For more about Shevat, see: Preparing for the New Year.

Have you ever had to get up at 3 a.m. on a cold January day?

The sky is so black. The streets are so empty. The whole world seems to be cold and dead and silent.

Yet if you could hear - really hear - the symphony of the world, you wouldn't hear silence at all. You would hear a gushing sound, like a river running through the world, everywhere you turned. And then, muted yet unmistakable, would come the sound of a tiny pop as a minuscule, miniature green leaf breaks through the crusty ashen bark of a branch of a shivering tree.

Just when it seems that the world is asleep, nature is waking up. Just when it seems that all is cold and dead, the trees are warming themselves and coming back to life. In other words:

Tu B'Shevat higi'ah, chag ha'elonim.
Tu B'Shevat has arrived, the holiday of the trees.

If we correlate the months of the year to the hours of a day, the winter months of Tevet-Shevat-Adar correspond to the hours that fall between midnight and dawn, the darkest part of the night.

During these hours we are asleep to the world, yet our minds - in our dreams - are busy sorting out yesterday's problems, thinking new ideas for the future and giving us the relaxation we need to start a new day feeling fresh and alert.

Nature also appears to be asleep during these months, yet beneath the surface a world of activity is taking place. By the month of Shevat, the rains have saturated the earth of the Land of Israel and these life-giving waters are rushing upwards into the veins of the trees. These waters have re-activated the tree's ability to produce sap, which sends nourishment to the tree's branches. When the 15^th of the month arrives, Tu B'Shevat, the first fruits of these efforts - tiny buds of life - begin to appear on the trees.

We haven't reached the goal yet - the fruits will still take more time to develop and ripen, just as our dreams of Kislev may still take more time to come to fruition. But with the first appearance of these buds, we are asked to stop and take note of what has been accomplished so far, and feel satisfaction with these first signs of success.

We mark the occasion by celebrating Tu B'Shevat, a day set aside in the calendar for praising the bounty of the Land of Israel. It is customary to eat fruits from the Land of Israel on this day. Although one can observe the holiday simply by saying the blessing over fruits and then eating dates, figs, grapes, olives and other fruits grown in Israel, it is becoming more and more common for families and communities to hold a Tu B'Shevat Seder.

Tu B'Shevat is mentioned in the Talmud as one of the four New Years observed in the Jewish calendar, and its observance as a day for determining tithes of fruit-producing trees goes back to the earliest history of our first sojourn in the Land of Israel. The idea of the Tu B'Shevat Seder, however, began much later - during the 16^th century - in the northern Israeli town of Tzfat.

During this time, Tzfat was home to Rabbi Yitzchak Luria - a seminal figure in the history of Kabbalah who is also known as HaAri or Arizal - and he and his circle of followers developed many new customs that reflected the inner, mystical meanings of Jewish prayer and ritual.

Today, Tu B'Shevat Haggadahs are almost as varied as Haggadahs for Pesach, with some leaning more towards mystical explanations of the holiday and some with a more pronounced ecological slant. Two sources for texts are www.jajz-ed.org.il/melitz/monthly/tubshvat (but be warned, the link to the text for the '"Haggadah for Tu B'Shevat" is hidden at the very bottom on the page) and www.jewish.com/holidays/tubishvat, which also has links to articles explaining the holiday.

Although Tu B'Shevat is the New Year for the Tree, and the idea of the tree is closely associated with this month (see this month's "to-do list for the soul"), Shevat is also closely connected to water symbols. Not only is its astrological sign the Water Carrier of Aquarius, but some of the Torah portions read during this month are also concerned with water. It is this meeting place between the "waters of heaven" and the "soil of earth" that gives Tu B'Shevat, and all the month of Shevat, its rich spiritual significance - and gives us food for thought.

One of the more mysterious verses of the Torah occurs in Deuteronomy 20:19. The context is that God is explaining to the Jewish People some of the "rules of war."

Why is a tree of the field compared to man? Just as a tree has its roots in the soil, but depends upon the rains from heaven to give it life, so, too, are human beings connected to both worlds. Our bodies are very much rooted in the soil of Planet Earth, from which we get our physical sustenance. But "man does not live by bread alone" (Deuteronomy 8:3). We also need the spiritual sustenance that comes from Torah - which is often referred to metaphorically as water - to become full human beings.

This dependence upon both earth and water is reflected in the very word for man, which is Adam (a word which is a generic category for human beings that also includes women). The Hebrew spelling of Adam is Alef-Daled-Mem. The Alef is the first letter of the word adamah, which means earth. Mem is the first letter of the word mayim, which means water. And what is the Daled?

Daled is the first letter of the word dalah, one of those amazing Hebrew words that contains a host of meanings within its three letter root form. First, the word d'li means a bucket or a pail. In other words, it is a vessel of some kind. What does this "vessel" hold?

The word dal means a poor and lowly person. The psalmist speaks of just such a person when he praises God in Psalm 113:7: Mikimi m'afar dal. He raises the poor from the dust.

Another form of dalah, however, is found in the word dilitani, which means to raise or elevate. We find this form of the word in Psalm 30:2, when King David says: Aromimcha Hashem ki dilitani - I will exalt You, God, because You have drawn (raised) me up.

A human being, therefore, is a vessel that contains both elements of earth and water. If we dip too deeply into the well of material possessions and fill up our vessel with too many this-worldly concerns, we risk becoming a dal, the poor person who always feels he or she is lacking something in the world.

If, however, we make room in our vessel for the waters of Torah, then we are able to draw ourselves up out of the rat race that tells us to always strive for more things. We are able to raise ourselves to a higher level of being in the world.

Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, the Piaseczno Rebbe and later the Rebbe of the Warsaw Ghetto, defines this higher level of being in his book A Conscious Community (Bnei Machshava Tova), where he says:

We do not merely want to do the deeds that God commands, but to become God's vessels. We do not merely strive to perform sacred deeds, but to become sacred beings.

Although "becoming a sacred being" is dependent upon first "doing sacred deeds," it doesn't necessarily follow that the doing will lead to the becoming. If our performance of mitzvot (commandments) and acts of chessed (kindness) is by rote - if we are in a state of unconsciousness when we perform them - we will remain an empty vessel.

One of the keys to opening up ourselves to conscious living is to awaken feelings of gratitude for what we have in the here and now - and one of the Torah readings read during this month gives us a road map for how to arrive at a state of gratitude. Interestingly enough, it is also about water.

During Shevat we read Parshat Beshalach, which tells us about the triumphant Exodus from Egypt and the quick fall into fear and despair as the Children of Israel arrive at the shores of the Reed Sea. Behind the newly freed people is the rapidly advancing Egyptian Army. Ahead of them are the deep waters of the sea. They are trapped. There is no way out. There is nowhere to go.

Or so they think.

God tells Moses to raise his staff, and a miracle happens. The waters part and the Jews pass through to the other side. When God tells Moses to lower his hand, the waters crash down upon the pursuing Egyptians.

The Torah next describes the reaction of the Jewish people to these events as follows (Exodus 14:31, 15:1):

And Israel saw the great work which the Lord did to the Egyptians, and the people had awe for the Lord; and they believed in the Lord, and in His servant Moses. Then Moses and the Children of Israel sang…

After seeing this great miracle, the Children of Israel are moved to sing a great song of thanks and praise to God, Who saved them from what seemed to be a certain death. One might think that after experiencing such a fantastic miracle, the people would be so filled with awe and faith in God that it would be smooth sailing for them for then on. However, such was not the case.

Just three days after the Children of Israel leave the Reed Sea - with its miracles - behind them, they arrive at a different test involving water. The people are tired and thirsty and, like many of us when we become tired and thirsty, they start to grumble. Then the following incident occurs:

And when they came to Marah, they could not drink of the waters of Marah, because they were bitter (Exodus, 15:23).

Many commentators have pointed out that the final "they" of the verse is ambiguous, and therefore there can be two very different understandings of the verse. A simple reading would say that the Jews could not drink the waters because the waters were bitter (in Hebrew, the word for water, mayim, is always in the plural).

However, the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Chassidut, tells us that the waters were fine. It was the Children of Israel who were bitter, and that's why they couldn't drink the waters. They were so wrapped up in their own fears and discomforts and complaints, that even their sense of taste was affected (which is actually a medically proven side effect of some forms of depression).

The first question many people ask is how was it possible for the Children of Israel to so quickly forget the many miracles that God performed for them in Egypt and at the Reed Sea? They had seen with their eyes how God took them out of captivity, so why didn't they believe that God would also provide for their needs in the desert? Is it really possible that the same Children of Israel who saw God split the Reed Sea are the same people who doubted God's ability to get them a drink of water? How could it have happened?

The problem with big, dramatic once-in-a-lifetime miracles is that their effect wears off very quickly. They are like fireworks that dazzle for a moment, but fade rapidly from view. What's more, fireworks are no use when what you really need is a match to light the gas stove. As soon as we turn our attention back to our daily lives, we forget the thrill the miracle experience gave us. Even if we do remember to say "thanks," that expression of gratitude is usually hollow.

The generation that left Egypt - the generation that experienced the big miracles - never got to the Promised Land. They were never able to fully internalize the message that the God Who dazzled them with the fireworks of the 10 Plagues and the splitting of the Sea is also the God Who worries about whether or not they will have enough food to eat and water to drink. They knew that God was "up there," but every time the well started to run dry they asked, "Is God in the midst of us, or not?" (Exodus 17:7). Although the Torah is filled with accounts of their mumbles and grumbles, there is only one more mention of them singing (Numbers 21:17), and that two-line ditty is a far cry from the majestic song they sang at the Reed Sea.

So what lessons can we learn from this Torah reading about how to avoid the feelings of emptiness and bitterness that plagued the generation that wandered in the desert? What path can we take that will bring us closer to Reb Kalonymus' goal of becoming "God's vessels"? And is there some connection in all this with Tu B'Shevat?

According to Rabbi Shimshon Pinchus, zt"l, a good way to awaken and exercise your spiritual sensitivities is to go into your kitchen, open up the refrigerator door and take a look at what's inside. He writes that what you see on the shelf is as great a miracle as what the Children of Israel saw at the splitting of the Reed Sea. The milk, the eggs, the cheese, even the fridge, itself…It's all a miracle.

"But I bought the food at the grocery store, with money I earned from my job," you may protest. "Where is the miracle?"

True, you may go to work every morning, but Who created you with the specific talents you have that enable you to work at this specific job and earn this living? Who gave you this well-functioning body that allows you to get up in the morning and go about your business? And Who created all the trees and grains and animals that provide you with your nourishment so you can work and develop your talents and fulfill your purpose in the world?

If you take the time to think about how many miracles God had to perform for you so that you can do a simple transaction such as buying a jar of coffee, you are on your way to leaving the path of emptiness and bitterness behind.

Being able to see how many miracles God performs for you every single day - the miracle of good health, the miracle of the mind's ability to think creatively, the miracle of the natural world and technology - makes it easier to become filled with awe at how amazing this world really is.

Once you sensitize yourself to being in awe of the little things in life - the things we tend to take for granted until they are taken away from us, God forbid - you will find it easier to believe that God actually cares about you and is working full time, so to speak, to provide for all your needs. Finally, when you reach the point where you fully believe that everything you have is a gift to you from God - a gift given to you because of His great love for you - your soul will want to sing God's praises for all the amazing things He does for you.

The uniqueness of Tu B'Shevat is that it is a holiday that asks us to make a "big deal" out of the so-called "little things" in life.

A leaf budding on a tree. A piece of fruit. During our normal busy lives, who would stop to take notice of - let alone rhapsodize - such inconsequential things? Yet on Tu B'Shevat we devote an entire evening to enthusiastically singing the praises of these very things. And instead of eating a big four-course meal to mark the day, our holiday "meal" is a small repast consisting of just fruits and nuts and wine. But it is through stopping to take note of, and enjoy, the "small stuff" that we learn how to think big.

Before we eat a piece of fruit at the Seder, we are commanded to say the following blessing:

The need for nourishment is something that human beings share with all the animal and plant worlds. It is our alef - the part of us that we share with all creatures and plants living on this adamah-earth. The ability to freely thank our Creator for the nourishing food He provides, however, is something unique to humans. This comes from our mem - the spiritual waters (mayim) we receive from the Torah, "waters" that connect us to heaven and God.

It's fairly easy to feel gratitude to God for food before we eat, especially if we are ravenous or are looking forward to tasting a particular food. But our tradition also asks us to thank God after we've eaten and our stomachs are full.

If we've eaten fruit from one of the seven species that the Land of Israel is known for (grapes, figs, pomegranates, olives, dates, etc.) we have to say a special after-blessing of thanks (there is a shorter version for other kinds of fruit). In this prayer we thank God not only for giving us the piece of fruit and the tree it grew on, but we also mention:

It's a pretty big outpouring for just a few figs and dates. Yet there is even more. Another aspect of this blessing is that we don't just thank God for giving us things, we also thank Him for the ability to be satisfied by them. We say thank you for:

the desirable, good and spacious Land that You were pleased to give our forefathers as a heritage, to eat of its fruit and to be satisfied with its goodness.

This idea of being satisfied is repeated towards the end of the blessing, when we look forward to the time when Jerusalem will be rebuilt and we will:

…eat from its fruit and be satisfied with its goodness and bless You upon it in holiness and purity.

The ability to be satisfied with the goodness of the Land, even if all that "goodness" is encapsulated for the moment in just a small piece of fruit, is an art that was cultivated by the Patriarchs Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov. It is also something we will all be able to experience in the future, when the Temple and Jerusalem are rebuilt. Today it may be difficult for many of us to reach this exalted level all the time, but there is one day on the calendar when we are all satisfied with just a taste of the Land's goodness: Tu B'Shevat.

On Tu B'Shevat we suddenly wake up from our wintry slumber and come alive to the many small miracles that are happening all around us. We are fully satisfied with what God has given us, and our d'li - our vessel - is overflowing with feelings of gratitude. This feeling of gratitude transforms us from being the poor dal who always feels that something is lacking into a person who is elevated and holy.

With the simple act of eating a small piece of fruit, we achieve a greatness on Tu B'Shevat that once seemed out of reach. Perhaps the day before, we felt small, bitter and empty. But on this day we have reason to sing. We have seen with our own eyes the greatness in the small things we usually take for granted. This feeling of awe leads, in turn, to a deeply rooted belief that we do, indeed, have much to feel grateful for. And inspired by these feelings of gratitude, we suddenly come alive and become transformed into an exalted being who performs exalted deeds.