If ever there was a holiday ripe for revitalization and collective embrace, it's Tu B'Shevat, the Jewish New Year of the Trees. Falling smack in the middle of winter, when the weather is usually not at its best, the age-old festival, which some scholars date to the early Middle Ages, heralds the prospect of regeneration, of sunnier days ahead. That alone should commend it to North American Jews, lifting their spirits when they sag under the weight of gloves and hats and scarves, their movement impeded by the heavy tread of boots.
The promise of a spring in our steps isn't the only thing that renders Tu B'Shevat an attractive candidate for celebration. It asks little of us: No fasting or renunciation, no breast-beating, no synagogue-attendance, no declaration of faith is required. Instead, Tu B'Shevat comes bearing food,
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