Tu B’shvat is called “the New Year of the Trees.” Although its origin was anything but romantic (Tu B’shvat marked the date the new tax year started for the trees’ produce), it is a holiday that has increasingly been suffused with meaning, not least in the modern period, when it became associated with tree planting in Israel. A quarter of a billion (with a “b”) trees have been planted in Israel, making it the only place in the world where there are more trees today than a century ago.
But even before modern Zionism, there was recognition, on the part of the rabbis, that trees were profoundly symbolic of the kindness of G-d and the wonders of nature.
A blessing is recited when one sees the first blossoming fruit tree in the spring:
Baruch atah Ad-nay El-haynu melech haolam shelo chasar b’olamo klum u’bara bo b’riyot tovot v’elanot tovim l’hanot bahem b’nay adam.
Blessed are You, L‑rd our G‑d, King of the universe, Who has made nothing lacking in His world, and created in it goodly creatures and goodly trees to give humankind pleasure.
There are certain halachic rules about the recitation of this berachah: It is only recited on fruit bearing trees; it is only recited once a year; and it is only recited when the tree is blossoming, but before fruits come out.
These are not random restrictions. Together, they form a nexus of potential and anticipation. Think: “Something’s Coming” from Bernstein and Sondheim’s West Side Story. In a purely natural sense, after a long and dormant winter—spring is colloquially and literally “bursting out.” But there is a deeper spiritual meaning to the explosion of new growth. Ben Ish Chai, an Iraqi kabbalist saw the blossoming tree as a symbol of renewal, both natural and personal. As even “barren” trees can flourish, so too can “barren” souls.
That is why, oddly enough, a prayer about trees also mentions “goodly creatures”—just as the goodly trees can be revitalized, so too can the “goodly creatures”—i.e., we.
The following poem, “The Tree,” by transcendental poet Jones Very, captures some of the intensity of the berachah:
I love thee when thy swelling buds appear
And one by one their tender leaves unfold,
As if they knew that warmer suns were near,
Nor longer sought to hide from winter’s cold;
And when with darker growth thy leaves are seen
To veil from view the early robin’s nest,
I love to lie beneath thy waving skreen
With limbs by summer’s heat and toil opprest;
And when the autumn winds have stript thee bare,
And round thee lies the smooth untrodden snow,
When nought is thine that made thee once so fair,
I love to watch thy shadowy form below,
And through thy leafless arms to look above
On stars that brighter beam when most we need their love.
Rabbi Robert L. Wolkoff