16 Jan THREE LAYERS OF HUMAN IDENTITY THE HUMAN TREE

The Human Tree
“The human being is
a tree of the field,”
the Torah states. In
fact, the Jewish
calendar reserves one
day each year, the
“New Year for Trees” on the 15th of Shevat,
for us to contemplate our affinity with the
botanical universe.
Why is the human being compared, in the
biblical imagination, to a tree?
Roots, Body & Fruit
A tree’s primary components are the roots,
which anchor it to the ground and supply it
with water and other nutrients; the trunk,
branches, and leaves that comprise its body;
and the fruit, which is harvested and enjoyed
by humans or animals and also contains the
seeds through which the tree can reproduce.
This is why the Torah compares us to trees
because a human being is also comprised of
three components: roots, a body, and fruit.
This comparison holds true on three levels:
psychologically, chronologically, and
spiritually.
The roots of the tree, buried underground and
mostly invisible, represent the subconscious
layers of the human psyche, which are for the
most part invisible. Just like the roots of a
tree, the composition, breadth, and depth of
the human subconscious are disguised and
constitute the roots of all manifestations of
the human self.
The body of the tree – the conspicuous
manifestation of its roots — symbolizes the
conscious personality of the human being,
the way we describe our existence consciously
to ourselves. It is the “person” you (think
you) know.
The fruit of the tree – harvested and consumed
by others – represents the impact we have on
the lives of people around us; our power to
plant a seed in a fellow human being and see
it sprout, grow and bear fruit.
Childhood, Adulthood & Leadership
On a chronological level, the roots represent
the childhood years, when our subconscious
convictions and feelings are being molded,
which is why investing time and energy in
children is the noblest and critical endeavor.
A scratch on the trunk does not amount to
much; a defect in the roots can impact the
entire tree. The significance of childhood is
often invisible like the roots of a tree, but it is
the foundation of everything that comes later.
Nurture those roots and your tree will be
beautiful.
As we graduate from childhood and become
self-efficient humans, we are compared to the
tall and projective trunk of the tree. At last,
we have emerged to become independent and
self-standing adults.
Then, as we grow older and become leaders
in our communities, as we marry, bear
children and create something larger than
ourselves, we begin to produce “fruit” that

continue to procreate and impact generations
to come.
Conviction, Study & Giving
On a spiritual level, the roots represent faith,
our source of nurture and perseverance. The
trunk is the visible “body” of our spiritual
lives — our intellectual, emotional, and
practical achievements; our study of Torah,
observance of mitzvot, and daily positive
actions. Finally, the fruit represents our
power of spiritual procreation — the ability
to influence others, to plant seeds in others’
souls, to inspire them to grow and cast their
light on the world.
Faith, just like roots, constitutes the
foundation of life (without roots, a tree
cannot survive). Our emunah, faith, the
essential organic spirituality and meaning of
life are the foundation of our entire “tree.”
From it stems the trunk of our understanding,
from which branch out our feelings,
motivations, and deeds. Yet the true extent of
faith is concealed from others and even from
ourselves.
“The human being is a tree of the field.” We
operate on three levels. There is who we are
(the roots); who we think we are (the trunk),
and who others think we are (the fruit). In a
tree, the three components are integrated into
a single, wholesome entity. Our job, the
Torah is intimating, is to integrate the
components of our “tree,” so that our roots,
bodies, and fruits become one.
Are You a Bird, a Wall, or a Tree?
There is another reason we are compared to a
tree. There is an intriguing Midrash based on
a verse in Tehillim (Chapter 144) where
Dovid Hamelech states: “Yamav Ketzeil
Oyver” – A person’s years are like a passing
shadow.
One of the great Talmudic sages, Rabbi
Huna, in the Midrash (Midrash Rabbah
Bereishis 96:2) explains this verse to mean
that there are three types of shadows. One is
the shadow of a bird, which flies by quickly
and casts its shadow for a fleeting moment.
The second is the shadow cast by a wall,
which has some permanence, as it is seen
during the early hours of the morning and in
the late afternoon, but in the midday sun,
there is no wall-shadow.
Finally, there is the shadow generated by the
tree, which is consistent throughout the day.
And Rabbi Huna continues: “Would that life
was like the shadow cast by a wall or a tree,
but it is like the shadow of a bird in flight,”
— “Yamav Ketzeil Oyver” – A persons years
are like a passing shadow.
What does this mean? How is it that our days
are likened to the fleeting shadow of a bird,
which doesn’t remain stationary for a
moment? After all, our days, though relatively
few, still have some degree of continuity and
permanence. People live seventy, eighty,
even 100 years. If, indeed, our days are as an
insubstantial shadow, are they not at least like
the shadow of a tree and not that of a bird?

Reflecting on Three Life-
Styles

The message here is simple yet
profound. The three types of
shadows represent three very
different lifestyles. There are
people who generate the shadow
of a bird, others who create the
shadow of the wall while others
who are compared to the tree and
its shadow.
Every human being leaves an
impact. Each of us casts our own
inimitable shadow on our world.
“Life is a powerful play and you
contribute your verse,” a poet
once said. Each of us contributes our note to
the ballad we call life. The question is, how
profound and how real is our impact? Will
my shadow be the one of a bird, a wall, or a
tree?
Rabbi Huna says that there are those
individuals whose life can be compared to the
passing shadow of a flying bird. The bird flies
and the shadow flies with it. This represents
an individual whose impact is fleeting. He
may live for many years and he may spend
five decades building a business or a
company, but this may prove one day to go
down the tubes without true and lasting
value. This person may have been very very
busy, but essentially he is like a flying bird.
He was not involved in anything which really
left an impression, which made an eternal
dent. He cast a shadow by virtue of being
alive, of walking the street, of shopping in the
store, of depositing money in his bank
account, of selling a house, of tailoring his
clothes and purchasing his car. But this
shadow comes and goes.
How many people have shared their regrets
over their past lifestyle? “I worked 13 hours a
day for 10 years, I neglected my most
important relationships, and for what? Where
did all this work go to? Was what it invested
in?
Is Your Jar Full?
A professor stood before his philosophy class
and had some items in front of him. When the
class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very
large and empty mayonnaise jar and
proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then
asked the students if the jar was full. They
agreed that it was.
So the professor then picked up a box of
pebbles and poured them into the jar. He
shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into
the open areas between the golf balls. He
then asked the students again if the jar was
full. They agreed it was.
The professor next picked up a box of sand
and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand
filled up everything else. He asked once more
if the jar was full. The students responded
with a unanimous “yes.”
The professor then produced two cans of beer
from under the table and poured the entire

contents into the jar, effectively filling the
empty space between the sand. The students
laughed.
“Now,” said the Professor, as the laughter
subsided, “I want you to recognize that this
jar represents your life.
“The golf balls are the important things –
your deepest values, your G-d, your soul,
your family, your children, your health, your
friends, your passions, your conscience –
things that if everything else was lost and
only they remained, your life would still be
full.
“The pebbles are the other things that matter,
your job, your house, your car. The sand is
everything else – the small stuff.”
“If you put the sand into the jar first”, he
continued, “there is no room for the pebbles
or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If
you spend all your time and energy on the
small stuff, you will never have room for the
things that are important to you. Pay attention
to the things that are critical to your happiness.
Play with your children, take time to build a
relationship with your soul, with your spouse.
There will always be time to clean the house,
and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf
balls first, the things that really matter. Set
your priorities. The rest is just sand.”
When he had finished, there was a profound
silence. Then one of the students raised her
hand and with a puzzled expression, and
inquired what the beer represented.
The Professor smiled. “I’m glad you asked. It
just goes to show you that no matter how full
your life may seem, there’s always room for a
couple of L’chayim’s.”
The Wall
There is a second category of people whose
lives can be compared to the shadow of a
wall. A shadow of a wall has some
permanence, it is seen during the early hours
of the morning and in the late afternoon, but
in the midday sun, the impact of the wall
fades; there is no wall-shadow.
These are people who leave an impact when
there is no major heat and passion in their
lives. When the game is waning and there is
not much action going on they become
sensible. In the morning and evening hours,
when they are very young or quite old, when

things are quiet and calm, they are ready to
give of themselves to others and invest in
eternity. As long as the sun in their life is
burning hot, they are too caught up in
themselves to reflect on how they are
impacting others.
“When you’re coming home dad?” our
children ask us. And the answer: When the
sun begins to set. When I get older, and finally
make it, when I retire, then I will begin to
spend time with my children, with my soul,
with my G-d, with my spouse.
The problem is that those who needed our
shade and our comfort during those days,
don’t need as much now when my sun has
begun to set. I missed the opportunity…
Finally, there is a life that can be likened to
the shadow of a tree. Under the branches of a
tree, you can always find shade and comfort.
No matter if it’s morning, midday or evening,
the tree always casts its healing shade and
invites every passerby to bask in its tranquil
and reinvigorating environment.
This represents the type of person who never
ceases to remember that he or she is an
ambassador of G-d at this very moment to
bring light, clarity, and love to the people
around him and her. No matter where he or
she stands in life – if the sun is just rising, or
it’s fully aglow, or it is on its way down – this

person never fails to serve as an agent of love,
hope, and trust. This person does not get
drunk on his own accomplishments but
remembers his duty to those around him, to
his loved ones, to the community, our nation,
and our world.
The Talmud relates the following story:
An old man was planting a tree. A young
person passed by and asked, What are you
planting?
A carob tree, the old man replied.
Silly fool, said the youth. Don’t you know
that it takes 70 years for a carob tree to bear
fruit?
That’s okay, said the old man. Just as others
planted for me, I plant for future generations.
This is the question: are you and I “planting”
something in our lives which our
grandchildren will be able to look at and say,
“thank you, grandpa, thank you, grandma?”
That is why the Torah compared us to the tree
in the field.
There are people who never begin to live.
There are people who are waiting till they can
begin to live. And there are people who never
stop living.
The Meaning of Life
On the first day, G-d created the dog and said:
“Sit all day by the door of your house and
bark at anyone who comes in or walks past.

For this, I will give you a life
span of twenty years.”
The dog said: “That’s a long
time to be barking. How about
only ten years and I’ll give you
back the other ten?”
So G-d agreed.
On the second day, G-d created
the monkey and said:
“Entertain people, do tricks,
and make them laugh. For this,
I’ll give you a twenty-year life
span.”
The monkey said: “Monkey
tricks for twenty years? That’s
a pretty long time to perform.
How about I give you back ten like the dog
did?”
And G-d agreed.
On the third day, G-d created the cow and
said: ”You must go into the field with the
farmer all day long and suffer under the sun,
have calves and give milk to support the
farmer’s family For this, I will give you a life
span of sixty years.”
The cow said: “That’s kind of a tough life you
want me to live for sixty years. How about
twenty and I’ll give back the other forty?”
And G-d agreed again.
On the fourth day, G-d created man and said:

“Eat, sleep, play, marry and enjoy your life.
For this, I’ll give you twenty years.”
But man said: “Only twenty years? Could you
possibly give me my twenty, the forty the cow
gave back, the ten the monkey gave back, and
the ten the dog gave back; that makes eighty,
okay?”
“Okay,” said G-d, “You asked for it.”
So that is why for our first twenty years we
eat, sleep, play and enjoy ourselves. For the
next forty years, we slave in the sun to support
our family. For the next ten years, we do
monkey tricks to entertain the grandchildren.
And for the last ten years, we sit on the front
porch and bark at everyone.