27 Jan THREE LAYERS OF HUMAN IDENTITY 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 person’s 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 Lifestyles
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