What Is the Connection Between Tu Bishvat and Shabbat Shira?

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Through the Jewish cycle of the year, we often find that Shabbat Shira falls around the same time of Tu Bishvat. One a time of song, the other a time to focus on fruit-bearing. Let us explore the spiritual themes which tie the two together.

Shabbat Shira is the name of the Shabbat on which we lein Shirat Hayam, the song of the sea, otherwise known as Az Yashir. The Netivot Shalom writes that this Shira was unprecedented in its depth; never before had someone sung with every limb in their body, with every member of the nation together. The Midrash tells us that even a foetus in its mother’s womb together with every nursing baby sang the words of the shira; men and women, young and old. Rav Pincus explains that Hashem was waiting for this shira, for mankind to sing to Him.¹

The unusual structure of ‘az yashir’ ‘then he will sing’ combines both the past tense ‘then’ and the future tense ‘will sing.’ Rav Elimelech Bar-Shaul ²explains that this unparalleled shira encompassed all of human history until that point. Adam did not sing when he was created, Avraham did not sing when he was rescued from the fiery furnace, nor did Yaakov sing when he was saved from Esav³. Yet, at this climactic point in Jewish history, all of these events culminated in a national celebration – and all the notes joined to compose an eternal song.

Tu Bishvat, according to the Gemara in Rosh Hashanah, is the new year for trees. Any fruit which is produced after this date is considered new fruit, part of a different year – much in the way that modern-day businesses operate by a financial year. We celebrate the day both by eating fruits and praying for our fruit: literally, in the tefilla for a beautiful etrog, and metaphorically, for our children⁴. The 15th Shevat was designated as the new year for trees because it is the time of year where the majority of the rainfall has already descended, and the trees of Eretz Yisrael emerge from their winter cycle and begin producing sap for the fruits they will bear.

In a spiritual sense, trees are to soil and fruit what man is to Heaven and earth – a bridge. Trees lay down their network of roots on firm ground yet they stretch up high to bear their fruit, echoing the actions of man which are carried out in this temporal world, yet reach the Heavenly spheres. This is a true actualisation of the pasuk in Devarim ‘ki ha’adam eitz hasadeh’ ‘because man is a tree of the field.’ We have our roots, our foundations, we produce our fruits, our actions, and it all demands a great level of labor; sowing, tilling, pruning and working our land.

At the very core of these two special times of year lies a common theme: complete subjugation to the will of Hashem. Rav Tzadok HaCohen wrote that on Tu Bishvat, an incredibly high level can be reached where one is eating purely for the sake of Hashem. We indulge in a beautiful, colorful variety of fruits, yet all for the goal of making brachot and connecting to Hashem. Indeed, we know that eating can be elevated into a sublime act because the Arizal wrote of Yom Kippur, a day of angelic repentance and abstinence, that it is only ‘k’purim,’ only a sliver of what Purim achieves with its noisy joy and festive eating. In fact, Rav Pincus⁵ explains that the reason we eat a seuda on Purim is to relive the dramatic transformation, the v’nahafoch hu from death to life. Because when we eat a morsel of food, we experience a mini techiyat hameitim, a revival. Such kavanot can transform our act of eating into a most Divine experience.

In a similar vein, Rav Aaron Tendler explains that the act of singing shira is virtually effortless for melachim. These messengers of Hashem were created as vehicles to carry out His will. Just as the sun rises and sets and the grass grows and withers, so do the melachim sing to Hashem. Rav Tendler describes that shira is nothing more than a person surrendering to Hashem 100%. The automatic result is a shira. We see this in Tehillim 19 where King David describes the song of creation, “day utters speech to day and night whispers knowledge to night.” King David’s example of the song of creation is the morning rising of the sun which he compared to a chatan, a groom. The sun sings to Hashem by fulfilling His will, she rises according to His wishes. The Hebrew word ‘shar’ means a line and through singing to Hashem, we draw a line straight from our hearts to Him by aligning ourselves with His plan, His vision. For us, this is an avoda, yet, even the angel of Eisav sung to Hashem at the appointed time. It is the natural way of angels. And when we do it right, both eating and singing, we surpass the angels.

Rav Yaakov Feitman, in his fascinating article on Tu Bishvat⁶, suggests that it may be the oldest Yom Tov to date. This derives from a cryptic name recorded by Rav Menachem Mendel Paneth calling Tu B’Shevat “the Yom Tov of Adam Harishon.” Rav Paneth explains that after Adam sinned, he feared that he had brought the world to total destruction. The arrival of the winter and the ensuing diminishing daylight seemed to confirm his fears. However, on Tu B’Shevat, when the daylight hours began to increase with the approaching season of spring, Adam was comforted; he saw a future to the world which he believed he had corrupted. In response, he made this day into an everlasting Yom Tov.

Specifically, Adam feared that due to the curse given to the earth⁷, it would no longer produce fruits and vegetables. In the words of Rav Feitman, “Indeed, all he saw was the destruction and desolation of winter, fueling his trepidation that the earth was wasting away forever. Then came Tu B’Shevat, when the sap began to rise in the trees⁸ and Adam was relieved and elated that life would not only continue, but that renewal was both possible and even happening. And so he celebrated.” Tu Bishvat is a day of comfort, relief and hope. As we witness the cycle of the seasons fluctuating, readying itself for spring, we are reminded that we can indeed be renewed, we are never corrupted beyond hope. This is the truest shira.

Shirat Hayam is written in the Torah in song form, ariach al gabei leveinah, in a bricklaying structure. Practically, this means that to form the poetic structure, the song is laid out with both words and intentional blank spaces. The Netivot Shalom writes that the holiest part of the Torah’s parchment is those blank spaces in between the words, more than the holy letters themselves. Singing to Hashem with words, representing times of clarity is beautiful, but it is easy to sing to Hashem while basking in the summer sun. Singing to Hashem when all we experience are the blank spaces is infinitely more powerful. There is no assigned value, no set definition, no limits to such a song. Every letter of lashon hakodesh forms part of a stunning spiritual symphony, yet each letter only corresponds to one note.

The sweetest sound is the song of silence, the song of the white spaces on the Torah’s parchment, encompassing any and every unspecified emotion, any and every unlabelled level of kedusha. This is the silent song of Tu Bishvat, the song when things look desolate and hopeless, the silent rising of the sap. When we look around, all we see are the blank spaces on the scroll and the withered leaves of barren fruit trees. Yet, when we penetrate to the core, what seems like the death of a tree and the death of a song is truly a signal to the greatest fruit of our lives blooming and the most sublime chords of our life’s melody.

Tu Bishvat and Shabbat Shira are precious times in our calendar. Days we can designate to consciously submit ourselves to Hashem’s will and plan, that one bit more. Days we can use our feminine eyes to pierce beneath the surface, behold the rising sap of hope in ourselves and our lives and hear the unsung notes of music being strung from the blank spaces of our hearts.