Tu Bishvat is a holiday that makes absolutely no sense if you’re growing up in North America. For one thing, it seems the carob lobby got their mitts on the Jewish day school market years ago and refused to let go. Year after year teachers present bewildered children with a packet of holiday fruit that consists of a handful of almonds, two dried figs and a stick of carob.
In what universe is this considered an edible and appropriate snack for 8-year-olds? To confuse matters even more, you’re told that the lump of unyielding bark you’re trying desperately to swallow is called “bokser.” Here’s an explanation of the phenomenon that I couldn’t be bothered reading.
Even more perplexing, however, is the notion that while you’re fated to endure another three or four months of winter, in Israel spring has arrived. What, in January? The vision of Israelis enjoying balmy weather while you’re staggering around in your three pairs of tights just adds to the shimmering mystique of the Land of Israel.
Reality is somewhat different. As I write this, two days ahead of Tu Bishvat, the TV weather pundits are debating the likelihood of snowfall. Sad how childhood delusions are shattered.
But reality plays no part in cookie design. In the land of sugar, the trees are always in full leaf. You might not be able to tell with just a cursory glance, but I tried to make each tree somewhat different from every other. In some, the leaves have a windblown look, some are oak trees, some acacia. OK well not really. I didn’t actually do any arboreal research. But I did want each cookie eater to feel like he was eating a one of a kind creation. (Even the decorative Alon cookies were all variations on a theme.) Did I achieve my goal? I’m fated never to know. But at least that’s one less delusion shattered.
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