As Tu B'Shvat Wanes: Hearing the Cries of Humans and Trees

Stop Cop City
Back in 2021, in direct response to the murder of George Floyd and Rayshard Brooks and the widespread racial justice uprisings in Atlanta and across the country, the city of Atlanta approved the construction of the largest police training facility in the US. They leased 381-acres of Weelaunee Forest - a watershed which rests on historically native Muscogee land, which used to be the site of the Old Atlanta Prison Farm, and which is now surrounded by primarily Black residents - to the Atlanta Police Foundation to build a sprawling police military training facility. A place to crack down and more strategically squash mass uprisings, whose plans include a Hollywood-style mock city to practice urban warfare, dozens of shooting ranges, and a Black Hawk helicopter landing pad. The plan is being funded by over 60 million dollars of corporate money and over 30 million dollars of tax-payer money.

Naturally, there is a large contingent of residents, along with environmental and community groups, across Atlanta, who have opposed the project, which they are calling “Cop City.” Since the plan’s inception, there have been ongoing protests that have sought to make their concerns over high stakes environmental risks and overwhelming community dissent well known. From the start, 70% of comments at the public hearing during which Copy City was approved were against the project. And yet, the city, state, and federal drivers of the project - as well as the corporate funders - have ignored those concerns and attempted to aggressively push the project forward.

A school bus ridden with bullet holes. Photograph: David Walter Banks/The Guardian

The opposition is so strong and so committed, though, that beginning in late 2021, the forest began being occupied by forest defenders who barricaded the area and constructed tree-sits to prevent trees from being cut. Over the last year plus, forest defenders have been raided and attacked several times by police. Most recently, and most tragically, on January 18, an Atlanta Forest Defender who went by the name Tortuguita or "Tort" - and who was a steadfast believer in nonviolence and by all accounts, a loving and peaceful friend - was fatally shot by police during a militarized raid of a forest defender camp. Twenty other people have been charged with domestic terrorism as a result of that raid. Domestic terrorism for trying to protect a tree. Being killed for trying to protect a tree.

In the concluding lines of a statement of solidarity written by Defend the Atlanta Forest, which is open to public signatures: “The struggle that is playing out in Atlanta is a contest for the future. As the catastrophic effects of climate change hammer our communities with hurricanes, heat waves, and forest fires, the stakes of this contest are clearer than ever. It will determine whether those who come after us inherit an inhabitable Earth or a police state nightmare. It is up to us to create a peaceful society that does not treat human life as expendable. The forest defenders are trying to create a better world for all of us. We owe it to the people of Atlanta and to future generations everywhere to support them.”

A Tree of the Field
As Jews, we know that this is true. We know how life is intrinsically holy. We know that trees and humans alike are valuable beyond measure and afforded ultimate dignity. We are called to support the forest defenders. Why? Because we feel it in our kishkes and because our texts say it is so. In these, the waning hours of Tu B’Shvat 5783, let us do some learning - in Tortuguita’s honor - on just how important the connection is between trees and humans in Jewish thought. And then let us act to live out this value:

“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 - “ki ha’adam etz hasadeh” - 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

As Jeffrey Spitzer points out, in his helpful source sheet on the topic, this passage begins by clearly prohibiting war time invaders from cutting down fruit trees during a siege. The passage ends by explicitly permitting cutting down trees that are “not for eating,” in order to build siege works against the city. In between, there is the strange line - “ki ha’adam etz hasadeh” - brought as justification for this ruling. What does that mean: “humans are like trees of the field”?

Needless to say, the commentators who have pored over the text of Torah for the last few thousand years have sought to understand what the strange phrase means. “Ki ha’adam etz hasadeh.”

The Jewish Publication Society (JPS) translation above is based on Rashi’s understanding of the verse. Namely: “Are trees of the field human, to withdraw before you into the besieged city?” That is, it is not permitted to destroy trees because unlike humans, trees are not able to surrender and retreat. They are sitting ducks that you may not destroy.

Read slightly differently, Biblical translator Everett Fox reads this verse: “Are the trees of the field human beings, able to come against you in a siege?” Rather than the trees not being able to withdraw, Fox seems to think this is a question of whether the trees are able to fight back. Since the trees can’t fight back, his logic goes, you are not permitted to destroy them.

Whether you read according to Fox or Rashi, though, the general idea remains the same: trees are not part of all this war and should therefore be left alone.

But this raises another question. If you remember, the original passage does permit the invaders to destroy trees that bear no fruit. Well, non-fruit bearing trees are no more capable of mounting an attack or retreating than fruit bearing trees. So what gives?

Rabbi Abraham Ibn Ezra (11th c, Spain) shares his take: “Behold, one may not destroy the fruit tree, which is life for a human being. It is permitted only to eat from it…” In other words, don’t destroy the tree because you need its food! Your life depends on it! Isaac Abarbanel (15th c, Portugal, Spain, and Italy) expresses something similar: “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 them.” Rabeynu Bachya (13th c, Spain) also chimes in: “The commentators explain that the life of humans and their food is [from] a tree of the field…and it is not the way of a wise and understanding nation to needlessly destroy something so worthy. Therefore you should not cut down a tree of the field, rather you should protect it from destruction and damage, and take benefit from it.” And finally, the Me’am Loez (18th c, Turkey) adds: “Humanity’s life is dependent on trees, and the tree is so important for the existence of the world that the sages established a special blessing for those who go out in [the Hebrew month of] Nisan and see blossoming fruit-producing trees. [The blessing says] ‘nothing is lacking from God’s world and God created good creations and good trees for the benefit of humanity.'”

Etz Hayyim / Tree of Life
Little did these commentators of the last millenia know - I have to believe - just how true and salient these interpretations were. Because we know from indisputable science that trees are absolutely essential to humanity, far beyond the fruits that they may or may not produce. We know that we humans cannot breathe without the trees. That the very oxygen that we breathe in, the breath of life by which our souls are called in Hebrew, is the exhalation of our tree siblings. And even more, the carbon that we exhale is magically sequestered by the trees, brought in close and transformed into even more tree. That the most perilous and damaging aspect of our climate crisis - an overload of carbon that we humans produce - can actually be solved by the most natural of processes for the trees, their normal functioning. That perhaps the most important action that we humans can take to lessen the impact of climate change, is to plant more trees. To preserve more forests. To reforest areas that have been razed for timber, palm oil, monocropping, or profit-driven development. Nevermind the benefits that trees provide when it comes to shade, to water filtration, to soil health, to habitat refuge, and so much more. Surely, if the rabbis of the last millenia knew of the scientific benefit of all types of trees, we have to imagine they would have also forbidden the destruction of non-fruit bearing trees. All trees benefit us and sustain us and so, based on their own logic, all trees must be preserved. Must not be destroyed.

On some level, maybe these rabbis did already know this. Because our tradition has long understood the centrality of trees. After all, not only are we humans compared to trees, but the Torah itself, the most sacred of our sacred texts, the foundational wisdom of our religion, is called Etz Hayyim. The Tree of Life. Plus, notably, our origin story begins in relationship to the Tree of Knowledge, the Tree of Good and Evil. An orchard or a forest as much as a garden, our beginning begins amongst the trees of Eden. Surely, a people who treats with reverence our Etz Hayyim, has forever been on the side of trees.

Cries of Pain
In the words of Rabbi Jacob ben Isaac Ashkenazi (16th c, Poland): “[The Torah compares humans to trees] because, like humans, trees have the power to grow. And as humans bear 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.”

Clearly, those who support Cop City have not read Deuteronomy. Or Rashi. Or Fox. Or Ibn Ezra or Abarbanel or Rabeynu Bachya or the Me’am Loez. Clearly they haven’t studied Rabbi Jacob ben Isaac Ashkenazi. They don’t understand that humans are like trees of the field. That trees are our greatest friends and our greatest chance of survival. That human life is infinitely sacred, created in the divine image. Clearly, the same forces that would cut down a tree in the name of violence, would enact violence on humans. The same forces that would destroy an entire forest, would kill a human being trying to protect that forest. The same forces that fail to hear the cry of humans, fail to hear the cry of trees.

Memory and Action
Let us dedicate this Tu B’Shvat to Tortuguita, z”l - may their memory be for a revolution and a blessing - and to all of the forest defenders. May the wisdom of this holiday bring with it the hope and inspiration for a growing movement of people who speak up for the trees and on behalf of the forest defenders. Who donate to the Atlanta Solidarity Fund. And sign the statement of solidarity. And follow the lead of the organizers, acting in memory of Tortuguita and in honor of the activists continuing to protect the forests and trees. I pray that we commit to doing our part at every turn to ensure that in Atlanta and in our own backyards, we are honoring and celebrating and protecting all trees, all forests, and all humans of the field.

Amen.

The Shalom Report

As Tu B'Shvat Wanes: Hearing the Cries of Humans and Trees