Tu B'Shvat

This month we celebrate the renewal of nature’s cycle. Throughout the past cold, dark weeks of winter we have witnessed death. The leaves have withered and decayed, the grass is turned additional shade of brown, insects and the familiar the creatures of early morning are now burrowed snuggly under the ground.  Tu B’Shvat tells of life, which wells up from the earth. Finding less resistance from the hard crust, tiny heads to begin to push upwards seeking warmth. As if propelled by the giant foundations of the deep, the familiar sprigs of the oncoming season have decided that they have rested long enough from their long winter sleep.

A story: A calf was being lead along the street toward the slaughterhouse. As Rabbi Judah passed by the animal broke loose, sensing that it was going to its death. It ran to Rabbi Judah and nuzzled its head in his cloak, whimpering pathetically.

Gently, Rabbi Judah turned the calf around to where it’s understood waiting. He bent down to speak into it it’s here. “Go,” he said. “This is what you were created for."

On that day, the heavenly court decreed that since Rabbi Judah had shown no compassion, sufferings would be brought upon him.

Truth be told, Judaism seems to forever be concerned with humanity. We have laws governing every action, whether potential for real.  We call this menschlichkeit.  Our relation to our fellow human being is of ultimate consequence. But the heritage of Israel just as strongly advocates care for all life.

According to Torah, a farmer is prohibited from purchasing more animals than he could adequately care for. And if she could not provide for them the basic needs of all her animals, the farmer was forbidden from possessing them. In fact, our tradition go so far as to say that she even had to feed them before sitting down to her own dinner (this law exists until his day: we must feed our animals before feeding ourselves).

Why this level of concern?  After all, animal life is not on the par with humans. Beginning with Noah's Ark and extending through the laws of muzzling an ox with an ass, what does our heritage really want to teach us through the great number of stories and dicta about animal rights?

Is the lesson not this?  Beauty and supernal holiness pulsates through the fabric of all life. Appreciation for the processes of photosynthesis, upholding the natural currents of life, taking care of our oceans and forests; these things bring us a little closer to God.  When we look at a budding leaf or flower and feel wonder, maybe even something close to rapture, we are soulfully uplifted.  That moment connects us with the Source of all life, the Holy One.

Indifference is a cardinal sin for a religious person. Turning a deaf ear to the universe is the surest past to an unfulfilled life. What Heschel called the “Legacy of Wonder” is a God-given gift that we too often ignore.

Tefilah, real prayer, is an act awe and appreciation. It means seeing the world refreshed and replenished as we do when we celebrate Tu B’Shvat. Rabbi Judah’s crime was not recognizing the uniqueness of every fold in nature, let alone an animal. No form of life, however primitive or, is without holiness.

The words God spoke to Job still apply: “Stand still and consider the wondrous works of the Lord."

Stand still and be in awe.