Walking through the streets of a traditional Jewish neighborhood during Sukkot, one cannot ignore the strange spectacle unfolding before them: the streets fill with people walking proudly, dressed in elegant suits, carrying in their hands a tall, wrapped bundle of plants soaring upward. For those who follow them into the synagogues, an even more surprising scene awaits. In the middle of the prayer, without any warning, everyone simultaneously takes out their bundle of leaves and begins shaking it in all directions!
This aforementioned plant-bundle is, of course, the Four Species, which every Jew is commanded to “take”—Biblical shorthand for both purchasing them and taking them in our hands—during each day of Sukkot (except for the Shabbat during the festival week). To fulfill the commandment, we take the lulav (closed palm branch), which has been bound together with three (or more) haddasim (myrtle branches), and two aravot (willow branches) in our right hand; in the left hand, we hold the beautiful etrog (citron). We then unite all Four Species by bringing our hands close together. Though we take Four Species note that we have a total of seven items, so we hold both four and seven together, an interesting combination of numbers that warrants consideration separately.
At the beginning of each day of Sukkot (again, apart from Shabbat), we “take” the Four Species in the sukkah. Later, in the morning prayers, we shake them during the recitation of the Hallel in the morning prayer, and circle the bimah (the platform where the Torah scroll is read) with them during the recitation of the Hosha’anot. Women are not obligated to perform the commandments surrounding the Four Species, but they can certainly choose to do so, and there are many who do so.
What could be hidden behind such a seemingly strange commandment?
There are many interpretations of the inner meaning of the Four Species, and here we will present just one of them. We wish to ask, what spiritual quality does each of the Four Species represent, and in this light, what does their unification, when we take all four together in our hands, symbolize?
Multiplicity and Unity
One of the issues that the unification of the Four Species touches upon is the relationship between two poles of existence—unity and multiplicity.
The relationship between unity and multiplicity is embodied in Judaism in the verse that captures our faith more than any other, the Shema: “Hear, O Israel, Havayah is our God, Havayah is one.” This is a complex verse, which refers to God with both His essential Name, Havayah, also known as the Tetragrammaton (the four-letter Name) and another Name, Elokim (which we translated as simply “God”). The Name Elokim is peculiar, since its suffix im (ים) suggests that it is in the plural form. This leads us to understand that it refers to Divinity as it is revealed in nature, i.e. the world of multiplicity. Elokim (יםִהֹ־לֱא) even has the same numerical value as “nature” (עַבֶּטַה). On the other hand, the verse asserts that God is “one”—a single, abstract entity that encompasses and connects both nature and what is beyond nature.
A person of faith tends to aspire to distance himself or herself from the overwhelming flow of colors, shapes, and opinions of this world, in search of a simple unity that lies beyond it. An inner voice whispers that within the world, through the revealed multiplicity, a single heart beats, and we should go and seek it out.
But what is the point of this unity, and how can we even approach it if it does not have a relationship with the multiplicity in which we find ourselves living? A profound unity would be meaningful and relevant to our lives only if it could be seen refracted or reflected in the myriad fragments of the mirror of reality that is our world of multiplicity. Moreover, the fragments of the mirror should be reflecting a multitude of new facets, which then, through the prism of unity, are seen to create a new oneness. Thus, our world of multiplicity would contribute to the formation of a higher, second-order unity—a unity that is even higher than the initial one we imagined, because it now includes both unity and multiplicity together.
Something of our expectations can be found in the Four Species. Each of the species illuminates a different aspect of the singular Divine unity, which together create a more comprehensive depiction of the Divine unity, insomuch as depicting it is possible. We can also think of the Four Species as four coordinates in a multi-dimensional space, collaborating to point together to the hidden one God.
It is a midrash, a homiletic meditation from the sages that urges us to go even one step further. The Midrash is on the verse that describes the Four Species in Leviticus. It takes the description of each of the species and compares it to the Holy Blessed One Himself:
- “The fruit of a beautiful tree” [referring to the citron, the etrog]—this is the Holy Blessed One, as it is written, “You are clothed with glory and majesty.”
- “Branches of palm trees” [referring to the palm branch, the lulav]—this is the Holy Blessed One, as it is written, “The righteous shall flourish like the palm tree.”
- “And boughs of thick trees” [referring to the myrtle branches, the haddasim]—this is the Holy Blessed One, as it is written, “And he stood among the myrtle trees.”
- “And willows of the brook” [referring to the willow branches, the aravot]—this is the Holy Blessed One, as it is written, “Extol Him who rides upon the skies by His name Kah.”
Comparing each of the Four Species to the Holy Blessed One, the “one God,” suggests that not only do they create a unity and completeness by being taken together, but that each one of them, in and of itself, expresses a type of unity and wholeness.
Four Types of Unity
The idea that the Four Species express four types of unity is what we wish to examine here. We will contemplate the Four Species according to the order taught by Kabbalah: hadas (myrtle), aravah (willow), lulav (palm), and etrog (citron).
Myrtle (Hadas): Shared Root
The myrtle branches are long, and at each point of branching, exactly three leaves emerge. Moreover, the halachic criterion for the validity of the branches is that each trio of leaves indeed emerges from the same point. If there are only two that emerge from the same height and a third emerges from a separate point, either higher or lower, the branch is rendered invalid for the mitzvah.
In light of this, the type of unity that the myrtle branches express is the unity of a shared root. On the surface, the world is built of a multiplicity of separate limbs, but if we delve beneath the surface, we discover that they all grow and branch from one root. Not only that, but they all draw sustenance and live from it at every moment, even if our eyes do not see it. To discover the shared root of things demands us to see beyond the peripheral and search for their root, their origin.
A pleasant fragrance is characteristic of the myrtle. The scent here symbolizes the ability to “smell” with our inner senses the common origin of things. Interestingly, the pleasant fragrance emanates from the leaves, not from the stem. It’s as if to say: even what appears peripheral is not insignificant—if we concentrate, we can feel that the scent of the shared root imbued within it radiates outward even more intensely, and with more fragrance than the root itself.
Willow (Aravah): Shared Destiny
The willow branches are the simplest among the Four Species. They are endowed with neither fragrance nor with a good taste—on the contrary, their taste is bitter. They are also the quickest to wilt, so much so, that during the seven days of Sukkot, it may be necessary to replace the willows two or even three times (some people choose to replace them with fresh branches daily).
The sages said that the leaves of the willow resemble lips, and this relates to the rustling and whispering sounds that the leaves make when they move. A willow bush reminds one of crowds of people gathering and mingling, producing an indistinct murmur. Here precisely lies the type of unity that the willows embody: the unity which emerges from being mixed up together. In Hebrew, the word for “a mixture” of people (הָיְבּוּבְרִע) is cognate with the word for “willow” (הָבָרֲע).
The unity of mixing is the unity of life as it actually is, in the present. Like willows of the brook, we all crowd together on a small piece of earth floating in space, thirstily drinking its few drops of water, trying somehow to hold on before we wither and pass away. This is not a unity of a shared origin from which we all came, or of a shared purpose to which we all aspire, but of a shared destiny—of mutual responsibility arising from mutual dependence. But this is a very profound unity, and it reveals an aspect of the Divine.
The willows also offer a solution—modest and incomplete as it is, but worthy of our attention—to the situation it reflects. The Aramaic word for “willows” (אָנָוְחַא) also means “sisters.” The rustling lips can turn into lips of dialogue, listening, and acquaintance—the basic tenets of a shared life. As mentioned, this is a partial solution, as words do not really solve everything, and at certain moments, they even blur gaps that perhaps should be emphasized; but as a temporary and incomplete tool, like the willow itself, they are important.
The Palm Branch (Lulav): Shared Purpose
The lulav is referred to in the Bible as “branches of palm trees,” and for it, we use a palm frond that has not yet opened and appears as a long, slender branch. Because it towers significantly above the others, the lulav is considered the most prominent among the Four Species. When we fulfill the commandment to take the Four Species on Sukkot and recite the blessing, as we do before every commandment we perform, the blessing uses the palm branch—the lulav— to refers to all Four Species together: Blessed are You Havayah our God... who has commanded us to take the lulav.”
The date palm tree is unique in the way its leaves grow. Instead of each leaf branching out in a different direction, the leaves of the palm branch lie one on top of the other all growing from the central spine in the same direction. The unity the lulav symbolizes is one of shared purpose—having a common goal. This unity embodies the dream that humanity will unite around a single vision and strive together for its fulfillment.
In contrast to the remembrance of a shared root (the myrtle branches) and coping with everyday life as it is (symbolized by the willows), the palm branches unity is a convergence around a future vision. This type of unity elevates our stature and instills in us pride—of the positive kind (as embodied in the expression describing King Yehoshafat, “His heart was elevated in the ways of God”)—pride that is an aspiration to bring new Divine abundance into the world. This is why the palm branch, the lulav, resembles an upright spine. Additionally, while the myrtle possesses fragrance—a faint memory of unity that was once revealed and is now concealed—the fruit of the date palm has taste. The reason is that a vision for the future gives a tangible flavor to our lives, a sense that we have somewhere to progress to and a desire to reach our destination.
Let us note that this specific unity demands a clear hierarchy: it involves higher and lower, goals and means, a supreme value and other subordinate values. To embark on a path of development, one must acknowledge the need to place one teaching, one principle above others, accepting definitions of levels, roles, and stages.
The Citron (Etrog): Empathy
The citron, or etrog, is referred to in the Bible as “the fruit of a beautiful tree.” The sages interpret this beauty described in the verse to mean “a fruit that dwells on its tree from year to year,” that is, a fruit that takes a full year to mature and thus goes through all seasons on the tree. The sages also learnt that the tree needs to be one that grows adjacent to water, because the specific word for “beauty” (הדר), used in the verse and pronounced “hadar” is phonetically similar to the Greek word for “water” (hydra). Finally, the sages liken the shape of the fruit to the human heart.
The citron’s ability to endure all seasons as it grows on the tree hints at the attribute of equanimity—a humble and indifferent acceptance of all of life’s circumstances—whether it rains or shines. Indeed, this is the trait of the rectified heart, which does not become arrogant or resentful but is always imbued with humility and gratitude for all it has. This experience balances the palm-branch-like pride, allowing us to elevate ourselves without becoming haughty.
Socially, the ability to adapt to any weather resembles the capacity to bear and accept every human temperament. Moses describes the leader that will replace him as someone who, “can conduct himself according to the spirit of each and every person.”
