Pearlstone Center
Reisterstown, MD
November 14-17, 2013
Some already have land and are looking
for like-minded folks to help build a community on it. Some coordinate short-term intentional living
programs for Jewish youth. Some dream of
settling down in a multi-family home, or a Jewish cohousing moshav in the U.S. Some lived on communal farms in the ‘60s and
‘70s, and are here to pass on their wisdom and plan for their retirement. Some Israelis, whose travel was sponsored by
the Jewish Agency for Israel, are here to explain the inner workings of their
urban kibbutz or desert moshav, so we Americans can get inspired
and follow their lead.
Everyone
I met at the First Annual Jewish Intentional Communities Conference at the
Pearlstone Center in Reisterstown, MD was looking to connect. They were not here just to connect for a
weekend, but to critique American society’s tendency toward individuality and
isolation, and to build a culture that better fosters lasting relationships and
sharing of resources, allows children to grow up close with their neighbors,
and promotes ecological and social sustainability. Further, they are looking to
do this in a Jewish way, which means something different for each person.
The most inspiring session I attended was
the panel of four individuals’ life journeys through intentional
communities. Shoshana Shamberg told her
coming of age story of becoming religiously observance, living at Emunah Farm
in the early ‘70s, going down to The Farm in Tennessee, which helped to
legitimize homebirth and midwifery in the U.S., to give birth as a young,
single mom. Joel Kachinsky spoke about having
nothing to lose and his belief in the imminent collapse of the economic order
as crucial drivers for founding The Farm in Summerton, TN in 1972. Rachael Cohen, year-round resident and staff
at Isabella Freedman Retreat Center in Connecticut, described feeling isolated
growing up in suburbia, her ongoing search for like-minded folks to establish a
rural Jewish community for young families, and her Facebook discussion forum, New Jewish Communities. James Grant-Rosenhead traveled from his urban
Kibbutz Mishol to share his story of growing up in the Habonim Dror socialist
Zionist youth movement in England, making aliyah, and establishing what is now
the largest urban kibbutz in Israel.
The most energizing sessions conveyed
individuals’ personal stories of creating successful communities or explained
the nuts and bolts of governance structures that work for communal living. Examples of perhaps lesser-known successful
models were cohousing, a
collaborative, urban/suburban collection of private residences with extensive
common facilities, and commitment to active participation, with 136 communities
already established in the U.S.; the School of Living’s community land trust model, where a non-profit organization holds a
piece of land as a trust and leases use of the land to different intentional
communities; the Israeli urban kibbutz,
where residents live in the same building, capital is held in common, and the
kibbutz is mission-driven, with its location and non-profit organization oriented
around running social justice initiatives in the community.
I don’t doubt that a few beautiful communities will ultimately come together as a result of this initiative, co-sponsored by the Pearlstone Center, Hazon, and the Isabella Freedman Retreat Center. But what will sustain these communities in the long-term? What about Joel Kachinsky’s mantra that we can only build new communities with total commitment driven by personal necessity? It seems to me that, here in the U.S., there are too many temptations of stability, wealth, and career-climbing, and pieces of alternative lifestyles are too easily available. A recent conversation at the Mountains beyond Minyans session at the annual Dorot Fellows in Israel Alumni retreat earlier this month helped me recognize the phenomenon. A participant there criticized the group for being too complacent. To paraphrase, he said, “There will never be a good time. It will never be easy. You might have to de-prioritize your career. For this to happen, you have to make it happen. No one is going to do it for you.” That’s spot on. For my single, career-focused friends, the thought of moving out of the city is impossible. What will the commute be like? Where will they find a mate? That’s just the point. Creating an intentional community will never happen unless you move it to the top of your list, de-prioritize everything else, and just do it.
Then there was the elephant in the room. Israel.
We already have land staked out for Jewish intentional community, with
umpteen communities of every stripe, supported by the state, already thriving
there. While I do believe it’s important
to build strong Jewish communities all over the world, I can’t myself imagine
doing so outside of Israel. I was raised
to assimilate as an American, the thought being that whatever helped my refugee
grandparents thrive would ostensibly help me to thrive here as well. Although I have developed my Jewish identity
thoroughly, I’m still uncomfortable wearing it publicly. As an American, I want
to feel that I am woven cleanly into the whole fabric of our diverse
society. I cringe when I perceive that others
see me as an insular, self-ghettoized Jew.
In Israel, living in a small moshav
or collective is not strange. There, I could live within a small, Jewish
community and still be fully part of the fabric of the greater society. This is what I’m saying: 1. Building a network
of Jewish intentional communities in North America says something strong about
the American Jewish community’s relationship to Israel. 2. Conditions in Israel are much riper for
building small, resilient, Jewish intentional communities, and there’s
something about attempting the zionist project in America that doesn’t sit
right with me.
I heard other critiques as well. I heard skepticism about participants taking
action. I heard concern that these new
endeavors would attract the loneliest and poorest among us. I heard a lack of knowledge of communities
that had continued successfully for more than one or two generations. In my mind, I kept returning to the story of
my friend’s parents. When they got pregnant
in the early ‘80s, they bought a house in North Philadelphia with two other
couples and raised their kids together for a bunch of years. That’s the kind of intentional community that
seems easy to execute and will fulfill the need of the moment. I can easily imagine doing that wherever I
happen to live when I get pregnant.
Simple, economical, no cultural shift necessary.
All told, I haven’t felt this energized
since I was part of the climate organizing movement in high school; what divine
elixir! So many of my peers are looking
to build meaning by living at a slower pace, knowing their neighbors, and
restoring places of urban or ecological decay.
Many of us reject the institution of marriage or of the nuclear family
or of suburban living, and we need our communities to function as extended
family. Many of us have taken on greater
religious observance in the quest to achieve these deep-rooted needs, and need
likeminded friends with whom to eat, pray, and raise children.
Does this add up to a movement? I don’t know and I don’t think it matters. It is already happening one small community
at a time. It’s happening faster when
there’s funding from the big Jewish institutions. It’s happening better when the community has
a specific mission. But some trends never
change. If you build it, they will come.
