On The Tree of Heaven, Francie, and Me

According to Wikipedia, The main metaphor of the book A Tree Grows In Brooklyn is the hardy Tree of Heaven, native to China and Taiwan, now considered invasive, and common in the vacant lots of New York City.

The technical name of the tree is Ailanthus altissima, or in Chinese, chouchun; literally "malodorous tree").

Behula Shah wrote an article about this tree, posted at harvard.edu, called "The Checkered Career of Ailanthus altissima." She develops the two sides of the story. This is a beautiful tree and was once recognized as such. Today it "has made itself at home as a weed along our countryside." She feels that it is worthy of our admiration due to its "hardiness" despite the fact that many see it as "a symbol of dereliction and abandonment."

In a more one sided piece, "Penn State Scientists: Tree of Heaven Really Isn't", the argument is made that this tree is a menace; the article outlines a plan to free the state of Pennsylvania from the "tree from hell."

What did Betty Smith think of this tree? In the introduction to her masterpiece A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, Smith writes, "There's a tree that grows in Brooklyn. Some people call it the Tree of Heaven. No matter where its seed falls, it makes a tree which struggles to reach the sky. It grows in boarded up lots and out of neglected rubbish heaps. It grows up out of cellar gratings. It is the only tree that grows out of cement. It grows lushly...survives without sun, water, and seemingly earth. It would be considered beautiful except that there are too many of it."

Smith is here clearly using the tree as a positive symbol for one - like her - "who struggles to reach the sky," adding that it "grows lushly" and the fact that it can survive the most dire of circumstances represents the resilience that all those who struggle need in spades. I don't think she's complaining when she says "there are too many of it." She's noticing that when a tree or flower is ubiquitous we can forget to notice how beautiful it is and even deem it a weed, as is the case with the dandelion.

The protagonist of A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, Frannie, sits on her balcony trying to alphabetically go through every book in her local library. As she enters her world of words and images on the balcony she notices the tree and takes strength from it.

Spark notes has this to say:

Tree of Heaven

The tree in the title grows in tenement districts, without water or light, even without soil. It symbolizes perseverance and hope amidst hardship. The tree is a recurring symbol throughout the novel; when Francie is born, Katie explicitly likens her life to the tree's. Katie knows she will keep living, no matter how sick she becomes. In Brooklyn, this tree trumps all others. When Neeley and Francie bring home a small spruce to nurture, it dies even as they try to take care of it. But the tree keeps on. The reader should think of the tree not only in terms of Francie, but also the poor community as a whole. It "likes poor people." When Francie leaves Brooklyn at the end of the book, Florrie Wendy symbolically takes her place. The tree grows for Florrie, too, as it must have for Flossie Gaddis before Francie.

Francie sees the Tree of Heaven every single day; it is a touch of beauty in her daily surroundings. When Francie looks down from the fire escape, it looks like the tops of many green umbrellas. It makes sense that Smith would choose an object with which Francie is totally familiar. Here again, the author shows how one may view small, material objects differently. It is not a special tree, in a conventional sense; it grows everywhere where there are poor people. It is not grandiose like the sea or a majestic mountain. It is humble, and its humility makes it all the more powerful.

The teacher in my Human Behavior In The Social Environment class was purposely vague regarding our first assignment, which was to write about what it meant to be a person. We were to focus on one character of a book and on ourselves. And we were to glean from what we had learned in class and "in the field." (If anyone would like to see that paper I could probably find it, though it predates my use of computers, so it's an old fashioned yellowing, stapled term paper.)

I chose to write about Francie Nolan. What jumped out at me from the book was the depiction of different worlds. Francie has many worlds, all of them real: one world in the library, another on her porch, one in school, another at home. Within her home various relationships stand alone for Francie. Francie’s father Johnny lives in different worlds too. The reality of these worlds is driven home after Johnny dies. When Francie goes to his barbershop to pick up his shaving cup, the barber tells her that her father was a good man. At this moment, Johnny’s worlds of friends and family touch for the first time.

I think a lot about the circles around me, these worlds I live in. As I work on myself, I remember my environments. Being an American, born and bred in Queens, growing up on 225th street, attending yeshiva day schools, learning in Israel, getting Semicha from Y.U., working in Frisch, reading poetry at Makor, performing stand-up at Park East Synagogue, typing these emails at my table – all of these worlds are relevant to the question of me. In order to grow, I must look at my worlds and see how they’ve effected me.

When a dear friend lent me the video version of A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, I hijacked it because I was so taken by this movie and wanted to be able to re-watch it any time. As with Ordinary People, I wouldn't say that the book was better, rather that the movie and book complement each other in a major way. The insight into human nature! The characters! The portrait of a family and the workings of that unit!

When I was seventeen I looked up my name in a biblical concordance because I'd always suspected a name should be a noun. I remember the moment with guilt because without permission I took the concordance off a dorm mate's bookshelf. I found one place in Tanach where my exact name is used as a noun.

In Iyov-Job the protagonist bemoans the fate of man. Considering the frailty of human life he observes how plants are more resilient than man. If you cut a man down he dies, but a cut down tree can grow again: "Meiriach mayim yafriach, ve'asah katzir kmo NATAH (that's my name: nun-tet-ayin, with a kamatz under the nun and a patach under the tet)" -" It will grow from the scent of water and will reach harvest again as a new plant."

When I discovered this pasuk-verse I felt better about my name. I took it as a good omen that my name represents resilience. And I was able to start the practice of reciting a pasuk with my name in it after Shmoneh Esrei, something I had never done because my name wasn't on the traditional list.

As I get older I become increasingly comfortable with my name. I would have long ago started going by my Hebrew name if it was Chaim or Moshe or even Natan. But if I had a different name I would have a different life. And I wouldn't change my name or my life for anything.