The Shirah that Moshe and the Children of Israel sang at the splitting of the sea concludes with a prophecy that one day, 'You [G-d] will bring them, ותטעמו — and implant them, בהר נחלתך — on the mount of Your heritage.'
The holy Arizal advises that when we recite this daily, we should have in mind to merit raising our children to be infused with Torah.
Where is there any allusion in this prayer, that speaks simply about our return to the boundaries of the Holy Land, to inspiring them to grow in Torah?
We echo this verse each Shabbos in the Mussaf prayer where we beseech G-d, שתעלנו בשמחה לארצנו ותטענו בגבולנו — You shall bring us up in gladness to our Land, and plant us within our boundaries. (הר"י בר יקר)
Perhaps it is the intimation of our being 'planted' as trees with its implication of bearing forth heathy 'fruit' — our children, that should draw our thoughts to raising them in the spirit of Torah, at this specific juncture.
The paraphrasing of the verse in the Shirah 'implant them on the mount of Your heritage', with simply 'plant us within our boundaries', leaves out the more significant aspect of being embedded within our 'heritage', our birthright, minimizing its significance to just physical borders.
The Mechilta on this verse in the Shirah, that describes our being 'implanted' in the Land of Israel, directs us to very last verse in the Book of Amos where G-d promises, ונטעתים — And I will plant them on their land, ולא ינתשו — and they shall no longer be uprooted from upon their land. The Mechilta emphasizes that the verb implanting used here is meant to indicate, נטיעה שאין בה נתישה — a planting that will never be uprooted.
Perhaps this is no mere promise of a permanent return to our land, but rather the key for our survival to be worthy of that day.
To succeed in cultivating healthy 'fruits' a tree must be planted in a suitable climate.
The optimum environment for a Jew is in our land, the 'mount of our heritage'. A land set apart from others and their influences. But until we all return to that idyllic region, we must make sure that wherever we plant our 'trees' they are within 'boundaries' that set us apart from the foreign culture that block the healthy rays of 'sunlight' the Torah bathes us in.
The legendary Mashgiach of the Mir, Rav Yeruchem Levovitz, taught that the primary trait that will ensure our success in life is to be a person who is נטוע וקבוע — firmly implanted and consistent in one's convictions, impervious to the 'blowing winds' that seek to uproot and sway us from our deep connection to our heritage.
The Mechilta also draws us to another aspect of proper implantation.
We must be likened to 'a vineyard that is set in distinct and defined rows', as the prophet Yechezkel (48) describes 'from the eastern side to the western side… for Yehuda, one portion, for Dan, one portion, for Naftali, one portion', and so on for each tribe.
The Jewish nation consists of many diverse characters and unique talents, each one requiring their appropriate climate for growth, no two alike.
We must appreciate that when interacting with our fellow brothers and sisters, and especially with each of our children, no two are alike.
There is one more vital aspect in the metaphor of our being planted trees that bear fruit.
A grapevine out of Egypt You caused to journey; You expelled nations, ותטעה — and implanted it. (תהלים פ ט)
There seems to be an emphasis on our being contrasted with the Egyptians, as a grapevine saved from their grasp.
Rav Uri Shraga Jungreis makes a fascinating observation. The Torah distinguishes the Holy Land which is dependent on rain of heaven to irrigate its seed, from Egypt which is described as כגן ירק — a vegetable garden, which required them to bring water by foot from the Nile River to nourish their crops. (דברים יא י)
The Torah states, 'When you shall come to the land, ונטעתם — and you shall plant any food tree'. (ויקרא יט כג)
We are planter of trees, while the Egyptians tend to their vegetable gardens.
There are two distinctions between trees and vegetables. Trees take years from planting the seed until seeing fruit. Vegetables grow more rapidly. Secondly, fruits are consumed but the tree continues to give new fruit. A vegetable is totally consumed leaving no remnant. In Talmudic terminology, when eating a vegetable one is מכליא קרנא — consuming the principal, there is nothing left.
The key to survival is to patiently invest our efforts towards achieving the greater goal, forfeiting the need for instant gratification.
In Egyptian society it was the 'here and now', the uncontrolled desire to consume rather to reap the bounty that will never diminish the asset. (אורי וישעי שמות א)
The litmus test to determining the value of any endeavor is to ask oneself, "What will I be left with once it is done?"
Those who create boundaries of purpose; who are consistent; unwavering in their beliefs, will never 'veg out', engaging in activities that while away precious time leaving them empty-handed.
If we succeed in planting healthy trees, we are certain to reap a bounty of eternal reward, meriting to be planted forever on the 'mount of our heritage'.
באהבה,
צבי יהודה טייכמאן
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