Let Us Be Like the Trees

February 3, 2025

By Rabbi Eliana Kayelle

The seed is hope for a better future
The trunk is strength we get from the past
The roots are what bind us together
The fruit reminds us to keep dreaming

After a ten year journey, I will finally be having top surgery this Tu B’Shvat, the new year for the trees. It’s my favorite holiday. It feels somewhere between serendipitous and b’shert that I got this date. 

When I first thought about writing something about my surgery coinciding with Tu B’Shvat, I wanted it to be sweet and light hearted. Unfortunately, that isn’t the piece I get to write. Trans people have been under attack in the United States for some time, but these attacks have taken a vicious turn over the last few weeks. We have seen a flurry of executive orders attempting to demonize and criminalize trans existence. We will not stand for it. I say with every ounce of breath—

Inhale

We are here. We won’t stop fighting. We will not concede.

Exhale

Around Tu B’Shvat, we hear the Talmudic tale of Honi the Circle Maker and the Carob Tree. 

Honi was walking along when he came across a man planting a carob tree. He asks, “How long will it take for this tree to bear fruit?” The man says it will take seventy years and Honi replies asking how the man knows he will live another seventy years. The man answers he himself had found a world full of carob trees. “Just as my ancestors planted for me, I too am planting for my children.” (Taanit 23a)

I do not take lightly the privilege that I can currently access gender affirming care. I know it is because of trans activists that fought for decades that I can live my truth and access care that too many still cannot. We are likely to see it become more challenging in the coming months and years. Still, I am holding onto the seeds of hope from the trancestors who fought because they knew a better world was possible. 

Hearing the stories of trans and nonbinary changemakers and meeting trans elders allowed me to feel safe enough to come out. Seeing them express themselves authentically opened new pathways of understanding. Their strength gave me the tools I needed to thrive. They were the world full of carob trees. 

What a blessing that now I get to take part in this sacred lineage of radical defiance. I can only hope sharing my stories sends a message to our community that who they are is holy and beautiful and that I can continue to support those who need it. 

I get to be a tree. Strong and proud.

You can tell how old a tree is based on the rings of its trunk. You can track its growth and even learn the weather from each season. The story of the tree’s life is right there at its core. And for me it is the same. The scars that adorn my body will tell my story — a physical reminder of this journey that started years ago and got me to this moment. 

Shehechiyanu vekiyemanu vehigiyanu lazman hazeh. 

Trees communicate with each other through intricate root systems. Mycorrhizal networks transfer information, water, and nutrients between them. Older trees can provide excess resources through these networks to seedlings, which increases survival. These systems are a key part of how forests thrive. 

There are so many of us, trans folk and allies, who are fighting for trans safety — especially for trans and nonbinary youth. Together we will ensure a future where trans and nonbinary youth live to be trans elders. Our networks are vast and our roots are strong. There will always be community.

Inhale

We are here. We won’t stop fighting. We will not concede.

Exhale

I also want to remind us to celebrate the wins. Whether it’s a public legislative kind of win or a making it through the day win — our joy is sacred. Every time we laugh, dance, throw glitter, love each other, we get a taste of our ancestors’ dreams and olam haba, the world to come. Trees bear fruit to give life to new trees. Let us indulge in that sweetness so that we may give life to new dreams and pathways. And let us nourish ourselves while we work for a better world for the next generation. 

This Tu B’shvat, and every Tu B’Shvat for the rest of my life, I will share my gratitude for what I’ve learned from our leafy neighbors.

Trees give us oxygen to breathe — a literal meaning of eitz chaim, tree of life. May our lungs fill with their wisdom, for there is much to understand from trees about resilience, community, and transformation. In these times, the lessons they have for us are crucial. 

The seed is hope for a better future
The trunk is strength we get from the past
The roots are what bind us together
The fruit reminds us to keep dreaming

Let us be like the trees. Strong and proud. 

Inhale

We are here. 

Exhale