Bechukotai

A dear British friend of mine came to visit me in New York last week. We met in Israel 26 years ago and
made it a priority to see one another at least once a year for 23 years since, sometimes in New York and
sometimes in London, and once in Spain and Morocco! She was the “maid of honor” at my wedding. I
flew to comfort her when her father passed away. Like so much else, though, Covid disrupted our travel
routines and, with it, our friendship. Absence did not make us any less fond of one another, but it did
attenuate our connection.

What a breath of fresh air last week was then! For three days–eked out between work and family
commitments–we talked and laughed and reminisced. We walked, we ate, and then we gabbed some
more. It was a pure delight to be in the presence of so much love and so much history.

Then she left and I grew absolutely depleted–cannot-keep-my-eyes-open exhausted–and I fell asleep. I
am not one to nap during the day, so I feared that I might be sick. Why else would such a high be
followed by such a lethargic low? When I awoke, it occurred to me that I had just run a marathon on
atrophied legs. My friendship muscles had grown weak over these years of imposed isolation. I hadn’t
had such sustained in-person contact with friends for quite some time (though more virtual meetings
than I can recall.) And so a part of me had withered. I didn’t realize how deadened I had become until I
was awakened. It took tremendous effort (and none at all) to enliven parts of my soul to soar once again.

This week’s Torah portion, Bechukotai, offers some language and some guidance for breathing life into
these parts of ourselves that have grown lifeless.

***

Bechukotai contains abundant blessings and frightful curses. It lists the wonders that will accrue to one
who follows in God’s ways and the ills that will accompany one who does not. It begins:

‫יכם ּבְעִ ָ ּ֑תם וְנָתְ ָנ֤ה הָ ָא ֶ֙ר ֙ץ י ְבּו ֔ ָלּה ו ֵ ְ֥עץ הַ ּׂשָ ֶ ֖דה‬ ֖ ֶ ֵ‫יתם א ָֹתֽם׃ וְנָתַ ִ ּ֥תי גִׁשְ מ‬
֖ ֶ ִ‫אִ ם־ּבְחֻ ּק ַ ֹ֖תי ּתֵ ֵ ֑לכּו ו ְאֶ ת־מִ ְצו ַ ֺ֣תי ּתִ ׁשְ מְ ר֔ ּו ו ַעֲ ׂש‬
‫ְַארצ ְֶכֽם׃‬ְ ‫ְּתם ל ֶ ָ֖בטַ ח ּב‬ ֥ ֶ ‫ם ל ָׂ֔ש ֹבַע ִו ֽיׁשַ ב‬
֙ ‫ְּתם לַחְ מְ ֶכ‬ ָ ֶ‫ׁש אֶ ת־ ָּב ִ֔ציר ּוב ִ ָ֖ציר י ִ ַּׂ֣שיג א‬
֤ ֶ ‫ת־ז ַ֑רע ו ַאֲ ַכל‬ ֙ ִ ‫י ֵ ִּ֥תן ּפִ ְריֹֽו׃ ו ְהִ ּׂשִ֨ יג ל ֶ ָ֥כם ּדַ ֙ י‬
)‫ג–ה‬:‫(ויקרא כו‬

If you follow My laws and faithfully observe My commandments, I will grant your rains in their
season, so that the earth shall yield its produce and the trees of the field their fruit. Your
threshing shall overtake the vintage, and your vintage shall overtake the sowing; you shall eat
your fill of bread and dwell securely in your land. (Lev. 26: 3-5)

1 | Sefat Emet on the Parshah — Rabbi Dr. Erin Leib Smokler

© Institute for Jewish Spirituality 2022

The reward for religious obedience is agricultural success, in addition to other gifts granted in verses that
follow.1 The midrash takes note of one of these blessings–in particular, the fruiting of the fruit trees. It
implicitly asks, if “the earth shall yield its produce,” does that not include the produce of plants? What is
the meaning of the extra reference to trees? Rashi cites the midrash in Sifra:

)‫ד‬:‫ (רש’י על ויקרא כו‬:)‫ ו ַעֲ תִ ידִ ין לַעֲ ׂשֹות ּפֵ רֹות (ספרא‬,‫ הֵ ן אִ י ָלנֵי סְ ָרק‬.‫ועץ השדה‬

AND THE TREES OF THE FIELD [SHALL YIELD THEIR FRUIT] — This refers to the wild trees; and
even these will bear fruits in future (Rashi on Lev. 26:4).

In other words, in addition to regular agricultural bounty, those who follow in the ways of the Divine will
also experience something irregular: fruit born of non-fruit-bearing trees. Nature will be altered, giving
forth blossoms where there otherwise would be none.

Not surprisingly, the Sefat Emet sees in this prophecy a spiritual phenomenon as well. He does not cite
the Biblical verse likening human beings to trees, but he does assume this statement from Deuteronomy
20:19, oft-quoted and decontextualized:

…‫ם ֵ ֣עץ הַ ּׂשָ ֔ ֶדה‬ ִ֤

֙ ָ‫…ּכי הָָֽאד‬

…For a human is a tree of the field…2

In what sense are we alike? First, like trees that bring together many elements–earth, air, water–and
push out many as well–preserving soil, producing oxygen, nourishing animals, etc–so we both gather and
give. We take in the world around us and we inform it. We reflect and refract the environments that
surround us, for better or for worse. Presaging climate consciousness of today, he writes:

‫ וכפי התעוררות האדם‬.‫נראה כי הכל תלוי בעבודת האדם כי האדם נק' עולם קטן ויש בו מכל פרטי הבריאה‬
)‫ בחוקותי תרמ"ד‬,‫ (שפת אמת‬.‫ כך מעורר כל הברואים‬.‫בכל קומה שלימה שלו לעבודת השי"ת‬

It seems that everything depends on human action, for the human being is called a “small
world” (Tanchuma, Pekudei 3) and it contains within it parts of all creation. Therefore, in
accordance with the awakening of the person to every level of divine service, so the world’s
creations are awakened. (Sefat Emet, Bechukotai 1884)

We are amalgams of the world, breathing in its air, drinking its water, living off its land. We literally take it
all in. And we also put it all back out, profoundly shaping all of those elements. We can “awaken” the
world to greatness–growth, sustainability, abundance–or we can spoil it. “It seems that everything
depends on human action.”

There is another way in which humans and trees are alike:

1
Those gifts include peace, military dominance, fertility, and spiritual intimacy. See Lev. 26:6-13.
2
The relationship between human beings and trees, specifically non-fruit-bearing ones, is a complicated one in
Deut. 20: 19-20, but the chassidic tradition has long appropriated this phrase as a declarative statement of unity
between the two.

2 | Sefat Emet on the Parshah — Rabbi Dr. Erin Leib Smokler

© Institute for Jewish Spirituality 2022

 ‫ ויש‬.‫ כן נמצא כזה באדם אברים שהחיות מתרבה בהם‬.‫כמו שיש בעולם אילנות מפירות ויש אילני סרק‬
.‫שהחיות מועט בהם‬

Just as there are fruit trees in the world and there are fruitless trees, so we find in the human
being limbs that are fully vital and those with less vitality. (ibid.)

There are trees that are more and less productive; more and less vibrant; more and less wild. There is
tremendous diversity within and between species. So too there are parts within ourselves that are more
and less productive, vibrant, and wild. Not all parts of ourselves are cultivated, awake, consciously alive.
Not all parts of ourselves “bear fruit.” We might have active minds, but numbed hearts; sculpted bodies
but dessicated souls. Or we might have refined spirits, but bodies alien to us. Or parts within those
bodies that keep us stuck.

To this limiting unevenness, the Torah says: “‫“ ”ו ֵ ְ֥עץ הַ ּׂשָ ֶ ֖דה י ֵ ִּ֥תן ּפִ ְריֹֽו׃‬The tree of the field will yield its fruit.”
We can find wholeness, vitality (chiyut), awakened living. We can spur all of our internal trees to flourish.
How? “‫“ ”אִ ם־ּבְחֻ ּק ַ ֹ֖תי ּתֵ ֵ ֑לכּו‬If you walk in God’s ways” (Lev. 26:3).

The Sefat Emet hones in on the specific term used for “ways” or “laws.” And that is chukotai, a kind of
law (chok) that is without discernible reason. He writes:

‫ ובזה‬.‫ אעפ"כ נמשך אחר גזירת המלך‬.‫וכשהאדם מתקן הכל וזה כענין החוקים שאין האדם מרגיש הטעם‬
.‫ וזהו אילני סרק שעתידין לעשות פירות‬.‫מתקן אותן המקומות שאין החיות מתגלה בהם‬

When a person rehabilitates all–like the statutes (chukim) which feel purposeless but are
nevertheless [performed] because one is drawn to the dictates of the Sovereign–one fixes those
places which lack vitality. These are the fruitless trees that will one day bear fruit. (ibid.)

Rather than an invitation to purely irrational behavior, perhaps the rebbe is here inviting us to exercise
those very parts of ourselves that feel unknown–the parts that feel dead or alien or under-utilized.
Perhaps the very willingness to flex atrophied muscles might bring them back to life. Sometimes by
adopting a practice, even one that appears fruitless, we just might find our way to bearing fruit.

Bifnim/For Reflection
1. The Sefat Emet writes that human beings are “tiny worlds,” containing all the parts of creation.
In your own experience, have you ever had a moment or moments when you felt you were living
with this awareness? If so, describe that experience. What did it feel like? What, if anything, did
you realize through it? If an experience like this doesn’t come to mind, what, if anything, do you
sense might be inhibiting it from occurring?
2. The Sefat Emet suggests that, like non-fruit-bearing trees that will ultimately grow fruit, those
parts of ourselves that are less full of vitality can likewise be renewed and imbued with creative
energy, through adopting spiritual practices. In your own experience, have you found this to be
true? Have you ever become “unstuck,” or found new vitality in an area of your life, through a
spiritual practice? If so, what happened? If not, why not?

3 | Sefat Emet on the Parshah — Rabbi Dr. Erin Leib Smokler

© Institute for Jewish Spirituality 2022

 3. The particular type of practice the Sefat Emet describes as having this fruit- or life-giving power
is a chok, which the Rabbis understood to be mitzvot without an obvious or logical reason
behind them. (The Talmud [Yoma 67b] lists a number of such mitzvot: Not eating pig, not
wearing garments made of linen and wool, sending away the scapegoat on Yom Kippur, among
others.) Are there mitzvot/Jewish practices you relate to in this way–i.e. You do them not out of
a reasoned evaluation but because of something else? If so, what are they, and why do you do
them? If not, why not?

B’Avodah/Practice-Rabbi Myriam Klotz

In 1997 Professor of Forest Ecology Suzanne Simard published her thesis revealing her discovery that
trees “talk” to each other. Trees in fields and forests do not exist and survive as self-enclosed,
autonomous individuals. Rather, they are connected to each other underground in a rich matrix of
communicating, interconnecting filaments extending from the roots. These root systems are able to
sense lack and abundance, and transfer nutrients, warn of threats, and otherwise inform one another in
what has been coined a “wood wide web”, playing on the World Wide Web through which information
and communication is shared invisibly to link people around the world.

Writes Feral Practice, “The wood-wide-web is built on give and take. Mycelial hyphae, slimmer than any
root, access mini-moleculed minerals like phosphorus and nitrogen efficiently. These they share with
trees, who repay them in photosynthesized sugars. Ordinarily this barter system balances, but there are
notable instances of altruism. Trees often feed youngsters shaded by their branches. More evocatively,
they occasionally feed a neighbor tree’s root-stump for decades or centuries after the tree itself has
rotted away.”

This week’s practice is adapted from the Mycorrhizal Meditation found here. This practice is offered to
help cultivate direct connection to the trees of the field and forests and the laws of interdependence
that govern and sustain the understory of our lives and world:

Find a living tree outdoors that you can spend some time with. If that’s not available to you, you can
adapt this practice by using your imagination as you engage it.

Stand so that you can gaze on this tree. If you are able, let your eyes focus on the living tree before you
and direct your attention to your breath as you receive oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide. The plant
before you takes in the carbon dioxide and gives out oxygen—so you are in a direct, immediate
relationship of vital exchange. Let your attention be immersed in this exchange.

For at least 10 minutes, allow yourself to follow your breath, and the smells, textures and sight of this
tree. As you inhale, receive the Nishmat Hayyim, the breath of life. As you exhale, give your out-breath
to the tree as gift. Notice what shifts and emerges as you sustain this contemplative awareness of
breathing in reciprocity with this tree.

Next, let your forehead rest on the tree trunk. Feel the weight of each part of you as you lean into this
tree. Let your hands feel the bark. Smell it. Send your attention down into the soles of your feet, and
your awareness to the soil underneath them. Caress the soft, dark soil between your toes if you are
able. Imagine the world of life that is being transmitted from tree to tree, plant to plant underneath

4 | Sefat Emet on the Parshah — Rabbi Dr. Erin Leib Smokler

© Institute for Jewish Spirituality 2022

your feet. Allow your legs and feet to feel their earthiness, like the trunk of this tree. From the soles of
your feet, allow your roots to descend below the soil’s surface and extend in widening, intricate, subtle
extensions underground. Again, bring awareness to your breath as you breathe with this tree and soften
your sense of boundary between you and it.

As you conclude this practice, sustain awareness of sensation in your feet and legs. As you walk, sense
the soles of your feet sustaining contact with the earth beneath you, and let each step be taken as a
conscious connection with that soil and the depth of root systems beneath.
As you breathe in and out, remember that you are breathing in relationship to the trees and plants
around you. Remember the gift that you are exchanging with them inside every breath.

It may not make logical sense, it may remain invisible to the naked eye, but allow yourself to open to the
possibility of this law, this web, of creation in which your inter-being is lived, each step, every breath of
the way.

5 | Sefat Emet on the Parshah — Rabbi Dr. Erin Leib Smokler

© Institute for Jewish Spirituality 2022