It stands there still, the tree that was planted in my grandparentsβ front garden when I was born. In planting it, my refugee grandparents were maintaining a centuries-old Jewish custom to plant a sapling on the birth of a child: a cedar for a boy, a cypress for a girl. Its branches would then be used to construct the canopy for the future wedding.
A sapling.
I didnβt end up using those branches, settling for those provided by the synagogue. But I think of my grandparents, not exactly green thumbs, sourcing the plant, tending to it, infusing it with their hopes, not just for me personally, but for the new generation that my birth represented.
Trees abound in Jewish texts and traditions. The Garden of Eden is famed for having botanica of every possible variety and beauty. According to a Midrash (rabbinic story), there was even a tree that grew ready-made loaves of bread. As a bread enthusiast, I am drawn to such a treeβ¦
The towering two are central to the Genesis narrative: the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Forbidden tasting of the fruit leads to the expulsion of the too-curious Adam and Eve. In later generations, the Torah (Bible) is gifted to their descendants and referred to as the Tree of Life.
So revered are trees in Judaism that there is a day set aside for their collective birthday: New Year for Trees. Known as the festival of Tu BiShevat and celebrated this past week, it is the day on which all trees are considered to have turned one year older. The Torah forbids one to pick the fruit of a tree for the first three years; in its fourth year, the fruit was to be offered at the Temple, and in the fifth year, it could be eaten. In the land of biblical Israel from which the festival originates, this time of year is when trees emerge from their winter slumber and the first begin to bloom.
A rather quirky ritual that I particularly enjoy is the special kind of picnic that is known as a Tu BiShevat seder (meal), often held in a neighbourhood park. It was devised by Kabbalists (Jewish spiritualists) of the 16th century and involves honouring and savouring a little of each of seven species that are native to the land of Israel (such as olives, figs and grapes), thereby both releasing and ingesting their holy sparks. Saplings are ritually planted on this day too, although finding one that can handle the fierce Australian summer can be a challenge.
Our lives and those of our trees are indivisible. We and they are living beings and share almost half of our DNA. A Talmudic teaching of old is that if you hear the Messiah is coming and you are holding a sapling in your hand, plant it first and then greet the Messiah. This is a wise reminder of maintaining groundedness.
Sidra Kranz Moshinsky is an educator and freelance writer.
