Tu B’Shvat: The Quiet Work That Brings New Life

In Israel, Tu B’Shvat arrives in the coldest part of winter—when the trees are bare, the branches look lifeless, and the ground is hard. If you didn’t know better, you might think nothing is happening at all.

But something is happening. Deep inside the trees, the first sap begins to rise. It’s quiet. It’s slow. You can’t see it from the outside. But it is the beginning of renewal. The beginning of life. The beginning of everything that will bloom months from now.

This is the message of Tu B’Shvat: Real change starts on the inside. Real growth begins long before anyone can see it. Real blessing comes from the work we do in the hidden places. We walk through the world and see beautiful things—strong marriages, close families, people who radiate kindness and peace. But what we don’t see is the work that came before the beauty.

We see a couple in their nineties, still holding hands, still laughing together. But we don’t see the years of choosing patience over anger, forgiveness over pride, love over fear. We don’t see the nights they stayed up talking instead of giving up. We don’t see the quiet choices that built something strong.

We see families gathered joyfully around a holiday table—adult children who still want to come home, siblings who still cherish one another. But we don’t see the years of effort, the intentional choices to stay connected, the hard conversations, the small acts of love that kept the family close. Tu B’Shvat reminds us that the beauty we admire is always the result of work done in seasons that looked empty, quiet, or even hopeless.

The same is true in our own lives. The real work happens in the moments no one sees. It happens when we are hurt and must choose whether to respond with anger or with grace. It happens when we feel broken and we must decide whether to shut down or to reach out. It happens when life feels cold and barren, and we must choose whether to let despair take root or to let hope rise like sap in a winter tree.

These are the moments that shape us. These are the moments that prepare the fruit we will one day bear.

Lately, I’ve been speaking and writing often about the word and concept hineni—“here I am.” It is the answer Adam gives when God calls out to him after he leaves the Garden of Eden. Adam is afraid. He feels exposed. His world has changed. Everything familiar is gone. And still, he answers, “Here I am.”

Hineni is not spoken from a place of comfort. It is spoken from a place of courage.

It means: Here I am, even in the darkness. Here I am, even when I feel lost. Here I am, ready to rebuild, ready to grow, ready to begin again.

This is the heart of Tu B’Shvat.

When the world feels cold, when our hearts feel tired, when nothing seems to be blooming, God calls to us, “Where are you?” And we answer with our own hineni. We choose to let the first sap rise. We choose not to let our hearts wither. We choose to believe that renewal is possible.

Tu B’Shvat is not about the fruit. It is about the beginning. It is about trusting that the small, hidden work we do today—the forgiveness we offer, the patience we practice, the hope we hold onto—will one day become something beautiful. Although the trees look dead now, life is already moving inside them. And the same is true for us.

If we choose hineni in the hard moments… if we choose light over darkness… if we choose hope over despair… then the fruits will come. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But they will come.

This Tu B’Shvat, may we honor the quiet work happening inside us. May we trust the slow, steady rise of hope. And may we believe, deeply, that even in the coldest seasons, God is preparing something beautiful to bloom.