Religious Cult or Family of Love? Leaving the Twelve Tribes

My last day with the Twelve Tribes, I help out at the deli until my bus arrives.

Please note this is the third and final post in a segment about my stay at Mount Sentinel. Read the first post here.

Sunday morning, there is hugging, lots of yerba maté, dancing, and singing again. Then everyone sits down in the circle again as people share their new reflections. 

Before it begins, however, people announce that Tasia is re-enterring the gathering this morning. 

"Remember Tasia?" one of the men teases, "married Jacob last year? Gave birth 80 days ago?" Over the course of the weekend, I realize that this man frequently teases good-naturedly.

Tasia, carrying her baby, enters the room in her familiar, quiet demeanor and takes the open seat beside her beaming husband.

As welcoming comments make their way around the room, Elianah leans in close again and quietly explains to me, "a woman must abstain from prayer meetings for 80 days after giving birth. This is Tasia's first day back."

Once everyone is seated quietly, the reflections begin. One of the men, the one who teased about forgetting who Tasia was, talks about how grateful he is that the community is so welcoming.

“Because we only allow the best of the best, isn’t that right??” he calls out, to which many of the children laugh and respond with ‘noooo’. He continues, “people only come here when they realize they’re too good for the rest of the world. So they come here to be with all the other best people, right?” Again, all the children start giggling, ‘no, that’s not right!’.

“No,” he finally says, “we come here because we are all equal. We are all brothers and sisters caring for each other out of love.”

Then there is another prayer and everyone stands with their arms raised high, calling out words of praise and thanks and wishes to Yashua.

Before heading into the kitchen for breakfast, they hold a short deli meeting. It’s extremely practical, discussing logistics about how the deli is run and issues that sometimes come up, what should be done differently, etc. Finally, one of the men in charge of the deli adds, “and remember, guys, we are serving the food of love. Our hearts have to be completely in it.” With that, everyone heads into the kitchen for breakfast.

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Since today is a work day, the breakfast is heavier than yesterday’s breakfast. Oatmeal, fresh eggs, coleslaw, and peach yoghurt.

“Our very own yoghurt, Anneke!” says one of the men happily, ladling out a large scoop into a cup and handing it to his daughter.

Before heading out to the deli in the van Elianah is leaving in, I try to hug as many people goodbye as possible. I write down their mailing address and give them mine, also adding my email and blog address. I know it’s only certain members of the community that will be able to read it or email me though.

“I haven’t looked at a computer screen in four years,” Elianah says happily, “but I will most certainly respond if you write me a letter!”

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Arriving at the deli, Elianah hands me an apron and we set to work. Since Laurienne is still spending time with her father, I am taking over her role in helping Elianah with the baking. We make a large batch of muffins, a coconut cream pie, a cream cheese pie, and a batch of “eggwiches” and “spinwiches”, a specialty of the Yellow Deli. Once the baking is finished, we climb back upstairs to make salads.

Under Elianah’s careful instruction, I learn to make each of the three signature salads at the Yellow Deli as the orders come in. When some of the others go on break, we take over the sandwich bar as well and she teaches me how to make the different sandwiches they serve.

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When she and I take our breaks, we make ourselves a salad and a sandwich and go out to eat at one of the porch tables.

We chat and joke easily, but it is so easy to speak with her that the conversation also slips into more personal topics. I find myself sharing all about James and Ellie, while she tells me about the man she was in love with before finding the community.

Realizing that our break has taken much longer than intended, we decide to hold off on splitting a slice of cream cheese pie and go back to the kitchen instead.

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During some of the slower times of day, the boys in kitchen joke and fool around.

“It’s funny – so many people think we’re actually a cult,” laughs a boy around the age of fifteen. He tells me, “One time, a customer straight-up asked us ‘Are you a cult?’ and the member he asked was just like ‘Yes’. The guy had no idea what to say! He was just like ‘oh…’ and went back to his food.” I laugh at this story and Elianah chimes in with her own story.

“This other time,” she begins while preparing a sandwich, “a customer was telling me how much he loves our food and the atmosphere and the ingredients we use, so I invited him to the Sabbath Celebration because I thought he might enjoy it. He was just like ‘No, I’m not interested in cults’.”

She shyly hides her amusement at the story, but the younger boy makes no bones about it. By his tone, it’s clear he finds it both amusing and strange that someone would spend so much time complimenting them, then dismiss them simply because they were told this community is a cult. Yet that person has never been to the community; never experienced it.

Part of the reason this is so amusing is because they [the Twelve Tribes] are so practical and dismissive of this. They laugh at the idea of it being a cult and they also just don’t care. The fact that outside people think they are a cult holds no importance to them, aside from them finding it amusing. They believe that, when people come and visit the community, the love and “truth” embodied within in it will either resonate with the person and they will stay, or they will not. They pray for those in the “outside world” but do not stress about it. They have no interest in the amusements, concerns, and preoccupations of people in society – it is not part of their world at all. What some people may say about their community is of no concern to them – the wellbeing of their brothers and sisters is the only concern.

Another ironic aspect of people's perception of this community is because people have termed them 'a cult', they often think the members are secretive and suspicious of strangers. In reality, they are the most open and welcoming community I've ever been part of for such a short period of time. Everyone, regardless of beliefs, is welcome to visit the farm and share a meal with the community. They are incredibly warm and easy-going with strangers, believing everyone to be equal. Instead, it is the strangers who are suspicious of them - not the other way around. I'd say the average person is far more secretive and suspicious of strangers than anyone I met in this community.

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“Hmmm, which one should I eat?” Gilain wonders aloud as he walks past a dish of vegetables and a piece of cream cheese pie, “should I be indulgent or healthy? Okay, I’ll be healthy.” He plucks a carrot from the vegetable dish and continues on his way.

“What on earth?” laughs the ‘head of staff’ incredulously as he walks past, “how about we don’t eat our customers’ meals, Gilian?” He reopens up the salad bar and replaces the stolen carrot. He turns to Elianah, “I love how he’s just wondering which one would be better to eat. Like, how about neither?”

Laughing, Elianah and I continue our work. This must be why Gilain doesn’t help with the cooking.

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While working together, I ask Elianah why Teminah has her own cabin instead of being in the single women’s cabin.

“Oh,” she responds slowly, “she used to be. She and I roomed together for a while, but it became difficult as guests came to stay. Teminah came to us around a year ago as a guest when we had a wedding here. As everyone else was leaving, she never did, so finally people asked if I would invite her to stay. And she did stay, but she’s had some trouble. She has difficulty trusting people, especially strangers. She’s spent her whole life living in different homeless shelters where she couldn’t trust anyone, so I completely understand where she’s coming from. She’s come so far though and she’s talking with people a lot more now. She’s really opening up and it’s quite beautiful to watch.”

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“Look, this was literally baked into the bread,” Elianah gasps as she pulls a hair out of a slice of bread. Laughing embarrassedly, the tosses the hair into the garbage and inspects the loaf for any others.

“We’re the hairiest people to own restaurants,” she laughs while examining it, “what with the men growing their hair and beards and all. In our Winnipeg community, men wear beard nets!” She laughs at the image.

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Before heading back to the hostel to pick up my stuff for the bus, Elianah and I share one last meal on the porch. This time, we are eating salad and chili. Their chili is somewhat famous around town, but I’ve never tried it before. I can understand why this blessed taste of heaven is famous.

Again, our conversation starts out relaxed but ends up getting more and more personal.

“The first love is always the hardest – it’s so important and valid that it has devastated you so much,” Elianah’s eyes pore deeply and kindly into my own, “it’s because we were created to be with one person and one person alone. Once we created a sacred covenant with that one person, it was never meant to be broken. It is so natural for you to feel utterly betrayed and broken from this. The first person you bind yourself to is supposed to be the only one. We cannot trust the covenants we make in the world anymore. That is why we separate ourselves so much. The covenants we make are real. We don’t break them because they were never meant to be broken.”

There are tears in my eyes as she says this and I can feel her words carving deep into what feels like my soul. I want to run back into their circle screaming and crying, to become a part of their community of true and undying love, to love selflessly and be loved by others, to be entirely free of the self, to know that James and my love should have been forever. But isn’t that just me wanting validation for my continued feelings for him? Isn’t that pride? Isn’t that a form of selfishness? Isn’t all this thinking about what I want just even more selfishness?  I reach across the table and grab her hand.

“Thank you,” I say earnestly, “for everything. Your community has shown me so much love. But I can’t stay right now.” She grips my hand tightly, tears now in her eyes as well.

“You’re always welcome here,” she says, “remember that, no matter what happens to you out there, you always have a home here. Always. I’ve been out there and I’ve been so badly hurt before finding my way here. It’s painful to watch someone else going through that.”

Just then, Sara comes out with a piece of cream cheese pie and two forks, placing it in front of us. I had completely forgotten we were going to share a piece of pie! I realize. I smile and thank her, not realizing the tears are still visible in my eyes.

Noticing Elianah’s red eyes, a look of concern for her sister spreads over her face. “Are you okay?” she asks. When Elianah smiles and nods reassuringly, Sara returns back inside.

Elianah and I each take a fork and eat the pie together. I’ve only known her a couple days, but it feels like we’ve created some sort of deep bond. I feel so close to her, like we are sisters already. How can people foster such tight bonds so quickly? And yet there it is – a girl who’s felt free enough to share such intimate details of her life with me and I with her.

As it starts getting later, I finally tear myself away and get ready to head to the hostel. One of the men offers to drive me from the hostel to the Greyhound station and I gratefully accept.

On the way out, Elianah hands me a large plastic bag. “Trip food!” she says, giving me a hug.

“No way!” I say incredulously, peeking inside the bag. There is a large Styrofoam box, a large cardboard sandwich box, two Green Bars, and a large cranberry carob-chip cookie. Reaching over to one of the shelves, the head of staff grabs a whole bag of Miss Vickie’s chips and places in the bag as well.

Green Bars are another thing the Yellow Deli is famous for. It is rumoured that one bar is basically an entire meal. After spending three days on a Greyhound bus eating primarily these, I have to agree. I mean, look at those ingredients!!

“You guys are way too kind!” I gush, relishing in the abundance of delicious food in my hand, “are you sure?”

“Of course!” Elianah says, wrapping me in a giant hug, “you have such a long bus ride ahead of you.” While I hug each of the others a hug good-bye as well, it is the hug with Elianah that lasts the longest. It is incredibly difficult to say goodbye to her.

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After leaving the community, I am surprised both by how welcomed I felt within it and by how quickly it slips from my grasp. It’s easy to look back and “huh, that was weird.” At the same time, they were so generous and loving and kind. There is so much good occurring at Mount Sentinel. They are a group of people with an incredibly powerful bond that makes them feel whole and complete. Every family has their struggles but, at the end of the day, everyone within the community loves and trusts entirely in the community. Their concerns are purely for the community and, as a result, all of their own needs are taken care of. People stay because they want to, because they feel at home there – not because they have to.

Leaving, Elianah looks back up the stairs I am ascending and calls out, “Goodbye, Anneke. Remember that you are always welcome here!”

“Bye, Elianah, I’ll write to you!” Firmly gripping the bag of fresh food they’ve given me out of the kindness of their hearts, I make my way back to the hostel.

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Overall, my experience in the Twelve Tribes was profoundly beautiful. This is not to claim that the tribe as a whole is perfect. They are blatantly homophobic and transphobic. I'm quite certain they practice corporal punishment. But they certainly have changed lives in beautiful ways. They are able to accomplish a sense of community, love, and connection that I've never seen before, providing a home to anyone - particularly those who need it most. People like to be critical and suspicious of groups that act differently and negative stories have a habit of spreading much quicker than the positive ones. However, I think the positive ones are just as important, if not more.

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For anyone interested in visiting one of the Yellow Delis or their communities, they are all over the world and welcome visitors openly. Recently, they opened a deli in Kingston - check it out!

You can read about the other ones or find one near you on their website. I highly recommend getting to know them!

Religious Cult or Family of Love? Saturday

Saturday was the day I really started drinking the KoolAid. Or rather, their famous Green Drink.

What healthy KoolAid it is though...

Please note this is the second post in a segment about my stay at Mount Sentinel. Read the first post here.

Saturday morning, I wake up when it’s already light outside. I worry that I am the last one up, but Elianah is just showering.

“Did you milk the goats already?” I ask as she ascends the ladder up into the loft again.

“Of course not!” she exclaims, “I wouldn’t leave without you!” Climbing downstairs to check my phone for the time, I realize that it is only 6:10. Oh, I realize, we were going to get up at 6:50. That’s why she didn’t wake me up.

She hands me an extra pair of clothes: baggy jean pants and a loose-fitting green shirt. Putting them on, I look just like the other women who live here.

Enterring the barn, Elianah teaches me how to milk the goats. Opening the goat pen, the goats eagerly push to be the first one of the milking stand. Securing the goat on the milking stand and making sure it has lots of grains to eat, Elianah proceeds to teach me how to squeeze the teat so that the milk pours into the bucket without being suctioned back up into the udder. I listen obediently, milking slowly as she brings out the second goat and sets it up on the second milking stand.

“Watch this,” she laughs as she begins milking the second goat. Turning around, I watch as one of the cats watches eagerly as she milks the goat. Aiming carefully, she squirts the milk toward the cat, who eagerly leaps toward the stream and lets the milk land directly into her open mouth. Laughing, Elianah does this a couple more times, much to the cat’s enjoyment, before directing the teat back toward the bucket. In the time it takes me to finish milking the first goat, Elianah has already finished milking each of the other three. Nevertheless, we finish at the same time. Walking into a small room at the back of the barn, we wash our hands and strain the milk into a larger metal container. Then she shows me how to lead the goats out of the barn and up into one of the pastures on the hill.

On the way toward the community house, Teminah, one of the other girls around our age, offers if we would like to see the baby chicks that hatched a couple weeks ago. She leads us into the small room, where hundreds of black and white baby chicks run chirping and toppling over each other. Noticing that two of the chicks have bloody tails, a result of bullying from the other chicks, we pick them up and bring them somewhere else. There is also one chick that was born with a deformed leg, so we take that one as well. We put the three weaker chicks into an empty goat stall.

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When the bell rings, everyone gathers in the large common room again. They greet each other in that familiar half-hug, wishing each other peace and talking lightly with each other. The music starts and people begin singing and circle dancing, holding hands and smiling at each other. It is just as easy to jump in as it was last night.

When the music stops, everyone sits down in the circle and the morning’s “sermon” begins. Children either claim their own chair or curl up in a parent's lap. One of the younger girls runs over to Elianah beside me, who has her arms out and welcomes the child in a warm embrace. The girl perches on Elianah's lap for the meeting. The tribe chooses as a group what their mission and task is at this point in time and they work through it as a group. Everyone is welcome to share what they feel or what meaning they have garnered from various scripture passages. Currently, the tribe is working on “not being offended” and working within themselves to think the best and recognize the faults of offense within themselves.

“A good example for me is this morning,” shares one of the men, “something went wrong in the scheduling and the cows didn’t get milked. When I realized, it was already almost time for the singing. At first, I was really upset because my natural response would have naturally been ‘who’s fault is this? Who was supposed to milk them? Now I’m gonna miss the singing, which is something I value deeply.’ But then I tried to recognize why I was getting upset and offended about this. It’s a selfish response to get offended because, really, I just wasn’t willing to pay the cost of love. The cost of love for me at that moment was milking the cows for my brother that forgot.”

Then one of the older children stands up to give a short summary of what he’s learned in school this week.

“This week, we talked about technology,” he says confidently in that shouty sort of voice kids sometimes use when they're reciting something, “and that it can be an incredibly useful thing to make our lives easier. It can also be harmful because it can make us lazy so people don’t have to work for themselves.”

Then the whole group of younger children, about five children between the ages of four and seven, stand up to give a summary of something they all learned in class this week. They have with them a large Tupperware container full of water and some sticks and soil. Together, they recite the lifecycle of a frog, from an egg all the way until it reaches a frog. Showing off their specimen inside the container, they talk about which stage of the lifecycle their frog is at. They then pass around pieces of paper with coloured drawings of frogs at each stage of their lifecycle.

People also share what they are thankful for. Much of this has to do with each other, just as last night. Someone mentions something which makes one of the newer members, Isaac, laugh.

“Look, you made Isaac laugh,” someone comments, which is met with words of approval from several others around the circle.

Elianah leans in close to me. “Isaac means ‘laughter’,” she whispers to me, “when he first came here, he said he thought his mother was playing a cruel joke when she named him because he doesn’t have anything to laugh about. But it’s his name; it’s prophecy that he laughs.”

Breakfast is yoghurt, peach sauce, and fresh cake for breakfast, along with some fresh yerba maté. It’s really impressive how yerba maté is basically just on tap around here. There is always a massive pot of maté on the stove beside the rack of mugs, along with fresh goat and cow milk, and a jar of honey. The yoghurt and peach sauce is so delicious. I still find it so difficult to believe how this yoghurt came from the cows just outside the farmhouse, and the peaches came from the orchard on the other side. And that’s the same with basically everything in this house. They personally built this house and basically everything in it.

"Wanna say hello to our guest?" I turn around to see a man holding a very young baby up against his shoulder. The baby is peering at me with big, curious eyes.

"Look at my baby girl," he says to me, proudly looking down at his little daughter, "look what my beautiful wife Tasia made." (this was definitely not her real name - I can't remember her real name). He throws his arm affectionately around a woman beside him, who shyly rolls her eyes with a smile. I smile and say hello to the baby for a couple moments. She looks almost three months old (although I'm a terrible judge of baby ages).

While we are sitting on the large porch eating our breakfast, I talk with Tasia and how she came to the Twelve Tribes. She is a very humble, kind person, but I don't recall ever seeing her at either of the prayers I've been to so far. As our conversation starts to die down, I go to speak with Sandy and her four-year-old daughter (I definitely don’t remember their real names). They live in Nelson during the week and with the tribe on weekends. While not officially a part of the community, they have been doing this for around four years (since the daughter was a baby) and are still considering joining.

“It’s a big commitment,” Sandy says, helping her daughter with her breakfast, “you give up all of your possessions and basically your entire life beforehand. So we’re taking our time deciding.”

One of the farm cats comes by my ankle again, so I reach down to pet it. When Elianah approaches and sees me petting the cat however, she calmy reaches out and shakes her hand in a "no" gesture.

"If you could wash your hands when you have the time, we'd really appreciate it," she says, sitting at the table with her Bible to read, "We don't pet the cats anymore. We used to pet them, but then we found out that cats carry a disease that is very dangerous for pregnant women. It can make their babies blind. So we decided it was a fair price to pay to just not pet the cat. One of the other women here pets them with a stick instead. If you see her, the cats just love her! They're always chasing around her." I figure this is some old wives' tale about the cats having this dangerous disease, but I stop petting the cat out of respect. Asking if anyone would like anything else to drink while I'm inside (I'm starting to realize that most people here offer to get things for each other when they go inside, or take each other's dirty plates to the sink, etc.), I head into the washroom to wash my hands and refill my cup of mate.

(After Googling it, I realize that there actually is this disease called "toxoplasmosis" which could very well be the disease Elianah was talking about.)

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It’s the Sabbath today, the day of rest, so nobody works. Milking the animals and washing dishes are essentially the only chores today.  Everyone decides they want to go to the beach today, so we all climb into their “Yellow Deli van”, a remodeled school bus. Yosiah drives.

Some of the women loan me their swimsuits and I choose the one that fits best. They are a separate pair of swim shorts and a dress-like top made of a thick sort of swim-suit fabric. All of the women wear these while the men wear swim trunks and t-shirts. I don’t think I’ve ever worn this much material while swimming before.

By the freezing cold river, people dip their feet in or jump the full way in. Teminah and I clasp each other’s hands and dive under completely. Laughing and gasping with cold, we make our way back to the shore.

Sitting on the shore, I watch everyone running around in the water. I think I must have sat on a butterfly meeting place because suddenly there are eight butterflies sitting in a little cluster on the sand directly in front of me. It is the strangest thing.

“You must have an incredibly gentle spirit,” Elianah says to me, smiling.

“Look at that, honey,” says Anuveh, one of the other women, to her young daughter sitting on her lap, “that’s eight butterflies. Can you count to eight? One two three four five six seven eight.”

“Can you count to eight, dear?” teases her husband nearby, “there’s seven butterflies.”

“What?” Anuveh laughs in disbelief and amusement, “count again.”

“Oh,” her husband turns slightly red at realizing there are definitely eight butterflies, “nevermind, I’m the one who can’t count to eight.”

One of the kids have found some sort of Styrofoam lid and runs screaming into the water, bouncing along on top of the lid. He tries to surf for a couple moments, water splashing everywhere as he flails into the water again. A couple moments pass by before one of the other boys comes over and tries to jump on the lid instead. A game of splashing and jumping onto the Styrofoam lid ensues.

Piling back into the bus for the ride back to the farm, I smile when I notice the “Bus Rules” sticker is still on the bus at the front. When I point this out, Yosiah grins.

“Eh, guys, you see this rules?” He calls out to everyone else in the bus. Pointing out the first rule, he eyes them very seriously, “Always listen to the bus driver. Eh, you guys all fail!” He bats his hand toward them dismissively and everyone bursts out laughing.

“We got the fourth one down pretty good though, eh, Yosiah?” calls someone from the back, “Keep all hands and feet inside the bus.”

“Yeah, I guess one out of two isn’t too bad,” Yosiah shrugs as he starts the bus and drives back toward the farm.

Pulling back into camp, everyone who stayed behind has prepared lunch already. I walk with sweet old Aiya into the garden as she investigates one of the plants. She picks one of the flowers and hands it to me, then smiles and walks away.

Walking up the lane toward the farmhouse where the meal is prepared, a run into Teminah. She often has this sort of distant, far-off look with her eyes half-closed, as though she is looking for something off in the distance.

“What does your name mean, Teminah?” I ask, catching on that name meanings are held in pretty strong importance here.

“It means ‘clear’,” she says quietly, “you can see right through me.”

“Ahh,” I say, “hey, why aren’t you in the single women’s cabin?”

“Oh, I have my own cabin,” she says, point up the hill, “over there.”

“Huh,” I say, fiddling with the flower Aiya gave me, “would you like a flower?” Taking it, she smiles and puts and her arm around me.

“You’re so sweet,” she says, “let’s go have some lunch.”

Lunch today is wraps. Opting to have a salad, I forego the wrap and pile my plate high with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and other vegetables that have been grown right here on this farm. I add some chicken pieces – the same chickens that were also raised right here. I choose to have another piece of bread and butter because, remembering it from last night, it is just so damn delicious. Rather than having another cup of yerba maté, Elianah hands me a cup of their Green Drink, of which there is a large pitcher off to the side. They serve this Green Drink in bottles at the Yellow Deli [pictured above] but I’ve never bought it because it’s quite expensive. It’s also very, very green. Tasting it, I can’t believe how delicious and yet… healthy it tastes.

“That’s all the kale,” Elianah laughs, “there are many healthy things in there, but the main ingredients are our apple cider and kale.”

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After lunch, there are several hours of quiet where most people go back to their cabins for a nap or to work on small projects on their own. Elianah climbs up into her bed while I sit outside on the porch. I spend a couple moments letting the smell of the evergreen and Aiya’s bouquet waft toward me. After a bit, Aiya joins me on the porch with a collection of paints and a block of wood on which she is painting a forest scene. As she works on it, we engage in a more personal conversation. She implores me to ask any question I like.

“How did you come to join the Twelve Tribes?”

“I was living in Nova Scotia about twenty-five years ago and someone told me a cult moved into my hometown,” she laughs, “I thought ‘what?! A cult! In my hometown?? Never!’ So I came back to my hometown because I just had to see this. Everyone I knew had such a weird feeling toward them. They were ‘different’. Then one day, I was walking down the road and saw two young children playing together. Something about the way they interacted with each other was just… beautiful. Loving. And in children so young as well – I didn’t understand how this type of love and caring for each other could be seen in children so young. So I asked my girlfriends ‘did you see those little girls? Who were they’ and my girlfriends leaned in close and whispered ‘those are the cult’s children.’ I couldn’t believe it! Then a couple days later, I was walking and passed those two little girls again, but this time they were with their parents. When they saw me, they pointed directly at me and said, ‘look, amma, that’s the woman who was looking at us yesterday!’ Then they invited me to eat with them and, after that, the rest is history. I’d spent so much time looking for love and truth, and the whole time, it’s right here. This here. This community is love. I’ve been here twenty-five years and you couldn’t pay me anything to make me leave. This is the truest family I could ever have.”

“This past year, I decided I don’t believe in love anymore,” I softly confide in her, “I decided that it’s something we make up because we all want it so badly, so we pretend to have love with others and we believe. I think it’s both challenging and easy for me to be here, if that makes any sense. I think it’s challenging because it’s making me question that decision I made, but it’s easy because everything you guys do feels so natural and genuine and caring. It’s so easy to feel welcome here.”

“I can totally see why you decided that,” she sighs while mixing paints on the small piece of plastic, “Selfishness drives our world today and that blocks out pure and selfless love. Everyone has their own ambitions and desires. Everyone is in pursuit of some goal of theirs and they are taught that this is good and important, what will help bring them fulfillment. Things like wealth and homosexuality and anger are all selfish things that are taught as good. Our society encourages selfish indulgences and even teaches them as healthy. But they keep searching and keep driving because it can’t really bring fulfillment. There is a void there that will never be filled unless we live for each other. When we live entirely for each other, our own needs are always met. There is no void of empty selfishness because we’ve gotten rid of the self. We are preoccupied with the needs of our brothers and sisters.” I try to listen to everything she is saying, but I'm hanging on the part where she’d randomly mentioned homosexuality.

“But,” she adds, putting the paintbrush down for a moment to look at me, “we have love here. And it’s real. There’s a song we sing here. It goes ‘I found a place where love is…” Her elderly voice creaks slightly with the weight of the music, but the tune come through soft and beautiful as she hums through multiple verses.

“Do you think someone can be homosexual and still follow Yashua?” I ask.

“No.” she responds firmly, “we all have sin and are in no place to judge each other, but we must seek forgiveness for our sin – not embrace it. Man and woman were made for each other.”

After I am quiet for a moment, she calmly asks, “Did I disappoint you?” I am slightly taken aback by the ease and directness with which she asks this.

“I’m not sure.” I lie. In truth, I’d wanted everything they believe to resonate with my own beliefs, to provide space for everyone so long as they are not harming others. I am disappointed in what she said.

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In the evening, we have another circle gathering. Greeting each other, dancing, and singing, followed by everyone sitting in the circle. This time, they pass around a large chalice of wine called the “victory cup”. As it passes each person, the person either drinks from the chalice or shakes their head in rejection of it. If a person feels they had “victory” this week, meaning they increased in grace, they drink from the chalice. If not, they abstain. Afterward, people share why they did or did not drink from the cup.

“I drank this week,” says Teminah, “because I felt I increased this week. I didn’t stay only to myself this week. I communicated with other people more.”

“I’d say she’s increasing in leaps and bounds,” says one of the other members of the group encouragingly, to which ‘amens’ echo around the circle.

“I didn’t drink this week,” sniffles a little girl around the age of five, “because…,” she pauses a moment to hide in her mother’s skirt, but then turns back, “because I didn’t listen to my imma [mother].” Finished admitting to this, she buries her face entirely in her mother’s skirt.

“We forgive you,” comes the response from almost everyone in the room, “well done for sharing that. You are brave.”

“I didn’t drink this week,” says one of the men from the corner, “because I wasn’t thinking the best of everyone. Caught myself having a bad attitude.”

“We forgive you,” sounds from around the circle.

----------

We break for several minutes as the community room is prepared for the "children's celebration". Apparently, this is a special thing that is done every Saturday evening. Hearing voices coming from the community room, I walk back in to see several of the younger children standing together in the middle of the room singing something to all the adults seated around the circle. 

"Wait a moment, sorry, could we start over?" One of the men interrupts the singing, "Sorry, there were just a couple people moving around and I didn't really get to hear all the beautiful voices serenading us." Whoops, I think shamefully as the children start singing again. I sit quietly while they sing. When they are finished, everyone claps and congratulates them on the song.

Then one of the women walks into the circle and sits in a large chair seated in front of a carpet. All the children sit on the carpet and listen as she begins to read them a story. It's the Biblical story of Job, only she's edited it to make it more understandable to children. There are a couple things that strike me as odd, such as the emphasis on things that are righteous and things that are unrighteous. She speaks very plainly and confidently about "the evil one" and his malicious intentions. Her story doesn't stray at all from the actual Biblical story - I just find it odd that she spends so much time on this part.

When the story finishes, we break again to get ready for dinner.

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This evening, there is a special, intimate dinner for families and “those who have made a covenant with each other”. It is a sort of recreation of the Last Supper, where they eat unleavened bread, soup, and address the comments made about the victory cup. Peeking into the community room, I see that cushions have been set up in a circle around the floor and there is a table in the centre of the room with twelve candles and the chalice of wine in the centre. Since this meal occurs rather late (around 8pm), it is quite dark except for the candles in the centre of the room, casting a soft, intimate glow around the entire room.

The guests, however, are not part of this event. Instead, the two male guests join eat with one of the men in the single men’s cabin, Sandy and her daughter eat by themselves, and I eat with Batok at her cabin. Before entering the community room, Aiya turns to me and says, “ask Batok everything you asked me, and more if you have more questions. She believes the same thing I do, but may be able to phrase it in another way.” With that, she gives my shoulder and comforting squeeze and walks into the community room.

Batok and her husband live in one of the small couples’ cabins. While her daughter, Sara, and son have moved on to the single women’s and single men’s cabins, they often come to stay the night in their parents’ cabins. While eating, Batok shares with me her story of how she came to the Twelve Tribes.

“I originally came from the tribe in Nova Scotia,” she begins, “I remember, when I was in my teens, they moved in to my town and rumours flew that they were a cult. I thought ‘whaaaat? A cult? No waaaay.’ I just had to meet them. I was part of a really rebellious generation, what with my parents being hippies and all, and was always wearing leather jackets and listening to punk music. So I went into that Yellow Deli as dressed up as I could be in my whole punk get-up, wanting to cause a stir, and I just remember that nobody batted an eye. They just smiled and served me like everyone else. Now when they handed me some of the literature they have for free in their delis, I just looked at the first page and put it down. I thought ‘this is so ridiculous’ and left the deli. I just went on with my life, thinking I’d forgotten about it. But then things started to go horribly wrong. I was living in England with all these friends and would be taking all these drugs that I thought expanded my consciousness. We would sit around a table late at night discussing every area of philosophy imaginable but, in reality, we were all so miserable. I just remember this one girl who lived with us; she wasn’t quite as smart intellectually as us and sometimes we would think less of her for it. But she was the only one who ever swept the floor. Or wash the dishes, or do anything around the house. We were all so busy thinking and talking that we completely neglected everything else around us. But she did all of it, and she was so happy doing it. I was so confused, but eventually I came back to Canada. I kept on searching but never finding, and then I remembered the people from the deli. So I went back to the Yellow Deli and then visited their community a couple times. There was a man there who, one day, whispered to me, ‘you know those drugs you do? They’re evil.’ And I brushed him away and said, ‘whaaaat? Get outta here.’” But the more I visited and the more I saw, the more I realized how much they knew. How much they had figured out. And then I married that man.” She smiles so contentedly as she finishes this story. Then she adds, “sometimes I worry about my children. They’ve never been surrounded by the chaotic business of the world. They are intelligent and beautiful and really understand true love, but they aren’t as quick at coming up with responses to people. Sometimes I fear they think they are stupid or something, but I know they are not.”

“Does anyone ever leave after being here a long time?” I ask. She nods.

“Yes,” she admits, “but it’s sad, because often when they come back, they’ve seen the hurt in the world. They come back with the same brokenness that lead most of us to join in the first place. It’s sad when we watch them grow up surrounded by the love and happiness and joy of Yashua’s community, then leave and come back broken.”

"Do you try to keep them from leaving?"

"I mean, we would never force someone to stay here against their will," she assures me, "if someone truly desires to leave, they are free to. We do wish they could see the love and righteousness that is here though, rather than out in the world."

“Do you think people can follow a righteous path without living specifically the way you do?”

“Oh yes, of course,” she smiles, “everyone has a conscience and we believe that is the voice of Yashua speaking to us. Someone can be born anywhere in the world and follow a righteous path. When the end comes and we are finally judged for our deeds while on this earth, people who live righteous lives will not be damned simply because they have not heard of Yashua.”

I ask several more questions and she answers honestly and calmly. She mentions the other people who come to visit from all over the world, some just for the Sabbath celebrations, some for a couple days, some for months, and others forever. In the summer months, they often have WWOOFers spending several weeks here.

She pauses a moment, then wrinkles her nose slightly and shrugs, casually throwing out the idea that’s been bobbing around the surface of almost every interaction I’ve had since arriving here: “You should just stay.”

I could just stay, I realize that she is telling the truth, I could drop out of school and live here and everything would be okay. I could stay here and have absolute faith in the love of the community. Everything would be okay. This is what everyone else here has done and they are so happy and fulfilled.

By the time we return to the community house, it is nearly 10pm and people are wandering around helping to clean up.

“Yay, you’re back!” someone cheers as they see Batok and I re-entering the house, “we were about to send someone to bring you some orange Julius. It’s in the community room.”

“After the last supper, we often have some sort of special dessert,” Batok explains as we enter the community room again. The cushions are still arranged all over the floor, although most people have left, and the candles (almost finished by now) are still casting a glow over everything. However, rather than the chalice of wine, there is a tray of small cups in the centre of the table instead. Taking one, I sit on the cushions beside Batok. Aiya is sitting on a cushion in the corner and nods, smiling, at me. One of the men has a guitar and is singing Folk songs while various people still in the room hum along with him. In one corner, a bunch of young teenage boys are joking about how one of them is related to someone named Trudeau.

"Oh yeah?" teases a boy around twelve, "are you related to a certain man in Canada?" I can't hear the young man's response, but it garners quite a few laughs from the other boys.

“Hey, can you play ‘I Found a Place Where Love Is’?” Aiya calls out to the man playing the guitar. She smiles at me from across the room as the man nods and begins to play the song. With the guitar plays, several other voices around the room sing the same melody Aiya had sung to me several hours beforehand and I can feel tears stinging my eyes.

----------

I think I agree it is a vulnerable portion of the population that ends up in places like this. In fact, they blatantly say “Most people who end up here were searching for something. Lost in some way. And this is where they found the answers”. However, I don’t entirely think this is a bad thing either. It is the vulnerable portion of the population that needs places like this. There is so much good that goes on here. We’ve all felt lost, confused, alone, disconnected – especially in our modern world, where isolation and depression are rampant. This community genuinely provides an answer. Sure, it may not be perfect, but no less perfect than our current modern world. This community is able to provide something which modern society cannot. If they need to shut out the modern world and all its complexities in order to do this, so be it, but the people here are happier and healthier for it. I can see it and feel it.

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Tonight, Sara is sleeping in the single women's cabin with us. Sara, Elianah, Aiyah, and I make our way to the cabin after dark and change into our PJs. We decide that tomorrow I will help out at the deli in Laurienne's place (she is still visiting her father) and, in the evening, they will drop me off at the Greyhound station.

Slipping under my blankets in the cool, cedar-scented cabin for the last time, I feel a pang of regret at having to leave this place.