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.
