Recently, a new artisan storefront opened near my Main Street home. As I like to support local artisans, I wandered in for a look. “Our name is Just Jewellery,” said the salesperson. “We specialize in silver and semiprecious stones, featuring the work of several local artists…”

But I could not focus on her words. Instead, images of divinity overwhelmed me. I saw Ganesh, Hindu god of wisdom, carved in jade; Buddha, sculpted in a granite-like paste; a Kabbalistic network of triangles drawn with sparkles; a Cross embellished with garnet; a bold Indigenous Eagle, etched in silver.

This store was a festival, but I was not sure what kind. A deeply multi-faith festival, celebrating devotional artistic intent? Or a superficial spiritual-not-religious marketplace, baiting buyers with aesthetic beauty?

“Please, take a closer look at something,” the seller begged, “Even if you don’t want to buy today!”

So I looked, and I bought a pendant: a silver tree, with flowing roots and branches, reaching down to earth and up to heaven. Etched around the tree were Sanskrit words. It seems the artist had meditated on the ashwattha tree from the Bhagavad Gita, the banyan tree whose expansive growth symbolizes the ever-expanding universe.

But my mind transmuted the words into Hebrew.

Trees are classic Jewish symbols. Etz chayim hee, we say of the Torah: she is a tree of life. During the Omer season, we reflect on the tree of sefirot, pausing to note seven spiritual fruits. This week in synagogue we read from Parshat Tazria – literally “sprouting” but in context, “giving birth.” Variations on the root zera, seed, appear ten times in Genesis chapter one, celebrating the unpredictable nature of growth.

My desire to read the symbol as Jewish surprised me. Given my theology, I should not care whether a spiritual symbol is Jewish or not. … Continue Reading at Rabbis Without Borders…