by Gordon Hempton
Uluru Sunset (photo by Martin Fisher/Flickr)
The day will come when man will have to fight noise as inexorably as cholera and the plague.” So said the Nobel Prize-winning bacteriologist Robert Koch in 1905. A century later, that day has drawn much nearer. Today silence has become an endangered species. Our cities, our suburbs, our farm communities, even our most expansive and remote national parks are not free from human noise intrusions. Nor is there relief even at the North Pole; continent-hopping jets see to that. Moreover, fighting noise is not the same as preserving silence. Our typical anti-noise strategies — earplugs, noise cancellation headphones, even noise abatement laws — offer no real solution because they do nothing to help us reconnect and listen to the land. And the land is speaking.
We’ve reached a time in human history when our global environmental crisis requires that we make permanent life-style changes. More than ever before, we need to fall back in love with the land. Silence is our meeting place.
It is our birthright to listen, quietly and undisturbed, to the natural environment and take whatever meanings we may. Long before the noises of mankind, there were only the sounds of the natural world. Our ears evolved perfectly tuned to hear these sounds-sounds that far exceed the range of human speech or even our most ambitious musical performances: a passing breeze that indicates a weather change, the first birdsongs of spring heralding a regreening of the land and a return to growth and prosperity, an approaching storm promising relief from a drought, and the shifting tide reminding us of the celestial ballet. All of these experiences connect us back to the land and to our evolutionary past.
One Square Inch of Silence is a place in the Hoh Rain Forest, part of Olympic National Park — arguably the quietest place in the United States. But it, too, is endangered, protected only by a policy that is neither practiced by the National Park Service itself nor supported by adequate laws. My hope is that One Square Inch will trigger a quiet awakening in all those willing to become true listeners.
Preserving natural silence is as necessary and essential as species preservation, habitat restoration, toxic waste cleanup, and carbon dioxide reduction, to name but a few of the immediate challenges that confront us in this still young century. The good news is that rescuing silence can come much more easily than tackling these other problems. A single law would signal a huge and immediate improvement. That law would prohibit all aircraft from flying over our most pristine national parks.
Silence is not the absence of something but the presence of everything. It lives here, profoundly, at One Square Inch in the Hoh Rain Forest. It is the presence of time, undisturbed. It can be felt within the chest. Silence nurtures our nature, our human nature, and lets us know who we are. Left with a more receptive mind and a more attuned ear, we become better listeners not only to nature but to each other. Silence can be carried like embers from a fire. Silence can be found, and silence can find you. Silence can be lost and also recovered. But silence cannot be imagined, although most people think so. To experience the soul-swelling wonder of silence, you must hear it.
Silence is a sound, many, many sounds. I’ve heard more than I can count. Silence is the moonlit song of the coyote signing the air, and the answer of its mate. It is the falling whisper of snow that will later melt with an astonishing reggae rhythm so crisp that you will want to dance to it. It is the sound of pollinating winged insects vibrating soft tunes as they defensively dart in and out of the pine boughs to temporarily escape the breeze, a mix of insect hum and pine sigh that will stick with you all day. Silence is the passing flock of chestnut-backed chickadees and red-breasted nuthatches, chirping and fluttering, reminding you of your own curiosity.
Have you heard the rain lately? America’s great northwest rain forest, no surprise, is an excellent place to listen. Here’s what I’ve heard at One Square Inch of Silence. The first of the rainy season is not wet at all. Initially, countless seeds fall from the towering trees. This is soon followed by the soft applause of fluttering maple leaves, which settle oh so quietly as a winter blanket for the seeds. But this quiet concert is merely a prelude.
When the first of many great rainstorms arrives, unleashing its mighty anthem, each species of tree makes its own sound in the wind and rain. Even the largest of the raindrops may never strike the ground. Nearly 300 feet overhead, high in the forest canopy, the leaves and bark absorb much of the moisture … until this aerial sponge becomes saturated and drops re-form and descend farther … striking lower branches and cascading onto sound-absorbing moss drapes … tapping on epiphytic ferns … faintly plopping on huckleberry bushes … and whacking the hard, firm salal leaves … before, finally, the drops inaudibly bend the delicate clover-like leaves of the wood sorrel and drip to leak into the ground. Heard day or night, this liquid ballet will continue for more than an hour after the actual rain ceases.
Recalling the warning of Robert Koch, developer of the scientific method that identifies the causes of disease, I believe the unchecked loss of silence is a canary in a coal mine-a global one. If we cannot make a stand here, if we turn a deaf ear to the issue of vanishing natural quiet, how can we expect to fare better with more complex environmental crises?
Photo by Dan../Flickr
by Rachel Frankel, guest contributor
At the outskirts of Kingston lies Hunts Bay Jewish Cemetery, Jamaica’s oldest burial ground still in use today. The cemetery has recently been inventoried and mapped, and is now a Jamaica National Heritage Trust Site. Inventory work continues this month on another cemetery in Jamaica, the Orange Street Jewish Cemetery, a 200-year-old bet haim (“house of life”).
Jamaica’s several Jewish cemeteries, which ring this Caribbean island, are not wholly preserved, accessible, or undisturbed, but they contain over three continuous centuries of gravestone imagery, epitaphic language, genealogy, burial patterns, and cemetery site design. Thanks in part to the United Congregation of Israelites Shaare Shalom Synagogue of Jamaica and Caribbean Volunteer Expeditions, these New World necropolises are undergoing inventory, analysis, and preservation.
The Hunts Bay Jewish Cemetery is located across the harbor from Port Royal. Its oldest grave dates to 1672. The cemetery served the local colonial Sephardi community for well over one hundred years, and embodies Messianic theology. It also incorporates versatility as evidenced by multi-lingual epitaphs in Hebrew, Portuguese, Spanish, and English; Jewish and Christian calendar systems; and fused artistry.
The Orange Street Cemetery is one of the island’s newest Jewish cemeteries, established in the early 19th century by the Kingston congregation on what was then the northern fringes of the commercial capital. Today the burial ground continues to serve as the final resting place for the island’s Sephardim and more recently for its Ashkenazim (Jews of Western Europe) and Jewish progeny of European origin, as well as Jews and non-Jews of African descent. The Jewish cemeteries of Jamaica hold the remains and funerary monuments of important individuals and reflect almost 350 years of Israelite burial practice and Jewish identity in the specific context of Jamaica.
While co-religionists in Poland, Iberia, and elsewhere in Europe fled from anti-Semitic environments, Jews in Jamaica, and their co-religionists in other New World settlements in Suriname, Curacao, Barbados, St. Thomas, St. Eustatius, Nevis, and New York incorporated refugees into their nascent communities. In the early generations, themes of deliverance prevailed worldwide, as evidenced by Manasseh ben Israel’s book The Hope of Israel, about the false Messiah Sabbatai Zevi and a renewed interest in the Hebrew bible among New World Puritans. Ezekielian skull and cross bone imagery on the gravestones of Hunts Bay’s first generation of interments and its relative disappearance after the calamitous earthquake of 1692 reflect Jamaican Sephardi responses to Messianism in its first decades of settlement. The cemetery’s southeast burial orientation — not toward the Land of Israel — suggests the primacy of something of the congregation’s own creation.
Jamaican Jewry is most evident on the compound of the United Congregation of Israelites Shaare Shalom on Duke Street in Kingston. In the beautiful century-old synagogue building under a magnificent barrel-vaulted ceiling, lay leaders conduct services attended by members of its 200-person congregation, which is ethnically but not culturally diverse. Not all of Jamaica’s Jews belong to this congregation. Some associate with rabbis and congregations in New York, Miami, and elsewhere. The expansive and wonderful Jamaican Jewish Heritage Center is also located within the compound. It boasts an interesting permanent exhibit and frequently hosts school trips and community events.
Hunts Bay Cemetery, and to some degree the 19th-century Falmouth Jewish Cemetery on the island’s north coast, both long closed and now preserved, bear witness to the time when Jamaica was an emerging and variant colony characterized by political tolerance and abundant undeveloped terrain. This was a period when Jamaica’s Jews adhered to their faith yet were distant if not isolated from rabbinical authority. Today, the ongoing use of the enormous centralized Orange Street Jewish Cemetery eludes the documentarians’ efforts to conclusively catalogue, the analysts’ to fully comprehend, and the preservationists’ to wholly determine the bet haim, but it testifies to the continuation and evolvement of Jewish life in Jamaica.
Rachel Frankel is an architect in New York. She serves as vice president for the International Survey of Jewish Monuments, is the co-author of Remnant Stones: The Jewish Cemeteries of Suriname, and currently leads the Jewish cemetery documentation work in Jamaica.
This essay is reprinted with permission of Sightings from the Martin Marty Center at the University of Chicago Divinity School.
This post has been revised to reflect the following correction on January 20, 2011:
An earlier version of this article misstated that the Hunts Bay Jewish Cemetery is on the outskirts of Port au Prince. It is Kingston.Comments