Seeing a lone fig tree by the road, He came up to it and found nothing on it except leaves only. And He said to it, “May no fruit ever come from you again!” And the fig tree shriveled up at once.
These people are hidden rocky reefs at your love feasts—shamelessly feasting with you, tending only to themselves. They are waterless clouds, carried along by winds; fruitless trees in late autumn, doubly dead, uprooted;
He dug it out and cleared its stones, planted it with a choice vine, built a tower in the midst of it, and even cut out a winepress. He expected it to yield good grapes, but it yielded worthless grapes.
“I will utterly consume them,” says Adonai. “There will be no grapes on the vine, and no figs on the fig tree, and even the leaf will wither, and what I gave them will pass away.”