In the midst of the economic meltdown, I spent a day with a powerful public figure from whom I learned not how to wheel-and-deal in the Washington power-plays but how to be more human.

John Ashcroft has led a celebrated life as a civil servant of the United States. He has served his country as the Governor of Missouri (1985-1993), then United States Senator (1995-2001) and most recently as U. S. Attorney General (2001-2005). In 2006, I invited him on one of my missions to Israel, and during our tour of the land I truly enjoyed his wit and easy-going manner and was impressed with his sincerity and his brand of spirituality.

During the trip, I mentioned my love of cars and speed, and he invited me to spend a day on his Virginia farm, where he had cut dirt-bike paths through the woods in order to speed around while doing little damage to himself or the environment. It took me eighteen months to take him up on his offer, because I am so work-oriented that taking a day off mid-week to play filled me with guilt.

But one day he called, and he said something which no one had ever said to me before. He said, “Come visit my farm. I just want to be your friend. I like you. Whether we do business together or not is not important. I want to be your friend.”

This touched me. Thinking about it, I felt it was an important thing to be able to say to others: “I want to be your friend.” I have since said that to a few people whom I have met and liked. It feels good to say it. And I think it is especially important in our goal-oriented and competitive world.

So, I decided to visit his farm, to hang out with him, ride his dirt bike and just “be.” It seemed strange to a workaholic like me, who doesn’t know how to “be,” but I was game to try it (for a day anyway).

Of course, I scheduled a day of meetings in D.C. the day before. Somehow this made me feel less guilty about spending the next day playing with John.

CITY SLICKER

I slept over at a D.C. hotel and early the next morning drove to meet John in Alexandria, Virginia. The appointment was for 9 a.m., and he was standing on the balcony of his townhouse waiting for me as I pulled up at 9:03. When I got out of the car, John saw that I was wearing dress pants, and fearing that I would get them dirty, went into the house to search for some casual clothes for me to wear. Oh my, silly me, I didn’t think of bringing more appropriate clothes for a day on the farm. Such a city slicker I am! Always in work mode.

We climbed into his SUV and headed out to the parkway for the 90 minute drive to the Ashcroft farm in the Virginia countryside. He pointed to the cooler on the back seat and informed me it was full of everything he could find in his pantry with an OU symbol signifying it was kosher. I had explained that to him a week ago when he asked what we could eat together. He said that when he scavenged though his pantry, he was surprised how much kosher food he had: tuna, crackers, canned fruit-cup, and even his bottled water had the OU symbol. I explained that I had no idea why they put an OU on water, as all water is kosher, but nonetheless, it was included in his treasure trove of kosher food.

John had grown up in southwest Missouri, where his father had been a minister. He considers himself a devout Christian yet he has mezuzahs on his doors. The mezuzah – a small scroll with a Torah quotation inserted in a narrow box and attached to the doorpost – is the quintessential sign of a Jewish home. Why put up a mezuzah if you are Christian? John answered that when he learned that the purpose of the mezuzah was to help you think about God every time you passed through a door, he decided it was a good idea. “Anything that helps you bring God into your life on a more regular basis is a good idea,” he said. He reminded me to think of the mezuzah in that way. Of course, I knew that was its purpose, but I have let myself forget it.

We talked all the whole way up to the farm about the political climate, and time passed by quickly, as we left the D.C. environs and entered the gently rolling hills of the Virginia country side. But there was still a part of me saying, “What the heck are you doing?”

JUST “BEING”

Several times during the drive, John said, “feel free to make any calls or take any emails.” But I felt it would be rude to do so, and I wanted to let go and just “be.” So I didn’t respond to several vibrations indicating incoming messages on my Blackberry but eventually succumbed – how could I not? – and did a quick check. After an hour, we turned off the main highway and started down a two-lane road that twisted and turned past farms and woods.

John told me that he knew he had to have a piece of the Virginia countryside when he became U.S. Attorney General and realized he wouldn’t be getting back to his Missouri farm very often – five times a year if he was lucky. His wife agreed, as long as he wouldn’t build a house on the property. He could have the land and enjoy the nature, but no more homes.

“Hmm,” I thought to myself, “no more homes, but what about bathrooms?” I didn’t say anything, but I wondered what was in store for me.

After much searching, John said he found 150 acres that included a rolling pasture, a forest and even a river, relatively close to D.C. As we turned onto a dirt path – no grand entrance, no sign, not even a mail box – John said, “Welcome to my farm!”

He led me toward the barn, which was a large rectangular structure with three walls and an open front, housing a tractor for clearing the pathways, two small mowers for cutting grass and four dirt bikes. John said that he had built the barn himself. I was amazed. I could never imagine taking the time, or for that matter, having the know-how or inclination to build such a structure. On the wall were two barbed-wire sculptures – a Statue of Liberty and a grizzly bear – both made by John. He explained that he did barbed-wire sculpture as a hobby. I thought to myself, “I don’t have any hobbies. Who has time for hobbies? How did the Attorney General of the United States have time to build a barn, mow the grass, ride a dirt bike and also make barbed wire sculptures?” I always thought I was good at managing my time, but I was beginning to wonder if I really was such a hotshot.

John pointed out a little shed next to the barn, which he had also built. “The facilities,” he said, using the polite term for “outhouse.” Hmm, this was going to be interesting. Good thing I had relieved myself earlier in the day. Better not drink too much of that kosher water. I never was one for outhouses.

SOUND OF SILENCE

The silence around us was stunning. Just the wind rustling the leaves in the trees. We walked along a short path that wound its way through the forest, and after while, my ears picked up the sound of running water – the river. We came to another clearing where stood a small wooden cabin. From a tool shed adjoining it, John took out a large American flag and mounted it on a stand, just like old-time Virginia settlers used to do. We went inside. The one-room cabin was furnished with a small plastic table, a few plastic chairs and a kerosene heater. It was cold and John took it outside to light it, as kerosene gives off a strong smell when first lit. A few minutes later, he brought it inside, and it started to warm up the cabin quickly.

Outside, John pointed out to me an unusual decoration to the cabin – a cow’s skull wearing a baseball cap. He had found the skull on the property and also the cap. When he lifted the cap, he discovered a litter of baby mice looking up at him in surprise. Clearly the cap had been turned into a home for a mouse family. It was the cutest thing and children visitors that year had enjoyed watching them grow up. When they abandoned the cap for better quarters, he hung it up as a memento. Near the cap, John pointed out the holes in the woodwork made by some woodpeckers; it looked to me like they had nibbled away at the cap as well.

We took a walk toward the river, gingerly ducking under an electrified fence put up to keep the grazing cattle away from the river as their dung is a strong water pollutant. Along the way, John showed me the carcass of a poor little deer. The bones was all that was left of it after the vultures had done picking it over. They’d had quite a feast.

At the river bank, John pointed out several trees felled by beavers. These trees were once mighty timbers, and if I didn’t know better, I would have said that a lumberjack had been at work with an exacting chain-saw. The lower trunks, some of them 4-6 inches in diameter, were neatly sawed on a diagonal from three sides, causing the whole tree to fall. I bent down to look at the markings the beaver had made, and they were smooth and clean cuts. It was hard to believe that they were not made by a human being and a 25-horsepower 150-tooth chainsaw. The cuts were so exact, so smooth and so deep. John said he never ceased to be amazed by the beaver work, even though he had seen it hundreds of times.

He brought me over to the river’s edge to look at the dam that the beavers had constructed. They had built it on a diagonal, aiming at a small island, and then back across, further down stream. Though some of the dam had since washed away, when it was new it had spanned 60-feet in length. The dam was intended to slow down the water and create a habitat safe from predators for the beaver clan.

We wondered aloud at the awesomeness of nature and God’s wondrous creations. How was it that the beavers knew how to do this, and even more impressive how was it that they all worked together. Amazing team work was required to build that dam. (We hadn’t seen such co-operation in Congress in generations, probably not since the Founding Fathers.) Who among the beavers decided to go on a diagonal across the river to the closest island, 30-feet away and then to double back to the other side? How did they communicate with each other about the direction, the angle, the location? How did they divide the work load and organize the subdivision of labor? Human engineers would have difficulty coming to the same unanimous conclusion and then following through in tandem.

I was amazed that here we were, the former U.S. Attorney General and me, trampling through the woods in the middle of a perfectly good, potentially productive workday, looking in wonder at a beaver dam. I felt guilty again. “This was fascinating, but shouldn’t I be answering some emails?” I thought. I found I was engaged in a constant battle with myself – feeling guilty yet wanting to enjoy myself, relax and just “be”!

BORN TO BE WILD

We wended our way through the woods, listening to the wind and the sounds of the river. Back at the barn, we got onto the dirt bikes, and John showed me how to work mine. First of all, he pointed out the “kill” button. “If you get into trouble, just hit this button and the engine shuts down,” he told me, adding that no one had ever been hurt on a bike in all the years he had brought people out to ride them. The he showed me the front and rear brakes, the accelerator in the right handle bar and the clutch in the left handle bar as well as the four gears were by the left pedal.

He put my bike into first so I could drive around the clearing and get used to it before we headed off for the wooded paths. That was a good move as I forgot how to shift as soon as I got on. I felt like an idiot until he showed me what to do again. I tried it once more and almost did a wheelie and flipped over when I released the clutch too fast. So much for my dreams of riding a Harley one day. It took some trial and error, but I finally got it right. It was fun biking around the clearing, chasing the two of them. It also felt relatively safe as there was nothing to hit.

John waved to me to follow him into the woods; the pathway was about five feet wide and framed by dense vegetation. At first, the curves in the path were gentle, and I was really having fun. I forgot my preoccupations and began to relax. We went up hills and down hills picking up speed, and I switched from first into second and even once into third. Then … whoops! I turned a bend and found myself heading straight for a tree. I fell backwards and the bike ended up in the bushes.

John, who was looking out for me the whole time, stopped to make sure I was okay. He told me I was doing great and not to worry about that little accident. It happened to everyone, and I was doing a great job. We went on until we came to a spot that seemed too steep for the bike to climb. We dismounted and walked up the mountain from where we could see the river below. The view was stunning. We stood there admiring God’s handiwork – the river wending its way down below, totally surround by a dense forest.

John pointed out a persimmon tree near us that was laden with fruit. He picked some and gave one to me. A wild persimmon? “Yuck,” I thought. It looked all shriveled up and not too appetizing. John said that you can’t eat them earlier in the season as they were too tart, but at this time they were sweet. Politely, I agreed to taste it. I said the Shecheyanu blessing and explained that this was a blessing Jews said when tasting something for the first time in a given year. And I haven’t had a wild persimmon yet this year. “Thank God, we arrived to this point in time …” Then, I took a bite. Sweet, yes it was, but somehow it just wasn’t my taste. Seeing my lack of thrill, John suggested I eat a wild pear next to clean my palate.

This was getting to be like wine tasting. Isn’t that when you clean your palate with cold sorbet (or was that after the fish course)? I wasn’t too sure but it certainly wasn’t what I expected out in the Virginia woods – a lesson in the etiquette of eating wild persimmons.

BEAR COUNTRY

We got back on our bikes and continued to make our way through woods. I was quite comfortable now and even picked up speed a bit. It was fun indeed!

John stopped to point out that the heap of dung in the middle of the path had been left there by a bear. Oh my! Bear country! Yikes! I hoped that all that I would encounter would be fecal matter and not a large furry mother and her cubs. Then we came across another heap of bear dung. This one was certainly busy eating berries, John said.

We headed back to the little cabin for some lunch. The kerosene heater had warmed the place nicely, and it was very comforting to come inside. I surveyed the decorations on the walls for which his wife found no place in the Ashcroft home. For example, there was the flack jacket that a close friend had sent John when he was going through the Senate confirmation hearings. Being a staunch conservative who was pro-life, against stem-cell research, a believer in God and prayer, he had gotten a lot of flack from the liberal Democrats. Hence the flack jacket – a cute present.

Also hanging on the wall was a four-foot fake fish stuffed in a net. He had used the net to hang different knick-knacks, including earrings and a necklace, in a playful game with his wife Janet. Beside my chair was a slightly warped and crooked birch ladder, which went up to the loft above the sitting area. The loft was used for sleeping the few times John and his wife stayed overnight. He had made the ladder himself, which impressed me again. It was rudimentary but, nonetheless, it worked. More than I could say for anything I had ever made with my hands. I mean, I wait for my father-in-law to visit so he can change the light bulbs.

We took the food out of the cooler and started to prepare our lunch. John took a pot, put it on top of the kerosene heater and boiled water for us. This truly was a minimalist way of life. The water boiled after five minutes, and I added it to a cup of instant soup. John then made his soup, and I broke open a package of tuna, which we would eat together. John asked me if I usually said a blessing before eating, and he asked me to say it, and I did – both in English and Hebrew. John then sang his own blessing.

Behind me on the wall was a small musical instrument. I asked him about it, and he said it was an ukulele. It was one of the first instruments that he had learned to play, and it was his favorite. I handed it to him, and he started to play a song I hadn’t heard since summer camp, “Home on the Range.” Then he played and sang, “America the Beautiful.”

In the U.S. Senate, John had been known as a singer and member of an informal group of tenors that entertained the Senators on special occasions. He said he had learned in life that singing brings people together, because that’s when the soul comes through. I explained how important music was when the Temple stood in Jerusalem and how Jews always sing during Shabbat meals.

We finished our lunch and got back on the dirt bikes. I felt like a pro by this time and kick-started my own bike. I was ready to hit the open road! We reached a huge tree where John said he’d love to build a tree-house. Indeed, the tree was ideal for it as its branches were thick, firm and spread out like big embracing arms. We joked about how this could be the perfect getaway from the cabin when life there got too hectic. A getaway from the getaway.

GETTING ANTSY

After biking for another hour, I started getting antsy as we still had more than an hours drive back to his Alexandria home, where I would get into my car for a five-hour ride back to Monsey. At 3 p.m. we went back to the cabin, turned off the kerosene heater, took down the flag and headed back to the barn, where we put away the bikes. And we started for home.

We were just off the property when John remembered that one of his staffers loved the small wild pears that grew there. We found some of the pear trees, but the only pears visible were quite high up on the branches – at least 20 feet high. “They are too high,” I said in my impatience to just get going home. “No one would accomplish anything in life if all he saw were problems,” John countered. “This is an opportunity, not a problem.” I was beginning to think we would never get out of there.

John jumped out of the car and found a huge broken branch. We lifted up the branch and reached up into the canopy of the trees and knocked down a bunch of pears. Then we scurried around picking up the fallen pears, brought them back into the car, and we were off with our trove of presents, and oh yes – all of our garbage from lunch piled into the back of the car with the cooler and left over kosher food.

I turned on my Blackberry, and after a few minutes, it picked up a signal and started humming. I read my messages, but there was nothing urgent. I really didn’t miss anything while out for the day.

Back at the Ashcroft home, I went inside to use the regular “facilities,” and John sat down to the baby grand piano in his living room. The music wafted into the bathroom. At first I thought it was the stereo playing through a speaker system; it wasn’t until I returned that I realized it was him. What a talented guy!

A HUMAN DAY

We walked outside. I gave him a hug good-bye. I said, “Well, we sang together, we biked together, we ate together, and we prayed together. We covered all the bases. A human day. Thank you!”

I got in my car and started off on the long drive home. My mind wandered as I wended my way through D.C. rush hour traffic. It felt good to spend a day just being, not trying to accomplish. I was impressed with how diverse John’s interests were. In comparison, I was very one-dimensional. I called Judy and told her about the day and my thoughts. She suggested maybe I should try to do something personal on Sundays, instead of just working all day. She liked the fact that I was questioning my life.

I realized it was important to develop other interests. To take the time to experience the natural world, look at a beaver dam, a felled tree, ride a dirt bike, walk in the woods, even try to build something with my own hands, although I doubted I was ready to try that just yet. It was time to get back to the simple pleasures in life, especially in this tough economic environment when a lot of the things that used to provide distraction and pseudo-pleasure, such as shopping and vacationing in fancy places, was just not an option anymore.

I felt somewhat whole and complete in a strange way. The experiences of the day had left me feeling more at peace and – if I dare say it – more fulfilled. There was something uplifting about connecting to other human beings in a non-work setting. Just sitting and talking and exchanging ideas with no gain in mind.

I cranked up the music in the car and pondered my life as I drove home. Five hours later, I pulled into my driveway and ran into the house. I went into Sara’s and Ilana’s rooms and gave them a big hug hello. I am a rich man with such beautiful children. I hugged and kissed Judy also.

And later in the week, I snuggled into bed with Judy and the kids, ate popcorn and watched a video. A first for me. And on Sunday I took the day off and spent it with the kids.

Maybe a day in the Virginia woods had left its imprint. Now, was I ready to build a barn?