Giving Thanks Before the Story Is Over (Ki Tavo 5786)

 This piece by Rabbi Kenigsberg on the week's Torah reading was first publlished in Hanassi Highlights, 27 August 2026. Thanks to ChatGPT you can also read it in Hebrew, here.

Parshat Ki Tavo opens with the mitzvah of Bikkurim, the bringing of the first fruits to the Beit HaMikdash. The Mishnah describes the elaborate procession as farmers travelled to Yerushalayim with their first fruits. An ox walked before them with its horns covered in gold, a flute played as they travelled and, when they approached Yerushalayim, dignitaries came out to greet them. Even the craftsmen of the city would stop their work and welcome the arriving pilgrims. All this for a few figs and grapes?

Perhaps the answer lies in something unusual about the timing of Bikkurim. Rashi describes how a farmer would walk into his field, see the first fig beginning to ripen, tie a reed around it and declare: "Harei zo Bikkurim"—"This is Bikkurim." At that point, the farmer has no idea what kind of harvest lies ahead. Perhaps it will be abundant; perhaps disappointing. There may be too much rain or too little. Unlike teruma and ma'aser, which are separated once the crop has been harvested, Bikkurim begins while the outcome is still uncertain. And yet, already then, the farmer stops to say thank you.

There is another unusual feature of Bikkurim. When the farmer eventually reaches the Beit HaMikdash, he does not simply say, "Thank You, Hashem, for the fruit." Instead, he tells a story: "Arami oved avi..." He speaks about Yaakov Avinu, the descent to Egypt, slavery, the Exodus and finally arrival in Eretz Yisrael.

Why the history lesson? Because gratitude requires perspective. If the farmer looks only at this year's harvest, he may see plenty of reasons to complain. Perhaps his neighbour's crop was larger. Perhaps the weather could have been better. But when he steps back and considers the extraordinary journey that brought him to this moment—a  Jew standing on his own land in Eretz Yisrael, holding its produce in his hands—the picture looks very different.

This is a particularly important message as we approach Rosh Hashana. Naturally, we enter the Yamim Noraim thinking about what we hope will be different next year. We have requests, concerns and things in our lives that remain unresolved. We pray that the coming year will bring greater health, happiness, security and success. Bikkurim does not tell us to ignore any of those concerns. It teaches us that we need not wait until everything is resolved before giving thanks. The farmer brings his first fruit before he knows how the harvest will end. And when he brings it, he looks beyond the immediate moment and sees the larger story of which he is a part.

Perhaps that is something worth taking with us into Rosh Hashana. Alongside all that we hope and pray for in the year ahead, we can pause to recognise how far we have already come, and how much we have already been given. Gratitude does not mean pretending that everything is perfect. It means recognising the blessings we have even while the story is still being written.

Shabbat Shalom!

When Blessings Catch Up With Us

Parashat Ki Tavo opens with one of the Torah’s most inspiring visions of Jewish life. Rabbi Paul Bloom describes this vision and probes its deeper meaning.

If we listen to Hashem and faithfully observe His mitzvot, the Jewish people will be elevated among the nations and surrounded by blessing. But what does it mean for us to be “elevated”? It does not necessarily mean that we will possess the greatest military power, the strongest economy, the most successful start-ups, or the most advanced medical research, important as all those achievements may be. The Torah describes something deeper. The nations will recognize that the Jewish people live differently. They will see a nation guided by Torah: a people whose personal lives, families, communities, and national institutions reflect a higher set of values.

This is the magnificent promise at the beginning of the parashah. Yet one unusual word in that promise deserves our attention:

“All these blessings will come upon you and overtake you, if you listen to the voice of Hashem your God” (Devarim 28:2).

The Hebrew word vehisigucha means that the blessings will reach us, catch us, or overtake us. This seems strange. We might have expected the Torah to tell us to pursue blessing. Instead, it pictures the blessings pursuing us. That word contains a profound lesson: a blessed life cannot be attained by making blessing itself our primary goal. Genuine happiness and blessing are not prizes we can seize directly. They are the natural results of a life lived meaningfully, purposefully, and in accordance with ratzon Hashem—the will of God.

Happiness as a Byproduct

Gemara Shabbat discusses an apparent contradiction in Kohelet. One verse praises happiness, while another asks, “Of joy, what does it accomplish?” The Gemara resolves the contradiction by distinguishing between simchah shel mitzvah—the joy that accompanies a mitzvah—and happiness pursued merely for its own sake. When happiness itself becomes the goal, it is often shallow and temporary. It is here today and gone tomorrow. But when we concentrate on creating a beautiful Shabbat, celebrating Rosh Hashanah with meaning, giving tzedakah, praying with sincerity, helping another person, or performing any mitzvah with care, joy emerges naturally. We do not manufacture it. We experience it as the fruit of doing something worthwhile.

Some of life’s most valuable outcomes work this way. Trust grows when we act honestly. Respect develops when we treat people with dignity. Fulfillment comes when we dedicate ourselves to a purpose larger than ourselves. And happiness appears when we stop demanding that life make us happy and begin asking what meaningful contribution we can make. That is the message of vehisigucha. When we pursue Torah, mitzvot, and purpose, the blessings pursue us. They catch up with us and remain with us.

The Spiritual Audit

Earlier in Parashat Ki Tavo, the Torah describes the declaration made after completing the cycle of agricultural tithes. During the preceding years, a farmer may have harvested wheat, barley, grapes, and olives. His fields may have brought him considerable prosperity. But at the end of the cycle, he must conduct an audit—not merely an accounting of his earnings, but a spiritual accounting of how he used them.

This audit poses questions that demand an answer. Did he properly separate the required tithes? Did he support the Kohen and the Levi? Did he care for the stranger, the orphan, the widow, and others in need? Did he recognize that his harvest was not simply his private possession, but a gift that carried responsibility?

After completing these obligations, he declares:

“I have done according to all that You commanded me” (Devarim 26:14).

Rashi offers a beautiful explanation: samachti vesimachti bo—“I rejoiced with it, and I enabled others to rejoice through it.” This is a remarkable definition of success. The farmer does not measure his accomplishment only by how much he accumulated. He asks whether his blessings became a source of blessing to others. He can stand before Hashem with satisfaction because he used what he received to strengthen the Jewish people, support Torah, relieve suffering, and create joy.

That is the purpose of every gift Hashem gives us. Wealth, intelligence, influence, time, professional ability, and personal talent all come with the same question: Did I use this gift only for myself, or did I use it to bring goodness and joy into other people’s lives?

The Joy We Do Not Chase

Even the joy we receive from our children follows this pattern. We do not bring children into the world simply because we want them to make us happy. We bring them into the world to love and nurture them, to transmit our family’s mesorah and the faith of the Jewish people, and to help raise the next generation. The tremendous simchah they bring us is real, but it is the result of love, commitment, sacrifice, and purpose.

Parashat Ki Tavo contains severe warnings about the consequences of abandoning our covenant. Yet it begins with fourteen verses of blessing, reminding us of the destiny that is possible for Klal Yisrael. We are called to become a people whose way of life demonstrates the wisdom, compassion, and holiness of Torah—a nation capable of elevating the world through its example.

As Rosh Hashanah approaches, we naturally pray for a year of happiness and blessing. But perhaps the parashah asks us to add another prayer: that Hashem help us live lives worthy of those blessings. May we use every resource entrusted to us to serve Hashem and help others. May we be able to say samachti vesimachti bo—I found joy in what I was given, and I used it to bring joy to others. And when we pursue meaning rather than happiness, responsibility rather than recognition, and Torah rather than comfort, may Hashem’s blessings come upon us, overtake us, and remain with us.

Learning from our errors: Ki Tavo 5785

Here is another piece of Rabbi Wein ztz'l's Torah legacy, which we are privileged to share.

This week’s Torah reading describes two very different situations in Jewish life that have been present throughout our long history as a people. One is when we inhabited and controlled our own land—the Land of Israel. That is clearly indicated in the opening words of the parsha—“ki tavo”—when you will come into your land. The second, much more difficult, situation is recorded in the bitter, lengthy and detailed description of the lot of the Jewish people in exile, scattered amongst hostile nations and subject to violent hatreds. 

Over the many millennia of the Jewish story, we have been in exile far longer than we were at home in the Land of Israel. The recounting of the troubles and persecutions resulting from the exile of Israel from its land occupies greater space (and perhaps even greater notice) in the parsha than does the section relating to our living in Israel. 

Our land carries with it special commandments and rituals as described in the parsha such as various types of ‘ma’aser’ (tithing) and ‘bikurim’ (the first fruits of the agricultural year). Our exile from it poses problems of extinction and continued tension, fear and a constant state of uncertainty. In the words of the parsha, the conditions of the exile were capable of driving people into insanity and fostered hopelessness. 

Yet the strange, almost unfathomable result of exile is that the Jewish people survived, and at times even thrived, under these hostile conditions, while our record as a national entity living in our own country was much spottier. Jews are a special people—but our behavior is oftentimes strange and counterproductive. We don’t seem to deal too well with success and stability. 

By the grace of God we are once again back in our land. Having read the words of the parsha, in all of its terror, literally fulfilled in our own lifetimes, we have nevertheless restored our national sovereignty, built a wonderful country and an intriguing society, and are engaged in facing great challenges as to our future development here. 

We would be wise to remember why we failed in the past in our nation-building and why, paradoxically, we succeed in achieving major successes while in exile and under very negative circumstances. Straying from the path of Torah and tradition has always brought us to harm. The pursuit of alien cultures and fads is no way to fulfill our national interest and purpose. 

Our historical experiences, both in Israel and in the exile, have taught us that it is extremely foolhardy to repeat our errors. Returning to our land carries with it the challenges of living in holiness and having a special relationship with our Creator. Our efforts should be concentrated in strengthening and broadening that relationship. It may be wise for us to discard the bath water of the exile now that we have returned home. But we must preserve at all costs the baby—the Torah and its values—that has brought us home to the land that the Lord has promised to us. 

For "Jewish History in Just Two Scenarios" Rabbi Wein's piece on parashat Ki Tavo last year, click here.

The Moral of Bikkurim: Continuity Beyond Self

The mitzvah of ביכורים—bringing the first fruits to the Beit HaMikdash—is one of the most beautiful expressions of gratitude in the Torah. As our member Rabbi Paul Bloom explains, the mitzvah itself is divided into two distinct parts: 

1.         The physical act of bringing the fruits – placing them in a basket and presenting them to the Kohen. The Mishnah in Bikkurim teaches: העשירים מביאים ביכוריהם בסלי כסף ובסלי זהב, והעניים מביאים בסלי נצרים של קליפה (משנה ביכורים ג:ח). Yet regardless of the vessel, the fruits themselves were lifted jointly by the Kohen and the farmer, sanctifying the effort. 

2.         The recitation of the special passage from the Torah – beginning with the words:

 וְעָנִיתָ וְאָמַרְתָּ לִפְנֵי ה׳ אֱלֹקיךָ, אֲרַמִּי אֹבֵד אָבִי; וַיֵּרֶד מִצְרַיְמָה, וַיָּגָר שָׁם בִּמְתֵי מְעָט; וַיְהִי שָׁם לְגוֹי גָּדוֹל עָצוּם וָרָב (דברים כ״ו:ה).

 The Gemara (סוטה ל״ב ע״א) points out that not everyone could recite this declaration—converts, for example, could not say אֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּע ה׳ לַאֲבֹתֵינו since their biological ancestors were not part of that oath. Still, they were obligated in the act of bringing Bikkurim. Thus the Torah separates the mitzvah of deed from the mitzvah of speech. 

This passage became so central that Chazal made it the backbone of the Pesach Haggadah. Instead of telling the Exodus story in our own words, we expound on each verse of ארמי אובד אבי. 

The Meaning of “Arami Oved Avi”

 The very first phrase is the subject of classic debate.

●          Rashi (דברים כ״ו:ה) explains that ארמי אובד אבי refers to Lavan, who “sought to uproot everything” (ביקש לעקור את הכל). While Pharaoh only decreed against the males, Lavan attempted to destroy the entire family of Yaakov by trickery and deception. Thus Jewish history begins not only with physical slavery in Egypt, but with existential threats even before we arrived thereץ

 ●          Ramban (שם) takes a different view, understanding אובד not as “seeking to destroy,” but as “lost, wandering.” According to him, the verse describes Yaakov himself, who was a destitute wanderer in Aram before descending to Egypt. The declaration highlights the fragility of our beginnings and the miracle of our survival.

 Both interpretations carry a profound message. Whether our survival was threatened by external enemies (Lavan) or by the precariousness of our own condition (Yaakov’s wandering), our very existence is a testament to God’s intervention in history.

 Farming and the Temptation of Self-Credit

 Farming is among the most difficult occupations. Even today, with modern technology, the farmer is still at the mercy of rain, sun, wind, insects, and fire. In ancient times, the struggle was almost unimaginable. A farmer who finally sees his crops ripen after months of labor could easily declare: Look what I have accomplished with my own hands! The Torah, however, demands that he take those very fruits—the tangible result of his toil—and publicly declare that they are not his alone. His success is not merely a product of sweat and labor but part of a story that began long before him.  As he recitesת

 וַיָּרֵעוּ אֹתָנוּ הַמִּצְרִים, וַיְעַנּוּנוּ; וַיִּתְּנוּ עָלֵינוּ עֲבֹדָה קָשָׁה. וַנִּצְעַק אֶל ה׳ אֱלֹקי אֲבוֹתֵינוּ, וַיִּשְׁמַע ה׳ אֶת קֹלֵנוּ, וַיַּרְא אֶת עָנְיֵנוּ וְאֶת עֲמָלֵנוּ וְאֶת לַחֲצֵנוּ. וַיּוֹצִאֵנוּ ה׳ מִמִּצְרַיִם בְּיָד חֲזָקָה, וּבִזְרוֹעַ נְטוּיָה, וּבְמוֹרָא גָדֹל, וּבְאֹתוֹת וּבְמֹפְתִים (דברים כ״ו:ו–ח).

 Only because of this chain of history can the farmer now stand with his basket in Jerusalem.

 Continuity Over Individualism

 Here lies the great moral lesson: Jewish life is not built on the illusion that the world begins and ends with me. It is built on continuity. The farmer must see himself as one link in a chain stretching back to Avraham and forward to generations yet unborn. This idea is echoed in the dramatic story of Shlomo HaMelech at the dedication of the Beit HaMikdash. The Midrash (שמות רבה ח:א; תנחומא, ויחי ז׳) relates that when Shlomo sought to open the gates of the newly built Temple, they refused to open. Only when he prayed: אַל תָּשֵׁב פְּנֵי מְשִׁיחֶךָ, זָכְרָה לַחֲסָדֵי דָּוִד עַבְדֶּך (תהלים קל״ב:י) did the gates swing wide.

 Even the wisest and holiest man of his generation could not enter on his own merits. The doors opened only when he invoked the merit of his father David.

 The Antidote to Modern Narcissism

 The world we live in often glorifies the “new,” the “innovative,” the “I.” Yet Jewish tradition teaches that true greatness is not found in self-creation, but in linking oneself to the eternal chain of Torah and history. That is why the Bikkurim passage was chosen as the centerpiece of the Seder. As the Haggadah teaches, every Jew must see himself as part of this story. We are not merely recalling ancient history; we are affirming our place within it.

 The farmer’s declaration, therefore, becomes our declaration as a people: We are not the beginning, and we are not the end. We are part of the story that God began with Avraham, a story that continues with us today.

 Halachic Note

 The Rambam codifies these laws in Hilchot Bikkurim (פרק ג–ד). He describes in detail how a person designates the first fruits in his field, places them in a basket, and ascends to Jerusalem in a joyous procession. Upon arrival, he presents them to the Kohen, recites the passage from ארמי אובד אבי, and then bows before the altar.

 The Rambam emphasizes: מצות עשה להביא בכורים למקדש… ומקריבן ונותנן לכהן, שנאמר ולקח הכהן הטנא מידך (הלכות ביכורים ג:א). He further rules that even after the declaration, the fruits remain a sacred gift for the Kohanim. Thus, the halacha itself reflects the central message of the drasha: our labor reaches its highest meaning not in personal pride, but in connecting it to Torah, history, and community.

Arise, Shine!

The haftarah that goes with this week's Torah reading of parashat Ki Tavo, is drawn from Isaiah 60:1-22, is one of the best-known passages of prophetic comfort and consolation in the Bible. Opening with the words 

“Arise! Shine! For your light has arrived, and the glory of the Lord has shone upon you”, 

This haftarah continues with warm words of positive reassurance and effectively restores our relationship with God after the tumultuous, tortuous text of Ki Tavo’s tochachah. 

Our member and distinguished composer Max Stern, inspired by those words, has composed “Arise, Shine!”, played here by the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra. For a link to this piece,  click here.

Important message for music-lovers

In much the same manner as the dawn breaks, with the light creeping out by infinitesimal increments, this piece opens with a passage that is very, very quiet -- so much so that you might be misled into thinking that it hasn't begun at all. If you are a user of a hearing enhancement device, be sure to be wearing it and to switch it on, or the opening passage may escape you entirely.

Jewish history in just two scenarios: Ki Tavo 5784

This week’s parsha reflects the whole of Jewish history in two relatively short scenarios. The opening section describes a promise: the Jewish people will enter the Land of Israel, settle there. develop the country, build the Temple and express their gratitude to God for the blessings that He has bestowed upon them. They will harvest bountiful crops and commemorate these achievements by bringing the first fruits of their labor as a thanksgiving offering to the Temple and the priests of the time. They will then recite a short statement of Jewish history, a synopsis of events that led from the time of the patriarchs until their own time.

 In the first scenario the Torah promises blessings and serenity to the people of Israel. Though it does not minimize the toil and travail that led to the moment when these offerings arrived in the Temple, it does convey a sense of satisfaction and achievement, of  gratitude and appreciation, for the accomplishments of the Jewish people, individually and nationally, regarding the Land of Israel and its bounty.

When a spirit of wondrous gratitude marks the accomplishments of the individual farmer and of the people generally in settling and developing the Land of Israel, the set text that accompanies this offering has little room for hubris and self-aggrandizement. Rather, its wording highlights the relationship between God, the Land and the people of Israel.

The second scenario in the parsha is far more somber and even frightening. It describes the events, travail and persecution that will visit the Jewish people over the long millennia of its exile. In vivid detail, the Torah describes the horrors, defeats and destruction that this exile will inflict. In our generation, tragic evidence of this portion of the Torah reading can actually be seen on film and in museums.

We are witness to the fact that not one word of the Torah’s description of dark future events was an exaggeration or hyperbole. This period of trouble and exile lasted far longer than the initial scenario of the offering of the first fruit in the Temple. And, unfortunately, the residue of this second scenario is still with us and within us as we live in a world that manifests its hostility towards the Jews.

Be that as it may, we should still be heartened by the concluding words of this parsha, which promises that it will be the first of our two scenarios that will eventually prevail. Even though so much of the negative is still with us, we must be grateful for our restoration to sovereignty, for dominion over our own homeland and for the bounty of the land that we currently enjoy.

All of this is a symbol of the beginning of the resurrection of the first scenario and the diminution of the effect of the second. May we all be wise enough to realize this and adjust our attitudes and actions accordingly.

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein