For some reason, I get stopped all the time in the produce section at Whole Foods. I don’t know what it is about me that suggests why I would be able to explain the difference between lacinato and regular kale, or whether golden beets are as sweet as red ones (especially since neither of these vegetables were part of my diet as recently as a year ago), but there must be something.

However, I’ve had an encounter that I can’t shake. I was standing by the grape tomatoes, trying to decide between the organic ones from Florida (but were they the product of slave labor?) and the local greenhouse tomatoes from Connecticut (fewer food miles, but what about pesticides?), when a woman about my grandmother’s age began talking to me out of the blue. You could tell she was in a bit of sticker shock at the Whole Paycheck prices, and she said to me, “You know how much these are at Shoprite? 99 cents.”

I tried to explain to her as simply as I could about my concerns about pesticides and GMOS, and she just kept saying “But how do you know it’s not in there? How can you be sure?” Then she turned to me and said, “You know, my husband last year planted tomatoes with the pesticides already in them. They were wonderful!” I knew that conversation was over.

As an activist, I have many “aha moments.” That moment in Whole Foods hammered home for me that if we wait for consumer choices to save our food system, we’re going to be waiting a long time. We have to stop thinking like consumers and start thinking like citizens.

I feel like we’re trying to consume our way to olam habah (the world to come)—if we just buy enough of the right organic, environmentally friendly products, then eventually they will trickle down to everyone and bring about tikkin olam. Many of the things we do as members of the food movement (and Jewish food movement) are about changing our own behavior. And that has merit. But all the kosher grass-fed meat and CSA produce in the world is not going to bring about food sustainability and food justice.

Don’t get me wrong, those things are important. We need to take responsibility for what we consume. Can you really eat a tomato that is probably the product of slave labor or eat an egg from a hen that has never left its cage? But we are mistaken if we think that replacing one form of consumption for another will bring redemption. To save our planet will require less consumption, not just smart consumption. And we’re going to have to engage with the political and economic systems that are based on ever-increasing consumption, sustainable or not. Consuming more sustainably is not a form of tikkun olam, and if we thought about it, neither are many of the ways that we try to bring about food justice. Do I really think that buying a fair trade banana is an adequate representation of a mitzvah?

The food movement has a long way to go. I think it is telling that the first time I heard Simon Greer (of Jewish Funds for Justice) explain how unsophisticated most synagogue social justice programs were, he said “They are all the equivalent of bringing in a can of food.” Are we actually going to solve the hunger problem in this country (and around the world) through food drives on Yom Kippur? No, we aren’t. But we’ve been trained to think that if we brought in enough cans, people would stop being hungry.

And yet, no matter how many cans we bring in, unless we engage with the root causes of hunger, such as job insecurity, food deserts, and food being treated as a global commodity, it’s just a bandage. You could argue similarly about the environmental damage done by agriculture or the dangers overly processed food. The choices we make are important, but we can’t rely on our choices alone. We have to put our political influence (not just our consumer power) together to reform the American and global food systems.

Because the second day of Shavuot falls on Shabbat, we will read the laws of shmita (found in Deuteronomy 15) in synagogue this coming Saturday. At the Shmita Project session at the 2008 Food Conference, I quoted from the laws of Shmita and their injunction to take heed of the needs of the poor even during times of God’s blessing. The laws of seem to contradict each other. Verse 15:4 suggests that there will be no needy among you—if only you follow God’s laws. But verse 15:11 adds that there will always be needy among you, which is why you must open your hand to the poor.

I think verse 4 describes an ideal world, the one we should strive for, while verse 11 describes reality. The juxtaposition of the two verses reminds us we have to deal with realities of poverty in our midst (bringing in that can, using our dollars to support fair trade) while also never losing sight of our obligation to strive for a world in which there are no needy among us.

At the Food Conference, I issued the following challenge: “The call to food justice cannot be theoretical. We have to advocate for change, we have to take action. I think this is an obligation for us as the Jewish Food movement. If we don’t take steps to reform the American food system from the top-down, then we have not heard the cry of those in need.”

My challenge is still there. This Shavuot, as we celebrate the giving of the Torah, we should remember that the moral imperative of our tradition is not based in consumption, but in tzeddakah, tzedek, and care for the most vulnerable members of our society. The food movement must do its part.