If a tree trunk is mostly dead, what's the secret of its living strength? 

IF we aspire to reach great heights in our personal development, we should try to emulate the way trees grow. There are trees that have lived for thousands of years. They exist because Hashem wants us to learn something from them.

Last month, we discussed how our metaphorical roots help us take on new challenges in life. In this column, we will learn how building a solid “trunk” facilitates stable, enduring growth.

How does a tree’s trunk contribute to its growth? It doesn’t blossom with leaves or fruits like the branches, nor does it supply the nutrients like the roots, but it plays a vital role nonetheless. The trunk is the tree’s backbone, keeping it upright and stable as it grows. A majestic redwood tree stands as straight as a soldier at attention because of its trunk.

The trunk is what distinguishes trees from plants. A plant, no matter how robust, can’t maintain an erect posture. It sways, bends, and bows low with every gust of wind. It manages to grow, but would probably grow taller if it had a solid trunk. A firm, sturdy trunk is the key to lasting growth.

We all know people who grow like a plant. They work on themselves, and reach impressive heights in middos, learning, or tefillah. But when difficulties in life buffet them, they bend and flail like a sapling in a tempest. One day they’re the biggest masmid, the next day they can’t focus on the Gemara for ten seconds. One day they feel like they’re climbing to the heavens in their prayer, the next day they only know they davened Shemoneh Esreh because they found themselves taking three steps back.

A person must grow like a tree. It’s not enough to grow taller; we have to maintain our height. We must not be like a plant that constantly sways in the wind and buckles under pressure. As we grow, we need to make sure we have a solid trunk that gives us the stability to stand firm in the face of difficulty. To do that, we need to understand the secret of the trunk’s strength.

The key to the trunk’s sturdiness is surprising, even counterintuitive: Most of it is dead! The tree’s most dynamic growth occurs in its inner core, shielded by the hard outer layers of the trunk. The strong, solid wood of the trunk is mostly made up of dead cells. And because it’s mostly dead, the trunk doesn’t budge an inch, even in strong winds.

A plant, at first glance, appears to be more alive than a tree. It’s all green and lush, without that dead, hardwood exterior. But it’s precisely the dead trunk of the tree that keeps it standing tall. Green plants are soft and flexible. Without the firmness the hard, dead trunk provides, they’re tossed around in the slightest breeze. To grow like a tree, we need a solid trunk that doesn’t budge in even the strongest gale.

Now here’s the part we don’t want to hear. If you want firm, lasting growth, some parts of your life have to be dead! A tree stays upright because it has a trunk that’s hard, dead wood. For us, that means much of our daily functioning has to be as inflexible and unnegotiable as a block of wood.

No, I don’t mean you should be a robot. Having “dead” parts doesn’t mean acting mechanically without feeling. What it means is that you’re able to do what’s incumbent on you, even if you’re having a hard day or you’re not feeling particularly lively. We have to be able to live even when we don’t feel full of life.

Many bochurim ask me to give them inspiration for getting up on time for Shacharis. I tell them motivation isn’t the path to success. They appreciate the value of tefillah, and want to get to davening on time. But it’s impossible to feel motivated when your alarm goes off and you’re so exhausted you can barely open your eyes. I get up very early, when it’s still pitch-black outside, and everyone in the house is fast asleep. And believe me, I’m not always bursting with motivation.

I tell the bochurim: Do you know why I get up at my scheduled time? It’s not because I’m motivated — it’s because that’s when I get up! For me, getting up on time is as inflexible and unbendable as a tree trunk. True, it’s “dead” in a sense; it isn’t always saturated with exhilaration and fulfillment. But that’s exactly why it doesn’t bend every time I feel exhausted or a little under the weather.

Our very body shows us how inflexibility allows us to thrive. When we tighten a muscle to move our arm or leg, the tendon pulls the bone we want to move. Tendons have to be taut; if they were too pliable, they couldn’t pull our limbs. It’s their inflexibility that enables us to run, dance, and leap.

I know this idea is not in vogue. Today, motivation is our lifeblood. We want to feel excitement, fulfillment, and geshmak in everything we do, 24/7. We want davening, learning, and chesed to be sweet and uplifting, every time. So it’s extremely hard for us to function at our normal level when we aren’t feeling so pumped.

It’s not our fault. The world around us is obsessed with satisfaction and has trained us to pursue it constantly. Naturally, we take the same approach in the spiritual realm of life. We experience the thrill of water skiing and the savoriness of a juicy steak, and seek similar gratification in avodas Hashem. We want to feel inspired in tefillah, exhilarated in our learning. But while motivation and excitement are pumping with life, they’re as soft and inconsistent as a green plant.

If our avodas Hashem hinges on what we find geshmak, we’re bound to bend like a plant every time our motivation fades. Being excited by mitzvos is a wonderful thing. But that shouldn’t be the only reason we do them. We have to get used to doing what we need to do, simply because that is what we do, period. Our daily functioning must be as firm and inflexible as a tree trunk. That’s the way to keep our head up high when life’s difficulties threaten to bring us toppling down.

People don’t want to work on this, because they’re afraid their avodas Hashem will become dry and mechanical. But in fact, ridding ourselves of our dependence on “feeling” allows us to feel more genuinely. If you think avodas Hashem has to be filled with feeling every second, you are subconsciously pressured to be emotional. Particularly in tefillah, the urge to be moved by davening brings us to artificial expressions of emotion. If we get used to doing mitzvos not because we feel inspired, but just because that’s what we do, we’ll free ourselves from the pressure to feel. Then, even if our davening isn’t jam-packed with constant feeling, the emotions we do feel will be more genuine.

It feels good to be a plant. Everything is alive, every second full of vigor and zest. But that’s not the path to lasting growth. What a shame it is to reach grand heights, but lose our stature every time we’re having a bad day. Let’s grow like a tree, and get ourselves a solid trunk. True, a trunk may seem kind of dead. But when you look at a magnificent redwood 300 feet tall, you realize it couldn’t be more alive.

—Prepared for print by Rabbi Eran Feintuch

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1020)