‘Climate change: We have a moral and spiritual responsibility to the future’

RABBI RALPH GENENDE: It is obvious that we have a crisis. Even if you are sceptical of climate science, is it worth taking such a terrible chance?

IT WAS ONE of the most powerful speeches at last week’s UN Climate Change Conference in Glasgow. And it came from one of the oldest speakers, Queen Elizabeth.
In a succinct video message, the Queen urged leaders to rise above “the politics of the moment”, answer the call of future generations and replace words with actions to address the climate crisis.

One of the younger activists on the streets of Glasgow was Swedish teenager Greta Thunberg, who lambasted the leaders for their “Blah, blah blah”.

In 2019, Thunberg sailed into New York on a carbon-free yacht to address the UN Climate Action Summit.

She was characteristically direct: “You all come to us young people for hope? How dare you! … The eyes of all future generations are upon you. And if you choose to fail us, I say: We will never forgive you …”

Her message was and is simple, blunt and emotional.

Thunberg prompted many of my former congregants to react angrily and defensively. She seems to particularly irk my cohort of white, middle-aged Jewish males.

Admittedly, many of the extinction warriors are as worrying as any extremists and faith fanatics but it would be short-sighted of us to dismiss Thunberg, because her voice carries the worries and anxieties of a generation, for the future of our troubled planet.

More importantly, we need to pay attention to the environment. We have a moral and spiritual responsibility to the future. There is a need for a shift in our consciousness. It is obvious we have a crisis – the weather is changing; the ice is melting, bushfires are increasing in frequency and intensity, sea levels are rising and the oceans are clogged with plastic.

Even if you are sceptical of climate science, is it worth taking such a terrible chance? What if the evidence turns out to be correct? Do we have the moral right to endanger the lives of others? Sometimes, saying sorry just comes too late.

As is obvious from the consensus at the Glasgow summit, this crisis can no longer be dismissed as left-wing meshugas (nonsense) or the stuff of youthful delusion and idealism. It is also a spiritual imperative, a Torah obligation. It is as fundamental to our being as Shabbat or kashrut.

I am not a scientist, but I am a believer in God’s gift of this wondrous planet. The environment is intrinsic to our lives as Jews; the natural cycle of life and its seasons shapes our spiritual and festive cycle.

For example, if Succot, through its four species and outdoor hut open to the stars, was not a reminder of our inexorable ties to nature, then it would be depleted of its significance.

As the Talmudic character Chonie answered when asked why he was planting an oak tree in his old age when he would not live to enjoy its shade and beauty:

“My ancestors planted for me, and now I plant for my children and grandchildren and their future.” I, too, do not want my children and grandchildren to one day ask why I did nothing while there was still time to act.

Judaism encourages us to have a long gaze, to anticipate the future, to do something to reduce our footprint and tread more lightly on this good land that God has given us. “Don’t waste” is a Halachic imperative, a Jewish obligation.

At home, at shule and at our Jewish organisations, we should, at the very least, cut out single-use plastics, reduce, recycle, use less energy, instal solar power and eat a little less meat - it would be good for the waste and the waistline.

We can work for change, amend our profligate behaviour and encourage our government to do a lot more than it has already pledged. Let’s make Australia one of the leading countries in environmental progressiveness and not the object of scorn it has become.

And let's urge the frum community to move from its traditional, conservative, knee-jerk reaction to social issues and do its bit to combat the global environmental crisis.

The fear and discomfort that climate activists induce reflects the nature of our times. I cannot remember a time of such polarisation, division and political fragmentation. We are in a struggle for the future, weighed down by a disillusionment with our liberal democracies, a suspicion of our politicians and dismay at our religious leaders. Many of us doubt their credibility. And then there is fear of war and nuclear proliferation. It is the stuff of despair.

Every day in my morning tefillah (prayer), I declare that God in His goodness continually renews the work of creation, and I enthusiastically say the words of the psalmist: “How many are Your works oh Lord. You made them all in wisdom” (Psalm 104). “The earth is full of Your creations” (Siddur).

The rabbis gave us blessings to declare upon seeing those first delightful buds of spring; they instilled within our prayers a deep consciousness of the beauty and delicacy of our natural world.

We do not own nature, but we are God’s custodians or trustees of it. As Genesis 1 and 2 teaches us, we were given this earth to “work”, to extract its riches, but also to “guard it”, to protect its integrity. There are myriad laws for looking after the land, letting it rest and renew.

There are limits to our working or exploitation of the rich gifts of nature; there are trees that we cannot eat from (as in the Creation story) and there are trees you cannot destroy because they get in your way:

“When you lay siege to a city do not destroy its (fruit) trees … Is the tree of the field a person that you should besiege them?” (Deuteronomy 20:19–20).

A human being is also a tree of the field. We are like the trees, full of character and colour but also vulnerable, as fragile as a filament. If we care for the earth’s fragility, it will help us care for our frailty. Our alienation from and destruction of God’s universe means we are not only letting Him down but also depleting ourselves. Our treatment of the earth is symptomatic of our treatment of others. Heal the earth, and you heal society.

I take hope from the Torah’s first tsaddik (spiritual saint), its original hero of vision and resourcefulness, despite his occasional bad press and portrayal. Noah was not only a competent builder, good with his hands (he wasn’t a stereotypical Jewish male), he was also the world’s first conservationist.

He saved every species (animal and plant) from the spectacular rising waters at the end of the Ice Age. Noah was also the first to make a covenant with God, signed with a rainbow.

Listen to the astonishing words of this promise: “I will establish my Covenant with you and your offspring and those who will come after you. And with every living being that is with you, with the animals and with every beast of the land.” This is not just a covenant with humanity; this is a contract with all species and with the earth and the waters.

Noah was a man with a mission to save the world – just one man. That is how you rescue the universe, person by person, place by place, step by step, year by year.

The Queen called on participants to recognise that the legacy of the Glasgow summit could be one “written in history books yet to be printed”, that the benefits of their actions “will not be there for all of us here today ... But we are doing this not for ourselves but for our children and our children's children”.

Every day our God and our tradition calls on us to act with urgency, integrity and conviction to look after the environment we have been gifted, to think beyond the need of the moment and focus on our mission for the future of humanity.

Photo: Greta Thunberg speaks during a rally on Day 6 of the UN Climate Change Conference in Glasgow (Iain McGuinness/SOPA/Sipa USA)