SHFR Newsletter Volume 1

The Big Sabbath

Beginning on Friday night at sundown, the Sabbath opens as stars are visible in the night sky. Then again, the cycle repeats on Saturday night as the Sabbath closes.

“And God completed on the seventh day His work that He did, and He abstained on the seventh day from all His work that He did. And God blessed the seventh day and He hallowed it, for thereon He abstained from all His work that God created to do.” Genesis 2: 2-3

Every Friday night, from all over the region, candles begin to shine as we open the Sabbath together. Each of our homes connected in the golden light of the Sabbath candles.

From the field and the trails, we all slowly make our way home to prepare to enter the Sabbath gate. A divine day of rest for the workers of the hillside. From the sweat of our face, we eat bread, and thank the Most High for a day of rest.

And where could one say they find time to study and enjoy time with the family? In this day and age there is no time it seems; everyone is busy everywhere. But for those who make an effort to keep the Sabbath, they find a treasure hidden in plain sight.

It’s similar to a treasure map, that everyone on earth has access to. Not very secret at all, but overlooked by the majority. And by the time you start to follow the guide, and count the steps, those who doubted the veracity of such a treasure are nowhere to be seen when you locate it.

And all this time, pretending that the treasure was somewhere else, assuming this was not it, but this is exactly it.

Someday, the Messiah will bless us with a worldwide rest for all the nations, and the BIG Sabbath will begin, when mankind can start to embrace the Torah, with the most sacred of work we will begin to see that all our efforts as humans are only to bring an end to the world-wide struggle, we call modern human life. This is partly the reason the entire Hebrew Roots Movement is so interesting to me.

The people are beginning to abandon the system of the world and return to the simple ways our fathers and mothers used to live, growing a garden and pulling fresh eggs from the hen house.

Forgetting this cycle has brought about plenty of trouble in the modern era, where most folks nowadays are cut short on a good proper meal because of the price, while the homesteader pays pennies for his eggs and produce.

Leaving the current system, and returning to the old-time ways, may not be an easy one, and indeed may be difficult but, but it’s well worth the effort.

Same as picking up the scripture and reading it yourself. It may not be easy doing your own research, but the reward is great for those that look for it.

And in that process of being able to hunt for the truth, the Almighty created the Sabbath to allow his farm boys and farm girls the time to read and study the Torah to each their individual extent.

The work of the Sabbath, is to stop breaking your brain over thoughts from the barn, and begin to study the scripture just as much as you have labored over a new fence.

Where hands have cramped lifting heavy hay bales, hold the bible until your hands are weak. Where eyes have narrowed from the bright summer sun, narrow your eyes upon the words of the Torah!

Of course, sometimes there is the Ox in the ditch or the goat in the grass, and the Sabbath must be put on pause to save the life of the livestock, to ensure the longevity of the farm.

“Which one of you, having a son or an ox that falls into a well, will not immediately pull him out on the Sabbath day?” Luke 14:5

But quickly after the bull has been doctored for his pink-eye, and the goats are returned to their pen, the Hebrew returns to his studies.

And far away, secluded down the wooden halls and dirt roads of the forest, the Hebrews of the Ozarks keep the Sabbath Holy.

I know this personally from finding them keeping the Sabbath, and seeing how astonished they are that others also keep the seventh day Sabbath, just goes to show how their revelation to truth is indeed genuine when they are so happy, they are not alone.

The sheer fact that others have seen and read and understood these verses, leaves many people shocked that they are not the only one who has. Especially in a generation of this Babylon where people keep pagan customs so readily, it’s a rare sight to see a goat voluntarily domesticate to the barn of the High Shepherd.

These lonesome feelings of the remnant, are the true echo of our ancestors. They were strangers in a strange place, and yet they endured!

Once a Hebrew told me, they would rather “be alone” and that they were “waiting for THE shepherd to arrive and separate THE sheep from THE goats.” And this person was fine with being alone, but the feeling of isolation when one turns away from all social interaction can be detrimental to most folks.

This isolation that I see, is the kiln where the Most High fires his pottery under the most potent of flames, where you must have faith that you are resting in the hands of the potter, and that he will not forsake one of his pieces of art who clings to him so readily.

It is easy to dream and imagine a tight knit community where we all build each other up, and live side by side, but instead we are pushed apart into these remnants, where we must keep up these traditions alone.

Indeed, there is no institution or town holding us together, there is no great leader or king among us we have elected, there is not a common way to say we all are bound.

But by the Sabbath and the Torah, that is our institution, and from the Most High, that is our King!

Arkansas Chocolate Tarantula

As the leaves change and slowly tumble their way down to the ground, the forest grows quiet as the wildlife begins to prepare a winter bed. The walnut trees are always the first to show that fall color, with the maples soon behind them, creating a patchwork quilt of color and varying degrees of shade.

Even the tarantulas of the Ozarks are quickly making their way to their winter cabins. Easily spotted crossing the highways, these visitors from Texas are abundant in Northern Arkansas. The first one I saw this season was solid black and around 3 to 4 inches wide.

These little guys may look scary but are harmless to mountain folks. They are known as Texas brown tarantulas or Arkansas chocolate tarantulas, but some are more black than brown. They are the only kind found in Arkansas. They like to live in dry areas that are high ground like the Arkansas River Valley and the Ozark and Ouachita Mountains.

In the summertime, they make their way across the land just like the turtles on their way to terrapin station, hoping to find a mate in the forests of the Ozarks. The male tarantulas tend to wander around in late summer and fall looking for the right female, taking their time hiking through the forest. Then as the weather changes, the spiders keep a stringent schedule and head back the way they came.

Compared to others, the chocolate tarantula is quite a mountain man. With cellar spiders and orb spiders weaving a nice hammock to rest all day, the tarantula is out crossing the roads. The brown recluse and wolf-spider (huntsman) staying around the cabin and woodpile, keeping any spare corners or gaps busy with spider traffic, while the tarantula is out tromping around the forest.

The most active stretch of road I have personally seen the migration year after year is located in South Lead Hill. The chocolate tarantula is reported as being an average size of 1.5 to 2 inches long, however I have seen some that were as wide as both the double yellow lines in the road!

Being such a big customer in such a place where only smaller spiders skidder away to find a hiding spot, these tarantulas use old abandoned burrows and rat holes to line with silk and create a lovely arachnid getaway. Then as the frost emerges, the spiders shut the door to their little cabins and sleep the winter away.

Goats and Narrow Gates

“Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it.”

Matthew 7: 13-14

Slowly walking along in the bright hot sun of the wilderness, a small spotted goat makes his way down a rocky hillside. It’s not much of a path, but it has a well-worn direction, and it’s easy to follow. The stones underfoot are smoothed from their raw form and shine in the golden sunlight like polished coins.

Days ago, there were more branches and turns to this path, but far into the wilderness there was only one way forward and one way back. And this place was such a desolate place, rarely a tiny leaf to eat, or a small pool of water to drink. A great land of sand to watch the scorpions dance happily in the afternoon sun, and hear the coyotes howl in the midnight moon.

Pushing through overgrown thorns and dry dead plants, far into the distance, he saw the path end at a strange grove of trees. Nearing the cluster of wood, he placed his hoof upon its surface.

The trunks of the tree were hewn and formed into a rocky foundation, together they were bound by metal spikes and fibrous ropes.

Suddenly there was a noise behind him.

“Quite a sight to see, huh?” Said a little brown goat as he emerged from behind a pile of rocks.
“What is it?” Replied the small spotted goat, as he slowly slid his hoof down to the ground.

“It’s the power of the mountain!” Said the little brown goat. “These trees fell in a great wind, and tumbled down the mountain and sheered the bark from their side, and as they continued to fall, they gathered these fibrous ropes and spikes, then happened to perfectly land in these gopher holes lined with stone.”

“So, these trees just happened to fall into place like this?” Asked the small spotted goat.

“Yes of course, these structures are all over the area, you can find them almost anywhere.” Confidently replied the little brown goat.

Quickly a voice came thundering from the inside of the building “Nahh!”

There was a sound of shuffling from the shadows of the doorway, and quickly emerged a large black goat. His eyes and hoofs were as shiny as a raven, and his fur was a deep void of charcoal black.

“Nahh! Nahhhh!” He continued as he approached the two small goats. “This is the work of the shepherd! Those beams were carried from the highest of places, those ropes were braided by the hands that dug those holes and lined them with stone!”

Now standing near to them, the two smaller goats could see his immensity. His legs were mountains of black muscle, and his hooves cut into the hot sand like knives.

“Go away from here, and you can run wild!” He said to the small ones. “But remain here and you must step within that fence!”

Lifting one of his legs, the big black goat pointed his hoof to the door of the building and its interior stalls. Quickly the little brown goat scurried away, not even looking back as he trotted over the rocky outcrop he emerged from.

There with the hot sun beating down upon them, the large black goat gestured to the small spotted goat to follow him into the shade of the large strange structure.

Inside its walls, there was a stone lined hole with fresh water, and small bits of grain in an old broken tree trunk. The smell of other animals like horses and cows still lingered in the air as the small spotted goat explored the far corners.

“What is it?” Inquired the small goat, yet again.

“This is the work of the shepherd” Continued the old goat. “This is the wild barn for all his beloved flock who desires to find him. These walls are a safe place.”

Standing in a beam of light that broke through a small hole in the wall, the small spotted goat looked up its dusty channel as particles of dirt and dust were illuminated like snow in the bright daylight.

The walls of the wild barn were dark against the golden white light pouring through the cracks in the walls and ceiling, the heat of the afternoon sun was greatly defeated by these thick old hewn tree trunks. As he slowly turned to view the doorway, the little spotted goat noticed the old black goat laying on a wooden floor that was a step up from the dirt floor of the barn, and he reckoned it was indeed a safe place to stay, and sleep for a bit.

Awakening to the darkness of the wild barn, the spotted goat could hear the old goat breathing deeply as he slept, and the low hum of the wind pushing through the walls. Above him the holes in the roof revealed the stars in small sections of glimmering silver static, as the moonlight pierced the cracks and had replaced the strong pounding sunlight with white grey lines on the dirt floor. Glancing to the wall where the door was, he noticed there was no doorway out, only a solid barrier to the chorus of crickets and rustling brush outside.

Quickly jumping up and running to the wall, he searched it for the way out. “There’s no way through!” He started to bray “We can’t get through the wall!” The spotted goat continued.

Slowly raising his head and rustling a bit, the old black goat replied. “Yes, that door was shut by the shepherd, leave it be.” Rotating to his other side, the black goat lay back down and returned to a snoring mass of black fur perched on the wooden floor next to the door.

As he looked toward the old goat then back toward the wall where the door had been, the small goat heard a noise. It was a familiar sound, and one that struck him to his core. Within a moment a deep howl could be heard echoing through the vast rocky valley, stinging his ears with fear and loathing.

Both of the goats turned their ears toward the walls, slowly moving their eyes across the slots of moonlight between the beams looking for any sign of movement outside.

Another couple howls in the distance, and the minutes passed like hours as the two goats were now perched on the wooden platform, far from the urge of sleep.

Then as they had not heard a noise in so long, something came walking toward the wild barn. It was panting, heaving and breathing in the night air, it walked along the outer wall and smelled its beams and rocks. As the silhouette came into full view, the beast let out a wild crying howl and they both knew, it was a wolf.

“I can smell you inside this thicket.” Said the wolf as he paced around outside the wall, clawing at the rocky foundation near the door.

Pushing his nose up to the cracks in the wall, he breathed deeply and growled before clawing at the beams and ropes trying to make his way inside.

The young spotted goat began to run and shout! “He can’t get through the wall, right?” Jumping and snorting “There’s no way through the wall, right?”

Again the old black goat bellowed “That door was placed by the shepherd! Same as that wall!” As he stamped his hoof and snorted, the wolf paused and stopped with his scratching.

Breathing deeply in the night wind, the wolf hesitated then continued, then paused again.

His work to pull a stone from the foundation, or a hewn beam from its socket was unsuccessful. And as the night wore on and nothing was moving from the patchwork wall of stumps and knotty old logs, the goats were satisfied with its strength.

Eventually the wolf began to try other sides of the barn with the same failure, until he began to finally give up and eventually disappeared into the night. The crickets returned to play their instruments in the cool breeze, and the hoot of the distant desert owl was a comforting sound as the two goats fell back asleep.

Strong heat and the sound of the old black goat drinking from the hole in the ground awoke the young spotted goat. It was now daybreak and the door was still shut.

“How long will we remain in here?” He asked as he stood near the rough rectangular cutout.

“Hopefully a while.” Replied the old goat. “That wolf is still probably out there, but as the day wears on, he will desire rest also, and sleep during the day and its heat, while we will walk in its light.”

And just as the old goat had promised, the day was bright, and a big heat descended on the desert yet again. Then at a moment, they noticed the door was open, and the shepherd had been by its gates. As they stepped into the blazing heat of the wilderness, the stones on the path were soft to their hoof, and they climbed far up that narrow path, to find yet another narrow gate.

The Helman Family

Browsing through a pile of snacks, I found myself foraging for food on the metal shelves of a store instead of the valley of the forest floor. Every package is brightly colored and wrapped with a paragraph of ingredients on the back that only a scientist could read. To my side, someone walks by, my eyes cloud over as every item looks the same.

Immediately the person who walked by, turns around and approaches me.

“Excuse me.” He said as he neared.

My eyes fall from the shelves and see a familiar blue and white string in his hands. The braided tzitzit swayed as a prominent mark on us both, as we talked and took a quick picture together.

He tells me his name is David and his wife’s name was Shelly, and about their homestead in the forest they were carving out from the hillside. Before we part ways, we both swapped phone numbers and started planning on meeting up some Sabbath or future Passover.

Around a month later-

As the forest life transitioned into fall and winter, me and my mother decided to make our way down to Yellville for a Sabbath meetup, and a nice sit down with David and the other Hebrews in the local area.

“I’ve always looked up to mountain men, and the whole idea of living in the forest.” David said as we watched all the children run and play. The air was warm where we stood in the sun, but the shade was cool with the fall breeze, one by one, we all ate a potluck lunch and fellowshipped in the perfect fall weather.

Meeting the other households and farmers, there was a good-sized group near 20 Hebrews all together that Sabbath, and at previous gatherings nearly 70 had attended the Shabbat in the park at Yellville.

Continuing with conversations about “Chicken Tractors” and free-range poultry, we all intermingled scripture and farm-talk until the sun finally hid behind the trees and pushed us out of the park with the cold evening soon upon us.