Tu B'Shvat

You've long felt a bond with trees.
Watching them cycle, marking the seasons of the year:
the weave of their bare branches against the winter sky,
their graceful,  lacy pea green buds in spring,
their gracious greens of summer, shielding you from the heat of the day,
their brilliant foliage in the fall.

You know they hold instructions on how to live life. 
To ever reach upward toward the light.
To dance in your cycles.
To be flexible enough to move in the winds, 
yet stay anchored in the earth.
To with their fruit, bring restoration to life.

You feel the depth of their roots.
You know within they hold the mystery of transformation.
As do you.


Now in mid-winter,
your soul feeling faint
from the weight of barreness
thirsting for signs of life
you call upon the name of God,
El Ro-ei, 
God of Vision. 


El Roei,
You Who sees.

Rouse me from my sleep,
from my winter slumber.

And in the light of the full moon
may my sap once more

alon-tubshv-mist-1And rise,
and rise,
and rise.

Bringing me into life
with new



Help that which need die, shed.
Clearing room 
for new growth.

Let me be as the Almond tree.

That I might blossom in the chill of winter.

Lift my branches upward toward the sky.
With grace.

Touching the stars,
feeling the earth beneath my feet.

Help me waken.

May Hope 
rise up my bones.

That I might reach up 

the moon's light.



Toward the light.

Just as the trees do.
On their New Year's Eve.



Photography Credits

First photograph: Vicki Hollander
Second photograph: Alon Kvashny
Third photograph: Frank Dobrushken