The Forest of Means and Ends

There was once a man who had inherited a beautiful garden. Lush, green grass covered the ground like a silk carpet. Trees of all types: mighty oaks, weeping willows, sweet apple and pear trees stood like soldiers in an army formation, every tree carefully placed. The pond in the middle of the garden was visited by birds of all kinds, ducks with yellow feathers, majestic swans, and the dark crows – all came to find food, shelter, and comfort in this majestic garden. The man worked hard to improve the garden even more. He pulled out the weeds from the grass, carefully tended to the trees, fed the visiting animals, and made sure that the pond remained sparkling clean. One day he realized that he no longer had adequate resources to sustain his beautiful garden. He thought long and hard and decided to cut down part of the grass and sell it for animal feed, and this would allow him to keep up the rest of the garden. Soon he realized that this was not enough, and he allowed the lumber company to chop down some of the fruit trees to make furniture. Soon, this was also not enough, so he allowed hunters to hunt some of his ducks, fisherman to catch some of his beautiful fish, and the local farmers to pump out some of his water out of the pond. All this the man did to preserve his garden. It was a small garden now, nothing compared to how he remembered it. No longer did the grass cover the rolling hills – it was a modest plot of land, covered with that same lush grass. The man no longer lost himself in the shadows cast by the mighty trees – a few trees stood scattered on his modest plot of land. His little animal friends visited rarely now: the food was scarce and the hunters often hid in the bushes right outside the garden. The pond was much smaller now, now a vast blue scene stretching as far as the eye could see. The man had given up a lot to preserve a little island of paradise. The problem was that the man was so busy taking care of all those endeavors that were necessary to maintain his garden, he never found enough time to maintain the garden itself. One day, after a long day of renegotiating the contract with the lumber company, the man snuck away into his little garden. The grass had welted – no one had watered it. The trees’ branches grew wild and some had been killed by termites – no one had taken care of them. The animals were no where to be found – no one had cleaned the pond in such a long time. The man sat down on the brown patch of earth where once lush grass once grew and thought for a long time. Why did I sell so much of my garden, he thought, to the farmers and the woodchoppers? Was it now to maintain my garden? But if the means kill the end, what have I accomplished?
We build edifices of gashmius to protect and help maintain and nurture are ruchnius, but then we are too mevuhal to say asher yatzar with kavana. How sad. What’s the point then?