In February, the cycle of Torah readings focuses on the exodus from Egypt.  The text highlights the story of Moses in the context of Pharaoh’s policy of punishing the Jewish people as they grew in numbers and strength.  Whether we read the story or watched television portrayals of the exodus, the theme of Israel’s Divine deliverance under Moses’ leadership destroying Pharaoh’s oppressive rule, stands out as the central narrative.

But there is another critical theme that also deserves our attention.   What does it mean to be free?  The Israelites wanted freedom from slavery and at the same time doubted Moses and themselves when it came to achieving that freedom. In fact, the Torah gives us many incidents when the Jewish People complained to Moses that life in Egypt as slaves was preferable to the questions and the challenges of living as a free People.  A sage, Rabbi Hanoch, of Alexander, said that the mindset of living as a slave never left the People, even though they were free.  In other words, the children of Israel were physically free, yet, spiritually speaking, that first generation remained enslaved.

 Maybe that was the reason why the first generation of slaves never made it to the Promised Land.  Except for Joshua and Caleb, it was the next generation that would merit the joy of realizing the dream of freedom that four hundred years of Israelite servitude in Egypt could not erase.

 Rabbi Hanoch understood that we could take Israel out of Egypt, but not necessarily Egypt out of the children of Israel.  Is there not a message in this teaching for us today as we live in the present, but at the same time we are influenced by our experiences of the past?  The real question is whether our past enables us to make the best out of our present life or does it hinder us from satisfaction in how we live?  Are we so different than our forbearers when it comes to defining ourselves by the experiences of our past as compared to the challenge of living each day in the present?  Is there a difference between how the past influences the way we approach each new day versus letting the past dominate us completely?

 I urge you to sit down for a few minutes each day and read Exodus.  We may see ourselves in the pages of the Torah.  If you do not have a copy of the Torah, come to the library, go to any book store.  To be a Jew means to study Torah and relate its teachings to our lives.  What we learn about the past may surprise us about how we are living the present.

Rabbi Brad Bloom

Once Honi, the Circle-maker was walking on the road and he saw a man planting a carob tree.  Honi said, “You know a carob tress takes 70 years to bear fruit.  Are you so sure that you will live 70 years to eat it?” “I found this world provided with Carob trees,” the man replied, “As my forbears planted them for me, so I will plant for my offspring.”

Honi then sat down to eat and was overcome with sleep.  As he slept, a small cave formed around him, and he was protected. And so he slept for 70 years. When he awoke, he saw a man gathering carobs from the same tree, and eating them. “Do you know who planted this carob tree?” Honi asked.

“My grandfather,” the man replied “I must have been like a dreamer for 70 years!” Honi exclaimed. 

-“Just as others planted for you, so shall you plant for your children”

                        -Leviticus Rabbah 20:8

As our calendar falls once again on the little known holiday of Tu B’shevat, the 15^th day of the month of Shevat, the story of Honi, the Circle maker seems fitting. Tu B’shevat is our birthday of the trees. It is our reminder of Genesis, that it is humankind that is responsible for caring for the earth which we have been given.

This story tells us that we plant trees in the hope that these trees will bear fruit for our offspring.  When we place our Torah in the ark on Shabbat we proclaim that it is our “Tree of Life—and all its supporters are happy.”

Our Judaism is our tree of life that sustains us and provides the roots of our history, the story of our legacy and the passed down tradition of our ancestors.

Our synagogue becomes the focal point of such Torah learning. Our house of meeting is a place where we are nourished.

Each time one of our students becomes a Bar or Bat Mitzvah, we pass the Torah from the grandparents to the parents to the Bar or Bat Mitzvah, a symbolic passing of tradition.   Our hope is that they will become a chain in the tradition, and one day they will be passing the Torah to their children.

It seems like no coincidence that in the Shabbat following Tu B’shevat, we read Parshat, Yitro-in which the Ten commandments are revealed.  While Tu B’shevat lays the seed in which we will grow, the following week we learn the paths of Torah.  Our Judaism does not end at our Bar or Bat Mitzvah— rather, it is our first declaration of our willingness to independently participate in this tradition.  True, our parents may make us go to Hebrew School and Religious School, but when we stand up on the day of our Bar or Bat Mitzvah, our dedication and hard work is evident.  We willingly become a committed part of our Jewish community.

As we recount the birth of the trees on this first Saturday in February, Tu B’shevat, let us also recount our own personal growth.  God left the task of tilling the soil and caring for the earth to us humans.  It is our choice how we nourish our souls.   The seeds that we plant now will affect our future generations.  Let us learn like Honi, the circle maker did, that our present actions help continue the cycle for generations to come.

Rabbi Baht YameemWeiss