Ah, Tu B'Shvat, the annual opportunity for Jewish day school students to acquire distrust of adults.

The morah, making a good-faith attempt to get us to sample the petrified assortment of Israeli fruits presented to us by the PTA on Tu B'Shvat, would always lure us into trying the bokser (carob) by saying, "It tastes like chocolate!" We would look at the hardened bokser incredulously, hold its dark, twisted form in our hands, and wonder aloud, "This is food?" It didn't smell like much, and you couldn't really bite into it, so we resorted to sucking on it until it softened and released a very faint flavor of something kind of chocolate-like but without any of the pleasure we associated with chocolate. Bokser tasted like chocolate in the same way that Robitussin tastes like fruit punch; it could not substitute for the real thing. 

So first your mother betrayed your trust by saying that the shot at the doctor wouldn't hurt, and then your teacher deepened the conspiracy by selling you on something very un-chocolatey for Tu B'Shvat. By the time you learned the truth about the Tooth Fairy, your inner cynic wasn't the least bit surprised that the adults in your life were trying to pull a fast one on you.

And yet, the carob-industrial complex continues to exert control over Tu B'Shvat related displays. Yes, carob trees are native to the Land of Israel, but they are not classified as one of the שבעת המינים celebrated by the pasuk in the Torah (Devarim 8:8). Our terminology, “bokser,” comes from the German Bockshornbaum, which means “ram’s horn tree,” as the carob pod resembles a dark horn. One could imagine it being featured more on your Rosh Hashanah table. Instead, bokser is de riguer in the dead of winter. How did this happen?

First, we must think practically. Bokser is light and small and it does not spoil, making it an eminently transportable substance and an easy way to obtain a taste of Eretz Yisrael while in faraway locales.

Secondly, we cannot overstate the influence of the sefer Chemdat Yamim, published in 1731 in Izmir, Turkey. Its author, Rav Yisrael Yaakov Algazi presented therein a comprehensive account of laws and customs of the Jewish calendar based on the kabbalah of the Arizal. There are dozens of now-accepted customs whose only known source is this book. Chemdat Yamim is one of the sources for conducting a Tu B'Shvat Seder, and bokser is listed there as an important food to include. [The sefer is also rooted in controversy because there are many who argue that its author was really none other than Nathan of Gaza, the Sabbatean. Rav Chaim Volozhiner acknowledged this as a possibility but found no objectionable content in it. There is dispute about whether or not the Ben Ish Chai accepted Chemdat Yamim. A 2003 printing of the book opened with an approbation from Rav Ovadiah Yosef, saying that "excitement about the holiness of Shabbat and holidays does not enter my heart except by reading this book of Torah." On the other hand, Rav Mordechai Eliyahu refused to keep the book in his house.]

I would like to bolster bokser by sharing two aggadic sources and one halachic source to justify its Tu B'Shvat dominance. The carob tree takes on a life of its own in the words of Chazal and has come to symbolize much more than a simple taste of Eretz Yisrael. Here are these bokser briefs:

1. Bokser and Bar Yochai: Shabbos 33b

When the great Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and his son were hiding out from the Romans who sought their death, the pair concealed themselves in a cave for thirteen years. This is traditionally regarded as the time period in which insights into God's influence over the world through levels of sefirot were revealed to Bar Yochai, the very source material for kabbalistic teachings. Accompanying this learning was nourishment provided via miracle:   

אֲזַלוּ טְשׁוֹ בִּמְעָרְתָּא. אִיתְרְחִישׁ נִיסָּא אִיבְּרִי לְהוּ חָרוּבָא וְעֵינָא דְמַיָּא, וַהֲווֹ מַשְׁלְחִי מָנַיְיהוּ וַהֲווֹ יָתְבִי עַד צַוְּארַיְיהוּ בְּחָלָא. כּוּלֵּי יוֹמָא גָּרְסִי

They went and they hid in a cave. A miracle occurred and a carob tree was created for them as well as a spring of water. They would remove their clothes and sit covered in sand up to their necks. They would study Torah all day in that manner.

Only a food with mystical powers could suffice to fuel Bar Yochai's intense dive into divine matters. To us, carob/חרוב represents the sacred beauty of connecting to Hashem in a sustained manner, with no distractions. Consuming carob transports us back into Bar Yochai's cave. No other responsibilities. No phone buzzing. Just closeness and connection with Hashem. This is something we should all aspire to experience. 

2. To Bokser and Beyond: Taanis 23a

The fascinating story about Choni Hame'agel's dialogue with Hashem about bringing rain for the Jews during the Second Temple era is followed by a poignant account of Choni that we can invoke this week:

אָמַר רַבִּי יוֹחָנָן: כׇּל יָמָיו שֶׁל אוֹתוֹ צַדִּיק, הָיָה מִצְטַעֵר עַל מִקְרָא זֶה: ״שִׁיר הַמַּעֲלוֹת בְּשׁוּב ה׳ אֶת שִׁיבַת צִיּוֹן הָיִינוּ כְּחֹלְמִים״, אָמַר: מִי אִיכָּא דְּנָיֵים שִׁבְעִין שְׁנִין בְּחֶלְמָא

Rabbi Yoḥanan said: All the days of the life of that righteous man, Ḥoni, he was distressed over the meaning of this verse: “A song of Ascents: When the Lord brought back those who returned to Zion, we were like those who dream” (Psalms 126:1). He said to himself: Is there really a person who can sleep and dream for seventy years? How is it possible to compare the seventy-year exile in Babylonia to a dream?

יוֹמָא חַד הֲוָה אָזֵל בְּאוֹרְחָא, חַזְיֵיהּ לְהָהוּא גַּבְרָא דַּהֲוָה נָטַע חָרוּבָא, אֲמַר לֵיהּ: הַאי, עַד כַּמָּה שְׁנִין טָעֵין? אֲמַר לֵיהּ: עַד שִׁבְעִין שְׁנִין. אֲמַר לֵיהּ: פְּשִׁיטָא לָךְ דְּחָיֵית שִׁבְעִין שְׁנִין? אֲמַר לֵיהּ הַאי גַּבְרָא: עָלְמָא בְּחָרוּבָא אַשְׁכַּחְתֵּיהּ. כִּי הֵיכִי דִּשְׁתַלוּ לִי אֲבָהָתִי — שְׁתַלִי נָמֵי לִבְרָאִי

One day, he was walking along the road when he saw a certain man planting a carob tree. Ḥoni said to him: This tree, after how many years will it bear fruit? The man said to him: It will not produce fruit until seventy years have passed. Ḥoni said to him: Is it obvious to you that you will live seventy years, that you expect to benefit from this tree? He said to him: That man himself found a world full of carob trees. Just as my ancestors planted for me, I too am planting for my descendants.

Carob trees represent being in it for the long run, for generations, for living beyond yourself. There's a taste of eternity and of mesorah within the carob because we enjoy the fruits that were planted by our forebears, and we toil for our descendants. Bokser is the fruit of the tree of dreamers who never give up, of those with wisdom and patience. Bokser links the branches of family trees together, demonstrating how we are nourished by those who sacrificed on our behalf long ago. To consume carob is to put your little life in its proper context: a grand scheme.  

3. Plucks Her Bokser: Rosh Hashanah 15b

Bokser is a most ironic food to honor on Tu B'Shvat because it is an exception to the rule of Tu B'Shvat! The general principle that Tu B'Shvat is a "New Year for Trees" means that it serves as the cutoff point for tithing/מעשר, much like January 1 begins a new year of income for U.S. tax purposes:

תָּנוּ רַבָּנַן: אִילָן שֶׁחָנְטוּ פֵּירוֹתָיו קוֹדֶם חֲמִשָּׁה עָשָׂר בִּשְׁבָט — מִתְעַשֵּׂר לְשָׁנָה שֶׁעָבְרָה, אַחַר חֲמִשָּׁה עָשָׂר בִּשְׁבָט — מִתְעַשֵּׂר לְשָׁנָה הַבָּאָה

The Sages taught in a baraita: A tree whose fruits were formed before the fifteenth of Shevat is tithed in accordance with the previous year, and if the fruits were formed after the fifteenth of Shevat it is tithed in accordance with the coming year.

But carob trees are different according to Rabbi Nechemiah and it doesn't matter when the fruit forms:

אֲבָל אִילָן הָעוֹשֶׂה בְּרִיכָה אַחַת, כְּגוֹן דְּקָלִים וְזֵיתִים וְחָרוּבִין, אַף עַל פִּי שֶׁחָנְטוּ פֵּירוֹתֵיהֶן קוֹדֶם חֲמִשָּׁה עָשָׂר בִּשְׁבָט — מִתְעַשְּׂרִין לְשָׁנָה הַבָּאָה

But in the case of trees that produce only one brood of fruit, for example, palm trees, and olive trees, and carob trees, which yield fruit only once a year, although their fruit took form before the fifteenth of Shevat, they are tithed in accordance with the coming year, since they follow the time of their fruit’s picking.

Tu B'Shvat is still the tithing cutoff date for carobs, but we calculate based on the time of harvesting, not completion. When it comes to carobs, the mere existence of a completed fruit is not important to us. It's all about usage, not potential. We honor the moment when a fruit is taken into human hands and is incorporated into our lives. Think about the resources to which we have access - in the realms of wisdom, knowledge, and inspiration - and ask yourself if that fully grown fruit just hangs forlorn from the tree, or is actually plucked and brought into the home and utilized. Bokser is the type of food defined by actualizing potential, and knowing this could give us the kick in the pants we need to make better use of our copious assets. 

Still not convinced to go for the carob this Tu B'Shvat? I can give you a much more costly alternative in the world of diamonds. After all, the unit of weight for gems, the "carat," originates from the Greek word kerátion, meaning the seed of the carob tree, which was traditionally used to weigh precious stones due to its uniform size. (Today, a carat is standardized as 0.2 grams.) I am surprised that the jewelers of the Jewniverse have yet to make this pitch for a new minhag not mentioned in the sefer Chemdat Yamim: Buy your beloved some carats for Tu B'Shvat!

Chewing on some bokser sounds more economical to me, though admittedly less romantic. Bokser takes a lot of energy to consume, and during this frigid winter season we all need to keep moving to stay warm. And whether you can taste chocolate or not, you are imbibing the flavors of Eretz Yisrael, giving this fruit a wistful and soulful quality. Perhaps this is why Simon and Garfunkel composed an ode to it, called The Bokser: 

Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone, going home
Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me
Leading me, going home