Creativity & the Master of Wheat

Rare are the moments in life when we get to observe creation. The big ones—the birth of a child, immersion in a mikvah, even the creation of identity that happens under a chuppah—touch us only a few times in a lifetime, sublime as they may be. There is a taste of that sense of creation each summer when I arrive at Ramah for the first time in June. Slowly I observe the Wellspring Conference Center transform into Camp Ramah, first when our hanhallah (senior staff) gather to prepare, then as the mishlachat arrive from Israel, then as our staff begins their training, and finally when we open camp on the first day.

These last two weeks of staff training and opening camp have been an extended moment of creation for us at Ramah. The simple sights of soccer goals and sounds of spoken Hebrew alone give life to our campus ripe with possibility, now once again a thriving Jewish community of joy and discovery.

But it’s not just about putting together the raw materials of camp. Yetzirah, our summer theme, is about using our environment to create something new, sweet and wonderfully unexpected. The Zohar relates the following parable:

There was a man who lived in the mountains.  He knew nothing about those who lived in the city.  He sowed wheat and ate the kernels raw.

One day he entered the city. They brought him good bread. He said, “What is this for?”  They said, “Bread, to eat!”  He ate, and it tasted very good.  He said, “What is it made of?”  They said, “Wheat.”

Later, they brought him cakes kneaded in oil.  He tasted them and said, “What are these made of?”  They said, “Wheat.”

Finally, they brought him royal pastries made with honey and oil.  He said, “And what are these made of?”  They said, “Wheat.”  He said, “I am the master of all these, for I eat the essence of all of these; wheat!”

Because of that view, he knew nothing of the delights of the world; they were lost to him.

In creating sacred moments, it is not enough to be masters of individual activities. The true sweetness of our time at camp comes from the way we harvest, cook, and adorn our resources to make something wholly profound, and profoundly holy. It has been a joy to watch our campers and staff build the kind of connections that allow for these creative experiences, where the sum of our interactions is far greater than each of us alone. If camp were a wheat field, there is a whole lot of baking going on here, and I hope you can already taste the results.

Rabbi Rami Schwartzer