For centuries, the Sámi shaman drum was one of the most powerful sacred objects in northern Europe, and one of the most feared by church and state. If ISIS looks bad to us today for its religious fundamentalism, Christians were just as fervent.

In Denmark-Norway during the 17th and early 18th centuries, Sámi drums were confiscated as part of aggressive Christian missionary campaigns. In some witchcraft and idolatry prosecutions, drum owners faced severe punishment, including death sentences, although the legal reality varied case by case rather than through one simple blanket ban.

One of the most important records of these drums survives because of Knud Leem (1697–1774), a Norwegian priest and linguist who worked in Finnmark and became one of the earliest major documentarians of Sámi life, language, and belief. Leem began missionary work among the Sámi in 1725, learned Sámi language, and closely observed daily life, religion, and reindeer culture.

His landmark work, Beskrivelse over Finmarkens Lapper, was published in Copenhagen in 1767. The book included parallel Danish/Norwegian and Latin text and was illustrated with numerous copperplate engravings, making it one of the most significant 18th-century ethnographic works on the Sámi published in northern Europe. Some of the imagery was engraved by O.H. von Lode from drawings associated with Leem’s documentation.

How the Sámi drum worked

The Sámi drum, also called a runebomme or shaman drum, was used by a noaidi (Sámi ritual specialist or shaman) for divination and spiritual communication.

The drum membrane was often marked with symbolic figures, sometimes painted in red pigment, and these symbols could represent gods, humans, animals, sacred sites, hunting, illness, or the dead. On some North Sámi drums, the surface was structured into symbolic zones representing the upper world, human world, and underworld.

To use the drum, the noaidi placed a small metal pointer or ring, often referred to in sources as a vuorbi, on the skin and beat the drum. The movement of the ring was then interpreted as an answer to a question like a ouija board. Some questions they might ask include

Where a lost reindeer might be found
Whether a hunt would succeed
What kind of offering or ritual action was needed

The Sámi shaman who played his drum in court

One of the best-documented cases is that of Anders Poulsen, an elderly Sámi noaidi who was tried in Vadsø, northern Norway, in 1692 after his drum was confiscated.

Court records show that Poulsen was interrogated in detail about the symbols on his drum, making his testimony one of the most important surviving descriptions of Sámi cosmology and drum symbolism. Historians describe the case as part of the wider Finnmark witch trials, among the most intense witch persecutions in northern Europe.

Before any final conviction could be carried out, Poulsen was killed in custody with an axe by Willum (Villum) Gundersen, a servant later described in historical records as mentally unstable. Poulsen is often remembered as one of the last victims of the Finnmark witch trials.

Why did the Christians hunt sami drums?

Shamanism was seen as a type of devil worship. Shaman drumming, and ritual practices put them in league with the devil. Consequently, Christianity characterized Sámi noaidi as witches who consulted demons, and persecuted them mercilessly.

Why so few Sámi drums survived

Many Sámi drums did not survive the missionary era. Missionary Thomas von Westen and his network collected large numbers of drums in the early 1700s as part of the Christianization campaign. Historical sources indicate that around 100 drums were taken, many of them sent to Copenhagen. A large portion of these were later destroyed in the Great Fire of Copenhagen in 1728, where about 70 drums were reportedly lost.

Today, only a small number of original Sámi drums survive in museum and institutional collections around the world. Scholars and museums generally place the number at roughly 70 to 75 known surviving drums, depending on classification and provenance.

The Sámi drum is not just an artifact. It is a surviving record of Indigenous cosmology, resistance, and memory. What church authorities once treated as evidence of “paganism” is now understood as part of a sophisticated spiritual and symbolic system tied to land, reindeer, ancestors, and survival in the Arctic.

And because missionaries, courts, and collectors tried so hard to destroy them, every surviving drum now carries two histories at once, the Sámi world it came from, and the violence used to erase it.

Who are the Sámi? 

The Sámi people are an indigenous group of approximately 80,000–100,000 individuals living in Sápmi, a region stretching across the northern parts of Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Russia’s Kola Peninsula. While traditionally nomadic reindeer herders, most modern Sámi live in permanent homes in northern Scandinavia, with the largest population concentrated in Norway.

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At a time when climate anxiety can feel abstract and overwhelming, and being Jewish something people may need to hide in big cities, Adamah Los Angeles is trying something different: turning Jewish values into local climate action with dirt-under-the-fingernails practicality.

This spring, the Los Angeles-based branch of Adamah is inviting the Jewish community to engage climate work not as a distant political slogan, but as a lived spiritual and communal responsibility. Its newly opened LA Sustainability Fund is one of the clearest examples. Jewish nonprofits in the greater Los Angeles area can apply for grants of up to $20,000 to support energy-saving and sustainability projects, provided they are part of the Jewish Climate Leadership Coalition.

That’s real money for real change – the kind of funds that can help schools, synagogues, camps, and community spaces lower emissions and utility bills while becoming more resilient in a warming California.

The initiative arrives alongside LA Climate Week (April 12–16), where Adamah LA is organizing and promoting events rooted in regenerative gardening, volunteering, faith, and climate resilience. Rather than framing environmentalism as gloom and doom, Adamah leans into repair, ritual, and relationship the Jewish way.

This is very much Adamah’s broader model: blending Jewish learning, land connection, food, farming, climate literacy and spiritual renewal into one ecosystem. Even its seasonal offerings reflect that approach. For Passover, which is still ongoing, Adamah has released a sustainability-focused haggadah supplement that brings ecological reflection into the seder through Torah (the Bible), meditation, and climate questions.

There’s also a professional side to the movement so Jewish communal workers can attend “ReTreat Yourself!”, a no-cost June retreat at Camp Ramah in California, designed to strengthen both leadership and spiritual resilience in these hard times.

In a city known for its urban sprawl, wildfires, and climate vulnerability, Adamah LA is building something close to the ground: a Jewish climate culture that is local, networked, and rooted in action.

In Hebrew Adamah is the connection between adam (human) and adamah, the earth.

While Adamah LA has emerged as a strong Jewish climate organizer during LA Climate Week, the broader week also opens space for Christian and Indigenous leadership, two groups whose environmental work often runs deeper than branding or institutional visibility.

For many Christian communities in Los Angeles, climate action is increasingly framed as a matter of stewardship, justice, and care for creation. Churches, faith-based nonprofits, and Catholic organizers often use Climate Week to host conversations around energy, food systems, environmental racism, and resilience in vulnerable neighborhoods. Their language may differ from activist circles, but the mission is often the same: protecting life, land, and future generations.

Indigenous voices, meanwhile, bring something even more foundational. Rather than treating climate as a policy issue alone, Indigenous leaders tend to center land relationship, ancestral responsibility, water protection, and sacred ecology. Their presence in climate events can shift the conversation from sustainability as a technical fix to sustainability as a way of living in right relationship with the earth.

Together, Christian and Indigenous participants help expand LA Climate Week beyond panels and policy. They remind the city that climate action is not only scientific or political, it is also moral, spiritual, and deeply rooted in place.

If you know of other faith-based events happening during the week, drop them in the comments below.

The post Adamah in Los Angeles wants to make Jewish climate action local, practical and spiritual appeared first on Green Prophet.

As Passover approaches, a global online gathering is inviting people to explore the holiday’s ancient story of liberation through a modern lens of compassion, sustainability and ethical food choices.

An American group called Jewish Vegan Life (JVL) will host a virtual event titled “Liberation for All: The Compassionate Passover” on March 19, 2026, bringing together rabbis, activists and food innovators to discuss how the themes of the Passover story can inspire more compassionate holiday traditions.

Passover, which commemorates the biblical journey from slavery to freedom, begins during the Hebrew month of Nisan, the biblical new year associated with renewal and transformation. Organizers say the holiday offers an opportunity to rethink how the concept of liberation might extend beyond human freedom to include animals and the natural world.

“Passover is the story of moving from constriction to freedom,” said Michael Gribov, Head of Movement Building at Jewish Vegan Life. “This event invites us to expand that liberation, to our plates, to the planet and to all living beings.”

The live online program will be hosted by Stephanie Dryer and will feature a number of speakers exploring the connection between Jewish tradition and plant-based living.

Rabbi Donn Gross, head of Congregation Bet Dovid in New Jersey, will speak about the spiritual meaning of Passover and how a vegan Seder can deepen the holiday’s message of freedom and compassion.

Megan Tucker, founder of the Los Angeles plant-based company Mort & Betty’s, will share her personal vegan journey and demonstrate a Passover-friendly recipe that brings plant-based cooking to the Seder table.

Gribov will also introduce Jewish Vegan Life’s Passover Earth Day campaign, which connects the themes of liberation and renewal with environmental stewardship.

Participants will learn how to host a plant-based Seder, explore vegan Passover recipes and discuss how Jewish teachings on responsibility and compassion can guide modern food choices.

The event is open to anyone interested in the intersection of Jewish tradition, ethical eating and environmental responsibility. Organizers emphasize that participants do not need to be vegan to attend — only curious.

Registered participants will be able to watch the livestream, interact with speakers during a live chat and receive access to a recording of the event. Members of Jewish Vegan Life will also receive a complimentary copy of the organization’s Vegan Haggadah following the program.

The event takes place Thursday, March 19, 2026 at 5 PM PT / 8 PM ET and registration is now open online.

Want some more resources on a sustainable Passover? Green Prophet has you covered. Browse below for more.

• 10 Tips For Greening Your Passover
• Passover Recipe: Traditional Matzah Balls
• Haroset, The Passover Seder’s Sweet Treat Recipe
• A Sustainable Passover
• Eco Rabbi Explores Passover Cleaning To Reduce, Reuse and Recycle
• Yoko Ono Greens the Passover Atmosphere at the Ecosphere Festival in Israel
• Ecological Activities in Israel During Passover
• Jews Celebrate “Solar Seder” in the Arava Desert at Kibbutz Lotan
• Recipes for Simanim (Signs) for Rosh Hashanah’s Symbolic Foods

The post Jewish Vegans invite global community to “Compassionate Passover” event appeared first on Green Prophet.

The Purim holiday is coming up next week: this year, 2026, it occurs from the evening of March 2nd until the evening of March 3rd. (In Jerusalem, where Shushan Purim is celebrated, the festival takes place on the following day, from March 3rd to March 4th.) Read about Purim and building a good society here.

There’s feasting at home on the night and the next day, and to make sure everyone gets good things to eat, families send out packages of treats to friends and neighbors. Traditional goodies are hamentaschen, and other treats like our chocolate nut clusters .

Now here’s another treat for sending around: a delicate nut-filled Moroccan pastry called Haman’s Fingers. It’s a sweet take on savory Moroccan cigars.

Haman’s Fingers
Yield: 20 rolled pastries

Pastry Ingredients
2 cups whole walnuts
2 cups whole almonds
½ cup sugar syrup (recipe below)
1 tsp orange blossom water (optional)
½ tsp cinnamon
¼ tsp cardamom
¼ tsp allspice
¼ tsp kosher salt
15 sheets of frozen phyllo pastry, thawed overnight in the refrigerator
1 stick (½ cup) melted butter

Syrup Ingredients
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
1 tsp orange blossom water or 1 tbsp lemon juice
Zest of 1 orange

Directions

Remove the phyllo dough from the freezer to the fridge the night before starting. 2 hours before starting, remove the package from the fridge to room temperature. When ready to start, open the package and cover the phyllo with a damp towel or plastic wrap, to prevent drying out.

Make the syrup:
Bring water and sugar to a boil. Reduce the heat to a steady simmer and cook uncovered for 20-25 minutes, until syrup has reduced to about ⅔ cup. Add orange blossom water or lemon juice and orange zest. Set aside to cool.

Prepare the filling:
Place the walnuts and almonds in a food processor. Pulse until the texture resembles coarse crumbs, with some chunks.
Add ½ cup of the sugar syrup and the cinnamon, allspice, cardamom, salt, and optional orange blossom water. Pulse another couple of times until mixture comes together. Don’t overwork the filling; you don’t want a smooth paste, bu a mixture with some texture.

Roll the pastry:
Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C).
Place a sheet of baking parchment on your work surface. Melt the butter (30 seconds in the microwave should do it) and set it aside to cool.
Place 1 sheet of phyllo on the baking parchment. Brush with melted butter. Place a second sheet over it, brush with butter. Do the same with a third sheet, finishing with brushed butter.
Roll the filling into a tube shape on a clean surface. Place it half an inch from the edge of the phyllo layers, on the long side. Carefully roll up the dough. Slice it into 4 pieces.
Transfer the cigars to the baking sheet. Repeat with remaining phyllo and filling.

Glaze the fingers:
Brush the finished cigars with more butter and then brush generously with syrup. There will be some syrup left for a final glazing.
Bake for 15-20 minutes, until golden. Remove from oven and while still hot, brush with additional syrup to glaze.
Trim any filling that oozed out of the “fingers” off with a knife.

Store in an airtight container at room temperature for 3-4 days.

Recipe and photo via Chabad.org

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When you hear “jujube,” you might first think of the chewy, retro gumdrop candy with its brilliant red, yellow and green colors. But “jujube” started as English for sidr, the tree considered holy in Islam.

In the Koran it’s written that on the Day of Judgment the faithful, will dwell in Paradise “Among thorn-less sidr trees and clustered plantains, and spreading shade, and water gushing, and plentiful fruit.”

Perhaps because of this, sidr leaves are said to have magical, mystical properties.

We’ve noted the multiple medicinal qualities of the sidr fruit and mentioned the potential of the tree to hold off desertification.

Every year, one evening at mid-Ramadan, the tree shakes. The names on the leaves that fall are of those who will die in the coming year.

The sidr tree in black magic

Then there’s the intriguing use of sidr leaves as protection from black magic and the evil eye. We described what the evil eye is. Basically, it’s ill-wishing someone from feelings of envy, rivalry, and hatred.

Jealousy exists in the human heart; it can’t be shrugged off. Mature people recognize and try to overcome it; if we can’t exactly turn the other cheek, at least we hopefully move on to a healthier way of coping than secretly ill-wishing someone.

In Islamic culture, and in cultures who have lived in close quarters with Moslems, the evil eye is feared as one would fear a physical threat. In speaking of another’s child or property, it’s polite to raise one’s hand, palm outward, and say “hamsah” several times – to show there’s nothing to fear – all one’s intentions are good.

Women are especially susceptible to the suggestion of an evil eye. A pretty girl. A married woman wanting to conceive. A protective mother.

Men may fear that their success in business may cause envy, or that their virility will be impaired by witchcraft. Women are especially susceptible to the suggestion of an evil eye. A pretty girl. A married woman wanting to conceive. A protective mother.

To ward off the evil eye, a person may wear an amulet bracelet.

Or hang a five-fingered “hamsah” on the office or home wall. See our post on the evil eye and how to avoid it.

But for a person needing stronger protection, there’s another, more intimate way to deal with witchcraft and the evil eye: bathing with sidr-infused water. This is also said to expel demons.

On the positive side, the sidr tree may host the spirit of a saint. Far from pagan, pre-Islamic tree worship, the tree itself isn’t a holy object; rather, the holiness of a saint whose custom it was to sit in its shade has been transferred to the tree. For this reason, it’s considered lucky to sit or sleep under a sidr tree.

There’s a Moslem legend about a sidr tree (also known in English as a lote tree) that grows in Paradise. On its leaves are etched the names of all humans. Every year, one evening at mid-Ramadan, the tree shakes. The names on the leaves that fall are of those who will die in the coming year.

It follows that sidr once served to purify the dead. In Iran, Iraq, India, and southwestern Saudi Arabia, deceased Muslims were washed water infused with sidr leaves. The custom has apparently faded out in most countries.

A magic holy sidr bath to deflect the evil eye?

It needs 7 powdered sidr leaves stirred into a bucket of warm water. The hadith of the Prophet Muhammad allows to repeat healing prayers and verses from the Koran to increase the water’s potency. 5 grams, or 1 tablespoon of sidr powder equals 7 leaves.

Take the bucket of warm sidr water into the shower and pour it all over. It’s ok to rinse off the powder residue. Then step out of the shower, freshly immune to other people’s bad vibes.

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Istanbul, mid-December 2025. The global interfaith organization* of which I am currently the president organized, for the first time since October 7, 2023, a meeting of its Middle East – North Africa branch, with 50 participants chosen from among the leaders of the many “cooperation circles” that the organization has in these regions, for 4 full days.

They came from Israel, Palestine, Jordan, Iraq, Yemen, Morocco, Tunisia, Lebanon, Egypt… There are Sunni Muslims, Shiite Muslims, Jews (Orthodox and Reform), Orthodox Christians, Coptic Christians, Protestant Christians, Druze, Baha’is, a Scientologist.

I was, how can I put it, a little anxious about having Israeli Jews and Palestinians, and other worthy representatives of the Arab world, in the same room. I was wrong.

You don’t learn about the world through the media, whether social or otherwise. You learn by traveling, and for the past two years, Israel and Palestine haven’t been among my destinations. You also learn by listening to people who live what you want to learn about. And I learned so much in four days.

Everything that happened in Istanbul is shrouded in secrecy for the safety of the participants, especially regarding their identities. That is why I will primarily use fictitious first names.

From anti-Jewish fighter to peacekeeper

One of us, Amin, came to tell me his story. He’s in his fifties, slim, with an elegant bearing, a weathered face, and dark eyes that sparkle with life. Amin has lived in a refugee camp in Palestine, seemingly his whole life. He told me that when he was younger, he was a “fighter” against Israel. He was convinced that a good Jew was a dead Jew, and that he would earn his place in paradise by killing the enemy. Until the day he met our interfaith organization, fifteen years ago. In short, this encounter made him realize that he could talk to a Jew. And that if he could talk to him, it meant that the Jew was also a human being. With this realization, he understood that he had been lied to all his life, and he decided to dedicate his life to helping people see their humanity as something that transcends all prejudice. “  We are first and foremost human beings, before we are Jews, Muslims, Christians, or anything else,  ” he told me. “  Without that, we are nothing, and war begins .”

Not only has Amin come a long way, but in his refugee camp, he faces daily the influence of Hamas and others who don’t share his view of the enemy’s humanity. He also has to deal with the abuses sometimes (or often, depending on who I listen to) committed by Israeli soldiers, which only complicate matters. But he remains steadfast. He explains that he teaches young people how to pass checkpoints by observing Israeli soldiers and imagining them at home, with their families, at the beach—anywhere they would find a human image, regardless of the soldiers’ behavior. The result, he tells me, is often (though not always) miraculous. It’s the soldiers who then change their attitude and become, in effect, more humane.

His analysis is this: each of the two groups (Israelis and Palestinians) sees the other as something devoid of humanity. If one of them infuses humanity into their gaze, then the other receives it and becomes what they have always been: human. It’s not much, but it’s all they have to fight for, and ultimately, it’s all that can make a difference in this part of the world. For him, that’s a divine mission.

The enemy children

Steven is a devout Israeli Jew who runs an organization in Tel Aviv that teaches dialogue for peace to young people. When the October 13th massacre occurred, he felt compelled to do something to prevent succumbing to hatred. He knew that nothing would ever be the same again, and even before, things weren’t great… So he launched a project for the young people who followed him—Palestinian Muslims and Christians, and Israeli Jews, Muslims, and Druze—to preserve and strengthen what he calls “the connection beyond divisions.” Through writing, young Israelis and Palestinians collaborate to express their suffering, their difficulties, their hopes, their resilience, and their courage—the courage to imagine a future of peace where the present seems to contradict them. Two books have already emerged from this project.

Yet his project was not universally accepted. Many of his students’ parents called him to criticize the fact that their children might sympathize “with the enemy.” He, too, remained steadfast. Often, it was the children themselves who convinced their parents of the merits of the approach, and of the “lack of merit” in the enemy’s rhetoric.

Do they hate it a little, a lot, passionately, or not at all?

One day, I asked Mohamed, a Palestinian from Bethlehem, if it was true that people in the West Bank hated Israelis. A somewhat silly, naive question, but if I didn’t ask him, who would I ask? Mohamed was Muslim, but he told me he didn’t really practice. He didn’t really care about practice. For him, God doesn’t express himself through practice. To each their own path. He replied, ”  That’s true, but not only that. You have to understand that for many Palestinians, all they know about Jews are the soldiers, those they encounter at checkpoints, those who regularly mistreat them, those who have sometimes killed children in their neighborhoods. Before, there were more Palestinians who went to work in Israel and had more opportunities to interact. Since October 2023, that number has drastically decreased, and the divide has widened even further.” So yes, many people hate Israelis. Perhaps you would hate them too if you were in their situation. And then there’s the propaganda. Propaganda has a field day. It dehumanizes Jews, and every time a Jew commits a wrong here, it wins. There’s only one solution: dialogue and the recognition of our shared humanity. This shared humanity comes up like a recurring theme, day after day, conversation after conversation.

Equal height and equal rights?

Then there’s Karin, an Israeli journalist, who manages to speak to me privately. She tells me I absolutely must talk to Sara, a young Baha’i woman from Jordan, because she’s convinced that a solution in the Middle East might come from the Scientologists and the Baha’is, because the Jews (including herself), Muslims, and Christians are too entangled in these age-old conflicts; they’re trapped in existential struggles that prevent them from seeing things from a broader perspective. They want to save their own skin, and to do that, they have to destroy “the other.”

So I talk to Sara, who is absolutely fantastic. Every day she takes five hours on trains (yes, trains, not just one) to help children in a refugee camp on the border with Palestine. Once, I ask her if Baha’is face discrimination in Jordan. She immediately says no, but when I ask her a little more, I learn that they don’t have the same rights as others (which, of course, is the very definition of discrimination). The difference in rights, from what she tells me, mainly concerns family rights, but the more I talk to her, the more she shows me that they are, in fact, discriminated against. We get used to everything, to the point where we don’t even see the problem anymore. She says she loves her country, and that for that reason, she’s willing to accept the hardships. I tell myself that I love my country too, but that doesn’t change my rejection of discrimination. I think we’re being taken for a ride when they manage to make us believe we have to accept the unacceptable in the name of some kind of patriotism. But anyway, it doesn’t matter, Sara is brilliant and full of genuine kindness.

There’s also Kamal, a Lebanese Druze. When Kamal learns that I’m friends with Sheikh Bader Kasem, a prominent figure in Druze Islam (who lives in Israel), he wants to learn more about Scientology . When he learns that I, too, believe we are immortal spiritual beings who pass from body to body, life after life, he’s happy because he’s no longer alone.

All these religions are a breath of fresh air.

There’s also Mina, a Christian from Egypt, a renowned professor of medicine, who didn’t even know my religion existed. It’s the first time he’s heard its name. He knows me, but it had never occurred to him. So, he starts talking about it while we’re all gathered together. And everyone begins discussing how there’s nothing better than learning that there aren’t just five major religions in the world (Christianity, Islam, Druze, Judaism, and Baha’i). They want me to tell them about all these religions they know so little about. It’s a breath of fresh air for them. The world is vast, diverse, and rich. It reinforces their belief that the most important thing is that we are all human. Hallelujah.

Adar, for his part, is Kurdish, from Iraq. He talks about Mandaeism , an ancient religion that now only has a few thousand followers, mainly in Iraq. I ask him if he practices it; he says no, he’s Christian. But he says that in Kurdistan, everyone does what they want. I doubt it, but I don’t really know. So he invites me, along with his two companions, one of whom is part of the Kurdish government. I said I’d go. And I will.

The other’s language

And then there’s Shlomo. Shlomo is Jewish, but he taught Arabic in Israel his whole life. For him, language is the gateway to peace. If you speak the language, you understand. If you understand, you don’t wage war. He published a Hebrew/Arabic dictionary, which has been reprinted several times. He explained to me that his parents, in his younger years, were very disappointed with his life path. Teaching Arabic, you have to be a little crazy. But anyway, he became the National Inspector of the Arabic Language, a lecturer at the Faculty of Education of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, and Israel’s representative to the European Committee for Reading and Literacy. So they were forced to admit that he had made something of his life, and they changed their minds. Shlomo seems not to care; he’s old and he’s seen it all. And yet he is still present at all the gatherings, even at over 80 years old.

Mariam, from Hebron in Palestine, is a Christian. She speaks a grating Arabic, not because it isn’t beautiful, but because she speaks so loudly and always seems to be yelling at you, even when she smiles and you understand that she likes you. She complains. She complains about Israel, which “makes her life miserable.” She complains about Hamas, which “makes her life miserable,” she complains about the Palestinian Authority and its “corrupt President,” which “makes her life miserable.” But she pats everyone on the shoulder, Jews included, with an energy that knows no bounds.

She also tells me about the Israeli settlers. She says that in many places the settlers and the Palestinians get along very well. They live together and work together. Why am I surprised?

Peace?

Understand this clearly: these are not pro-Israel Arabs. They are not pro-Palestine Jews. They are not eccentric dreamers from some beatnik fantasy. These are people who have lived through the harsh realities of war, and who continue to grapple with them, but who have not lost their intelligence or their humanity.

Finally, on the last evening, we celebrated Hanukkah, lit the candles, and listened to the prayers in Hebrew. No photos, please; it’s not like we’re having a village festival. And taking photos is dangerous. But we celebrated anyway. Together.

And then everyone went their separate ways. On the group messaging app, which some had to leave and delete from their phones before returning to their countries, the conversations continued for several days. Everyone went back home, to the fight, the fight for a better world, for a better region, for a better neighborhood, for better people. We promised we would see each other again. And we did.

And we know. We know that peace is possible and that those who say otherwise are, deep down, the ones who don’t want it. We know that war is not inherent to humankind, because, precisely, humanity is the solution to war. From the moment we see it, recognize it, and grant it its humanity. Does that sound naive? No, it’s a flower nourished by the blood of victims, which, despite everything, has grown, and which defies the status quo.

* This is the world’s largest grassroots interreligious organization, with over 1,200 affiliated groups in more than 110 countries. Founded by the former Episcopal Bishop of California, Reverend Bill Swing, it celebrated its 25th anniversary last year. Beyond its creation and scale, these 25 years have primarily demonstrated the strength of its model: decentralized interreligious cooperation, driven by local actors themselves. URI has enabled very diverse communities to meet, overcome religious and cultural divides, and work together for peace, reconciliation, education, equality, social justice, and the care of the Earth. By prioritizing inclusion, shared governance, and concrete action over rhetoric, it has helped to embed interreligious dialogue in daily life and make it a genuine driver of lasting social transformation.

This article was first printed in French, on Rebelles. It is reprinted with permission.

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The Muslim prophet Muhammad never traveled to the city of Jerusalem in his lifetime. Yet his dream is celebrated as a spiritual transformation. The Isra and Mi‘raj story describes a spiritual or visionary experience, not a recorded historical journey. Even early Islamic scholars debated whether the event was physical or symbolic. Yet today, Muslims around the world are marking Isra and Mi‘raj as a living spiritual tradition filled with prayer, storytelling, and community rituals around the world.

The approximate date when the Prophet’s night journey occurred is the 27th of Rajab (7th month of the Islamic calendar), about 12 years after the start of revelation, which is about 1 year before the Prophet’s migration from Mecca to Medina, considered the starting point of the Islamic calendar, according to Islamic scholars.

Isra means night journey and mi’raj means ascending like on a ladder.

• Isra = the night journey

• Mi‘raj = the ascent

In the Old Testament at the same location, Jacob dreams of a ladder reaching from earth to heaven, with angels ascending and descending on it. The vision symbolizes a connection between the human and divine worlds, made visible during a night of spiritual revelation.

In Christianity, Jesus’ Ascension into heaven mirrors the idea of rising toward God, while Jacob’s ladder (shared with Judaism) is interpreted by Christians as a symbol of Christ connecting heaven and earth. Like Isra and Mi‘raj, these stories express the belief that humans can encounter the divine beyond ordinary physical limits.

How Isra and Mi‘raj Is Celebrated Today

Across Muslim communities, the night is observed with special mosque gatherings, Qur’an recitations, sermons, and family discussions. In many countries, the evening becomes a moment for reflection rather than public festivity. Food also plays a quiet but important role. Families prepare simple shared meals, sweets, dates, and regional dishes that vary by culture:

In Indonesia and Malaysia, communal rice dishes, sweet porridge, and traditional cakes are served after prayers.

In Turkey, families share pastries and syrup-soaked desserts.

In the Middle East, dates, flatbreads, and warm drinks accompany storytelling and prayer.

Children learn the story through songs, drawings, and school programs, while elders emphasize humility, gratitude, and discipline.  The night is not about celebration in a modern party sense, but about remembering faith and spiritual responsibility.

The Isra and Mi‘raj festival commemorates not travel, but transformation — and a reminder that in Islamic tradition, spiritual elevation begins with inner struggle.

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When Zarathustra started preaching around 1200 BCE in ancient Persia, which is known today as Iran, he wasn’t just founding a religion—he was creating the world’s first environmental protection movement. Good thoughts, good words, good deeds. But there was a mantra and words to live by: don’t pollute the earth, water, or fire. Ever.

Take Zoroastrian burial practices. We’ve covered the Towers of Silence here at Green Prophet before—those circular stone structures where bodies were placed on top for vultures to consume. Why did they do this? Because Zoroastrians believed dead bodies were contaminated with evil (druj) and could not touch the sacred elements: earth, water, or fire.

No burial (pollutes earth). No cremation (pollutes fire). No river disposal (pollutes water). Sky burial was the only option that honored nature. The body became food for birds, a final act of charity. Today most Zoroastrians use cement-lined coffins to prevent earth contamination, or they’ve moved to other methods as vulture populations crashed from human causes such as electrical shocks and poisoning. But the principle remains: respect the elements that sustain life.

Celebrating Nature’s Turning Points

Nowruz, the Persian New Year celebrated on the spring equinox, is perhaps Zoroastrianism’s most visible environmental legacy. As we’ve written about on Green Prophet, this isn’t just a cultural festival—it’s a celebration of nature reawakening. Families grow sabzeh (wheat or lentil sprouts) weeks before Nowruz, watching green life emerge from seeds.

Goldfish are a traditional symbol of life, renewal, and fortune on the Haft-Seen table for Nowruz, the Persian New Year, representing vitality and a prosperous year ahead, though animal welfare concerns have risen due to millions dying after being released into ponds, leading some to use edible alternatives like marzipan goldfish or sugar fish instead.

The holiday marks when day and night are equal, when light spreads evenly across hemispheres. Fire is lit. People jump over flames during Chaharshanbe Suri, singing “my yellowness is yours, your redness is mine”—asking fire to take weakness and give strength.  The whole celebration is about alignment with natural cycles. Spring cleaning before the new year. Visiting graves on the last Friday. Placing hyacinths and tulips in homes. Everything synchronized with the earth’s rhythm around the sun.

Engineering in Harmony with Nature

Ancient Persians didn’t just philosophize about respecting the elements—they engineered around them. As we’ve explored in previous Green Prophet articles, their architecture shows remarkable environmental sophistication.

Wind catchers (badgir) in Yazd and other desert cities are essentially ancient air conditioning. These tall towers catch breezes and channel them down through buildings, sometimes over underground water channels called qanats. The Dolat Abad windcatcher in Yazd stands 34 meters tall—still the highest in Iran—and can drop indoor temperatures by 10 degrees without electricity.

Qanats themselves are engineering marvels: underground channels that move water from mountain aquifers to desert cities without pumping. Some are still functioning after a thousand years. UNESCO recognizes them as world heritage because they represent “creative genius” in sustainable water management.

These weren’t just practical solutions to live by. They were Zorastrian expressions of a worldview that said: work with the elements, don’t violate them. Here’s what makes Zoroastrianism ecologically radical even today: it treats environmental degradation as moral corruption.

The world is a battlefield between truth (asha) and lies (druj). When you pollute water, you’re choosing druj. When you contaminate earth, you’re siding with evil. Every small choice—where you put your waste, how you use fire, whether you honor or desecrate water is a moral decision that tilts the cosmic balance.

You can’t separate ethics from ecology in this system because they are the same thing.

Modern environmentalism often frames nature protection as enlightened self-interest or future-oriented planning. Zoroastrianism says: the earth itself is holy. Polluting it is sacrilege. You don’t need utilitarian arguments. You need to not be an asshole to creation.

There are maybe 100,000 to 200,000 Zoroastrians left worldwide, mostly in Iran and India (where they’re called Parsis).

Zoroastrianism introduced a radical idea for its time: that humans stand inside a moral universe. That our choices matter. Long before monotheism found its later forms, Zoroastrianism articulated heaven and hell, angels and judgment, free will and ethical responsibility. Judaism absorbed these ideas during the Persian period. Christianity and Islam carried them forward.

Today, Zoroastrians are not fighting for dominance. They are fighting for continuity. Intermarriage, migration, shrinking birth rates, and cultural dilution place constant pressure on a faith that does not proselytize and does not adapt easily. They don’t have a leader or a “Pope” figure making it difficult to create leadership.

Yet the ecological principles remain stubbornly relevant. In a world drowning in plastic, choking on emissions, and treating the planet like an expendable resource, Zoroastrianism’s insistence that nature is sacred, not because it’s useful to humans, but because it is sacred.

If Iran becomes free, consider visiting the eternal flame: The Yazd Atash Behram in Iran shelters one of the world’s oldest living flames — a sacred fire burning continuously since 470 AD. Though the temple itself was built in 1934, the “Victorious Fire” has survived centuries of exile, invasion, and careful guardianship, standing as a quiet, stubborn symbol of Zoroastrian endurance and divine purity.

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We used to think climate work lived in laboratories, policy rooms, and protest signs. But these days it’s living comfortably inside Jewish thought. The Jewish Climate Trust is quietly proving that climate action doesn’t sit outside Judaism — it grows from it. Jewish Climate Trust (JCT) isn’t a think tank that lives only in theory, and it isn’t a charity that writes checks without strategy. It is a values-driven investment in how Jewish life — and Jewish responsibility — shows up in a world already shaped by climate change.

The starting point is simple and uncomfortable: the climate crisis is real, measurable, and accelerating. Denial is not a Jewish position. Despair isn’t either. Judaism teaches obligation without guaranteed success. You are not required to finish the work — but you are not free to abandon it. JCT lives inside that idea: it insists on action without pretending to own the ending.

The focus of the JCT is twofold: putting less carbon into the atmosphere and preparing communities for what is already unfolding.

But there is a third layer that feels distinctly Jewish: co-benefits. Every climate action should strengthen human relationships — between Jews and Jews, Israel and the diaspora, and across borders between people. We see that work in action in Israel’s Arava Center, a cross-border environment research study center that funds desert research, water, cleantech, advancing partners for peace along the way. Climate work, according to the JCT is not only environmental; it is social, political, spiritual, and it’s the moral thing to do.

In North America, JCT has made the largest climate grant ever given in the Jewish world, funding Adamah to accelerate Jewish climate leadership. This includes expanding the Jewish Climate Leadership Coalition, building regional hubs, and integrating climate into young leadership training. They also helped launch a Green Business Network, which is growing faster than anticipated.

Green Prophet founded a chapter of Green Drinks in Israel in 2009. Adamah is continuing the spirit with their next meet-up in Boston in February.

The goal is cultural change — not a single project, but a shift in how Jewish institutions understand responsibility.

In Israel, JCT is funding major research on climate preparedness and security. Climate awareness in Israel is not only about nature — it is about stability, health, migration, food systems, and national resilience. The JCT is pushing Israel to think ahead rather than react too late.

Regionally, JCT is supporting the Center for Applied Environmental Diplomacy at the Arava Institute — one of the most important cross-border environmental cooperation platforms in the Middle East. When USAID funding was lost, years of trust-building between Israelis, Palestinians, Jordanians, and international partners were suddenly at risk. JCT stepped in with a significant multi-year commitment, joined by private stakeholders, to keep this fragile but vital ecosystem alive.

Jewish Climate Trust has quickly attracted the attention and support of some of the most influential voices in Jewish philanthropy, drawing backing from prominent family foundations and business leaders connected to the Bronfman and Schusterman philanthropic networks, alongside climate-focused investors and community builders aligned with founding leader Nigel Savage. Together, these donors have committed many millions of dollars to build a serious, long-term climate platform for the Jewish world — not as a symbolic gesture, but as a strategic intervention in one of the defining challenges of this generation.

::Jewish Climate Trust

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Canada criminalized female genital mutilation/cutting (FGM/C) in 1997, defining it as aggravated assault. Get caught doing it to a child or woman of any age, and expect 14 years in jail. We’d think the clinics from Toronto had shut down years ago after demonstrations against them in the 90s (it’s still happening in London), and in Islam in general – read here, yet a recent report by Islamic Relief Canada makes the uncomfortable point plain: the law exists, the practice persists, and the systems meant to protect girls and support survivors are still not ready.

Get the PDF report: Documenting and Responding to Female Genital Mutilation in Canada

There are no reliable national prevalence statistics for Canada — a gap so visible that Prime Minister Justin Trudeau publicly called for better data. That absence of measurement is not neutral. It creates the conditions for denial, and for harm to continue in private. It can happen from infancy to about age

The report released in 2025 documents what many Canadians prefer to believe cannot happen “here”: FGM/C can be arranged and performed inside Canada, including in private homes with no medical oversight. One participant recalls being told: “We must carry our culture with us wherever we are.”

Another Canadian Muslim describes the reality of secrecy and confusion when it happens on Canadian soil: “It happened in Canada… It was done in secret, at home.” And the damning detail: “The woman who did it wasn’t even a medical professional.”

In one case, the cutting was effectively imported to Canada: “My grandmother visited us… She purposely travelled to have me circumcised.”

“Vacation cutting”: taken abroad — and brought back

The report is explicit that Canada also faces the cross-border version. It is a criminal offense to remove a child from Canada for the purpose of FGM/C, yet families may still send daughters abroad. This is the most documented pathway internationally: the procedure is done during a “family trip” and returns to Canada with the harm already inflicted — and often undisclosed and most of the scars healed over.

Some of the data shows the greatest amount of cases in Alberta.

What may be most disturbing is not only that FGM/C can happen — but that Canada’s healthcare system is still too often unprepared to recognize it, document it, or support survivors with competence and dignity. From the healthcare practitioner survey cited in the report:

• Only 9% rated their knowledge as “Excellent,” while 57% rated it “Fair” or “Poor.”
• 48% said they were unfamiliar with the four types of FGM/C.
• 60% reported no formal education on FGM/C.

Stigma compounds the gap. A service provider explains that women may choose midwives from within their community to keep their status private. Another line cuts to the core: “There’s a lack of understanding… especially psychologically.”

Here is the part Canadians and new immigrants to Canada should understand clearly: aggravated assault in Canada carries a maximum penalty of up to 14 years in prison. Yet the report warns that punitive law alone does not necessarily stop the practice — and can drive it deeper underground through fear of consequences for family members.

That is why the authors emphasize a coordinated approach: training, culturally competent care, community leadership, and survivor-centered support — not just criminal statutes.

If you suspect risk or harm: who you can report to in Canada

If a child is at risk, act as if it is an emergency. According to Canada’s Department of Justice, FGM is child abuse and should be reported. If you suspect risk, contact the police. END FGM believes there are 100,000 women in Canada who are victims to FGM. To date there are zero cases of prosecution. In July 2017, a leaked internal report by the Canada Border Services Agency acknowledged that FGM/C practitioners were “almost certainly entering Canada” to engage in the practice.

Watch a video of what they found coming to Canada.

FGM by country

If you or someone you know is a victim of FGM or could be taken abroad for the procedure, you can call the

• Police / Emergency services: Justice Canada guidance on FGM. Call 9-1-1.
• Provincial or territorial child protection services (police can direct you if unsure)
• School safeguarding channels (principals or designated safeguarding leads)
• Hospital safeguarding teams or professional regulatory bodies

If travel is imminent and there is concern a child may be taken abroad for FGM/C, report urgently to the police. It is also illegal to remove a child from Canada for this purpose under the Criminal Code.

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