The protea is the national flower of South Africa. It is a
large exotic flower with thick pink petals in the shape of a
thimble head. The plant grows only in Cape Town, and at the
airport there are always bunches for purchase to take as
presents to the hinterland. My ambition has been, for some
years, to grow this plant on my balcony in Eretz Yisroel.
Each year I tried and each year I failed. I must say, others
who had also tried and failed had warned me.
I realize that I am not a very successful gardener. My
sister, on the other hand, has green fingers. Whatever she
places in the earth blossoms in a marvelous fashion. So some
years ago, when she came to visit, she brought with her a
fresh new packet of seeds, and carefully read me the
instructions. The correct place was selected, not too sunny
and not too shady. The seeds were planted at precisely the
correct depth. Then to complete the instructions, we went to
the local playground to gather up some sea sand to sprinkle
in a thin layer above the seeds. The instructions on the
packet were thus completed and I carefully watered the pot
each day.
To my great delight, a plant started growing. Just one plant,
but that was good enough for me. However, as the days and
weeks went by came the realization that it was a palm tree
that was growing in the pot and not a protea. How had such a
thing occurred? Clearly the sand that we brought from the
park contained in it a seed of a palm tree. The proteas had
failed to germinate but this small unknown and unwanted plant
had sprouted upwards.
The growth was rapid and within two years, my daughter had
separated the extra shoots and planted them into another pot.
Now we have two palm trees growing on our balcony. Maybe one
day we can use them as schach for our succa.
Yet in spite of my yearly efforts, we have no protea.
This led me to thinking about the unintended results of our
actions. How often do we intend to do good but the deed
misfires and we find that we have instead done harm? But the
opposite can also be true! A kind, incidental, word planted
can sometimes blossom beyond our intended expectations.
When people ask for advice, do we know if our words are the
correct ones? What if they are not? What if the result of our
words, or even our actions -- a disapproving glance maybe,
when someone is mentioned as a potential shidduch --
should bring about failure and unhappiness rather than
success and joy? Does the blame for the results lie with us
although we intended good? How can we be sure that good deeds
become actions that cause good results?
[Perhaps we must go back to the simile of the palm tree and
Dovid Hamelech. A tzaddik shall grow like a palm tree
when he is planted in the proper environment, "In the house
of Hashem shall they blossom." Most possibly, this
yenuvun blossoming is related to tvuna,
understanding and wisdom that comes with growth in the proper
soil.
Perhaps, in the proper soil, with a soul filled with
ahavas habriyos, whatever we do and say will have
positive results, and we must keep on planting...]
