05 Nov LECH LECHA: WHY ABRAHAM FELL IN LOVE WITH THE LAND SOUL PRUNING AND PLOWING

An old Jewish lady
sold pretzels on a
street corner for 25
cents each. Every

day a young well-
dressed man would

leave his office
building at lunch time, and as he passed the
pretzel stand, he would leave her a quarter,
but he never took a pretzel.
This went on for more than seven years.
The two of them never spoke. One day, as
the young man passed the old lady’s stand
and left his quarter as usual, the pretzel lady
spoke to him.
“Sir, I appreciate your business. You are a
very good customer, but I have to tell you
that the pretzel price has gone up to 50
cents.”
The Farmers
The Midrash on this week’s parsha Lech
Lecha relates a fascinating episode:
When Avraham traveled through various
cities of Aram-Naharaim, he observed the

people engaging in excessive eating,
drinking and frivolousness. He said, “I do
not want to have a part in this land.”
When Avraham arrived at the mountains
surrounding the north of the Land of
Israel he saw the inhabitants engaged in
“pruning during the season of pruning” and
“plowing during the season of plowing.”
Avraham declared: “I wish I could have a
lot in this land.”
So G-d told Avraham: “To your offspring I
will give this land.”
Upon reflecting on this Midrashic tale,
four questions come to mind.
First, what was it about the agricultural
labor in the Land of Canaan that inspired
Avraham to “fall in love” (so to speak) with
the country?
Second, the fact that G-d promises this
land to Avraham for all his children, as the
eternal homeland for the Jewish nation,
indicates that the agricultural nature of the
country’s inhabitants somehow captured
the legacy of Judaism. But what is the

unique connection
between Judaism
and farming?
Third, why,
given the
multitude of
labors associated
with agronomy
and farming,
Avraham was
impressed by the
two labors of
pruning and
plowing?
Finally, the order in the Midrash seems
amiss. The work of plowing—cutting and
turning up the soil to make it fertile for
production—must precede the work of
pruning, which consists of removing weeds
and harmful vegetation from the midst of
the beneficial produce, and it takes place
only after the plowing season. Yet the
Midrash tells us that Avraham observed
first the season of pruning and only
afterward the labor of plowing.
Thou Shall Prune
The essence of the Jewish experience
consists of two phases: pruning and
plowing.
Every human being is a garden,
containing within his or her psyche
weeds and roses. Man is a duality of
heavenly grandeur and earthly
beastliness, a vision of G-d and a
mountain of dust, a ray of infinity and
pompous aridity. Each of us operates on

two levels of consciousness: a self-
centered consciousness that makes us

prone to narcissistic and immoral
behavior, and a transcendental, Divine
consciousness that is the source of our
ethical and spiritual yearnings and
convictions.
Our mission in life consists of pruning,
of removing the weeds from the roses.
We must ensure that the mountain of dust
does not eclipse the vision of G-d. Each
day of our lives we are called to challenge
the forces of aridity and darkness in our
psyche and to cultivate the plants of light
and G-dliness within our hearts.
Life is a daily battle for transcendence.
On our own, we are a complex mixture
of good and negative forces competing
within us. Our choice and calling are to
prune, to consistently cultivate the noble
and pure dimensions in our psychological
“garden,” to reign in the beast and reveal

the Divine.
Thou Shall Plow
This work impressed Avraham deeply. But
this was not all. He was even more moved
by a philosophy and a lifestyle in which the
season of “plowing” followed the season of
“pruning.”
Many of us have engaged at some point in
our lives in a battle against the noxious and
poisonous “plants” in our psyche. Many of
us have fought battles for our souls,
integrity, and happiness. With sweat and
toil, we pruned the weeds, and – at least to
some extent — our roses emerged.
Yet at some stage during the struggle, we
put down the tools to relax. At some point,
most of us make peace with the status quo;
we become complacent with our garden,
satisfied with our moral and spiritual
condition. Occasionally we may look in the
mirror and know that we can do better, but
we learn to survive and even be happy with
our destination.
Moral and spiritual complacency, though
tempting and easy, is an invitation to the
abyss because of two reasons. First, life is a
cliff. If you are not ascending upward, you
are falling downward. The forces of
selfishness and darkness never leave you
completely, and if you drop your guard,
failing to fight them every day of your life,
they may overtake you.
What is more, truth is infinite. The
moment we become spiritually fixed in a
mode and smug with our condition, we
have lost touch with truth and with G-d. A
relationship with G-d must include a steady
yearning; an ongoing search. What was
wholesome yesterday is broken today.
Avraham was transfixed by the vision of a
human being who, following a successful
season of pruning, returns to the plow to
commence his spiritual process all over
again, as though he or she never began.