One evening, not long ago, I was walking home from yeshiva to
rendezvous with my wife at our local supermarket. As I passed
the bus shelter for the Number Four, I looked down and found
a huge opened pinecone sitting on the sidewalk. Being in one
of those playfully good moods that I occasionally bring home
from yeshiva, I bent down to the sidewalk and scooped it up,
with the hope that my bizarre behavior would go unnoticed by
passersby. After briefly appreciating the mass and
flawlessness of the pinecone, I looked up, naturally, hoping
to find the source of the small botanic wonder in my hand.
There above me stretched out a massive Pinyon pine tree. I
had probably passed beneath this particular tree about a
thousand times without noticing it. A wave of fuzzy-warm
romantic home sickness for the lush coniferous forests of New
England passed through me.
On a side note, if you ever happen to be in Jerusalem and
would like to look as out of place as possible, I'll give you
a few simple tips: First, stop to pick up a pinecone in the
middle of a busy urban sidewalk. Then, firmly gripping the
pinecone in one hand, tilt your head backwards 90 degrees and
dreamily gape at the tree from which it came. If this doesn't
get you some stares, then you're in need of expertise beyond
the scope of this author. But I digress.
A few minutes later, I met up with my wife at the
supermarket. "What's that in your hand?" "It's a pinecone."
My wife, bless her soul, has learned not to ask too many
questions when I get like this. I casually slipped the
pinecone into our stroller basket. Sometime later that
evening, the pinecone took its place on the marble
mantlepiece above our wall radiator. Every home needs a nice
big pinecone.
I know what you're thinking: How can this story possibly get
more exciting? Well, a few days later, while mulling around
the house, I paused to admire the pinecone. I turned it on
its side and suddenly six or seven enormous wooden seeds
slipped out from between the scales of the cone, making a
sound like glass marbles as they hit the floor. Apparently,
the dry heat of our apartment had loosened the otherwise
sticky resin which normally holds the seeds in place. This
was a profound event.
As I stood there looking down at the seeds strewn across my
living room floor, I couldn't help but feel like I had just
been privy to the very intimate culmination of a course of
natural events starting with the germination of that gigantic
Pinyon pine probably about 50 years ago. Every four to seven
years, the Pinyon pine develops pinecones that take about
four months to ripen and several more to dry out and release
their seeds. Thank you, Encyclopedia Britannica. As it
turns out, Hashem designed this pine cone as an ingenious
seed delivery system that not only ensures the survival of
the tree, but also provides nourishment for various species
of birds, small mammals, and as of about a week ago, this
author.
When shaken, the seeds rattled, and being the sort of
inquisitive person who brings home pinecones in the first
place, I had no choice but to crack one open with a hammer. I
did so, and out came a familiar looking oblong kernel.
"Well, well!" I remarked to my wife, "it looks a lot like the
pine nuts they sell in the store for 15 shekels an ounce.
Hey! It's entirely conceivable that pine nuts get their name
because they look like the seeds that come from pine trees.
In fact, maybe they actually come from pine trees. I wonder
if they're edible like the ones in the store. There's only
one way to find out!" Yes, I did, and they were, and it was
delicious, and all was well with the world. But then
something odd occurred to me.
Why, I ask, does it seem more reasonable to us that nuts
should come from a cellophane bag than from a tree? The
biological phenomena that help to sustain us go largely
unnoticed, except of course when one accidentally occurs in
the middle of someone's living room. Hashem created and gives
life to a miraculously intricate natural ecosystem, which in
the course of its seasonal cycle manages to produce delicious
little nuts that come sanitarily packed in a hard protective
casing. And who gets the credit? Supersol.
Urbanization has put us out of touch with the sort of things
that demonstrate the miraculous nature of our world, the
everyday miracles that put us in touch with our Creator. The
Reform movement in Germany and Eastern Europe's Industrial
Revolution both began in the early 19th century. There's a
reason America's "Bible Belt" is located where it is. There's
more than just coincidence at work here.
It takes a lot of work to connect with one's Creator, and a
major step in that process usually involves recognizing the
difficulties inherent in one's particular position. Most of
us live in big artificial cities where meat comes from a
freezer and fruit grows neatly on shelves. A person could go
his whole prime-rib and mashed-potatoes-eating life without
ever having to come in actual contact with a potato plant or
a Black Angus. I've never even seen a picture of a potato
plant. [Ed. You left your Britannica behind in New
England?] How can we truly appreciate the sustenance Hashem
provides us with if we're so distant from the miraculous
process through which He does it?
As daunting as this can all seem, Hashem would not cause so
many of us to live in cities without giving us the tools to
appreciate His world. And He hasn't. At the very least, the
blessings we make over the foods we eat, as well as other
natural phenomena, practically guarantee an elevated
appreciation in a world where far too much of our physical
comfort is taken for granted. If we can generate an
appropriate level of awe for Hashem's methods, our
brochohs will transform the world. Avrohom Ovinu did
it. So did R' Avigdor Miller zt'l. You and I can do it
too.
I consider myself very privileged. I get to be the benefactor
of this beautifully elaborate system in which Hashem lovingly
provides for His creations, while the rest of the world just
eats. The idea that brochohs can literally determine
our reality may seem strange, but it can prove to be
momentous. Sort of like picking up a pinecone off the
sidewalk.
"Blessed are You, Hashem our G-d, Who creates the fruit of
the Tree."
