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Jewish World Review
Jan. 25, 2005
/ 15 Shevat, 5765
Springing into Tu B'Shevat
By Andrea Simantov
When leg lifts and green tea are all part of His grand plan
http://www.JewishWorldReview.com |
Twice a year, when I'm feeling miserable, cold and uninspired, I'm suddenly overtaken with an irrepressible desire to get fit and gorgeous. This is no small challenge, mind you, especially when the heating system is unreliable, the hot water tank blows out the electricity every time it rains and the children come down to supper wearing snorkel jackets and earmuffs. I don't suffer from the cold like the younger ones because my menopausal, inner-furnace is being hormonally stoked.
The seasonal urge — henceforth called the Tu B'Shevat Renewal — hit this morning as I lay face down on Miriam's massage table. Miriam is my good friend and neighboring reflexologist. I hadn't been to her in some time and my body was throbbing from weeks of neglect.
My absence could be blamed in part on a can of motor oil, which mysteriously fell and broke my second toe. Anyone who knew about my injury assumed that it had happened in the parking lot or at the gas station — any place where my car might have been. But I confess (only to you) that it happened in the bedroom. The motor oil was in my bed along with a week's worth of unfolded laundry, two Styrofoam wig heads, a shoebox filled with cellphone chargers and two copies of the same John Irving novel. "Why," you may ask, "were these things in your bed?" Because I was packing to move from an apartment which I hadn't yet sold to a home which I had yet to purchase. See? Logical!
As Miriam pushed and kneaded my sourdough limbs, I became painfully aware of my neglected immune system. Staring at my friend's orange and green striped socks through the flattering face-hole of the table, I resolved then and there to get my act together.
Leaving Miriam's, my body felt supple and I could sense a renewed mental energy. The day held indescribable promise. Perhaps I'd get some serious writing done; maybe I'd actually shop for food. Or — call me crazy — I might even try to sweep the house.
The steps of Miriam's complex were wet from the previous night's rain. Living in Jerusalem you learn to both respect and appreciate the rain. We respect it because we know that Jerusalem stone becomes slippery and very dangerous in the winter. And we appreciate it because we live in a desert climate. Summer showers are a thing of our pre-Aliyah past. If the rain doesn't come between Succos and Passover, it ain't coming. As a matter of fact, Lake Kineret's water level is a frequent Sabbath table topic. But I digress…
Although the sky was gray and it was still unmistakably winter, I noticed that the vines which grew along the iron railings of the walkways were sporting wee, pale buds. "How can this be?" I thought, knowing that we still had a good two months of inclement weather ahead. I listen to the meteorological forecast daily, sometimes in three languages, yet nowhere had it been announced that spring had arrived.
And then I remembered that the Jewish calendar answers to no man. G-d, in all His wisdom, has infused the pulsing earth with her own holy clock. Tu B'Shevat still falls on Tu B'Shevat. It takes a G-d-in-heaven to infuse life's breath into a tree whose branches are bare, leaves dry and seemingly dead. And if this is proven time and again in agriculture, how much more so must it be for man, the most beloved of all G-d's creations? If I choose renewal, then it's available for the asking. No one is promising that I'll look like a figure skater or suddenly begin cross training for the upcoming Maccabiah Games. But by acknowledging the dormant potential within me, I too can achieve amazing results.
It's hard to believe on a cold and dreary January morning that all choice is infused with His blessing. Even leg lifts and green tea serve to remind me that I'm not alone.
On the way home I stopped at the fruit store to purchase a few items with which to bring the message of Tu B'Shevat to my supper table. Olives, dried fruit, a few pomegranates and some whole-wheat pasta. I treated myself to a small plant, which I knew would look great in the center of the table. It was only after bounding up the stairs to my front door two at a time, that I realized my injured toe was no longer bothering me.
Ultimately, I think the real message behind this Holiday of New Fruits is: It's Alright To Be Built Like A Pear.
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JewishWorldReview.com contributor Andrea Simantov is a Jerusalem-based columnist and single
mother of six. Comments by clicking here.
Chanukah: The quintessential female holiday?
© 2005, Andrea Simantov. This column first appeared in Orange County Jewish Life
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