Shalom y’all,

When most of us hear the words “Rosh Hashanah” we envision the synagogue decked out in white, we smell the honey cake, and we hear the sounds of the Shofar. But the Rabbis of the Talmud actually had four days of the year they called “Rosh Hashanah,” including one that’s coming up at the end of January.

The last of the Rabbis’ new year celebration was a “New Year for the Trees,” what we commonly think of as Tu B’Shvat. About 2,000 years before the invention of “Earth Day” or “Arbor Day,” Jews were already celebrating nature and the blossoming of new life in this annual celebration.

Now, living where I currently do in New York City, the timing of Tu B’shvat can seem somewhat curious. Why do we celebrate spring on a day that it could very well be snowing? But in Little Rock, which is closer in Latitude—and therefore closer in climate—to the land of Israel, you might start to see the first flowering of some early buds right around this holiday.

It’s fascinating that because this holiday comes so early in the spring (or still in the winter) we are actually celebrating potential. It is a holiday that reflects the hope and the optimism that is required to put a seed in the ground and trust that it will sprout through the soil. Every person who has planted a flower, tended a garden, or tilled a field, knows that there is a certain amount of faith that is expressed in the act of planting. You have to believe that something will happen even if all you’re able to see at that moment is dirt. The holidays of Shavuot and Sukkot celebrate harvests, but on Tu B’shvat we look at the bare trees, or the first little flowers, and we celebrate the potential of what is to come.

One of the brilliant insights of the mussar movement in Judaism is that many of these external insights can be turned inward. By studying the way that Judaism encourages us to engage with the outside world, we can actually learn quite a lot about ourselves.

What would it look like if we took some time to look at ourselves as bare branches of a tree that we know (or maybe hope) is just about to bloom? What story could we tell about ourselves as a seed planted in the earth? Are we not also in need of the warmth of sunlight and love? Do we not also thirst for the fresh coolness of water and relaxation? Can we grow without the nourishment of nutrients and community?

Rabbi Alana Suskin points out one major difference between us and the trees—our human agency allows us to be agents who can be a part of the process that unlocks our limitless potential. “We may be trees of the field,” Suskin writes. “But ultimately, we can choose to go where there is sun and water, to grow straight or be bent, to produce fruit, or to be a dry stick.”

With this power in mind, as we approach Tu B’shvat, I encourage you to engage with some of these prompts from Rabbi Tsafi Lev, who also believes in our power to find the necessary conditions for our own growth.

●      What knowledge or creativity is locked up within me as mere potential that might need more “sunlight”?

●      Sometimes a tree might need certain branches pruned in order to grow taller and stronger—what is weighing me down that could be pruned? What am I holding onto that keeps me from growing?

●      Is there something inside of me that I once enjoyed, that once gave me meaning that with a little coaxing—maybe some new soil and water—could be brought back?

●      What resources do I need to plant within me to not only live but to thrive?

B’Shalom,

Student Rabbi Ben Freed

Ben Freed served as the Gladstein Fellow and Student Rabbi at Agudath Achim in Little Rock in 2020-2021.