As a yeshiva student in the Old City of Jerusalem in my twenties, I learned that the month of Elul was a big deal, a twenty-nine-day period to buckle down on preparation for the imminent High Holidays. I remember the rabbis telling us that “the King is in the field,” meaning that during this season God isn’t behind palace walls, but is utterly available and present. Fast forward to 2021 when Rosh Chodesh Elul coincided with a journey to the Costa Rican jungle with my friend Nissan. 

Instead, the lessons learned in the wilderness enriched my personal holiday preparations on several fronts: engendering a deeper connection with the planet, deepening my sense of humility and creating an awareness of belonging to the greater circle of life.

One might think I escaped the civilized world to avoid introspection. Instead, the lessons learned in the wilderness enriched my personal holiday preparations on several fronts: engendering a deeper connection with the planet, deepening my sense of humility and creating an awareness of belonging to the greater circle of life. Indeed, if the “King is in the field” at this time year, emerging from the comfort zone of one’s home, office or classroom is the ticket to transcendence.

Nissan was my “little brother” in Jewish Big Brothers, a nurturing program for kids without male role models in the home. We were matched when he was eleven, after his mother enrolled him in the program. I had heard about JBB when I was doing volunteer work with the young professionals branch of the LA Jewish Federation, and signed up after seeing one of my friends pictured in a recruitment ad. I figured, if Phil could do it, then I could too! After a six-month matching process, I had a new little brother. Who would have guessed that this relationship would benefit both “big” and “little” to such a degree. We have remained in constant contact, and I’m ever grateful for my unshakeable thirty-year friendship with Nissan. I even served as the best man at his wedding and we are both unofficial members of each other’s families.

During his college days, Nissan parlayed his love for animals and the outdoors with a six-month internship at a biological research station in Corcovado National Park, Costa Rica. According to National Geographic, the rainforest setting is “the most biologically intense place on earth.” Over subsequent years, Nissan visited several times, including a trip where he proposed to his wife on a black sand beach at the jungle’s edge. When he orchestrated a trip for the two of us to spend a week at the research station, I jumped at the chance to see this dreamy locale for myself.

Other than the requisite calf high boots, I already owned much of the gear necessary for such an adventure. With several native species of venomous snakes producing litters of up to eighty snakelets at a time, Corcovado isn’t the best place to wander barefoot. Furthermore, I was told that our screened-in cabins were four hundred feet up the mountain from the mess hall, with outdoor toilets, cold showers and no electricity. Thankfully, I invested in the proper footwear; on one of our nighttime ascents we saw a juvenile Terciopelo Viper, the most dangerous of the bunch, coiled inches off our trail. Needless to say, I got pretty good at getting in and out of my new jungle boots.

Arriving in this steamy paradise requires two days of travel. I packed my hiking gear, kosher food, siddur, tallit, tefillin and shofar and flew nonstop from LAX to San Juan, Costa Rica. I caught a four-hour shuttle ride down bumpy roads to the sleepy river town of Sierpe. Nissan had already arrived in the country; shortly after we connected, we boarded a real-life jungle cruise motorboat that raced for two hours through mangrove-lined wetland rivers and then open ocean. Since the near constant Pacific swells prevent the construction of docks along the Osa Peninsula, arrival at any of the jungle camps requires that the skilled captains wait in between sets of waves and then frantically back up their crafts to the beach. The engines are lifted out of the water as the deck hands launch into a comical dance to keep the boat perpendicular to the waves while offloading cargo and suitcases. Sometimes the timing doesn’t quite work out and sizeable waves roll in during this dramatic transfer of goods and humans; many wind up soaking wet and an unlucky few get knocked to the ground, or worse, by the bucking bronco of the twenty-passenger boat.

We were welcomed by Nancy Aitken, the septuagenarian proprietor of the research station, her two Costa Rican employees and three young research volunteers with freshly minted zoology degrees. While our bags were schlepped up the hill to our cabins, we joined the group for an orientation in the mess hall-kitchen-research center. My own frying pan was set aside to accommodate my kosher concerns; for the next week breakfast, lunch and dinner would consist of rice and black beans with variations of curried mixed vegetables grown on site. A wee bit of solar power generated just enough juice to light a few bulbs, power the refrigerator and recharge phones.

Once unpacked, I headed out with Nissan on the first of our jungle explorations. The morning sunshine had been eclipsed by low lying clouds and drizzle, forcing us to use headlamps even though it was only 3:00 p.m. This sunny morning into afternoon rain pattern would repeat daily that week. I clambered through the mud over roots and fallen trees, occasionally reaching for the “monkey ladder” vines for support. Nissan warned me not to grab for trees and vines before making a visual check; some species sport nasty two-inch palm-piercing thorns. We waded in rivers and waterfalls, marveled at acrobatic spider and capuchin monkeys in the treetops, spotted shockingly scarlet macaws, eccentric toucans and tiger herons, and tried to avoid annihilating frantic armies of leaf cutter ants sharing our trail. Nissan pointed out various animal footprints: tapir and agouti, peccary and puma frequented these same routes. By the time we completed the two-hour loop, the light drizzle had become a torrential downpour, but that didn’t stop us from enjoying the thunder and lightning show while bodysurfing head-high waves in the welcoming 85-degree ocean.

After a cold shower and a beer, we enjoyed a candlelit dinner late into the night. The resident naturalists regaled us with tales from the bush and Nancy described the travails of maintaining the property in the face of erosion, government edicts and encroaching neighbors. We were advised to keep our eyes peeled for sightings of certain rare endemic animals; we checked off a decent percentage of the key mammals, reptiles, amphibians, insects and exotic fowl, from two-inch hummingbirds to massive king vultures. I engaged the Tico (Costa Rican) hands in my best Spanish to learn of their wildlife encounters and the challenges of raising kids while being away from their families twenty-five days each month.

I prayed the Ma’ariv service and then laid wide-eyed in my bed, not sure how I would sleep among the din of kaleidoscopic cicadas, crashing waves and the occasional creature breaking branches in the dense flora.

Finally, Nissan and I climbed the few hundred muddy steps up to our primitive cabins. In a clearing we searched for Perseid meteors and the sliver of the new Elul moon in the few gaps in the cloud cover. I prayed the Ma’ariv service and then laid wide-eyed in my bed, not sure how I would sleep among the din of kaleidoscopic cicadas, crashing waves and the occasional creature breaking branches in the dense flora. The gift of a melatonin pill, an ear plug and a book on jungle ecology soothed my jitters and sent me into an exotic dreamland until the light of dawn flooded the cabin.

Each day brought a bevy of new species sightings and a greater understanding of the topography of this rare swath of undisturbed primary forest. I also gathered a collection of wounds from river-crossing mishaps, expansive insect bites and shin-meets-boat dings. Iodine and Neosporin saved the day. I loved getting on the trail shortly after sunrise; we would laugh at how much ground we could cover before noon. One day we snorkeled the northern bay of Caño Island, just fifteen miles off the coast of our camp. We saw vast schools of iridescent tropical reef fish and chased stingrays and giant sea turtles. On the return trip we enjoyed the gift of a half-hour visit with a mother-and-child pair of humpback whales.

The ultimate hike took us a dozen miles into the national park with a professional guide. Elia grew up in the rainforest, and upon hearing any animal’s cry could immediately identify the species, gender and age. Without complaint, this five-foot-tall powerhouse carried a large pack with extra water and first-aid gear as well as a tripod and telescope. Anytime she heard a distinctive sound she would scan the horizon, focus her scope and invite us to gander at the prize. Sometimes it was an eagle atop a tree a half mile away, a troop of reclusive howler monkeys or a tapir grazing in a nearby clearing. I made a mental note of the immense value of seeking expert guidance. Our journey terminated in a turquoise pool at the base of a thundering waterfall. We paused to allow the roar to overwhelm our senses and then leaped into the crystal clear water just below, watching for the crocodiles that favor this tributary.

I recognized my humble station in this grand circle of life: I am a member of a vulnerable species that is rendered defenseless in such a wilderness.

I’m still sorting through the takeaways from such an immersion into God’s great earth. The jungle’s stunning chromatic richness and sustainable ecological perfection illustrates for me the awesome imagination, foresight and humor of our Creator-in-chief. My soul was overwhelmed by a continuous succession of OMG moments. I recognized my humble station in the grand circle of life: I am a member of a vulnerable species that could easily become food for the jungle’s inhabitants. Only with the gift of our intuitive soul are we able to engineer the food, clothing and shelter to permit survival in an environment so formidable. Each morning of the trip I concluded my prayers with a blast on the shofar, my human expression harmonizing with the din of the creatures of the wild. I emerged from the wilderness feeling utter gratitude for my portion, hoping for the gift of another year to engage in breathless adventure as well as the opportunity to return to my nurturing wife and L.A. life.

Jews tend toward city living, often in a ghetto of our own construct. The High Holidays require getting out of the box, out of our routine and into a place of godly focus. Entering the jungle released me from my Los Angeles stupor, forcing me to face the demands of my soul and maximize the opportunities of each precious moment of life. It ignited a wellspring of feelings of stewardship for the preservation of the world’s sacred, untouched spaces so that my offspring can also marvel at God’s unfiltered creation. Most importantly, my rendezvous with the “King in the field” offered a simple, matter-of-fact awareness of God’s majestic presence. With this renewed attitude of gratitude, I enter the High Holidays hungry for blessings for a year of health and happiness, sustenance and splendor. Dear God, just as You provide for the needs of all the creatures in your forests, so, too, may You provide for all of humankind to live in peace, health and prosperity. And bring me back to the jungle soon! Shana tova unmetuka.

Sam Glaser is a performer, composer, producer and author in Los Angeles. He has released 25 albums of his music, he produces music for various media in his Glaser Musicworks recording studio and his book The Joy of Judaism is an Amazon best seller. Visit him online at www.samglaser.com.