Once upon a time we had a good friend near our apartment here in Jerusalem a lovely flourishing rimon (pomegranate) tree that grew in a school yard entrance. During the cold winter months it was simply there bare and forlorn and neglected just another dead tree. But beneath its frozen exterior we knew that its inner essence was gathering force and that soon it would be pulsating all summer long with its  613 fruity red arils.

For 20 years my wife and I watched its progress spring and summer marveling as its splendor unfolded gradually before our eyes much as one delights in the progress of a newborn child. Occupied with other things during the week we would give the rimon our full attention on Shabbos pausing to gaze at it as we walked to and from shul. From week to week we would mark its steady progress. First the tentative signs of life in late winter then the little flowerets in April the eager unfolding of the round buds pushing them forward in May that created in June the slow miraculous transition from floweret to magnificent pomegranate crown followed in July August and September by the fully ripened crimson fruit dozens of them hiding modestly behind garlands of crisp green leaves. It was truly deserving of its crown for it is the royalty of all fruits.

One Shabbos morning not long ago as I passed the garden bearing the tree I saw something very odd. More accurately I saw nothing and that was very odd. I realized after I had passed it that the rimon tree was missing. I doubled back to take another look. It was not there. But how could that be? Was I in the wrong place? I looked more closely. Instead of the lovely leaves and branches of the rimon tree there were only a few stumps some sprouting weeds and nothing more. And there lying on its side as if awaiting burial in the ground lay the earthly remains of the tree itself brutally cut down dead.

My breath caught in my throat: shock disbelief anger. Who would have cut down this rimon tree? Terrorists? Hardly likely that they would find satisfaction in cutting down one lonely tree. Who? Why? Echoing within me was the prophet Yeshayahu’s vineyard lament (5:2).

I spent the next several days searching for the culprit and discovered that the institution in whose garden it stood was undergoing an expansion and that the builders claimed they needed the space. I inquired of the contractor: Since the tree stood at the very edge of the site was any thought given to perhaps moving the building site a few inches in order to save the tree? He looked at me wondering who this pesky oddball was: “Look we needed the space. We are sorry. But that is the situation now. Zeh mah she’yesh. It is what it is.” He must have seen something in my mien and tried to console me. Putting his arm around me he said “Listen habibi it’s only a tree.”

Only a tree. Were he not Jewishly unlettered he would have known that there is no such thing as only a tree. And he would have known that this careless destruction was a violation of a specific Torah injunction which warns against cutting down fruit-bearing trees even in wartime.: “…You shall not destroy the trees [of the enemy city]… you shall not cut them down … only trees which you know are not fruit trees may you cut down … [when you need them]….” (Devarim 20:1920) Wanton purposeless destruction of trees is forbidden.

It is now five months since the demise of the rimon tree. We think of it every Shabbos on the way to and from shul but we avert our eyes. There is still no construction there only dirty cinder blocks and rotting lumber. The stumps still poke out of the ground. I look closely: Perhaps new sprouts will yet emerge miraculously? A foolish hope. The stumps are the color of ruin gray and lifeless.

Lines from Joyce Kilmer’s famous poem come to mind: “A tree that looks at G-d all day/ and lifts her leafy arms to pray….” And “ Poems are made by fools like me/but only G-d can make a tree.” My supercilious English professors labeled this a corny sentimentalized poem. Corny or not it says it all.

Spring will ultimately arrive the time for buds to sprout and open up. The skies will be bright nature will come alive in the annual resurrection in which all that seems to have died is rekindled with life and vitality. But somehow even though it was only a tree spring will not be the same this year — because only G-d can make a tree —  especially a rimon tree.