It’s a warm and sunny afternoon in mid-November, the kind of day that brings everyone outdoors, eager to enjoy the balmy weather. And since Hurricane Sandy and an unseasonably early nor’easter have hit us hard during the past few weeks, New Yorkers are determined to soak up any good weather we can get. We deserve it.

I’m therefore not surprised to see that Brooklyn’s Prospect Park is filled with people: mothers strolling with baby carriages, joggers sprinting past, and families enjoying the day. I’d love to sit on a bench and just enjoy the sunshine, but I am here on a different mission. I have come to learn survival skills.

My teacher is Yossi Sirote, a musmach of Yeshivas Chofetz Chaim as well as a guidance counselor. He also runs a kiruv program at Rutgers University called Abraham’s Tent. Talented and personable, Yossi could have pursued a challenging and satisfying career just in those areas. But he decided to follow his passion — and his passion is teaching people how to survive in the wilderness.

Yossi learned from the best. His survival skills (edible plants) teacher is a man named Wildman Steve Brill, the fellow who got arrested in 1986 for eating a dandelion in Central Park. He also learned wilderness survival skills at the Red Hawk Outdoor School in upstate New York. Today, he uses all that knowledge to educate others about the beauty of Hashem’s creations and to appreciate niflaos haBorei. He has worked extensively in Camp Mogen Avraham and currently spends his summers teaching in Camp Dora Golding.

The World at Your Feet

I had imagined that Yossi would show up for our field trip dressed in army fatigues and a safari hat, so when he arrives at the park’s entrance I’m disappointed. He is dressed in a sport coat, slacks, and a white shirt, looking like he just finished teaching at Magen David Yeshivah, which in fact he did. It’s only when we begin chatting that I notice a rather odd behavior pattern. Yossi doesn’t look at me during our conversation. Instead, he is looking down at the ground.

Shy? Intimidated? Hardly. “Hey!” he suddenly yelps. He crouches down to the asphalt, picking between the cracks in the pavement with his bare hands. I look around nervously, hoping no one is watching, but Yossi is oblivious to his surroundings. “Look what I found!” he remarks, triumphantly lifting a fistful of grass. “And we’re not even inside the park yet.”

What looks to me like a plain old weed is actually something called plantain. If you remove the fuzzy top of the grass and hold it in your palm, you will find tiny miniscule black seeds scattered in the chaff. Yossi holds up one of the seeds and recites the brachah, borei pri ha’adamah. Then he pops the seed into his mouth. “Here!” he says, offering me a seed. “Try it!”

This is one of those awkward moments when I don’t want to insult Yossi, but there is no way I’m going to munch on the seed of a weed. So I mumble something about having just eaten lunch (a silly excuse if there ever was one) and tell him, “Maybe later.”

But it turns out that plantain has other essential qualities. Yossi chews on a plantain leaf, then spits it out and rubs it on his skin. He says the resulting mush is extremely effective as a salve to soothe mosquito bites and minor scrapes and bruises. “It’s better than calamine lotion,” he tells me. I’m finally beginning to get it. To me, it’s grass. To Yossi, it’s opportunity. I have been formally introduced to the world of foraging. There’s no turning back now.

Technically, the word “foraging” refers to searching for food in the wilderness, and it’s usually applicable to members of the animal kingdom. Perhaps because of the burgeoning “green” movement, foraging has become “hip.” Wildman Steve apparently has been forgiven for his sin and is now conducting foraging tours of Central Park on a regular basis. Similarly Yossi leads families and groups in what he calls “frum foraging” adventures. “To me,” says Yossi, “grass and trees are a whole world!”

An Adventure with Yichus

Foraging may be trendy today but there were times when it really was a matter of survival. Yossi tells the story of Rav Yisroel Zev Gustman ztz”l, who served in his youth as a dayan in Vilna and enjoyed a close relationship with Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzensky ztz”l. One day the two were walking in the woods, and Rav Chaim Ozer pointed out to Rav Gustman all the edible plants. Rav Gustman was attentive, but couldn’t help wondering why it was necessary to know all this.

He found out the hard way. Rav Chaim Ozer predicted that Rav Gustman would outlive the Nazi era, and in fact he did. But he suffered tremendously and spent considerable time hiding in the forest. He was able to survive in the wilderness due to the foresight and guidance of his rebbi.

Our story doesn’t end there. Rav Gustman survived the war and eventually became a rosh yeshivah in Jerusalem’s Rechavia neighborhood. It is said that he would leave yeshivah during seder and water the plants in the garden as an expression of hakaras hatov to the wild plants that sustained him through those dark hours.

Yossi adds that Churban Bayis Rishon was originally to have occurred on Asarah B’Teves, during the brutal winter months, according to the Midrash. But Hashem had mercy on Klal Yisrael and waited until Tisha B’Av so that they could eat whatever they found along the road to exile. The Gemara also frequently refers to various types of plants and vegetation, says Yossi. Today, rabbanim like Rav Yisroel Belsky shlita are well versed in the intricacies of many plants.

Pine Tree Spaghetti

It is currently early winter and the variety of vegetation we find will be limited, especially after our area was pummeled by storms. But this is part of the challenge of being a survivalist. One never knows what areas of nature will be available for us to learn about and munch on.

By now, we have been joined by Meir, Mishpacha’s photographer, along with nature enthusiasts Yehuda, Avrumie, and Sruly. We spend the next two hours chasing after Yossi, who is always a few steps ahead of us, searching for the next tree, root, acorn, or blade of grass that holds tremendous value.

The real challenge, we quickly learn, is to distinguish between that which is edible and that which is toxic. This isn’t easy. Yossi shows us the needles that he has just plucked from a pine tree. If they are growing in bunches of five strands, they are totally edible and in fact are filled with nutrients such as Vitamins A and C. The flavor is bitter, Yossi warns, but if you boil it in water you can make a delicious tea. “Or you can just chew on them,” he adds — and he does.

I ask Yossi whether all of this vegetation needs to be inspected for insects. He says that one should always consult a rav about these matters, but that everything we will be seeing today is relatively easy and straightforward to check.

He picks up a pine cone from the ground. These are not edible, he says, but hidden deep inside each scale are pine nuts. I can handle pine nuts, being familiar with them from the many hummus containers I’ve opened over the years, but it turns out we will not have the pleasure of tasting them today. The squirrels have been here before us and have already gathered every single one. Such is the nature of life in the wilderness.

More about the pine tree: its sap is very sticky, but it also heals. When a limb breaks off of a pine tree, the tree naturally produces sap to heal itself. “It works like an antiseptic for people as well,” Yossi explains. “It’s like Neosporin.”

You also can eat the inner bark of a pine tree, says Yossi, whipping out a sharp pocket knife (must-have equipment for any survivalist) to scrape off some of the outer bark of the tree to expose a green flexible inner fiber. “It tastes really gross,” he admits, which is actually surprising coming from Yossi. “But if you cut it into strips and cook it like spaghetti, you can live off it. It has starches, sugars, vitamins and minerals.”

Got a Light

Yossi has another handy gadget in his pocket, a flint stone, which is available at your local army surplus store or Walmart. The stone is made out of magnesium, the world’s hottest metal, and Yossi demonstrates how it can be used to start a fire without a match.

First, he gathers together a pile of dead leaves (kindling), scrapes some magnesium onto them, and then covers the pile with flammable material — in this case, plant fibers — creating a “tinder nest.” When he scrapes the flint stone with his knife, it creates sparks, which eventually ignite the whole contraption. It’s an impressive feat, and I make a mental note to put a flint stone and pocket knife on my shopping list.

Will the Real Onion Grass Please Stand Up

Yossi next introduces us to pokeweed, a plant that produces poisonous red berries. Interesting note: What’s toxic to humans is, in this instance, perfectly safe to birds. They eat the berries and feel just fine.

Several feet away we discover onion grass. As one might imagine, it tastes and smells like onions. Onion grass, which grows in patches, has stalks that are bright-green and hollow, similar to a scallion. Apparently, there are many onion grass impostors in the world; they look similar to the real thing, but are inedible. You can always tell authentic onion grass by its unmistakable oniony smell. “Throw it on the barbecue grill,” Yossi suggests. “This stuff is everywhere.”

Yossi’s enthusiasm is contagious, or else maybe everybody just got hungry. My fellow foragers are sampling the onion grass and commenting on its flavor. I stuff some of it in my bag, but am still reluctant to join the food fest. Of course, Yossi notices. “We’re not leaving,” he says, “until you’ve eaten burdock root.”

A Plant to Root For

Before we reach the burdocks, we are taught the difference between red oak trees and white oak trees, which are distinguished by the edges of their leaves. We need to know this because if we ever find ourselves in the wilderness, we should be aware that the acorns of a white oak tree are larger and much more edible, while the acorns of the red oak are very bitter. I’ll try to remember that.

Finally, we get to the burdocks and Yossi is so excited that he’s jumping up and down, making it really difficult for Meir to photograph him. “You could feed a family with this stuff,” he says. “It’s a regular vegetable and it’s full of toichen [i.e., nutrients]. They sell it in the Asian markets.”

He pulls out a small shovel (another handy wilderness gadget) and begins to dig deep under a nondescript plant. Out comes a long thin root that looks very much like a parsnip, albeit a very muddy parsnip. The menu options, says Yossi, are unlimited. You can boil it, make soup out of it, sauté it, cut it into chips, or eat it raw. He scrapes off the dirt, slices it into rings, and hands them over. There’s no getting out of it this time, so I stoically (and gingerly) bite into a tiny piece. It’s surprisingly crunchy and tasty, similar to a potato chip or even a carrot stick.

Walking with Eyes Wide Open

Burdocks are nice, but there’s more to survival skills than learning about acorns and plants. One also needs to know how to create a shelter and how to find water. Yossi is a master at these skills as well. He can twist grass into a rope, tie it to the end of a stick, and use it as a rod to catch fish. This is presumably for when you want to vary the menu.

What does that do for those of us who purchase our fish from Ossie’s? Is there a lesson to be learned here today?

“Hashem gives us everything,” Yossi cheerfully explains. “We just have to open our eyes and appreciate all the wonderful things he provides us with in this world.”

So maybe this, after all, is the real significance of our little foraging tour. We certainly hope (and pray) that we will never really need to survive by distinguishing between an edible berry and a poisonous one, or by building a fire with limited supplies.

But we can use this knowledge as a means of being grateful for the wondrous abundance of our world. Hashem has provided us with an environment filled with natural riches that most of us barely take notice of. Thanks to Yossi, we have acquired a heightened awareness.

So next time you take a walk, stop for a moment to appreciate those wispy blades of grass sticking out of the cracks in the sidewalk — the ones you usually ignore or step on. They are all part of Hashem’s creation. And they could make a perfectly good dinner one day.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 436)