Ki Tavo
Devarim 26:1–29:8
Isaiah 60:1–22
A few years ago, a British alternative rock band called Radiohead tried something new — they released an album online with a “pay as you wish” approach. People could pay nothing for the music, or $2, or $100, or whatever they wished. It ended up profitably, with an average payment of $2.25.
But they weren’t the first to experiment with a “pay what you wish” approach for service. Thousands of years ago the Torah used the same model for the giving of first fruits (“bikkurim”) to the Temple in Jerusalem.
As this week’s Torah portion begins, “It will be when you enter the land that HaShem your God gives you as an inheritance” that we will grow produce and take from the first fruits and put them in a basket and bring them to the Temple. At that place, the kohen (priest) will take the basket from our hands and lay it at the base of the altar. We are then to recite several statements that serve as a very brief summary of Jewish history (verses that, incidentally, serve as the backbone of the Passover haggadah).
According to the Sifrei, people could determine for themselves how many of the first fruits that grew they wanted to bring, ranging from one tiny grape or fig up to multiple full baskets. Yet this flexible model became more complicated when accounting for all the pomp and circumstance that accompanied the presentation of bikkurim.
According to the Mishnah (Bikkurim 3:3), the fruits were brought up to Jerusalem by throngs of people in a parade with musical instruments that featured a bull at the front. That bull, in turn, was decorated with an ornamental crown of olive branches placed between its gilded horns. Were we really supposed to go through a whole celebration and ritual for what could be one little fig?
Reading farther in the Torah portion, I was struck by the repeated mention (26:2 and 26:4) that one was to put the fruits in a basket. Who cares what I put it in, especially if it isn’t much? And why tell me that the kohen takes it from my hand (26:4)? Isn’t the point simply that it gets to him, whether he takes it or I give it to him?
So I looked further into that Sifrei that I mentioned before, and discovered that the baskets varied from person to person. Some were gold, others woven of branches. Also, even if the bikkurim became ritually impure and could not be offered, the basket still went to the kohen. So all of these baskets, whether fancy or more modest, ended up in the same place: taken away by the kohen.
This triggered a thought: Could this passage be a meditation on life and loss? One could reread the Torah passage in that light: “When you come to the land” (when we come to live on Earth) we will be given our fruits, our lives with their blessings. But then after the fruits have grown, we all depart from home and go to the house of HaShem with our baskets. The baskets will be different depending on the lives we’ve had, but what they all have in common is that everyone hands them over one day.
None of us want to give our lives back, but the kohen takes it from our hands. And what is the statement that is then declared? A restatement of what has led the world to this point in time, signifying that our lives take place in the context of Jewish history.
And on what note does the section close? “You shall rejoice with all the goodness that HaShem your God has given you and your household” (26:11). A reminder to be appreciative and happy with the good that HaShem gives to each of us. To focus on the blessings we are given, and ignore whether our basket is made of a finer or lesser material than anyone else’s basket. To dance and sing together in one unified parade as we travel to holy places.
We give thanks from the first of our fruits, with whatever energies we have now, for in the end no one ever knows how much fruit will ultimately grow in his or her garden. Some people perceive little to be available and offer but a single fig of thanks, but others see the bounty all around them and march with the sense that their basket is overflowing.
Rabbi Judah Dardik is the spiritual leader at Orthodox Beth Jacob in Oakland. He can be reached at [email protected].