Taking A Captive (Shavuot 5767)

Moshe ascended to God. As it says: you ascended on high and you took a captive. What does ‘you ascended’ mean? You prevailed in disputing with the supernal angels. Another explanation: you ascended on high - no creature succeeded on high in the way that Moshe did. Said Rebbi B’rechya: the tablets were six hands breadths long. In the hand, as it were, of the ‘one who spoke and there was a world’ was two hands breadths, two hands breadths were in Moshe’s hands and two hands breadths were left between hand and hand. (Shemot Rabbah 28:1)

This curious source intends us to imagine a kind of wrestling match between God and Moshe – the tablets (six hands breaths in length) are a third in Moshe’s hands, a third in God’s hands with a third in the middle. After a tussle, Moshe succeeds in wresting them from God’s hands and bringing them back to earth for the Jewish people. The Talmud records a slightly different version of this source:

Rebbi Sh’muel bar Nachman said in the name of Rebbi Yochanan: the tablets were six hands breadths long and three wide. Moshe grasped two hands breadths, God two, and two remained spare in the middle. When Yisrael did that deed, God wanted to grab them from Moshe’s hand, but Moshe’s hand prevailed and he grabbed them from Him. (Yerushalmi Shabbat 4:5)

The ‘deed’ mentioned here is, of course, the making of the Golden Calf, which occurred just before Moshe came down the mountain with the tablets. What might this allegory be trying to convey?

The preparations of the heart are Man’s, but the answer of the tongue comes from God. (Mishley 16:1)

The preparations of the heart are Man’s - he organises his counsel and his words in his heart. But the answer of the tongue comes from God - when he comes to answer, God makes him wise with his words, or, should he merit, He prepares a good answer for him. (Rashi ad. loc.)

Many Jewish thinkers divide human experience into three parts: thought, action and speech and devote much thought to the interaction between them. In the context of this story and using the above verse from Mishley, the Shem MiShmuel offers the following insight.

The thoughts of Man are ordinarily outside of his control – things just pop into our heads whether we like it or not. The other extreme is action, which is entirely within our control. The realm of speech lies in between, which seems, according to Rashi’s reading of the above verse, to reflect a partnership between Man and God. While Man prepares his thoughts, they only express themselves correctly should God will it. This is the meaning of the three sections of the tablets in the Midrash – God holds the thoughts, Man holds the actions and the speech is somewhere in the middle.

When God saw that the Jews had made the Golden Calf, he attempted to wrest the tablets from Moshe’s hands. We are encouraged to imagine that God realised that it would best if Man had no control over his actions if rebellion and idolatry is what he uses them for – this is the image of the Yerushalmi. Moshe, as it were, prevailed over God and succeeded in grabbing the tablets. This may be understood as God’s consent to Man trying again to control his own world. Despite the inherent dangers, God concedes that Man must be allowed to exercise his freewill once more, hence he allows Moshe to take the tablets.

The Shem MiShmuel gives this an interesting spin – he sees the tablets gradually moving from God’s sole possession to that of Moshe as key to his reading of the Midrash. Once one takes control of one’s actions (the part of the tablets that started in God’s hands), God will enable one to control one’s speech (the unheld part in the middle). Finally, it may even be possible to take charge of one’s thoughts. This is the project of the Torah, which, when applied to its maximum extent, enables one to elevate and manage every aspect of one’s experience.

Pesach And Jewish Continuity (Pesach 5767)

Can the message of Pesach retain its value and meaning in the world of 2007 – a world of MRI scans, al Qaeda and Richard Dawkins? This is not just a question about Pesach, but also about the whole of Jewish life and thought. If Pesach is no longer relevant to our children, then we have no hope of successfully promoting the concept that the Jewish past must inform the Jewish future. If we find ourselves unable to relate to the national life of the Jewish people, if we fail to be inspired by its achievements and governed by its rules, then we may as well shut up shop now, and go with the flow of assimilation. The Pesach experience, especially the Seder, is seminal to the process of what is sometimes called Jewish Continuity. In its true form, Jewish Continuity is certainly a precious goal, something for which we all strive and hope. Every person reading this wants to have Jewish grandchildren who are not merely Jewish by name, but have a sense of Jewish history, an appreciation of Torah concepts and ideals and at least a modicum of observance, all coupled with the will and enthusiasm to impart all of that to their children.

It is clear that in Anglo-Jewry we have not broadly succeeded in doing this. To be sure, the observant community is growing in leaps and bounds, but elsewhere, in the heartlands of Anglo-Jewry, the message is not getting through. To be sure, there are many notable exceptions: Shuls, communities and outreach programmes that have had a major impact, but many places, the prognosis looks dire.

One of the keys to success is persistence. There is a beautiful parable for this, which will make things clearer. (It also involves a frog, which makes it suitable for Pesach!) A frog once fell into a bowl of milk. It realised that it had no hope of survival, as the milk was deep and the walls of the bowl too high to climb – the best that could possibly managed would be to tread water / milk for a while until exhaustion would set in and drowning became inevitable. So, thought the frog, why bother – I might as well drown now and save all the trouble. He shut his eyes, stopped struggling and drowned. A second frog fell into a bowl of milk. After making the same assessment as his lantsman, he closed his eyes and drowned. A third frog fell into a bowl of milk, but this one was a fighter. He paid no heed to the hopelessness of the situation, and ignoring all evidence to the contrary, remained convinced that he would survive. So he paddled and kicked with all his might, determined to keep going. As his flailing became more and more vigorous, the milk began to turn into butter and when most of it had solidified, he simply climbed out, tired, but alive to jump another day. The application of the parable is clear – continuous efforts, despite perilous conditions, are likely to produce some results. The Haggadah tells us:

In every generation, one is obliged to see oneself as if one has personally come out from Egypt…. Not only did the Holy One, may He be blessed, redeem our ancestors, but He redeemed us with them…

Can we really see the exodus as a personal experience – didn’t it happen over 3300 years ago? The truth is that unless we see Judaism as an experience of the here and now, we are finished. History is interesting, but by definition, it lives in the past – in books and memories, but not in the present. We can’t sell people a history book as a lifestyle, unless the experiences are direct and meaningful today.

Pesach and the Seder represent for us the conjunction of history and present. Rabbi Berel Wein, a well-known contemporary Jewish thinker and historian, points out something very interesting about his own family Seder. He notes that as a child, he sat at his grandfather’s Seder, at which his grandfather recalled his own childhood experiences with his grandfather, a man who could remember the great 19th century ethical teacher, Rabbi Yisroel Salanter. At Rabbi Wein’s Seder, he sits with his grandchildren, who will be able, in due course and God willing, to share stories about their grandfather with their own grandchildren. Thus at one current Seder, we can see an experience potential spanning several generations. As Rabbi Wein points out, very few (less than 20) such structures are needed to bridge the gap between the exodus and the present day.

But to create meaning across the generations, tremendous effort is required. Indeed this only has meaning if the imperatives, ethics and goals of the past are shared with the present. Otherwise, in our minds, grandfather’s grandfather is a dinosaur, an artefact from a long-dead age, while grandchildren’s grandchildren inhabit a future unimaginably different from the world of today. The redemptive spirit of Pesach seeks, through our own efforts, to redress this – it links us to our past and, perhaps more importantly, it helps to assure our future. Only if we take Judaism and its wealth of ideas and experiences seriously can we say that we ourselves have been redeemed. We always have the chance to start afresh – to be redeemed and commence the path of spiritual growth once again. If we are prepared to do this, we, like the frog, may be able to climb out of the milk once and for all and create an unshakeable link across the generations. This is true Jewish Continuity.

Small Jars And Chanukah (VaYeshev 5767)

Last week, I spoke about the events just before Yaakov encountered the ‘man’ with whom he wrestled all night before he met his brother Esav:

He arose that night and took his two wives his two maid-servants, his eleven children and he crossed the Yabok ford. He took them and led them across the river. He took across that which was his. Yaakov remained alone and a man wrestled with him until dawn. He saw that he could not beat him, so he touched the top of his thigh. He dislocated the top of Yaakov’s thigh when he wrestled with him. (BeReishit 32:24-26)

I mentioned the perplexing Talmudic tradition that the reason Yaakov was left alone was because he remained to retrieve some small jars that he had left behind:

Yaakov remained alone - Said Rebbi Elazar: he remained for small jars. From here we learn that the property of the righteous is dearer to them than their bodies. Why to this extent? Because they do not stretch out their hands to steal. (Chullin 91a)

The confluence of ideas with Chanukah is irresistible. We know that when the Hasmoneans entered the Temple to rededicate it after their victory over the Greek-Syrians, they found only one small jar of oil with its seal of purity intact; from this the Temple Menorah miraculously burned for eight days until new oil was available. Is there any connection between the two events (Yaakov’s jars and the jars of Chanukah)?

In the more esoteric teachings we find a link. It is well-known that one of the points of contention between the Jews and their antagonists at the time of the Chanukah miracle was the relationship between the physical and spiritual worlds. The Greeks, at best, acknowledged the existence of a higher realm, but did not accept that man was capable, through his actions, of ‘unlocking’ the spirituality from everything in the physical world. In their view, the Torah was not a manual for Man’s meaningful use of the all the resources in the world (thereby associating them with their supernal roots), but a classic of literature. The Torah could sit in the great libraries of the world among the ‘greats’ but could never be considered the tool with which Man could connect his world with the Divine. The Jewish view, antithetical to this is exemplified by a Chassidic approach to the verse (from the Hallel) psalms:

The heavens – the heavens are for God, but the earth He gave to the children of Man. (Tehillim 115:16)

The reason the two phrases are juxtaposed is to teach that while the heavens are for God, Man is given the earth to make it into heaven (i.e. imbue it with spirituality through his actions, as regulated by the Torah). (Attributed to the Kotzker Rebbe and others)

This programme, so antithetical to the ideology of the Hellenists and their Greek masters, was as radical in ancient times as it seems to people today. It involves appreciating that everything, without exception, has a purpose, as well as developing a concomitant realisation that if one has been given something by God, one must need it to fulfil one’s ultimate purpose.

The ability of Yaakov to remain across the river from his family, facing significant danger to rescue something small and seemingly insignificant was a crucial moment in Jewish history. By so doing he invested his descendents with the capacity to find potential in everything, a key feature of the Jewish enterprise. The sources indicate that the oil of Chanukah symbolises the same dedication – the victory of our ancestors over their Greek oppressors was a triumph for this concept over the enemy’s Weltanschauung, which rejected the possibility of spirituality in the physical world. Simple oil can be turned so easily into light and heat, unlocking vast and previously unrecognised potential. Perhaps this is why it is the symbol of Chanukah and our inspiration in the night of exile.

I would like to thank an anonymous reader for correcting a typo in an earlier edition of this essay.

Quotation From William James (Shemini Atzeret 5767)

On Shemini Atzeret I spoke about the notion of community. Some of you may be interested in the quotation I used from William James to illustrate my point:

The community stagnates without the impulse of the individual. The impulse dies away without the sympathy of the community.

Choosing A Lulav And Etrog (Sukkot 5767)

At Sukkot-time, one often sees an image of a bearded man examining an etrog with a jeweller’s loupe; those who have seen the popular Israeli film ‘Ushpizin’ will recall that selecting a beautiful etrog is a serious business.

The observance of Sukkot involves the use of four species: lulav - palm branch, etrog - citron, three myrtle sticks and two willow twigs; they are waved in devotion during the Hallel psalms. The Torah stipulates (VaYikra 23:40) that the etrog must be ‘beautiful’, but the rabbis understand beauty to be a prerequisite for all four species. Here, however, beauty is not in the eye of the beholder, for the criteria of ‘beauty’ are very carefully specified in what has become a vast body of halachic literature.

So how does one select a beautiful set? Here is a very brief guide:

The lulav should be fresh and green, especially at its end. The leaves grow in pairs, all of which should be intact and together, particularly at the top. The leaves above the ‘spine’ of the lulav should be completely whole. Special attention must be paid to the central leaves.

The etrog must be undamaged, with its top (pitom) and bottom (uketz) protrusions intact. It should be as free of marks as possible, especially on the part that tapers; any black marks are particularly problematic. The etrog should be yellow, bumpy (not smooth like a lemon), with a wide lower portion narrowing symmetrically towards its pitom. Some varieties grow without a pitom; these are great for clumsy people!

The myrtles should be fresh and green, with the end of the stick and the top leaves intact. Myrtle leaves appear in threes from its stalk (meshulash – tripled); each group of three leaves should emerge at the same level from the stalk, ideally along its entire length, but at least for the majority of it. The leaves should be upright and interlocking, covering the branch.

The willows too should be fresh and green, with the end of the stick and the top leaf intact and the leaves in good condition. One should select a variety with long, smooth-edged leaves and red stems.

Daunted by all this? Fortunately, pre-checked items are available for the uninitiated, although one of the great pleasures of the season is selecting them oneself. As for the loupe, it isn’t necessary, as the naked eye at a normal distance will do; it is only used for resolving uncertainty.

A version of this article first appeared in the Jewish Chronicle. It is republished here with permission.

Losing Oneself On Yom Kippur (Yom Kippur 5767)

One of the great themes of Yom Kippur is, at least for 25 intense hours, losing one’s own identity and merging it with that of the community and the entire Jewish people. We have mentioned in previous years that the role of community is crucial in the atonement process of Yom Kippur, which is why we begin Kol Nidre with an invitation to every member of the Jewish people to pray together; the incense compound included pleasant and unpleasant smelling spices, symbolising the entire people, righteous and not-so-righteous.

There is, however, another way in which one should try to ‘lose oneself’ on Yom Kippur. The Torah instructs that when the Kohen Gadol (high priest) enters the Holy of Holies:

No man shall be in the Meeting Tent when he comes to atone in the holy place, until he exits. He shall atone for himself, for his household and for the whole community of Israel. (VaYikra 16:17)

Of course, the literal meaning of the verses is that apart from the Kohen Gadol, no other person may be present during the atonement ritual in the Holy of Holies. However, the Midrash (end of Acharey Mot) questions this reading and offers a most perplexing suggestion – that no one at all, including the Kohen Gadol, should be present at this holy moment. This suggests that the Kohen, at least for a short while, transcends the physical world, and is, in some sense, not actually there; indeed the Midrash likens him at this time to an angel. The Kohen ‘merges’ with the Divine at the time when he approaches God to atone for the people; perhaps this symbolises the fact that in order to properly represent the nation, he, on their behalf, must completely submit himself to the will of God in order to achieve absolution.

This notion has other manifestations:

Said Rebbi Levi: we have a tradition about this matter from our ancestors – the ark is not included in the measurement. (Megillah 10b)

[Israel] is referred to as: the land of the deer. Just as the [flayed deer] skin [seems to be too small] for its flesh, so too the Land of Israel, when there are people living in it, it is expansive, but when there are no people living in it, it contracts. (Gittin 57a)

Ten miracles occurred for our ancestors in the Temple…. they stood squashed, but prostrated with space. (Avot 5:5)

The Ark of the Covenant was too large for the space designed for it, so it was somehow disregarded in the measurement; Israel seems far more spacious than it actually is and those who bowed in the Temple seemed to find enough space despite the crush on Yom Tov. These sources indicate that Israel, the locus of spirituality the opportunity to ‘lose’ oneself, and ‘occupy no space’ is greater than elsewhere. In Jerusalem, it is greater still, with the quintessential expression of the concept on Yom Kippur, with the Kohen in the Holy of Holies. The mystical writers refer to this phenomenon as the confluence of ‘time’, ‘space’ and ‘spirituality’, in this case Yom Kippur, the Temple and the soul of the Kohen Gadol respectively. We have this opportunity every year on Yom Kippur – to completely lose ourselves, albeit for just one day, in the Divine will. When we emerge at the end of the day, we will be changed forever.

Drashah For Shabbat Shuvah 5767

Golders Green Synagogue

41 Dunstan Road, NW11

שבת שובה תשס"ז

מנחה

5.50pm

הרב בעלאווסקי ידרוש אי"ה בענין

סוכה בשמ"ע ואיסור בל תוסיף

Sukkah on Shemini Atzeret?

סוכה מו: - מז. ורש"י ורא"ש שם

יד הל' שופר פ"ו ה"יג

שו"ע או"ח תרס"ח ומג"א שם

סוכה מח. ורש"י ורא"ש שם

ראש השנה כח: ורש"י ותוס' שם

יד הל' ממרים פ"ב ה"ט והשגת הראב"ד שם

All Welcome

Walking The Walk And Talking The Talk (Rosh HaShanah 5767)

At this time of the year, rabbis often encourage their flock to live good lives, study Torah a little, come to Shul more frequently and generally commit to becoming exemplary members of the community. To support this, all kinds of Jewish sources are mustered to bend the congregants’ ears into submission. What does Jewish tradition really promise those who actually succeed in living a purposeful and righteous life? The Talmud offers us a brief insight:

In the ultimate future, God will make a dance-circle for the righteous and He will sit in the middle of them in the Garden of Eden. Everyone will point to God with his finger.

So after a life of righteousness, self control and altruism, what happens to our budding tzaddik when he reaches the afterlife? He gets to dance round and round and point to God, presumably for all eternity. A dance! Is that all? After an entire life dedicated to spiritual pursuits, is that the best we can hope for?

Of course, the Talmud is actually conveying a profound message in the form of an image. Regrettably, we often assume that the parables of the sages are simple fairy-tales, but if we are prepared to dig beneath the surface, we will always uncover the most uplifting concepts. As such, the dance-circle is a sophisticated image that may be understood as follows.

While it is not always apparent, there are many manifestations of Judaism – different styles of observance, degrees of engagement with the outside world and outlooks. Of course, all must be predicated on the belief in the historical truth of the revelation and the eternal imperative of Jewish law (devoid of these, of course, we don’t have Judaism at all). But part from these indispensables, there is considerable flexibility within the system. One of the wonderful things about Judaism is that, within certain parameters, there are a range of possibilities. This idea is expressed beautifully by the great mediaeval thinker Ritva:

When Moses went up to receive the Torah, for every subject he was shown forty-nine ways to prohibit it, and forty-nine ways to permit it.

God Himself presented us with a religious system that recognises that we aren’t all the same and that we each need some degree of individual expression in our religious lives. Interestingly, as this flexibility is God-given, the truth (or if we like, validity) of each manifestation is not compromised, as they are each a version of the Divine will. It’s an amazing idea – rather than there being one right or wrong way to live, we need to function within parameters. As an aside, this idea should not be considered licence to consider anyone’s personal preference a legitimate expression of Judaism, as there are clearly boundaries beyond which one may not go.

In this lies a challenge, perhaps one of the most important that we will face in our lives - recognising (always within the parameters) the validity of other peoples’ views. This can be immensely difficult; we all feel comfortable with those who share our particular world-view and perspective on Judaism; less so with those with whom we differ. We are often especially poor at respecting those people whose life-style seems very alien to ours; they quite probably feel the same about us!

Yet to profit from the flexibility of the system, we must authenticate the religious expressions of others. This takes a great deal of maturity, but it is extremely rewarding. Through doing so one gains a breadth of perception, and understanding of others, a sense of love and tolerance for those with whom we disagree.

This is the meaning of the dance-circle of our original source. Note that the righteous dance in a circle, not a conga! The centre of the circle is equidistant from every part on its circumference. (As a mathematician, I can tell you that this defines a circle!) Each person on the circumference has a slightly different angle on life, a different form of traditional Judaism, yet is equidistant from God. No one is closer than any other and each can point to God and perceive Him from their perspective. But here’s the really exciting bit – as they dance round the circle, they experience the world from the viewpoint of each of the others in the circle. This is the greatest reward on offer – a direct perception of God with the maturity to appreciate the world through the eyes of others.

It would seem to take a lifetime to righteousness to reach this level of personal maturity. This Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur is a great time to start working on this aspect of personal growth. It is common in all parts of the community to view anyone to the ‘left’ of oneself as a dropout and any to the ‘right’ as a lunatic. Even the nomenclature ‘left’ /‘right’ is unhelpful in this quest. We are poor at tolerating difference within the observant community and mistakenly expect our children to all turn out the same way as each other. When one thinks about the extent of this problem in our families and communities, one quickly realises just how elusive the dance-circle really is. But one must try to take those first faltering steps along it: try by listening carefully to the viewpoint of a member of the Jewish community with whom one usually disagrees, consider, at least for a moment, that a man dressed in Chassidic clothes may lead a rich and sophisticated Jewish life, recognise that a child may need encouragement to express Judaism in a way different from his or her parents.

Happy Birthday World (Rosh HaShanah 5767)

Today is the birthday of the world. Today all created things in the world will stand in judgment, whether it be as children or as servants. If as children, have mercy upon us like a father upon his children. If as servants, our eyes are dependent upon You until You bring to light our judgment, awesome holy one. (Musaf, Rosh HaShanah)

This fascinating and familiar prayer, which we sing together three times during Musaf on Rosh HaShanah, gives us a remarkable insight into the way in which the great Jewish sages understood the whole notion of Rosh HaShanah.

We are so familiar with the idea that Rosh HaShanah is the ‘birthday of the world’, that we may never have stopped to think is it actually true. In fact, the status of Rosh HaShanah and whether it is actually the birthday of the world is a subject of dispute in the Talmud. Rebbi Eliezer's view is that the first of Tishrey (Rosh HaShanah) is indeed the anniversary of the creation of the world. Rebbi Yehoshua, on the other hand, understood that the world was created in Nissan. (the month in which Pesach falls).

This is an astonishing dispute. How can there be dissent about such a major issue? And if, as Rebbi Yehoshua claims, the world was created in Nissan, what is the purpose of the Rosh HaShanah which we celebrate today? How can we spend two whole days in prayer, focussed on new beginnings, blow the shofar to proclaim God King over the new world if Rosh HaShanah is not the anniversary of creation? Don’t we change the year number? (We have just moved from 5766 to 5767).

In this issue lies the key to understanding Rosh HaShanah. The great Tosfot essays (a collection of mediaeval studies on the Talmud) explains the dispute as follows. The world was indeed created in actuality in Nissan. However, it occurred to God to create it in Tishrey, but He did not actualise His plans until Nissan. What does it mean to say that God ‘plans’ to create something? Does He need time to implement the plan or to work out how to do it? This is obviously impossible. In fact, the notion that God ‘decides’ to create something is a metaphor for the projection of an ideal. Suggesting that ‘it occurred to God’ to create the universe means that God is determining and informing us what is expected of humanity. Tishrey represents pure din or justice - this means that Man is expected to merit judgment according to the Divine yardstick, which is the Torah. The reality, however, is that Mankind is fallible and needs Divine rachamim or mercy to survive at all. This is the actual creation in Nissan - the time of Divine mercy.

This tells us much about our Rosh HaShanah - we are striving for the ideal - attempting to gain such a clear vision of the Divine that we are able to live by the yardstick of Rosh HaShanah - Divine justice, rather than having to rely on Divine mercy. On the other hand, we recognise (and God validates this recognition) that we are weak human beings who fail. We may never bridge the gap between the reality and the ideal, but on Rosh HaShanah, we should be spending our time trying our utmost to do so.

This is actually indicated in the prayer with which we began. The word horat, which we translated as birthday, really means 'conception’, for 'today is the conception of the world.’ Today is the day on which the world was conceived in the perfect mind of God - and it is to that ideal which we aspire. Maybe this year we will close the space a little more; perhaps this Rosh HaShanah will inspire us to a deeper commitment to Judaism. The experience of Rosh HaShanah, during which the sovereignty of God is so palpable, should change us just a little. May we merit meaningful and fulfilling prayers, filled with awe of the Divine and the majesty of God.

A Seder In February?

Tu B’Sh’vat (15th Sh’vat) is best known today as a celebration of the importance of trees in Israel, but it actually hails from ancient times. The Mishnah (Rosh HaShanah 1:1) offers two choices for the date of the ‘new year for the tree’; Jewish law follows the School of Hillel, who opt for the 15th of Sh’vat.

This ‘new year’ is relevant only to the laws of tithes pertinent to fruit trees that grow in Israel. Since each year’s produce must be tithed separately, the ‘year beginning’ is important, as it divides one crop from the next. For most fruit-bearing trees, the moment when the buds appear determines the year in which they are tithed – so those that bud before Tu B’Sh’vat are tithed in one year and those that bud after Tu B’Sh’vat in the next. Although a good part of the winter is still to come, Tu B’Sh’vat is chosen as the cut-off date as most of the winter rains have passed and, as Rashi puts it, the sap starts to rise in the trees at this time of year. Although these laws were hardly observed for many centuries, the return to the Land means that they are widely applicable in modern Israel.

Other than agricultural laws, there are few formal practices associated with Tu B’Sh’vat. However, in recent centuries, a number of forms of celebration have emerged. Some sources mention that one should mark the day by eating fruit, thereby acknowledging the importance of trees in the Torah Weltanschauung. In some circles this is accompanied by psalms and songs of praise; in some Chassidic courts, Yom Tov clothes are worn and the Rebbe holds a ‘tisch’ – a festive table gathering with songs, food and words of Torah. Many people attempt to eat fruits from Israel, or at least the varieties (such as dates and pomegranates) for which the Torah praises the Land. The esoteric thinkers understand that the Divine blessing flows first to the Land of Israel and only then to other places in the world. So while in Europe, Tu B’Sh’vat is in the middle of the winter, the start of the spring season in Israel (as evident by the wakening of the trees from dormancy) is critical to the wellbeing of all humanity. The great Chassidic thinker Rabbi Zvi Elimelech records a tradition of praying on Tu B’Sh’vat for a beautiful etrog for the coming Sukkot. Rabbi Yitzhak Luria (Ari) understood that when one eats fruit on Tu B’Sh’vat, one should intend to rectify the error of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, who sinned by eating the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Even the precise number of fruits eaten is deemed significant; examples are 12 and 15.

In 16th century Sefat, the circle of kabbalists surrounding the Ari developed these ideas into a ‘Tu B’Sh’vat Seder’, not dissimilar from the more-familiar Pesach version. One enjoys certain types of fruits in the context of readings that express the philosophical and mystical aspects of the day. Apart from the fruits for which Israel is famed, fruits and nuts of various types are eaten, accompanied, à la Seder, by four cups of wine. The first cup is white wine, the second white with a little red, the third half white, half red, the fourth red with only a little white. As white wine indicates the latent and red wine the actual, the progression through the cups represents Man’s increasing capacity to maximise his potential as he grows spiritually, as well as our capacity to appreciate God’s design and greatness in the world. Fruits with inedible shells (such as nuts) are eaten first, then those with inedible stones (such as peaches), then those that are entirely edible (such as blueberries). This sequence too refers to development from potential to actualisation. The edible part of nut is completely encased by an inedible shell, representing the start of spiritual growth, in which potential is still deeply concealed by negativity. Peaches are mainly edible but partly only potential (the inedible stone). Blueberries are entirely edible, representing the world of complete actualisation.

A major goal of any Tu B’Sh’vat celebration is for the participants to gain a heightened appreciation of God’s bounty and the centrality of the Land of Israel in Jewish life.

A version of this article first appeared in the Jewish Chronicle. It is republished with permission.