Over the last few years, I
yearned to have my own garden. My dream
was to have the space, the time, and the energy to grow my own tomatoes. I never had a place of my own or the gumption
to create a garden of my own. After
moving to Baltimore last year and after purchasing my first home, I finally had
my first opportunity to see my dream move to fruition.
Honestly, let me tell you, I have
no green thumb. My house plants are
always withering, while the perennials outside in the flower box never seem to
return. Plus, I was a novice. I knew nothing about tomatoes or even how to
care for a plant. A few weeks ago, I watch
horrified as my new tomato plants began drooping. I realized quite quickly that I needed stakes
to provide them with support.
Nonetheless, without much knowledge,
but with spirit and fortitude, I began my adventure. With constant watering, a watchful eye, and a
daily prayer for a miracle, my tomato plants began to flower and produce
tomatoes. I’ve watched the miracle of
nature produce its first fruits, and it is truly a blessing.
As a rabbi, I spend much of my
days indoors: teaching, meeting, leading services, and visiting with congregants. Each year, at Tu Bishvat, Jewish Arbor Day, I
teach about the importance of nature and the natural world. Yet, besides a few strains of parsley that are
planted on Tu Bishvat that might, just might, miraculously make it to Passover,
I’ve had no other connection to planting or growing.
Yet, Jewish tradition is deeply
connected to the land. At the very
beginning of the Torah, Adam and Eve, those first human beings, are commanded
by God “to till and to tend” this world of ours. Our Torah is filled with commandment after
commandment of how to take care of the earth: to let it lay fallow every
seventh year, to leave the fruit trees standing during battle, and to provide
the first fruits to those at the Temple in Jerusalem.
Plus, we Jews are deeply
connected to the Land of Israel. We
visit the land and stop to touch its soil, offering a blessing after arriving
to the Holy Land. We plant a tree in
Israel during moments of simcha and celebration. We are proud when we hear of the Israeli
government’s new technological miracle around water conservation or tree preservation.
For me, the yearning to grow a
tomato was about all these things. It
was about connecting to the physical land, it was about the miracle of nature,
it was about caring for the environment.
However, there was something even more important. I wanted my son to see that we were growing
tomatoes. I wanted him to recognize that
the world around us is fragile and needs our support and strength. If we are constantly locked up, inside our
homes with screens in front of us, we ignore that miracle of nature. I wanted him to join me: to prune, to water,
and to care for these precious plants.
For we learn in the Talmud about the
story of an older man who decides to plant a carob tree. The carob tree only produces its fruit
seventy years after being planted. Yet,
this didn’t dissuade that older gentleman.
He remarked “As my ancestors planted for me, so too do I plant for my
children.” That’s the lesson isn’t it?
That’s the mitzvah of the tomato tree.
To teach ourselves and our children, the importance of taking care of
this world, so that the world we know will live on to the next generation. We reflect this vision through our actions
and pass these values on to our children as we pray that they too will “till
and tend” this earth.
Now that I’ve achieved dream number
one, next up, learning to bake fresh challah each week for Shabbat!
