At the start of the summer, we celebrated the ancient barley harvest of yore by reading the book of Ruth, the tradition for Shavuot. This week, as we enter what would be the midseason of the growth of the wheat, it seems fitting to listen to the musings of Dr. Mel Scult sparked by the text. 

To inspire you further, here is a poem by Rabbi Rachel Barenblat, also known as The Velveteen Rabbi:

THE HANDMAID'S TALE (RUTH) 

Time for a different kind of harvest.
Sated with bread and beer
Boaz and his men sleep deeply on the fragrant hay.
The floor doesn’t creak. 

When Boaz wakes, his eyes gleam with unshed tears.
He is no longer young, maybe forty;
his face is lined as Mahlon's never became.  

Who are you? he asks and I hear an echoing question:
who is it? what is it? who speaks?
Spread your wings over me,
I reply and his cloak billows high. 

Now he clasps my foreign hand
and kisses the tips of my fingers
now skin glides against skin
and the seed of salvation
grows in me the outsider, the forbidden 

 we move from lack to fullness
we sweeten our own story
and as my belly swells
I pray that the day come speedily and soon
when we won't need to distinguish

Israel from Moab
the sun’s radiance from the moon’s
Boaz’s square fingers
from my smaller olive hands
amen, amen, selah.