The scene: a traditional Tu Bishvat seder. On a shining plastic table cloth there are dozens of plastic plates with an array of fruits imported from all around the world. Dates that cost so much they must have flown first class, pomegranates I know couldn’t have grown anywhere in Quebec, and grapes bruised and browned by their inevitable treacherous journey. Eco-friendly? No. A celebration of Judaism’s Earth Day? Yes.
Oh, you didn’t know it was Tu Bishvat? The blossoming icicles hanging ominously from your roof didn’t subtly remind you that spring is, in fact, here? Walking down the streets of downtown Montreal, searching for even one tree with a single leaf clinging to its snow-blanketed branches, you weren’t aware that it is the Jewish New Year of the fruit?
But really. It’s the 15th of Shevat – spring in the Hebrew calendar. Let me explain, then. Tu Bishvat is a reminder that “man is a tree of the field” (Deuteronomy 20:19). Totally relatable (not). In practice, Tu Bishvat marks the day when trees first begin to bloom in Israel (with 100% accuracy, every year!). The practice holds ritual importance, as Jews mark the beginning of each agricultural year to count towards the seventh year when the land is made to rest, as commanded in the Torah.
Traditionally, Jews are supposed to mark the day by eating dried fruit in appreciation of the fruit to come in spring’s harvest. Alternatively, one can also eat from the shivat haminin – the seven harvest foods – wheat, barley, grapes (vines), figs, pomegranates, olives, and dates or honey. Some hold a Tu Bishvat seder, a tradition created by Jewish Kabbalists 500 years ago. I, for one, think this whole “dried fruit seder” is just a nice way to play a practical joke on the infamous Jewish digestive system.
When pioneers began cultivating Israel in the twentieth century, Tu Bishvat became a holiday of tree planting to enrich Israel’s environment. Now, the holiday has evolved to be a day of promoting environmental education and environmentally friendly behaviour. Though one wouldn’t be able to tell based on a typical diaspora celebration, which more so emphasises consumption and single-use plastics.
Now that you know it is the glorious New Year of Nature and a little about what this holiday means, you should celebrate. How, though? I will share with you my attempts to observe Tu Bishvat as closely to the Jewish tradition as I could for inspiration.
In Israel, Tu Bishvat celebrations promote ecological awareness. Many people plant trees across the country, symbolizing a flourishing environment that will thrive for generations. So, I tried to plant a tree. After many attempts, I found out that that seeds do not grow when placed on a sheet of ice, and winter salt is not a suitable replacement for fertilizer. The seeds I so carefully blessed are now covered by snow; they won’t grow. The Montreal clouds, weighed down by heavy snow, cannot be compared to the sparkling Israeli sun. Hashem, what kind of New Year is this?
I’ve complained enough (does that count as observing a Jewish custom?). I need to find a new, practical way to observe this holiday in Montreal. I’ve realized that celebrating Tu Bishvat in the traditional way isn’t meant to be done in an Aritzia Super Puff, but I do think I can tweak my celebrations and maintain the message of the holiday: to celebrate the earth and nature.
So, to celebrate this new year, I will go for a walk and pretend the grey slush is blooming flowers and that the frozen, bare branches are covered in pink almond blossoms. I’ll spend the extra $20 (which, who knows, might be cheap compared to next month!) and buy whatever fresh fruit I can find.
I will definitely drink wine – Kosher, obviously. Perhaps I’ll drink the whole bottle, just in case that makes up for my lack of connection to nature. I will warm myself with an alcohol blanket as a replacement for the shining sun. I’ll celebrate differently than my friends in Israel (or Florida), but make it a meaningful, classic Canadian Tu Bishvat. I’ll think of the bloom in Israel as I shiver at my window as the air drafts through and the icicle outside drops lower and lower. Perhaps water frozen in different states is Montreal’s version of the shkadia porachut I used to sing about – that beautiful almond blossom.
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