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Parashat Ki-Tavo opens with the mitzva of bikkurim and its accompanying obligation of "mikra bikkurim." A farmer must bring his first fruits to the Temple and offer them as a gift to the kohen. He then makes a special declaration, as formulated here in the Torah (26:5-10). This declaration easily divides into two, distinct sections. The first and much longer section, which covers the first five of the six verses of mikra bikkurim, briefly retells the story of the Egyptian bondage and Benei Yisrael's ultimate redemption and entry into Canaan. The final verse involves a different theme entirely: "And now I have brought the first fruits of the land which You, O Lord, have given me."

The Malbim notes that these two sections differ not only in terms of their basic content, but in style, as well. Specifically, the farmer addresses God differently in each. In the first five verses, he refers to the Almighty in third-person form: "We cried to the Lord, the God of our fathers, and the Lord heard our plea… the Lord freed us from Egypt… He brought us to this place." In the final verse, by contrast, the farmer speaks to God Himself: "… the land which You, O Lord, have given us." Additionally, nowhere until the sixth and final verse does the farmer ever speak of himself personally, except in the passage's introduction, where he refers to Yaakov Avinu as "my father." The rest of the first section speaks only of Am Yisrael as a whole. These verses are clearly nation-oriented, as the individual views himself as but one of many children of Yaakov, part of the Nation of Israel. In the final verse, of course, the farmer shifts his focus, mentioning his first fruit yielded by the soil that God gave him, personally.

The Malbim thus claims that the mitzva of mikra bikkurim actually involves two entirely distinct obligations, which the Torah introduces with two different terms: "You shall declare and you shall recite before the Lord your God… " The Malbim, the great philologist, distinguishes between "ve-anita" (translated here as "you shall declare") and "ve-amarta" (translated here as, "you shall recite"). The former describes a public proclamation intended specifically for an audience and widespread dissemination. The second term, "va-amarta," denotes a private dialogue or (in this case,) communion. Upon being blessed with a successful yield, the farmer bears two obligations: to publicize to one and all God's power and kindness in granting Eretz Yisrael to His people; to speak to God directly and submissively acknowledge His hand in agriculture.

Along these lines, the Malbim explains why in the following section, which discusses the mitzva of "viduy ma'aser," the Torah employs only the term, "ve-amarta," and omits the expression, "ve-anita" (26:13). This obligation involves a declaration that one has satisfied his requirements with regards to tithing his produce. Clearly, there is no need for one to make this information public. (To the contrary, doing so would likely reflect a degree of hubris.) Instead, the Torah here requires a private affirmation addressed directly to God proclaiming one's satisfactory fulfillment of his mitzva of tithing. Therefore, the Torah here uses only the term, "ve-amarta," and not "ve-anita."

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Yesterday, we briefly dissected the verses comprising "mikra bikkurim," the declaration required of the farmer as he brings his first fruits - bikkurim - to the Mikdash, as presented in Parashat Ki-Tavo (26:5-10). As we noted, the first five verses review the story of the bondage of Egypt and the subsequent redemption and settlement of Eretz Yisrael. In the final verse, the farmer acknowledges that the fruits he harvests come from the soil given to him as a gift by the Almighty.

Whereas yesterday we focused on the distinctions between these two sections, today we focus our attention on their having been combined into a single recitation of mikra bikkurim. This combination reveals an inherent relationship between these two themes of a national awareness and personal acknowledgment of God's hand in agriculture. How must we understand this relationship?

It appears that the Torah here seeks to help one maintain a proper perspective on his achievements and success. Hardworking people, devoted to their occupation and driven to achieve, at times tend to lose sight of the world around them as well as their past. They could perhaps afford exaggerated importance and even centrality to their specific pursuit and lose sight of the broader concerns of society, in our case, of Kenesset Yisrael. For a Jew, this loss of perspective obviously threatens his loyalty to his faith and level of observance. Mikra bikkurim calls upon the farmer to undergo a humbling and even unsettling process of broadening his perspective, to look beyond his work and appreciate the larger, historical framework to which it belongs. When a son of Israel tills and cultivates the land of Israel, what results is something far more significant and meaningful than simply the provision of a livelihood for his family. It is part of the spiritual history of Am Yisrael, the fulfillment of God's promise to the patriarchs and the ultimate destiny for which the nation was freed from Egypt.

The day-to-day demands of life make it difficult for us to maintain our perspective on the meaning behind it all and keep focus on our priorities. As the year comes to a close and we prepare to stand judgment on the Days of Awe, it behooves us to bring our bikkurim, to get some perspective on life and determine where we ought to be headed. This is the period to spend some time placing our daily lives within their broader framework and assess the extent to which we fulfill the responsibilities charged upon us by virtue of our membership in Kelal Yisrael in our generation. Just as the farmer must, once a year, view his wheat and apples as part of Benei Yisrael's eternal destiny, so must we examine how to conduct our day-to-day affairs in a manner loyal to our chosen destiny of "mamlekhet kohanim ve-goy kadosh" (a kingdom of priests and a sacred people).

(Based in part on an article by Rabbi Berel Wein)

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Parashat Ki-Tavo features one of the most difficult words in the Torah to translate. The term, used twice in slightly different forms by Moshe Rabbenu in adjacent verses in this parasha - "he-emarta"; "he'emirekha" (26:17-18), describes the mutual relationship between God and Benei Yisrael forged by the covenant conducted at Arvot Moav (just across the Jordan River from Eretz Yisrael). We cite here the two verses in translation, placing empty brackets in place of the enigmatic term: "You have [ ] this day the Lord to be for you a God… And the Lord has [ ] you today, to be for Him a treasured people as He spoke to you… "

A brief grammatical examination of the term demonstrates why it poses so much difficulty. The construction of the word is clearly identifiable as the "hif'il" verb form of the common verb, "a.m.r.," the word for speech or talking. Herein lies the problem: the "hif'il" construction generally converts the verb into the causative form. Perhaps the clearest example is the word, "le-havi," to bring, which is used in the "hif'il" form. In the "simple" verb construction, or "binyan kal" (or "pa'al"), the same verb root, "b.o.," means "to come" ("la-vo"). When converted into the "hif'il" form - "le-havi," the term means "to bring." Thus, the "hif'il" construction is used when an action is applied to another party. (Similarly, "le-ekhol" means "to eat," while "le-ha-akhil" means " to feed.") The question thus arises, what word results when we convert the verb, "a.m.r.," which refers to speech, into the causative, "hif'il" form? What does it mean to "cause someone to speak"? As Rashi notes in his commentary to these verses, we find no Biblical precedent of this expression that could hshed light on its meaning. (Ultimately, Rashi dosuggest a precedent from Tehillim, but the term he enlists - "yit'amru" - is in the reflexive, "hitpa'el" form, rather than "hif'il.")

Rashbam and Rabbi Yehuda ha-Levi (cited by the Ibn Ezra) indeed understand the term to refer to causing speech. Each party prompted the other one to declare its selection and designation of the other. Through their devotion and good deeds, Benei Yisrael led the Almighty to state that he agrees "to be for you a God," to establish a special relationship with them. Similarly, God's performance of miracles for Benei Yisrael caused them to proclaim their preparedness to become His "treasured people."

Without explaining the etymological basis for his claim, the Ramban interprets the term to mean "exalt." Through their acceptance of the Torah, Benei Yisrael exalted the Almighty, distinguishing Him fundamentally from the false, pagan deities. Likewise, God raised Benei Yisrael to a unique stature by selecting them as the nation to receive His Torah. Rashi similarly explains "le-ha'amir" to means "to distinguish."

A unique explanation is offered by the Malbim, who associates this word with the Talmudic term, "ma'amar." This expression arises in Masekhet Yevamot, which deals with the mitzva of "yibbum" - the obligation to marry the widow of one's childless brother (or perform the "chalitza" ceremony). According to Torah law, no formal betrothal - or "kiddushin" - is necessary between the brother and the widow. Immediately upon the original husband's death, a state of betrothal exists between the brother and the widow; all that remains is "nisu'in" (the marriage). Chazal, however, legislated that the brother must perform a parallel to kiddushin before marrying the widow, and the Talmud refers to this pseudo-kiddushin as "ma'amar." The Malbim thus speculates that "le-ha'amir" means reaffirming a preexisting status. At Arvot Moav, just prior to their entry into Canaan, Benei Yisrael renew the covenant of Sinai. Moshe here informs Benei Yisrael that they have now reaffirmed their bond to the Almighty that they established forty years earlier at Mount Sinai, and God likewise reaffirmed His designation of Benei Yisrael as His treasured nation.

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In Parashat Ki-Tavo, Moshe commands Benei Yisrael with regard to the ceremony of the "blessings and curses" to be conducted upon their arrival in Canaan. The nation would proclaim a series of blessings upon those who refrain from certain prohibitions, and, following each blessing, the corresponding curse upon those who violate the given transgression. Among the violations mentioned involves the mistreatment of parents: "Cursed is the one who insults his father or mother" (27:16). Several commentators briefly address the etymology of the Hebrew word used for "insult": "makleh." The Ibn Ezra suggests that the term originates from the term, "kalon," which means "shame," or "humiliation." The verse thus condemns the person who brings shame and embarrassment upon his parents.

Another possible approach would be to associate the word, "makleh" with the common word, "kal," which generally means, "light" or "cheap." The verse would thus refer not to the direct humiliation of parents, but rather to disrespect, to treating them like ordinary people, as opposed to affording them the honor and distinction parents deserve on the part of their children.

Rav Meir Simcha ha-Kohen of Dvinsk, in his Meshekh Chokhma, indeed interprets "makleh" as a derivative of the word "kal," and he adds an insightful explanation as to the specific relevance of this term to the current context. Although parents clearly deserve the respect of their children, the unique love of a parent for a child lends itself to the potential of mistreatment by his or her children. Children will at times act disrespectfully towards their parents simply because they have come to expect their parents to forgive them for their wrongdoing. In truth, this is true, to one extent or another, in all close relationships, particularly within a family. The permanence of the relationship affords one the luxury of a degree of confidence in the other party's commitment to it, and he can therefore remove several barriers one normally erects when dealing with other people. Among family or close friends, one feels a degree of freedom from the restrictions governing general social conduct, as he knows that the relationship will be sustained nonetheless. In the case of parents, however, the natural sense of devotion and obligation that parents feel towards their children result in a willingness to forgive unique to the parent-child relationship. A child could therefore abuse this forgiving attitude and not concern himself with how he treats his parents. The Torah thus places a curse upon one who is "makleh" - who makes light of his parents' honor, feelings and well being by virtue of their natural tendency to forgive their children.

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Earlier this week, we briefly analyzed the two mitzvot described at the beginning of Parashat Ki-Tavo. The first, "mikra bikkurim," requires a farmer to bring his first fruits to the Temple and recite a declaration recounting the story of the Egyptian bondage and the redemption. The second mitzva, "viduy ma'aser," calls upon an individual to verbally affirm every three years his compliance with the laws of ma'aserot (tithes from agricultural produce).

We will demonstrate one fundamental distinction between these two declarations by first considering the Torah's conclusion to the bikkurim section: "And you shall rejoice in all the bounty that the Lord your God has bestowed upon you… " (26:11). As we discussed in our S.A.L.T. series to this parasha last year, this verse may very well relate to the very essence of the mitzva of bikkurim (which would explain why it appears as the conclusion to this mitzva). At the heart of this mitzva lies the basic concept of gratitude, appreciating the gifts that one has received, rather than taking them for granted. This is why the mikra bikkurim declaration reviews the story of the bondage in Egypt: the landowner must step back and consider his roots, and thus appreciate how far he has come with God's assistance. From a people of downtrodden slave with no hope for the future, Benei Yisrael have emerged as a proud nation in its ancestral homeland sowing and harvesting its own grain and fruit. The Torah instructs the farmer to look upon his yield and "rejoice in all the bounty that the Lord your God has bestowed upon you." Our very sustenance, our very lives, everything we have must be viewed as a special gift from the Almighty. Such a perspective, when thoroughly internalized, will indeed lead one to genuine joy in life.

Viduy ma'aser, however, appears to lead one to a different perspective. After proudly proclaiming his meticulous compliance with the laws of ma'aser, the farmer then offers the following petition: "Look down from Your holy abode, from heaven, and bless Your people Israel and the soil You have given us… " (26:15). Whereas mikra bikkurim involves contentment and satisfaction with what one has, viduy ma'aser expresses the desire for continued or perhaps even greater blessing and prosperity in the coming year. Mikra bikkurim thus focuses on the kindness we have enjoyed in the past, while viduy ma'aser speaks of our hopes and aspirations for the future.

It is these two, complementary perspectives that must accompany us and our thoughts as we approach the season of the Yamim Nora'im. In spite of everything that Kelal Yisrael has suffered during 5762, we do, in fact, have much to be thankful for. "You shall rejoice in all the bounty." The bloodshed and devastation does not exempt us from the obligation of mikra bikkurim, to recognize, appreciate, and rejoice in all the wonderful blessings that the Almighty has bestowed upon us and continues to bestow upon us, at both the individual and national levels - our families, our Torah communities, our religious freedom, comfortable lives, our Jewish State, and so on. At the same time, however, we are charged with tmitzva of viduy ma'aser - to ask the Almighty for His ongoing compassion and mercy, that He bring end to our troubles and grant us a peaceful and prosperous 5763.

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As we've discussed this week, Parashat Ki-Tavo begins with the mitzva of bikkurim, which requires a farmer to bring his first fruits annually to the ministering kohen in the Bet ha-Mikdash. In describing this mitzva, the Torah writes, "You shall go to the kohen that is at that time… " (26:3). Troubled by the seemingly unnecessary clause, "that is at that time," Rashi comments, "You have only the kohen in your day, whoever he is." The extra phrase comes to emphasize that one must bring his bikkurim to the kohen on duty in the Mikdash regardless of his stature or personal achievement. Even should he fall far short of the standards set by the kohanim of earlier generations, he is nevertheless worthy of receiving one's bikkurim.

Rashi had made a similar remark earlier, in his commentary to Parashat Shoftim - Devarim 17:9, in the context of the Torah's discussion of the sanhedrin. The Torah requires that all difficult questions of halakha be brought "to the judge that is in that time." Rashi writes: "Even if he is not like the other judges preceding him, you must listen to him; you have only the judge in your day."

As the Ramban (here) notes, the application of this principle to this context, of bikkurim, is far less clear than its relevance to the issue addressed in Parashat Shoftim. There the Torah discusses halakhic decision-making. Quite reasonably, one would be hesitant to accept the authority of a scholar who lacks the erudition and competence exhibited by the sages of yesteryear. The Torah therefore stresses that one must abide by the halakhic rulings of the sages of his generation, irrespective of their standing vis-à-vis their predecessors. Bikkurim, however, does not seem to require any particular skill or piety on the kohen's part. The kohen plays no active role in this ceremony, other than taking the fruits from the individual and placing them near the altar, before he partakes of them. Why, then, must the Torah stress that the kohanim of every generation have equal status with respect to bikkurim? Why would one have thought otherwise?

Perhaps the simplest explanation is that the kohen here functions as God's representative to the landowner. Upon arriving in the Temple, the farmer tells the kohen, "I acknowledge this day before the Lord your God that I have entered into the land that the Lord swore to our fathers to assign us" (26:3). The individual here refers to God as "the Lord your God" - the God of the kohen. The kohen emerges here as the minister in God's Temple who receives on His behalf the royal gifts brought to His palace. (See Seforno to 26:3.) One could therefore have concluded that only a kohen of a certain caliber is worthy to function in this capacity as required by the mitzva of bikkurim. The Torah thus emphasizes that all kohanim have been chosen by God as His ministers.

However, others have suggested a different answer, one with a practical lesson concerning the mitzva of charity. True, bikkurim does not require any particular standard of scholarship or godliness on the kohen's part, that could perhaps lead to some ambivalence when bringing fruit to an "average" kohen. It does, however, involve giving to the kohen; and when people must give, they naturally prefer giving to people of renown distinction. Someone will feel more comfortable and enthusiastic offering assistance to the famous and distinguished than he would to the ordinary people in need. The mitzva of bikkurim, together with the other matenot kehuna (gifts to the kohanim), is intended, in part, to provide a livelihood for the kohanim who did not own land and hence had no independent source of income. The Torah here perhaps stresses that everyone in genuine financial need deserves the assistance of others. Even if he does not meet the standards of those before him, the obligation rests upon those with the ability to help to ensure that he is supported respectfully.

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In Parashat Ki-Tavo we read the lengthy "tokhecha," the list of curses that Moshe predicts will befall Benei Yisrael if they fail to observe the mitzvot. This section, which occupies chapter 28 of Sefer Devarim, describes many different forms of hardship and calamity - agricultural, military, medical, and so on. One interesting feature of the tokhecha is the emotional trauma it depicts. It foresees a nation stricken not only by poverty and persecution, but by "madness, blindness and numbness of heart" (28:28). (Based on context, it would seem that "blindness" here refers not to the loss of vision, but to mental blindness, an inability to properly assess the current situation and reach the necessary conclusions.) The following verse reads, "You shall grope at noon as a blind man gropes in the dark." Benei Yisrael become helpless not only militarily or economically, but intellectually, as well. The trauma will cloud their rational faculties to the extent that even should opportunities for improvement present themselves, they won't find them, much as a blind man cannot find his way as he walks.

In Masekhet Megilla 24b, the Gemara cites Rabbi Yossi as raising the obvious question arising from this verse: why does the Torah portray the nation as groping "as a blind man gropes at noon"? Does the presence or absence of daylight have any effect on the blind man's ability to see? Should not Moshe have simply stated, "You shall grope… as a blind man gropes"? Rabbi Yossi comments that he discovered the solution to this problem when he chanced upon a blind man walking at night with a torch. Rabbi Yossi questioned the purpose of his using a torch when he cannot see where he is going anyway. The man explained that the torch allows for other pedestrians to see him and thus come to his assistance. He therefore carries a torch at nighttime, to ensure that others will come help him reach his destination. With this Rabbi Yossi explains our verse: Benei Yisrael will become like a blind man in the dark - with no one available to assist them.

The Gemara brings this passage in a halakhic context, as a reason why a blind person can recite the berakhot of shema - which praise God for daylight - on behalf of the congregation. Rabbi Yossi demonstrates that even the blind benefit - albeit somewhat indirectly - from sunlight, thus rendering them worthy of inclusion in the obligation to recite these berakhot. Rabbi Yossi, however, at least as cited in the Gemara, made this comment independent of any halakhic deliberation. What message did he intend to convey through this discussion? Did he simply wish to explain a difficult verse, or is there a deeper meaning behind his comment?

All people are, to one extent or another, "blind." We cannot see everything around us, we cannot always know with certainty what direction to take, what lies ahead of us, and what truly occurs around us. This is why all people need other people - to help them "see" what they themselves cannot. Our friends, family and leaders helps us find our way in places where our vision is impaired, when we cannot find our way independently. When we feel ill we lack the vision (=knowledge) to know where to find help. A physician shows us the remedy. When someone does not know how to manage his assets, the financial planner helps chart his course. In spiritual matters, we consult our rabbinic leaders to help illuminate our paths.

The curse foreseen in the tokhecha is the isolation of a "blind man in the dark." Not only can he not find his way independently, but no one can help him, either. One way in which this occurs is when the individual fails to hold a torch as he walks - meaning, he refuses to accept the advice, counsel or guidance of others. This verse perhaps warns of an arrogant obstinacy that will overcome Benei Yisrael, such that they will insist on walking in the dark without allowing others to show them the way.

Ideally, of course, this is something we ourselves can avoid. By remaining open to advice and , by allowing for the possibility that others have what to tell us and teach us, we can help ensure that we never grope in the dark as a blind man gropes atnighttime without a torch.

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