These are days when we are amazed at the heroism of our fighters, the victorious generation of our second War of Independence, who show not even the slightest hesitation in risking their lives in order to eliminate the monstrous entity that arose on our southern border. In their death, they commanded us life and asked us to continue the fight to eradicate evil from the world. In the week when we buried dozens of our fighters, Tu B'shvat came to comfort us. There is power in the Jewish time to extricate us from wallowing in the here and now, and to lift our gaze to the truths of our lives from which we became a people and have "striven with God and with men" (Genesis 32:29) and prevailed.
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At the beginning of Tractate Rosh Hashanah, it says in the Mishnah: "There are four New Years: On the first of Nissan... On the first of Elul... On the first of Tishrei... On the first of Shevat, New Year for the tree, according to Beit Shammai. Beit Hillel says: On the fifteenth thereof." The date was given halachic significance regarding tithes, first fruits, and the like.
As we moved away from the destruction and the land was conquered by foreigners, our people dispersed throughout the world. The Land of Israel became an abstract coveted province, a dream that preserved a vague hope to someday return to it. The country declined from its greatness and was cursed: "And I will bring the land into desolation, and your enemies that dwell therein shall be astonished at it." Our sages also read blessing into the curse, as Nachmanides wrote in the 13th century from personal testimony: "This also is a great proof and assurance to us, for in the whole inhabited part of the world one cannot find such a good and large Land which was always lived in and yet is as ruined as it is [today], for since the time that we left it, it has not accepted any nation or people, and they all try to settle it, but to no avail."
History has shown a close correlation between the existence of the people in its land and its flourishing. With the national dormancy, the land too went into hibernation for hundreds of years, refusing to yield to foreigners. She waited for us like a mother for her children, like a beloved for her sweetheart.
After the expulsion from Spain, a community of sages was established in the land who engaged in Jewish mysticism They strengthened the consciousness on the land. To bring the redemption of the nation closer, Tu B'shvat was a suitable date both for study and for eating fruits for which our land was praised. The fruits that came from afar were dried. Their taste contained longing for what was and aroused the hope for the renewal of our days in our ancient homeland. The dried fruits are reminiscent of the dry bones that the prophet Ezekiel saw in the 6th century BCE in Babylon when he wanted to encourage the people after the First Temple was destroyed. The exiles lamented "Our hope is lost," and he replied that it was not lost, and just as the dry bones connected bone to bone and rose to revival en masse, so the people would once again rise from the dead on their land: "Behold, I will open your graves, and cause you to come up out of your graves, O My people; and I will bring you into the land of Israel."
In recent generations, when we returned home, the land awoke from its desolation and began to thrive. Ezekiel's words were fulfilled in us: "But ye, O mountains of Israel, ye shall shoot forth your branches, and yield your fruit to My people Israel; for they are at hand to come." The Amora Rabbi Abba (early 4th century) saw this as a sign of the "end illuminated" and our good future. Rashi from the depths of exile in the 11th century, said in his commentary: "When the land of Israel gives its fruit gracefully – then the end will draw near, and you have no more revealed end than this."
It is therefore important to restore old loves around the Tu B'shvat table. The dried fruits are a reminder of the exile. Nowadays, when our fields bloom and fresh fruits flood our markets, it is important to give them center stage on Tu B'shvat. This is a clear illustration of the vision of the dry bones, the hope that is the central theme of our national anthem.
These are not mere ideas. Our fighters fell defending the land whose memory we preserved on Tu B'shvat. Their bodies may have surrendered but their souls were gathered into the book of life and the eternal memory of our people. Hundreds and thousands of years ahead, after we die, they will remain forever in the memory of our people. The dry bones rose to life; with our own eyes we saw how we rose from the ashes of the crematorium then and with our own eyes, we shall see how we rise from the ashes of the Gaza border communities to rebuild our lives anew. As we look at how the mighty tree of the people grows and grows, we won't forget those who fell; they revive our roots here.
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