In an ideal marriage, you live with someone who is in certain respects your polar opposite

One sweltering day in Haifa, I sought refuge from the sun beneath a palm tree. But to my chagrin, I quickly discovered that there’s one thing the palm tree can’t provide: shade.

The reason, of course, is that the palm tree doesn’t have branches. Its trunk shoots straight up, and long fronds rest on top like a crown. If you’re looking for shade, you need a tree with branches all the way up its trunk, and the more, the merrier.

This observation reveals much more than how to stay cool outdoors. The Alter of Kelm taught that botanical growth is an allegory for spiritual growth. We can learn about growth from every blade of grass, but we have the most to learn from trees — nature’s preeminent flora. If we aim for greatness in our personal development, we should emulate the way trees grow.

In a previous column, we discussed how the qualities of a tree trunk demonstrate how to maintain a high spiritual level. Growing taller, improving ourselves, realizing our potential — that’s all integral to personal development. But standing under that palm tree, I realized there’s more to growth than vertical extension. I would like to explore how a tree’s branches teach us a new paradigm of growth: branching out.

A tree’s branches provide shade by reaching out in different directions. That creates a spacious zone of shadow for anyone standing under the tree. We, too, need to provide spiritual and emotional “shade” for others. Of all the people in our lives, our children need our shade more than anyone else. They need us to connect to them within their world, to be havens of support, stability, and guidance.

But there’s a built-in challenge. Each of our children is different from us, and from one another. How can we, with all our good intentions, provide each child with the particular shade he or she needs? To do that, we need to branch out.

It’s not enough to hone the qualities and skills that come to us naturally. Those are the building blocks of our trunk — our individual approach to life and avodas Hashem. Our trunk is certainly the center of our spiritual tree. But a trunk can’t provide shade for others. For that, we need to reach out in different directions. We have to be versatile, and be able to step outside our comfort zone to connect to others in ways that defy our nature.

We can do this in simple ways. I, for example, detest small talk. Anyone who’s ever invited me to a kiddush knows that I do my best to avoid such affairs. It’s not that I question the kashrus; it’s simply because I find small talk torturous. I feel like a hockey puck being knocked around the ice. I’m schmoozing with one person for a couple minutes, then all of a sudden, he’s pulled away by an invisible thread. Someone else comes over to talk to me about a different topic, until that conversation too comes to an abrupt, mid-sentence halt.

But when my children were young, I realized I had to learn the art of chitchat. I had to learn to chatter idly with each child and step inside his childish world, to explore his childish interests and understand what makes him tick. My children needed that shade over their heads. So I grew that branch, and learned a skill that has proven an essential tool in my bein adam l’chaveiro repertoire.

How do you learn to go against your nature? In my personal experience, the easiest way is to branch out the way trees do. The botanical reason trees branch out is that they have various layers that grow at different rates. But all the parts work together to form a cohesive whole. We all are close to people who have personalities or approaches to life different from ours. If we stick with them, despite our dissimilarities, we’ll have to occasionally veer from our preferred paths. That’s how you grow a branch.

For learning how to grow branches, there’s no greater teacher than one’s spouse. In marriage, you have to live with someone who lives and views the world differently than you do. Some people think the ideal marriage would be one with no disagreements. That’s the worst imaginable marriage! If you always saw things eye-to-eye, you’d never step out of your comfort zone, never branch out. You would stay the same, narrow self, and you would never be able to provide shade for anybody who isn’t exactly like you.

No, in an ideal marriage, you live with someone who is in certain respects your polar opposite. But you stick together as a single tree. It’s not enough to respect your spouse’s way of doing things. If you always stick to your way and your spouse sticks to his or hers, you’ll never achieve unity, and you’ll never branch out. At times you have to be willing to adopt your spouse’s approach, even if it isn’t your cup of tea.

I learned the skill of small talk from my wife. I’m always amazed how long she can carry on a polite conversation. At the beginning of our marriage, I couldn’t appreciate the value in this. But I began to see that this skill of hers allowed her to enter the world of our young children much better than I could. So I pushed myself to chat with them about whatever they wanted, and show them I was interested that they were interested in something.

Branching out doesn’t mean changing who you are. Your trunk doesn’t budge. But you learn to function even in ways you think are just plain wrong. I, for example, am a high-energy, efficient person who wants to get things done immediately. When I finish eating, I jump up to wash the dishes. My wife, on the other hand, is totally engaged in whatever conversation she’s having and doesn’t think about her lengthy to-do list. If she’s schmoozing with the grandkids, the dishes can wait till next week, as far as she’s concerned. For years, I tried to show her the error of her ways. After all, the mussar classics say you have to be a zariz and never procrastinate.

Then one Shabbos night, my eldest daughter overturned her entire bowl of soup out of sheer carelessness. I was about to yell, “Go clean that up!”

But my wife was completely unperturbed. She said serenely, “Oh, look, the soup spilled. Let’s put a towel over it, and then try that again.”

Who was right? My wife, of course. In general, I still prefer my way to hers. I still think you have to be a zariz. But I learned that I can function in a way feels completely wrong — and it can even be fruitful.

That’s how you branch out. Out of your glorious truth, your glorious approach to life. Because you’re determined to stick together with a person you believe is doing things the wrong way. Then you become broader, more versatile. You achieve greater unity with your spouse. And then you can offer shade to others, even those who are different from you.

We all strive to be good role models for our kids. We push ourselves to reach dazzling spiritual heights, and hope they will follow suit. That’s a noble aspiration, but let’s remember to grow some branches, too. Because on a hot summer day, even the finest of trunks won’t give our children the shade they need. —

—Prepared for print by Rabbi Eran Feintuch

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1036)