PARSHAT KI TAVO

By Rav David Silverberg

            Parashat Ki-Tavo includes the section known as the tokhecha, the list of dreadful calamities that Moshe warned would come upon Benei Yisrael should they disobey the Torah.  Toward the end of this section, Moshe warns, “Ve-hayu chayekha telu’im lekha mi-neged” – “Your lives shall be hanging opposite you” (28:66).  Rashi explains that the word talui, which generally means “hanging,” or “suspended,” can also mean “doubt” or “uncertainty.”  (This is reminiscent of the English phrase, “hanging in abeyance,” in which an issue that has yet to be definitively resolved is described as “hanging.”)  This verse, then, refers to the sense of insecurity and uncertainty with which Benei Yisrael would be forced to live their lives, living each day without knowing what the next would bring.  Thus the verse concludes, “and you shall be afraid night and day, and you will not trust your lives.”  Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch similarly explained, “Your life will always be unsettled, you will have no firm sure basis for your existence and maintenance…”

            Shadal, however, disagrees, claiming that the use of the term talui in reference to uncertainty is a Mishnaic, rather than Biblical, usage.  In his view, this term as used in the Tanakh actually refers to stability and security, as something hangs securely from a firm structure.  Shadal therefore explains the intent of this verse by focusing on the word mi-neged – “opposite you.”  The people will see their lives as dependent on remote forces over which they have no control.  The fear and insecurity described later in the verse (“you shall be afraid…and you will not trust your lives”) results from the sense of lack of control, that all the efforts they exert and strategies they devise in response to the crisis will have no effect on the outcome, which is dependent upon entirely external factors.  Moshe warns that unless Benei Yisrael place their trust in God by observing the Torah, they will find themselves dependent on unknown, unidentifiable forces, resulting in an overwhelming sense of fear and anxiety.

            We might draw upon this warning, as understood by Shadal, in reflecting upon the obligation of teshuva, particularly during the month of Elul.  All too often, we are hesitant to take control of our spiritual lives, to proactively take the measures necessary to improve ourselves and grow in avodat Hashem.  Instead, we “ride the waves” and see where life leads us, hoping that somehow, at some point, some external force will inspire a process of self-improvement.

            The Gemara in Masekhet Avoda Zara (17a) tells the famous story of a Jew named Elazar ben Dordaya, who reportedly visited every prostitute in the world.  Once, after traveling a great distance to visit a certain woman, the woman commented to him that he would not likely ever repent.  The Gemara tells that Elazar immediately ran outside, and looked up to the mountains, hills, heavens and earth, begging them to pray on his behalf.  Finally, he cried, “The matter depends only on me!” and he repented.

            It appears that Elazar had a spiritual conscience all along; he was well aware of the fact that he lived a life of sin.  However, he figured he would continue along his path until something, somewhere, somehow, at some point, would fix him.  The woman rattled Elazar by informing him that this is not how teshuva works; if a person does not make a personal resolution and a proactive effort to improve, no force in the world can do this work for him.

            Elazar thus came to the realization that “the matter depends only on me,” that when it comes to self-improvement, we cannot depend on anybody or anything else.  Indeed, one of the most devastating curses that one can suffer is that of, “Your lives shall be hanging opposite you,” that he fails to exert control over the direction of his life.  The period of Elul and the Yamim Nora’im is a time to overcome this sense of dependence, and to take the initiative in working to improve oneself in all areas in need of improvement.

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            We find in Parashat Ki-Tavo the mitzva known as viduy ma’aser, which requires a person to verbally affirm after the third and sixth years of the seven-year agricultural cycle that he has distributed the required gifts from his produce.  The Torah presents a specific text that the farmer must recite (26:13-15), the first two of which declare his full compliance with the laws concerning the required gifts.  In the third verse, the farmer offers a prayer for God’s blessing upon the land and His people: “Look down from Your sacred abode, from the heavens, and bless Your nation, Israel, as well as the land which You have given us, as You promised to our forefathers, a land flowing with milk and honey.”

            Rashi offers an explanation for the relevance of this prayer to the context of viduy ma’aser.  Commenting on the farmer’s declaration that “I have done all that You have commanded me,” which immediately precedes the concluding prayer, Rashi writes, “I have rejoiced and I have caused others to rejoice through it.  ‘Look down from Your sacred abode’ – we have done what You decreed upon us, so You do You are obligated to do…”  After avowing full compliance with God’s commands concerning his produce, the farmer beseeches God to fulfill His promise to grant Benei Yisrael abundant rainfall in reward for their observance of the mitzvot. 

            A closer examination of this prayer may shed some light on Rashi’s comments.  A number of sources address the unusual term hashkifa which the farmer recites in asking God to “look down” upon Benei Yisrael.  Rav Chayim Kanievsky, in his Ta’ama Di-kra, explains that this verb refers to looking upon something or someone much different than oneself.  Thus, for example, the angels who visited Avraham are described as “setting their sights” on the corrupt city of Sedom with the term va-yashkifu (Bereishit 18:16), and Avraham likewise is described as looking upon the ruins of Sedom with this verb (Bereishit 19:28).  The use of this term is perhaps intended to underscore the sharp contrast between the angels and the righteous patriarch, on the one hand, and the sinful residents of the Sedom, on the other.  Similarly, a verse in Megilat Eikha (3:50) employs this term in reference to God’s “looking down” upon His nation with pity and compassion.  This verb emphasizes the fact that God’s “domain” is so vastly and fundamentally different from our earthly realm, and when He involves Himself in our world, this entails His “looking down” from one realm into an entirely different kind of existence.

            On this basis, we might perhaps explain the farmer’s prayer as it relates to viduy ma’aser.  As Rashi explained, the farmer concludes his declaration by avowing that he “rejoiced and caused others to rejoice,”  that he enjoyed his produce together with the needy, with whom he shared his blessings, thus bringing them joy and contentment.  He left his “domain,” he extended beyond the confines of his socioeconomic circle, to bring much-needed joy and relief to those suffering poverty and distress.  He has therefore earned the right to turn to the Almighty and ask, “We have done what You decreed upon us, so You do what You are obligated to do… Look down from Your sacred abode…”  Now that the farmer has left his own domain to assist those in need, he can rightfully come before the Almighty and pray, “Hashkifa,” asking God to look down from the heavens, from His state of absolute perfection, take note of His nation’s many needs and concerns, and bestow His blessing upon them so that all those needs are met to satisfaction.

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            As we discussed yesterday, the Torah in Parashat Ki-Tavo introduces the obligation of viduy ma’aser, which requires a farmer to declare after the third and sixth years of the agricultural cycle that he has given the required gifts from his land’s yield.  This declaration concludes with a prayer to God asking that He bless Am Yisrael with abundant rainfall and prosperity.

            The Talmud Yerushalmi, in Masekhet Ma’aser Sheni (chapter 5), comments that one should recite the first two verses of viduy ma’aser in a low, subdued voice.  The third verse, however, in which the farmer prays to God to bestow His blessings upon the nation, should be recited in a loud voice.

Rav Yaakov Weinfeld, in his work Mishnat Yaakov, explains that one recites the first part of viduy ma’aser softly in order not to appear arrogant.  After all, in this declaration one announces that he has satisfactorily complied with God’s commands, to the point where he exclaims, “Shamati be-kol Hashem Elokai, asiti ke-khol asher tzivitani” – “I have heeded the voice of the Lord my God; I have done in accordance with all You commanded me” (26:14).  It would be inappropriate to make such a statement publicly, or even loudly, as though declaring for all to hear that one has fulfilled all his obligations.  Only when the farmer recites the final verse of viduy ma’aser, the prayer that God should bestow His blessing upon the nation, should he raise his voice and pray with vigor and confidence.  Rav Weinfeld adds that there is a custom in some communities that the ba’al keri’a (person conducting the Torah reading) raises his voice when reciting this final verse of viduy ma’aser.  He explains that this practice likely stems from the halakha mentioned in the Talmud Yerushalmi.

            This halakha might reflect the notion that pride and gratification over mitzva observance has its place, but provided that it does not become a public spectacle.  A person can and should feel proud over his spiritual achievements, and feel a gratifying sense of accomplishment for the mitzvot he performed, Torah he studied, and fine character that he has developed.  But when these feelings become outwardly expressed, when we become “spiritually ostentatious,” then these feelings naturally evoke resentment and bring shame, rather than honor, to mitzva observance.  What most certainly should be made public is our concern for the welfare of the entire nation, our heartfelt prayers to the Almighty that He should bless the entire nation with happiness and prosperity.  These are the feelings that must be worn in the public square for all to see and hear.  But our rightfully earned sense of pride and accomplishment must remain private and inward, rather than be broadcast in the form of public spectacles of self-adulation.

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            Toward the end of Parashat Ki-Tavo, Moshe briefly recounts the nation’s experiences over the previous forty years: “I led you for forty years in the wilderness; your garments did not wear out upon you, and your shoe did not wear out upon your foot.  You did not eat bread or drink wine or strong drinks – in order that you know that I, the Lord, am your God” (29:4-5).

            A number of writers noted the difficulty inherent in the final clause of these verses – “in order that you know that I, the Lord, am your God” – insofar as it is Moshe, not the Almighty, who speaks to the people at this point.  Why does this verse speak of God in the first person form, as though God Himself is the speaker, when it truth it is Moshe who speaks?

            This question led Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch to suggest a particularly novel and insightful interpretation to this verse: “so that you should know that ani Hashem is your God.”  Meaning, according to Rav Hirsch, Moshe is indeed the speaker, but the words “ani Hashem” (“I, the Lord”) actually constitute a third-person reference to God.  Already in Egypt, when God assigned Moshe to convey the message of deliverance to the Israelite slaves, and to Pharaoh and the Egyptian taskmasters, He repeats several times the fundamental message of ani Hashem.  Thus, for example, the promise of redemption that Moshe proclaims to the people concludes with, “you shall know that I the Lord am your God…” (Shemot 6:7).  Rav Hirsch suggests that the phrase ani Hashem here in Parashat Ki-Tavo is a reference to the message he conveyed to Benei Yisrael back in Egypt, during the period of slavery.  He tells the people that it is only after the experience of forty years of desert travel, during which time the people survived supernaturally through the overt miracles of God, that they finally confirmed in their minds the message of ani Hashem which was conveyed to them (or to their parents) in Egypt.

            Indeed, this interpretation flows naturally from the preceding verses: “Moshe called to all Israel and said to them: You have seen all that the Lord did before your eyes in the land of Egypt… The great wonders which your eyes beheld… Yet, the Lord did not give you a heart to know, eyes to see or ears to listen until this day.  I led you for forty years in the wilderness…”  This is precisely Moshe’s message to the people: the message of the Exodus was not fully internalized until this point, after they had spent forty years traversing the wilderness.  The extraordinary events of the Exodus did not – and could not – have the same enduring impact as the consistent, day in, day out experiences of the forty years in the wilderness.  These forty years laid the groundwork for the covenant into which Benei Yisrael now enter with God as they stand on the brink of entering the Land of Israel.  Only after this forty-year period did the process of the Exodus finally reach its conclusion, as the people once and for all firmly and unwaveringly accepted and learned the message of ani Hashem.

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            Parashat Ki-Tavo begins with the mitzva of bikkurim – bringing one’s first fruits from the annual yield to Jerusalem – and the accompanying obligation of mikra bikkurim, the formal declaration one recites upon bringing his first fruits.  This declaration briefly recounts the birth of Am Yisrael, from Yaakov’s descent to Egypt until the Exodus and, ultimately, Benei Yisrael entry into the land.  As Rashi (26:3) cites from the Sifrei, one recites this declaration in order to express his gratitude to the Almighty, to demonstrate that he does not take for granted the blessings that God has bestowed.

            Interestingly, however, the text of mikra bikkurim makes no reference to the actual fruits that the individual has harvested, until the final verse, when the farmer declares, “And now, I have brought the first of the fruits of the land that the Lord has given me…” (26:10).  It appears that the individual thanks the Almighty not for the fruits themselves, but rather for the general condition of Am Yisrael, for the miracle of a slave nation that has become a sovereign country in its ancestral homeland, with the opportunity to till its own fields and partake of its produce.  Thus, the mitzva of mikra bikkurim requires an individual to look beyond his personal successes and achievements.  It demands not only that one acknowledge and appreciate God’s role in his success, but also that he see his success within the broader framework of Am Yisrael.  His prosperity is a blessing not only for himself, but for the entire nation, and he must therefore give thanks not simply for this particular yield, but for all that God has done for Am Yisrael since its inception.

            The Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Yehuda Amital shelit”a (as cited at www.etzion.org.il/vbm/archive/5-sichot/44kitavo.php), suggested that this aspect of mikra bikkurim might perhaps underlie an otherwise perplexing comment in the Midrash Tanchuma, toward the beginning of our parasha: “Moshe foresaw with ru’ach ha-kodesh [prophetic insight] that the Temple would be destroyed in the future, and the bikkurim would [consequently] be discontinued.  He therefore arose and established that Israel should pray three times each day.”  According to the Midrash, our daily prayer service serves as a substitute of sorts for bikkurim, a mitzva that cannot be fulfilled in the Temple’s absence.  What connection might there be between the three daily prayers and the mitzva of bikkurim?

            The answer, Rav Amital suggested, might lie in the plural form in which we recite the three daily amida prayers.  When we approach God in fulfillment of our daily obligation to pray, we do not speak about our personal requests and needs.  Instead, we pray as individual representatives of Kelal Yisrael, beseeching the Almighty to grant us all wisdom, forgiveness, health, prosperity, redemption and so on.  Herein, perhaps, lies the connection between bikkurim and the daily prayer service.  Just as mikra bikkurim requires the farmer to see his personal success within the broader framework of the great miracle that is Am Yisrael, similarly, in our daily prayers we bring our requests before God as part of our petition on behalf of the entire nation.  We are thus reminded that we must not focus our attention on our personal needs and concerns alone; we are rather part of a people that approaches the Almighty together and begs that we all, as a nation, be blessed with success and prosperity: “Barekheinu Avinu kulanu ke’echad be-or panekha” – “Bless us, our Father, all of us as one, with the light of Your countenance!”

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            Parashat Ki-Tavo contains the berakhot, the blessings that God promises to bestow upon Benei Yisrael in reward for their obedience.  Moshe begins this section by proclaiming, “It shall be, if you heed the voice of the Lord your God, to observe and perform all His commandments, which I command you this day…” (28:1).

            The Midrash Tanchuma comments that the word li-shmor (“to observe”) in this verse actually refers to learning, as opposed to practice.  The phrase, “li-shmor la-asot,” the Tanchuma thus explains, should be taken to mean, “learning for the sake of performing.”  According to this interpretation, Moshe here emphasizes the importance of learning Torah “al menat la-asot,” with the ultimate goal of implementing that which one has learned, rather than learning as purely an intellectual exercise without intention of practicing the Torah.  The Tanchuma concludes with a surprisingly harsh condemnation of those who study Torah without intending to put the material into practice: “Rabbi Yochanan said: Whoever learns but does not perform – it would have been preferable for his placenta to have been overturned!”  Rabbi Yochanan goes so far as to say that such a person should have died at birth, rather than entering the world as a live infant.

            How might we explain this unusually severe and even graphic remark?

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, explains by citing a famous comment in the Gemara, in Masekhet Eruvin (13b): “It would have been preferable for a person had he not been created, but now that he has been created, he should examine his conduct.”  The message this comment seeks to convey, the Yalkut Yehuda suggests, is that a person comes into this world primarily for the purpose of perfecting himself, to continuously grow and work to improve.  More precisely, the Gemara teaches that although we cannot confidently identify the ultimate reason for a person’s existence, once he has come into existence he must see his primary goal as growing, improving and pursuing perfection.  From the perspective of the individual, a person must make continued growth and self-improvement his lifelong goal and ambition.

            For this reason, Rav Ginsburg explains, Rabbi Yochanan spoke so harshly about one who learns but does not perform, who acquires religious knowledge without applying it to his life.  One who does not use the gift of knowledge for self-improvement clearly has no interest in self-improvement; if he does not look to the Torah as a source of practical guidance for spiritual development, then he apparently does not wish to develop spiritually.  If so, then, as Rabbi Yochanan bluntly concludes, “it would have been preferable for his placenta to have been overturned.”  Since a person should see self-improvement his goal, one who shows no interest in this lifelong process overlooks the objective for which he was created.

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            Moshe lists in Parashat Ki-Tavo different blessings Benei Yisrael will earn in reward for their Torah observance, including the famous blessing, “Barukh ata ba-ir u-varukh ata ba-sadeh” – “You shall be blessed in the city, and you shall be blessed in the field” (28:3).  In essence, Moshe here proclaims that Benei Yisrael will enjoy success in all their endeavors, whether they work in agriculture (“in the field”) or in commerce (“in the city”).

            The Midrash Tanchuma makes the following remark commenting on this verse: “A person should not say: Had the Almighty given me a field, I would separate tithes from it.  But now that I do not have a field, I will not give anything.  The Almighty said: See what I wrote in My Torah – ‘You shall be blessed in the city’ – for those who dwell in the city, ‘and you shall be blessed in the field’ – for those who have fields!”  According to the Tanchuma, God promises blessing both in the field and in the city in order to emphasize that even those who work in the city, in commerce, and do not grow their own crops, must give charitable donations from their earnings.  They, too, achieve success thanks to God’s blessings, and thus they, like farmers, bear an obligation to share their earnings with those in need.

            The question arises, why might one have thought that only farmers must donate charity from their yield?  What rationale is there to restrict the obligation of tzedaka to those who work in agriculture?

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, suggests two possible rationales that may have led one to such a conclusion.  Firstly, a person who owns agricultural land has a constant source of livelihood.  Even if occasionally he endures a dry year, or must deal with pest infestation and the like, his long-term situation is a secure one, as land can never disappear.  Commercial enterprise, by contrast, is never stable or secure.  Supply and demand are in constant flux, and the threat of competition always looms over the merchant.  Hence, one might have concluded that only the farmer, who enjoys the stability of a permanent, secure source of sustenance, bears the obligation to donate a percentage of his yield to charitable causes.  The merchant, however, who lives in a constant state of insecurity, may perhaps be justified in keeping all his earnings for himself, given the uncertainty surrounding what tomorrow will bring.  The Torah therefore exhorts, “Barukh ata ba-ir,” that even those “in the city” bear an obligation to donate to charity and trust in the Almighty’s ability to provide.

            Secondly, Rav Ginsburg notes, agricultural produce is quite evidently the result of the joint efforts of the human being and God, as it were.  The farmer cannot possibly create produce independently; farming depends upon God’s “cooperation” in providing rainfall and maintaining a healthy climate for the crops.  This is as opposed to the entrepreneur, who could, at least at first glance, take full credit for his successes which result from his initiative, skills, creativity, industriousness and hard work.  Hence, one may have thought that only the farmer, who earned his living with the direct assistance of the Almighty, must give God His share by donating a percentage to charity.  This verse teaches that in truth, even those “in the city” have God to thank for their success and achievements, and are therefore no less bound to donate a share of their earnings than the farmer.

            We might add yet another factor that may have led to this mistaken distinction between farmers and merchants.  It is clear that these blessings relate to Benei Yisrael’s existence in the Land of Israel; Moshe speaks here of the rewards they will earn for observing the Torah in their land (see 28:8).  Elsewhere, the Torah speaks of the Land of Israel as essentially belonging to the Almighty, who invites His beloved nation to reside in this special land: “And the land shall not be sold permanently, for the land is Mine – for you are but foreigners and [alien] residents with Me” (Vayikra 25:23).  The mitzva of bikkurim, which the Torah introduces at the beginning of Parashat Ki-Tavo and requires a farmer to bring the field’s first fruits to the Mikdash, serves, at least in part, to remind us of God’s ownership over the land.  The farmer brings the first fruits as a sharecropper brings the landowner his due percentage of the produce, thereby demonstrating his awareness of the fact that God is ultimately the owner over the Land of Israel.  When bringing the first fruits, one recounts the story of the Exodus, affirming that had it not been for the Almighty, Am Yisrael would still be slaves in Egypt.  It is God who brought us into the land and allowed us to till its soil and enjoy its produce.

            One may have thus concluded that specifically the farmer, who works as a “sharecropper” of sorts in God’s land, must bring the “Owner” a percentage of the annual yield.  The city-dwellers, however, who do not earn a living from the land per se, might bear no such obligation.  The Torah therefore instructs that we all bear an equal obligation to assist those in need, regardless of whether we live “in the field” or “in the city.”