God’s Bonsai

He Long lives near the Great Mosque of Xining, the capital of Qinghai Province in western China, but he spends his days running a small food stall on the city's southern edge. In his spare time, he tends to a dozen or so penzai (盆栽) trees in a garden across from his shop. He is particularly fond of the Chinese tamarisk (Tamarix chinensis), a species native to the transition zone between the Yellow River and the Gobi Desert, and a common sight along the slopes of the Qinghai Plateau.

The art of penzai likely evolved from the tradition of growing medicinal plants in Buddhist monastery gardens. Frequent pruning gradually caused these plants to become woody, transforming them into miniature trees. Over time, their aesthetic value was recognized, and they began to be cultivated for pleasure rather than just their healing properties, eventually expanding beyond the realm of medicinal herbs.

Like many good things, the art migrated from China to Japan. There, it underwent a local, formal, and at times rigid adaptation—at least when compared to the somewhat anarchic Chinese original.

The Chinese style remains wild and naturalistic, though it is filtered through the idealized yet controlled lens through which the Chinese perceive the natural world.

By their dual nature, Chinese mosques typically contain—alongside the mihrab, the prayer hall, and the mandatory ablution areas—penzai trees planted in deep pots. Miniature fig trees are especially common in these spaces, carrying a memory of distant lands and the sweet fruits of paradise, even as their roots are planted deep in the fertile soil of Chinese culture.

Despite the pagan origins of the craft, He Long is clearly captivated by his hobby. Our shared love for the art sparked an enthusiastic conversation about local varieties, the historical origins of the pomegranate, winter care in the biting cold of the northern Tibetan Plateau, the frequency of root pruning for ginkgo trees, and fertilization methods. He asked what could be grown in Israel and was particularly pleased to hear about the ganlan trees—or zaitun, as they are called in Arabic.

He Long, who goes by the Muslim name Elias, looks much younger than his years; I was surprised to learn his son is already studying education at the Qinghai University for Nationalities. He began growing penzai about a decade ago and can spend hours tending to them or simply sitting quietly by their side. For him, the act is almost equivalent to praying in the mosque.

I couldn't help but marvel at the blend embodied in that tiny pomegranate tree, blooming in the makeshift garden of a Chinese Muslim. In his shining eyes, there is no contradiction between the love of God, a simple and direct love for man, and above all, a tremendous affection for miniature trees.