Every Person is a Tree
The Biblical law protecting fruit trees during war provides an opportunity
for Jewish exegetes to reflect on ecology and the wanton destruction of life.
By Jeffrey A. Spitzer
Tu Bishvat is an appropriate time to explore Judaism's
attitudes toward nature in general and trees specifically. In what appears to
be a survey of various interpretations of a puzzling verse from Deuteronomy,
Spitzer lays the groundwork for a controversial thesis. The Torah presents a
distinction between fruit-bearing and non-fruit-bearing trees. The former must
be saved from destruction during wartime, while the latter may be destroyed.
This distinction informs many of the different readings that Spitzer unearths,
but ultimately, as his final source demonstrates, the distinction is ignored.
In war, destruction is indiscriminate.
"When
in your war against a city you have to besiege it a long time in order to
capture it, you must not destroy its trees, wielding an ax against them. You
may eat of them, but you must not cut them down. Are trees of the field human
to withdraw before you into the besieged city? Only the trees that you know do
not yield food may be destroyed; you may cut them down for constructing siege
works against the city that is waging war on you, until it has been
reduced." -- Deuteronomy 20:19-20
Verse 19 prohibits the destruction of the fruit trees
surrounding a city during a siege. Verse 20 explicitly permits the use of trees
that are "not for eating" to be cut down in order to build siege
works against the city. In between the two verses, in what is a puzzling
justification for the law, is the phrase "ki ha'adam etz hasadeh"
which this translation--from the Jewish Publication Society (JPS), following
the explanation of the medieval commentator Rashi--understands as a question:
"Are trees of the field human to withdraw before you into the besieged
city?
Trees are Noncombatants
Everett Fox, the translator of the Schocken Bible, also
understands the difficult phrase as a question that contrasts human and tree.
Fox, however, understands the conclusion of the verse differently. The phrase
"lavo mipanekhah," which JPS translates as "to withdraw
before you into the besieged city," Fox translates:
"Are the trees of the field human beings, (able) to
come against you in a siege?"
Whether the trees have no way of defending themselves (JPS
and Rashi) or are simply noncombatants (Fox), the intent is the same: trees
play no part in the war and should be left alone.
Nevertheless, this reading is difficult. Are trees that
"do not yield food" any more capable of fleeing (or of attacking
humans) than fruit trees are? How, then, can one explain that the Torah permits
non-fruit-bearing trees to be cut down for building siege works?
Rabbi Abraham Ibn Ezra explicitly rejects Rashi's
understanding:
"What is the reasoning behind saying, 'Don't cut down a
fruit tree since it is not like man who can run away from you?' In my opinion,
we have no need for all this. But this is the meaning: 'For you may eat them
and you shall not cut it down, for the tree is a man,' i.e., the tree of the
field is the life of a man. This is like the usage in the verse '[A
handmill or an upper millstone shall not be taken as a pledge for a loan,] for
he is taking his soul as a pledge' (Deuteronomy 24:6), which means, 'he is
taking his means of livelihood as a pledge.'....Behold, one may not destroy the
fruit tree which is life for a human being, it is permitted only to eat from
it... "
Where Rashi's approach shows sympathy for the tree, Ibn
Ezra's approach is more practical. Why destroy your own livelihood?! Isaac
Abarbanel (15th-century Portugal, Spain, and Italy) expresses both competing
ideas and adds his own insights:
"There are two interchangeable reasons [for not
destroying the fruit trees]. The first reason is that the phrase 'for you will
eat from it' is a great promise that they will conquer the city and eventually
eat the fruit of these trees, and therefore it is not appropriate to destroy
them, for it is not right that a person should damage that which will benefit
him.
The second reason is in the Torah's saying 'it you will not
cut down for man is the tree of the field,' by which it means, 'furthermore, it
is not appropriate to make war on trees, only on people,' for it is not right
that the mighty should exercise force to wage war against the weak, and this is
why it says 'it you will not cut down,' for it is a tree, and it has no hands
to fight."
Interestingly, it seems that Abarbanel, in using the term
"interchangeable" acknowledges that the two approaches may both be
valid readings. Certainly, both readings are ethically instructive.
Nevertheless, either "ki ha'adam etz hasadeh" is a question,
or it is not, and both readings, while interchangeable, cannot be
simultaneously correct.
A Practical Reading
The halakhic (Jewish legal) tradition focuses on the
practical reading of the verse. On the basis of this verse, the rabbis extended
the prohibition of the meaningless destruction of the trees to a generalized
prohibition against waste, known as bal tashchit, "Do not
destroy." According to Maimonides (Mishneh Torah, Laws of Kings 6:10):
"This is the law not only for trees, but anyone who
breaks containers, tears clothes, destroys a building, stops up a well, or
wastes food violates the prohibition of 'do not destroy.' "
A third trend in reading this verse, however, begins with
the more atomistic reading of the Talmud, in which the analogy of the tree with
a person is seen as a metaphor. The Talmud (Taanit 7a) reports the following
interpretation of Rabbi Johanan, a third century rabbi who lived in the land of
Israel:
"R. Johanan said: What is the meaning of the verse,
'For man is the tree of the field'? Is then man a tree of the field?! Since it
is written, 'For you may eat of them, but you may not cut them down' and then
it is written, '[the non-fruit-bearing tree] you shall destroy and cut down'
[it is clear that some trees may not be cut down and others may]. How is this
to be understood? If a scholar is reliable, [then you may] 'eat from him and do
not cut him down,' but if he is not, 'destroy him and cut him down.'"
Tosafot, among the medieval commentators on the Talmud,
hasten to point out that this is a metaphor; "eat from him" means
learn from him and don't separate from him, and "cut him down" means
find another teacher.
Sympathy for the Tree
Rabbi Jacob ben Isaac Ashkenazi (16th century), who wrote
the classic Yiddish work of Bible interpretation Tze'enah u-Re'enah,
returns to the tone of sympathy for the tree expressed by Rashi:
"[The Torah compares humans to trees] because, like humans,
trees have the power to grow. And as humans have children, so trees bear fruit.
And when a human is hurt, cries of pain are heard throughout the world, so when
a tree is chopped down, its cries are heard throughout the world."
The most creative and insistent interpreter who sees the
verse as a metaphor is the 16th century Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel, known as
the Maharal of Prague. Loew published the idea several times in several
different works. In 1578, Loew wrote:
"'For man is a tree of the field,' and his branches are
in heaven, for the head, which is the root of a man, faces upwards, and this is
why man is called a 'tree of the field' planted in heaven, and through his
intellect, he is planted in his place, which, if all of the winds were to come
and blow, they would not move him from his place" (Sefer Gur Aryeh,
Genesis 9:21).
The reference to the ineffectual force of the winds refers
back to and inverts an early comment by R. Eleazar ben Azariah: One whose deeds
outweigh his learning is like a tree with fewer branches than roots. For Loew,
the intellect/learning served as one's roots. This theme is also expressed in a
later comment that identifies the fruit of the trees with human speech; ideas,
not children, are a human's true offspring. Seeing speech as intellectual
produce would also explain how Loew could refer to the intellectually rooted
person as secure, but a person lacking intellect (a non-fruit bearing tree)
could be uprooted or destroyed.
Loew's dialectic, identifying both similarities and
differences, was adapted by the modern Israeli poet, Nathan Zach, who, after
the Holocaust, did not have Loew's sense of confidence:
"When is man
like a tree of the field?
Like the tree man flourishes.
Like man the tree is cut off.
And I do not know
where I have been nor where I will be-
like a tree of the field.
"When is man
like a tree of the field?
Like the tree he stretches upwards.
Like man he burns in fire.
And I do not know
where I have been nor where I will be-
like a tree of the field.
"When is man
like a tree of the field?
Like the tree he thirsts for water.
Like man he remains thirsty.
And I do not know
where I have been nor where I will be-
like a tree of the field.
"I've loved.
And I've hated;
I've tasted both this and that.
They buried me in a portion of earth;
And it's bitter to me, bitter to taste,
Like a tree of the field;
Like a tree of the field."
The classical commentaries on this verse assumed one of two
postures concerning this verse: either trees are protected because fruit-bearing
trees are valuable or because trees should stand apart from human conflicts.
Early modern responses focus on the spiritual similarities between the
experience of humans and trees. It is not clear whether Nathan Zach knew
Tz'enah u'Rena or the Maharal, but his poem builds on their insights and
extends them. The Bible points out a distinction between trees that are
destroyed and trees that are saved, but the Holocaust has taught that humans
are trees and have been slaughtered without discrimination.
In our own, more ecologically aware time, we might note that
the degradation and destruction of forests may also contribute to the
indiscriminate suffering and eventual demise of both trees and humans.
Nathan Zach's poem was translated for MyJewishLearning.com
by Menachem Creditor, a rabbi in Sharon, Massachusetts. Jeffrey Spitzer is
senior educator at Jewish Family & Life! and a contributing editor for
MyJewishLearning.com.
