A Lover’s Quarrel on Tu Bishvat

The first Mishna in the Tractate of Rosh Hashanna tells us: There are four New Years! Among them is the new year for kings, from which we count the years of their rule. There is also a new year for animals, when every animal born before that date is considered a yearling then. I grew up in Kentucky, where the same idea applies to horses for racing purposes. One horse could be almost a year older than another, but both be running as three-year olds in the Derby.

Of course, there’s also THE Rosh Hashanna, from which we count years. I’ve always thought it strange that we have our New Year’s day on the first day of the SEVENTH month, Tishre, rather than the first day of the first month. But last week’s parasha, Bo, explicitly tells us that the first month of the year is Nissan, the month of our redemption from Egypt. There are some interesting thoughts comparing the ideas of Rosh Hashanna in the fall, in Tishre, which the rabbis associate with the creation of the world, to Rosh Hashanna in the spring, in Nissan, marking the creation of the Jewish nation. But we’ll save that for another time.

Coming up soon is the fourth new years, the new year for trees, Tu Bishvat. “Tu” is how would one pronounce the Hebrew letters ט״ו. Letters are also numbers in Hebrew, and “tu” equals 15. Tu Bishvat means the 15th day of the month of Shvat. Since Jewish holidays are calibrated to a lunar calendar based on the new moon, the 15th day of the month would be a full moon, smack in the center of the month, just as Rosh Hashanna is smack in the middle of the year.

So then, what is Tu Bishvat?

Because Tu B’shvat is associated with trees, I can hardly think of it without remembering some of the midrashim (rabbinic stories and teachings) about trees. There is one, I have to admit, that has always troubled me.

מעלה ,מה נאה ניר זה ,ומפסיק משנתו ואומר מה נאה אילן זה ,המהלך בדרך ושונה ,רבי שמעון אומר .עליו כאילו הוא מתחייב בנפשו

Rabbi Shimon said: One who is walking along a path and learning (Torah), and stops learning and says “how beautiful is that tree!, how beautiful is that field!” is accounted as one who is worthy of death.

I have always hated this Mishna. That it is in Pirke Avot, the book of the ethical teachings of our sages, just makes it worse.

When I hit a mishna like this, I feel just like the person walking and learning and looking up. This mishnah makes me stop and look up. And then ask, ok, what is this mishna really talking about?

The first thing that strikes me is that our person is walking down a path. Why aren’t they sitting in the bet midrash, and then losing focus and looking out the window, says, wow, what a nice tree that it. He’s walking. Like it says in the Shema,
‘while you’re walking by the way,” which I think is a metaphor for walking down your way of life. You are living out there in the world, the daily grind, and yet you still are walking with Torah. You understand that the physical and material aspects of your life need a balance with the spiritual and cosmic aspects of your life, and then….

And then, the most natural and pleasant thing happens. You notice how beautiful the world is. A tree in the fall of full color, the swaying stalks of wheat turned into almost liquid waves by the wind. And you say to yourself, how beautiful that tree, that field….

WRONG – YOU’RE DEAD!!!! Or should be.

Really? Let’s take a step back, focus out. What is the mishna really talking about?

First of all, learning. We study a lot. We are the people of the book; we invest more in education than in the NYSE – at least we wish we did. We value achievements of mind and we trust rationality. Our “religion” is that we don’t entirely trust religion, because it doesn’t follow rational ways of thought, though we do our best to make it do so.

But is dry yeastless rationality our only source of truth? How do we understand what truth is? Do we logically deduce it from principles and apply it to life, like one with their nose stuck in a book while walking down a path? Or do we also understand truth through experience, our interactions with other people and the physical world and our feelings, which sometimes tell us something quite different from what our rational bookish minds tell us.

Recently, I read a lesson by R. Aharon Lichtenstein, the son-in-law of Rav Soleveitchik, who passed away just a few years ago. It was, I think, one of the strangest and unexpected lessons I have ever read. Harav Aharon was the head of Yeshivat Har Etzion which is, I believe, one of the driest, most intellectual yeshivas in the country, if not the world. Yet the shiur, the lesson, was an analysis of a poem by Robert Frost. Here is the poem – you may be familiar with it.

And yet, the world and nature afford man’s initial insight into the idea of loving and knowing God:

This insight that experiencing the beauty and grandeur of physical reality around us is a gateway to perceiving the presence of Hashem in the world is brought to us by none other than our master of rationality – the Rambam! No lover’s quarrel with the world has he!

So two explanations of our troublesome mishna suggest themselves to me. First, if one looks up from his learning and says wow, look at that tree! If I cut it down, I could heat my house the whole winter on that tree (yeah, I do that sometimes. I should be more careful). Or, look at that field of wheat, I wonder how much cash comes in from that field. These are problems, because if we look at nature only for what we can suck out of it, we are not really seeing its beauty. It’s impossible toimagine Robert Frost looking at the woods and calculating how many cords are there and if he should buy it or not. Thoughts like that take one out of the moment, the holy moment, the experience of Hashem in the works of creation.

And the other idea is that the real problem is one who, by looking at nature and appreciating its beauty, see that as separate from learning, from Torah. Because if I am looking at the world and not seeing Torah, I separate myself from Torah, from experiencing Hashem through His creation.

And I think this leads to one of everyone’s favorite midrashim on trees.

(Rabbi Yohanan ben Zaikai) used to say: if a sapling is in your hand and they said to you, go! the Mashiah has arrived! – plant the sapling and then go greet the Mashiah.

This person understands that planting a tree and greeting the Mashiach are really part of the same thing, and the sapling is already in his hand waiting to be planted. There is no lover’s quarrel with the world here either.

And as for Tu B’shvat:

I know those of you in frigid Boston and frosty Minnesota might have a hard time understanding this, and others in Florida and California might not be able to relate, but here in Israel, Tu Bishvat is the sign of life after the heavy cold and darkness of mid-winter. As I sit here at my desk, I am looking out at cloudless radiant skies, sun glistening on the pools of water in the valley below, remnants of the wonderful rains we’ve had this winter. The valley is full of plowed fields, many of which tinged with that shade of green that means new life. And just below my window, the first blossoms of the almond tree, always the quickest to flower in late winter, are spreading their smell of honey.