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If a Tree Falls in the Forest on Tu B’Shvat...

by Rabbi Fred Scherlinder Dobb

It’s treated as a riddle, a Western koan, a cliché by now: “If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it does it make a sound?” It is an important question to ask ourselves this Tu B’Shvat season.

Physics suggests the answer is yes; mass and velocity, angle and density and the like will all affect the volume of the sound made by the falling tree, yet the proximity of human eardrums is utterly irrelevant. Modern ecology critiques the very anthropocentrism (human-centered-ness) inherent in the question. We share 99% of our DNA with fellow creatures like chimpanzees, but what if the forest in question is equatorial West Africa, with no humans but plenty of other intelligent bipedal primates there to hear the sound?

Judaism too offers its own spin on the question, one whose roots go back nearly two millennia. In Pirkei D’Rebbe Eliezer (Chapter 34—it’s a classical rabbinic text from about 300 CE TKTK), we are told in similar koan-fashion of “six things whose voices resound from one end of the universe to the other, yet are not heard.” The first of which is: “In the hour when they/you cut down a tree which bears fruit, its voice goes out from one end of the universe to the other, yet the voice is not heard.”

(Another one of the six things is the departure of the soul from a human body at the moment of our own death. By paralleling the deaths of trees and people, this text also underscores the parallel lives of humans and trees. Deuteronomy 20:19, the origin of the law of bal tashchit/not wasting, also points to this. The text: ki ha’adam etz hasadeh—“is the tree of the field human” is read by Midrash Sifrei 203 as teaching that “human life depends on the tree” or literally “there is no life for a person save that which comes from the tree.”)

Pirkei D'Rebbe Eliezer offers quite an image of trees being cut down--a silent scream of global proportions, resounding across the universe. It is set at such a spiritually high frequency that the human ear cannot pick up the signal. Yet we are taught about the scream, nonetheless. What can we learn from this image? A few suggestions:

First, the scream is there. We must fine-tune our own ethical and spiritual receptors so that we can finally hear what so dismays the cosmos about the felling of trees. And once we do, it will change what we buy and who we vote for and how we live. Non-recycled paper, or off-the-shelf wood products without the Forest Stewardship Council label, or politics as usual subsidizing more logging on National Forest land, only perpetuates that scream.

(This is close to what the great Maimonides, in 12th century Spain/Egypt, taught about prophecy. It isn’t that God singles out folks like Rebecca or Jeremiah to receive the divine word; but rather that these ‘prophets’ are so morally and religiously inclined that they make the extra effort to discern the divine word, which is always there. In other words, we all have prophetic potential: and to add a dash of Dr. Seuss to the Rambam, the trees need a lot more prophetic Loraxes to speak for them!)

Second, we can’t single-handedly stop the scream. The international economy is so structured that trees become disposable chopsticks, construction-grade lumber, fine string instruments, firewood to heat impoverished homes, reams and reams of paper used and wasted in affluent offices, and so on. But by getting educated and in turn, by educating others—including businesses through our purchasing, and politicians through our voting—we can lessen the screaming chorus.

Third, even when we can’t stop the scream, we can offset it. Our great-grandchildren will still be poorer for every strand of redwoods or sitka spruce cut down today; olive trees near Bethlehem and bristlecone pines near Bryce Canyon take generations to reach maturity. But every tree we plant, every seed we nurture, every ecosystem we protect, every bit of soil we conserve and every bit of conspicuous consumption we avoid, all play their helpful part.

Finally, we can learn from the trees’ silent scream. Most life on Earth, including, but not limited to people and trees, is under threat from the rapid climate change our one species is now causing. Turning around the juggernaut is proving difficult, however, because the ‘scream’ of scientific consensus and of horrific warming signs goes unheard by corporations and Congress and consumers and citizens, to say nothing of the current U.S. administration. We prophets, we Loraxes, we who hear the scream, must raise our voices still more, while modulating them so that others can hear it too. The silent scream can be a metaphor for the great environmental challenges which lie ahead. For trees, for the Earth, for us—let’s make sure the scream goes unheard no more.

Fred Scherlinder Dobb is the rabbi at Adat Shalom Reconstructionist Congregation in Bethesda, MD and serves on the COEJL Board of Trustees.