30 Sep SUKKOS: ARE YOU AFRAID TO CHANGE EMULATING THE CITRON

The Blind Golfer
Charlie Boswell
was a great
athlete who
became blind
during World
War II while
rescuing his friend from a tank that was
under fire. When he returned to this
country after the War, he decided to take
up a sport that he had never tried as yet—
golf. Years of Practice and determination
led him to win the honor of National
Blind Golf Champion no less than 13
times. One of his heroes was the great
golfer Ben Hogan, so it truly was an
honor for Charlie to win the Ben Hogan
Award in 1958.
Upon meeting Hogan, Charlie was
awestruck and told the legendary golfer
that his greatest wish was to have one
round of golf with the great Ben Hogan.
Hogan was duly honored, after all, he
knew Charlie as the great blind player
that he was, and truly admired his skills.
But suddenly Boswell blurted out an
unexpected challenge. “Would you like

to play for money, Mr. Hogan?”
“Charlie, you know I can’t play you for
money, it wouldn’t be fair!” said Mr.
Hogan.
Boswell did not flinch. Instead he upped
the ante. “Aw, come on, $1,000 per hole!”
“I can’t. What would people think of me,
taking advantage of you and your
circumstance,” replied the golfer who
indeed was able to see.
“Chicken, Mr. Hogan?”
“Okay,” blurted a frustrated Hogan, “I’ll
play. But I warn you, I am going to play
my best!”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” said
the confident Boswell.
“You’re on Charlie. I’ll tell you what.
You name the time and the place!”
A very self-assured Boswell responded:
“Fine. 10 o’clock…tonight!”
The Citron
“You shall take for yourselves, on the
first day [of Sukkot],” instructs the Torah
in the 23rd chapter of Vayikra, “the

magnificent fruit of a
tree, the frond of a
date-palm, branches
from the thick-leaved
tree, and willows of
the brook.” These are
the familiar “four
kinds”—the esrog
(citron), lulav (palm
frond), hadassim
(myrtle twigs) and
aravos (willow
twigs), which we
celebrate and shake during the Sukkos
festival.
The Torah, however, does not explicitly
name the four kinds, identifying them

instead through allusions and double-
entendres. Take the citron for example:

The Torah states, “you shall take for
yourselves the magnificent fruit of a
tree,” or in the original Hebrew: “pri eitz
Hadar.” There are many beautiful fruits.
Why was the citron chosen? In a brilliant
interpretation, the Talmud reads the
phrase “pri eitz Hadar” (“the magnificent
fruit of a tree”) as a reference to the esrog
(citron) since the Hebrew word hadar

(“magnificent”) can also be read ha-
dar, “that which dwells,” so that the

phrase also translates as “the fruit that
dwells on its tree from year to year.”
Unlike other fruits, which wither and
fall off after a single season, the esrog
continues to grow on its tree throughout
the entire year, enduring and growing
with each season change. The citron is
the only fruit on our planet “that dwells
on its tree from year to year.”
It is a fascinating fact: The esrog can
remain fresh and alive on a tree for five
years, and just continue to grow with
each season and each year, becoming
bigger and bigger. This sets the esrog
apart from all other fruits, which rots or
falls off the tree after its particular
season has passed.
Weathering Change
Yet here is an important question. Why
does the Torah refer to the citron in this
round-about way, as “the fruit that
dwells,” rather than stating its name
directly?
The answer is it is this quality of the
citron—its ability to weather change
and grow from it—which the Torah is
attempting to teach us concerning our
own lives.
The year is a microcosm of human life.

The bud and bloom of youth, the
fruitfulness of maturity, the autumn of
one’s later years, and the wither of
winter—all find expression in the seasons
of a year. A year includes mundane days
and exciting days; success and failure,
blessings and challenges, straight balls
and curve balls; warm and passionate
experiences, as well as cold and frozen
encounters. In short, the year incorporates
the full spectrum of human experience
and emotion.
This is the deeper significance of the
Torah’s description of the esrog, teaching
us about the how the human ought to
mirror the esrog. The esrog is one who
“dwells in his tree from year to year:” one
who weathers all changes and
fluctuations, whose integrity, growth and
connection with his or her source and
nucleus are not compromised by any of
life’s vacillations.
Many people do well in particular
“seasons.” For some, when life is sunny
and warm, they thrive; for others, when
life is cloudy and cold, they function
well. Dark days bring out the best in
them. Regardless, they are fully alive
only in one season; when you take them
out of their “comfort zone,” when you
remove them from their “natural habitat,”
they often wither away or become
detached from the tree, from their source
of life. When life’s waterfalls transport
them to new and unexpected situations—
they often lose their core, their vitality,
their truthfulness, their steadfastness and
courage.
The Torah teaches us to become like an
esrog: to learn how to endure the diverse
seasons of life. And even more, just like
the esrog, to learn how to grow and
develop from each season and change in
our life. For in truth, every new experience
in life, affords us the opportunity to
discover new horizons.
This year, when you shake the esrog, try
to emulate it.