Some Lovely Little Tu BiShvat Poems

Two poems about trees to remind us that Judaism is deeply connected to the earth, rooted (ha) in the land, in honor of Tu BiShvat.

This week in lame Jewish news, Kanye West sold antisemitic t-shirts and Hamas violated the ceasefire again.

This week in good Jewish news, Azerbaijan chose a Jew as their pick for Eurovision, and it was Tu BiShvat, the New Year of the Trees, so this week’s Drop is a wholesome post about trees!

Here’s me frolicking among the trees of Vancouver!

I joined a weekly, virtual Jewish writers’ group (and by that, I mean they meet weekly while I pop in once a quarter, but I’m working on my attendance). We have a warm-up prompt to get our creative juices flowing followed by a 20-minute prompt in which you can write anything, from poetry to biographical fiction.

For the upcoming Jewish holiday, one of the new members, a rabbinical student at the Jewish Theological Seminary, wrote a haunting elegy about man returning to nature in just 20 minutes. I share that poem, as well as a more uplifting poem by him, below.

Tu BiShvat isn’t just about trees; it reminds us that we are connected to the land in so many ways. On this day, we taste this connection when we enjoy the seven species of the Land of Israel—wheat, barley, grapes, figs, pomegranates, olives, and dates—each holding deep spiritual and historical meaning.

From planting saplings to feeling gratitude for the food on our tables, Tu BiShvat is a time to pause and recognize that our lives, like the trees, are deeply rooted in the earth, something easy to forget if you live in a city like me! Enjoy these poems.

So he slept by Zamir Halperin

So he rested in the shade of a sapling, and a grotto formed around him, and he slept.

And a root cradled his head, and a leafy branch became his blanket. And the grasses were his nightgown in the winter snow. And the grasshoppers would feed him until the fruit grew in, and the rain was his to drink. And the mosquitoes told him bedtime stories, and the wind sang him lullabies.

And a root held his feet, and the branches his arms. And the grasses lay thick against the winter snow. And the grasshoppers filled his stomach, and the rain closed his eyes. And the mosquitoes brushed his ears, and the wind sang him lullabies.

And the roots covered his heart, and the branches took his mind. And the grasses stood tall between the hairs on his chest. And the grasshoppers laid on his face, and the rain filled his nose. And the mosquitoes dined on his hands, and the wind sang him lullabies.

And the roots met his bones, and the branches found his muscles. And the grasses brought his body level with the earth. And the grasshoppers made homes in his throat, and the rain wore his skin away. And the mosquitoes claimed his fingers, and the wind sang him lullabies.

And the roots are his feet, and the branches his arms. And the grasshoppers sing his song, and the rain cries his woes, and the mosquitoes tell his legend. And the grasses prepare for the next man to sleep. And the wind sings his lullaby.

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Aseini K’Ilan: Make Me Like A Tree

This poem was originally published in New Voices in 2023, where you can read the original Hebrew version of the poem. The Hebrew version, if you’re lucky enough to understand it, is an acrostic. Classic!

But first, a message from our sponsor writer:

“One of the Jewish virtues I love the most is the value of wonder. The fact that every natural wonder, from the sight of a rainbow to the smell of a spice, is given a brachah – the fact we are commanded to notice the world for what it is and what it offers – is such an awesome thing. In that vein, I try to look to nature to see what I can learn about being a Jew and a person on this Earth. Sometimes the simplest things can teach the greatest life lessons.” -Zamir

Make me like a tree rooted on the water, with fruit to give in its time.

Make me like lightning descending from the sky, illuminating the earth for a moment.

Make me like rain, light or heavy, that gives strength to a tired world.

Make me like wheat, simple and common, that brings forth our bread from the earth.

Make me like myrtle aside the lulav, that gives its color to joy.

Make me like a red rose with thorns, beautiful and strong in its way.

Make me like an olive with pure oil, a symbol of serenity and our dedication.

Make me like the sun that rises with us, which colors the sky with its light.

Make me like the dew on the grass, making the land glimmer at each dawn.

Make me like the sea, vast and unified, which renews the shore and itself.

Make me like a windflower, little and tall, a dot of color in the winter fields.

Make me like the moon alight in the darkness, smiling from among the stars.

Make me like the desert, open on all sides, strengthening all who trust it.

Make me like a river on the forest floor, rushing to enliven its world.

Make me like a bush with colorful flowers, beautifying its surroundings with its presence.

Make me like a cloud in a blue expanse, and its community that dances with the spirit.

Make me like an unripe fruit on its branch, constantly growing and sweetening.

Make me like nectar within a flower, feeding the smallest animals.

Make me like a rainbow against the gray, a promise of improving times.

Make me like a pomegranate with many seeds, a symbol of new beginnings.

Make me like a lily resting on the water, reaching up from the depths.

Make me like an apple waiting on its tree, prepared to ripen at its time.

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And in the spirit of Valentine’s Day today, I’m sending you much love. Thank you, as always, for reading.

Shabbat Shalom,

💦 If you enjoyed this Drop, you might like:

🌳Planting Trees for a Better Future