An article in the San Francisco magazine this month discusses “eco-worriers” – people who can hardly make it through the day because the polar bears are drowning. In fact, there are now eco-therapists who specialize in dealing with people who feel guilty and anxious—simply for doing things they have to do to live in a city, like turn on lights. For some, it’s just never enough. One woman, who walks to work and buys local produce,

“still gets plenty of ribbing when someone learns that she eats meat (once a month) or drives a car (a Toyota that gets 37 miles per gallon). “People get really pissed off and tell me I’m not going far enough. I want to say, ‘What do you mean, far enough? Do you want me to kill myself so I don’t produce any greenhouse gas, except for the methane I produce when I decompose?’”

The article suggests that in San Francisco, where people are so ecologically minded (ie — check out this article about supermarkets in today’s Chronicle), it’s almost a question of theological faith: when you worship the earth, and draw strength and meaning from your relationship to it, what do you do when your god, your earth mother, is sick – under siege – dying?

Perhaps the deepest reason for our distress is that we don’t just love Mother Nature—we worship her. In places like the Bible Belt, where the End of Days is not necessarily viewed as a bad thing, some might see the coming apocalypse—if they even believe it’s coming—as God’s will, and they take comfort in that. To them, our existential panic about snowless winters and 120-degree summers must seem almost meaningless. Yet in the Bay Area, where environmentalism is practically its own religion, global warming isn’t just killing the world, it’s also killing the thing we look to for inspiration and solace—in effect, our God. What are we supposed to do with that? What is the outlet for all our fury and sadness and fear?

I found the whole discussion of eco-guilt fascinating – I’ve never had it quite that bad, but I admit, there are days where it all feels futile. And polar bears drowning do make me want to cry. We have a helpful maxim from Pirkei Avot – but I’ve been frustrated sometimes by it’s vagueness, and wonder how helpful it really is: it’s not your duty to complete the work, but neither may you desist from it. Well – how much is enough?

I wonder, though, if Judaism offers another perspective. We appreciate creation, the earth, the ecosystems – but we don’t worship them. Our vision of holiness, God, and how we find meaning in the world is informed by the earth – but also by our relationship to each other. We’ve moved around a lot, so our deepest ties are to each other, to the promise of our children’s future, and to the time we spend together. Maybe this offers a little more grounding in challenging times?