasidic community such manners are usually dealt with by the community “leaders”, whether the family asks for their help or not. And if you suspected that this might be the outcome and you STILL went ahead anyway, then the blame falls squarely on you. And if you didn’t suspect such an outcome, then I’m quite surprised. Sorry, I’m far from the judgmental type, but it’s just how I feel.
No way is your family better off without you than with you! I hope you are all reunited soon!
Btw, I think those men who came up with this idea where one is married off as soon as a few pubic hair show up, were genius! (No way were they women…) Their goal was to preserve the Chasidic way of life, and what better way than to marry the kids at a very young age? By the time your personality starts developing and you start questioning your father’s decision to marry you – usually with someone you have nothing in common with – you’re already knee-deep into it, usually with two or three kids. At that point most people wouldn’t entertain ruffling the feathers for the sake of their children. But wait, your parents and your wife’s parents ARE compatible, so what else is there really required??? FUCKING SAVAGES!!!
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I agree with the commentor who suggested explaining ecological awareness on his own level, and help him to find his own understanding of it: who made all this? where did it come from? And so, if it comes from Hashem, how do you think we should treat it?
Aside from that, I’m too choked up. So… enjoy the precious moments, and may there be more of them in the future, not fewer.
Love.
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>“Leave No Trace,” is the environmentally conscious hiker’s motto, and after we eat, I tell Rievi to take the trash back to the car.
“Why?” he asks.
“Because we shouldn’t leave trash in the woods,” I tell him. “There is no one to clean up after us.”
“So?” he asks. “It’s only the woods. Who cares if there’s trash?”
“We don’t want to spoil nature,” I tell him.
“Why not? Who cares?”<
Went rafting last summer on the Delaware and ran into three 'yungermen' from New Square. When I arrived back at my car I saw a pile of garbage where they had parked their car. Incredulous, I walked over and, sure enough, there were New Square addresses on the bags of garbage.
I was sickened by the site and angered by the callous Chillul hashem and lack of regard for others.
What gives?
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Thank you for sharing. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.
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Nice post, I definitely love your posting style. More websites along the idea of this blog please!
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