The Terebinth
It was beyond the hills north of Hebron, a little east of the Jerusalem road, in the month of Adah; a spring evening, so brightly moonlit that one could have seen to read, and the leaves of the single tree there standing, an ancient and mighty terebinth, short–trunked, with strong and spreading branches, stood out fine and sharp against the light, beside their clusters of blossoms—highly distinct, yet shimmering in a web of moonlight. This beautiful tree was sacred.
This long descriptive sentence is the opening of the first chapter of a book by Thomas Mann titled Joseph and his Brothers. It is a telling of the story of Jacob and his sons—the origins of Israel. Mann started the book in Germany in 1926 and didn’t complete it until 1942 when he was living in Pacific Palisades. His writing was interrupted by the rise of the Nazis, his exile from Germany in Switzerland, travels around the world including North Africa, and finally settling in the United States. It is a testament to Mann’s persistence that despite the cataclysmic events of his times, events that uprooted his life and family, he remained committed to finishing this work. It is a story that preserves a humanistic view of Israel in the face of Nazi propaganda. It emphasizes ethical responsibility, reconciliation, and compassion through a period of rising brutality and division. And it illustrates the dangers of political power and authoritarianism that paralleled Mann’s experience as an exile. Mann’s commitment to this literary work produced a north star for anyone in need of a moral compass in times of social turmoil.
It strikes me as important that this story opens with the description of this ancient, stocky terebinth tree deeply rooted in the hillside north of Hebron. It is said that anyone sleeping under this tree would receive “dispensations and commands in a dream,” and prophets would gather their listeners together under its branches to hear inspired words. While all the world is in turmoil, we too should seek our sacred tree—a place where we feel deeply rooted in the soil, unshaken by the “sturm und drang” (storm and stress) all around. This place may be a literal tree, or it may be a quiet spot in the midst of family life, or a particular pew in the sanctuary. Wherever it is, it should be a place where one can hold on to a divine truth even as one is uprooted from the familiar, predictable paces of everyday life. It should be a deep well of redemption and restoration standing near the boundary of eternal and abiding love.
Blessings,
Pastor Jen
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