A Tree of Knowledge for my Garden: Are we a nation of tree-huggers?

After living in Israel for 18 years, my consciousness, constantly teetering between English and Hebrew, often leads to amusing considerations. In this season of Tu B’Shvat I have been questioning my own name. If I were to translate my name into English and introduce myself to new acquaintances as Tree they would likely mistakenly imagine my parents as hippies who dance to drum circles in forests. But in Hebrew Ilana is extremely commonplace. Go to a local felafel shop and you might find a veritable forest, if you will, of more specific trees like Shaked (Almond), Dekel (Palm), Alon (Oak), Oren (Pine), Erez (Cedar) waiting online.

In Genesis, the first site of human habitation is a garden. In Midrash Rabbah (15), Rebbe Yanai, a third century sage, notes that when the Torah describes the planting of trees in that garden, God is uncharacteristically and for the first time in the creation story referred to in full name. “The Lord God planted” (Genesis 2:8). Rebbe Yanai explains that the fullness of name reflects the special intention needed in this moment of creation. Trees are invested with a full Divine focus.

From roots to canopy, trees clean our air, shade our paths, inspire us with strength, imbue us with tranquility and offer their sweet fruit. Yet, unlike an apple tree in Maine or Ukraine, Petersburg or Pretoria, a fruit tree growing in the Land of Israel is subject to a unique set of laws. The Torah prescribes that when one harvests fruit from a tree in the Land of Israel, before we savor its sweet taste in our own homes, we pause.

Guided by a seven-year cycle, a portion of the fruit is then designated to support different segments of our society. The cycle regulates a rotation of causes; providing for those serving our country and those in financial need. On certain years some is set aside and may be eaten by the owner, but in the spiritual presence of Jerusalem. This separation and allocation from our personal bounty uses the Israeli fruit tree to cultivate the values of our society itself.

Tu B’Shvat, the new year for fruit trees, the 15^th day of the Hebrew month of Shvat, marks the cutoff point of that year’s crop. Fruit formed on the tree before this date is subject to the previous year’s harvest. Fruit not yet formed is considered part of the next.

This awakening on Tu B’Shvat reinvigorates and rejuvenates our social ecosystem using the natural gifts of our ancient homeland. The day’s conscious raising attention like the image of “The Lord God” in the Garden of Eden demands a heightened focus.

The great Hebrew novelist Meir Shalev’s book, My Wild Garden, guides readers through the botanical growth and setting of his delightful home garden with good humor and reflection. In weighing his choices of fruit trees to plant, Shalev invokes the allure of the first trees named in the Torah: “the tree of life in the middle of the garden, and the tree of knowledge of good and bad” (Gen. 2:9). He bemuses his inability to purchase these species of trees in his local nursery to transplant at home. Shalev ultimately consoles himself in the model of the biblical lesson that a relationship with nature itself can offer space to understand these ideas.

From the depth of their roots, gnarly trunks and branches, distinct leaves, flowers and scents- trees offer lessons of wisdom and great capacity for awesome wonder. Tu B’shvat reminds us that a fruit tree growing in the Land of Israel shares an added dimension. It emerges within a garden and a people. The sweetness of its fruit nourishes both our body and our nation’s connected soul.

As we continue to care for the needs of our people today, may the many trees growing in the forests (or online for felafel) remind us of what binds us and help strengthen those bonds.

With the echo of Isaiah’s prayer (51:3) May God comfort the pain of Zion with flourishing gardens.