By now we have seen many facets of the book of Devarim, but we have yet to discuss a way to tie all these various strands together. A more concerted look at the book’s legal corpus will help us in this regard. For if Mishneh Torah really means “a second law,” we would expect this body of laws to somehow convey Devarim’s essence. Giving the legal section pride of place in the middle of the book134Chapters 12–26. fosters that impression as well.
Understanding how these laws go to the core of the book is no easy task, however.135See Chapter Two, where we discuss which laws were and were not included in this book and why. Examining Devarim’s laws, we often go from one to another without any sense of what they have in common. But although it is not always clear how the various laws were organized, it is quite evident that their order is not random.
One place where a pattern is more obvious is at the end of Devarim’s legal section, where we find its last three eternal laws (as opposed to one-time, historical injunctions, such as the ceremony to hear the blessings and the curses (Devarim 27:11–26). Not only is its content interrelated, its format is particularly informative as well. And if we narrow our focus even further, to the last two laws, we encounter formulaic declarations that seem to carry much more meaning than the actual commandments with which these declarations are connected. Furthermore, this section takes us a long way toward understanding what Devarim is ultimately all about. In fact, the Torah’s final three laws – the eradication of Amalek, the obligation to bring the firstfruits (bikkurim), and the declaration concerning the disposal of one’s tithes (vidui ma’aser) in Devarim 25:17–18, 26:1–11 and 26:12–15, respectively – can be understood as a general summary of the entire Torah. More on this below.
Even a casual reader may notice that there is something special about the Torah’s final commandments. Starting from the middle of the trio, we find the well-known declaration that begins with the elusive phrase, Arami oved avi, generally translated either as “my father was a lost Aramean”136Rashi on Devarim 26:5. or “an Aramean [tried to] destroy my father.”137Rashbam, Ibn Ezra on Devarim 26:5. As with the Shema passage, this declaration became enshrined in the liturgy (specifically in the Haggadah), and as a result has taken on an important place in the Jewish consciousness. But even if this passage had not been included in our liturgy, it represents an unusually neat summary of the core of early Jewish history. Nestled between the injunction to remember Amalek and the declaration of having properly given tithes, it goes right to the heart of the Jewish experience. Let us briefly examine its connection to and enhancement by the two commandments that surround it.
Amalek and Bikkurim
Many commentators remark that the placement of the bikkurim declaration right after the injunction to destroy Amalek is significant. For example, Abarbanel writes how the Jews’ difficult war with Amalek contrasts with the main historical experience of Divine salvation recounted in the bikkurim declaration. He goes on to say that the rabbinic authorities who determined how to divide up the weekly Torah readings separated these two laws specifically to distinguish between “the light and the darkness.” He then rejects the opinion of Ibn Ezra, who understands the placement of these laws in separate sections to mean that after the Jews are settled in their land and need to destroy Amalek as the next step, they are also to remember that there are other things (i.e., bikkurim) that should have already been done.138Abarbanel, on Devarim 26:1.
Perhaps the most creative suggestion is that of Malbim, who reminds us that Amalek is a descendent of Esav and thus remains in conflict with Ya’akov due to the latter’s taking Esav’s firstborn status away from him. Malbim points out that the command that follows the one to destroy Amalek hints to its being the source of Amalek’s hate for Israel, as the word for firstborn privileges, bechora, is both conceptually and linguistically related to bikkurim, the word for firstfruits.139Malbim on Devarim 25:18, end. Though Malbim doesn’t say it, one could develop this idea further and suggest that the bikkurim actually serve as a type of atonement for the Jewish people’s acquisition of the bechora under questionable circumstances. Their willingness to sacrifice bikkurim to a higher purpose and not to use them for personal enjoyment serves as a symbolic declaration that they will not derive any national benefit from the bechora.
The fact that so many commentators seek a connection between the first two commandments in the trio points to there being something intuitive about the connection – even if its content is somewhat elusive. Abarbanel’s explanation strikes us as the closest. In his distinguishing between two fundamental historical experiences, we can see the Torah trying to present some sort of cumulative summary. There is likewise room to see that after being given these commandments, the Jews must also take the essence of their mission with them as well. Similar to the contrast between the light and darkness of the historical experience, one could divide their mission in a way that could be summarized as sur me’ra va’aseh tov (turn away from evil and do good, Tehillim 34:15).
One might be tempted to dismiss this one-line summary of how to relate to good and evil as overly obvious. But as with many other things we have seen so far, the genius may be found more in the delivery than in the content. For just to read about good and evil is far from enough – mere words, no matter how strong or profound, rarely motivate people. Instead, this most important charge must be couched in a story in order to make it resonate with each individual Jew. The injunction to blot out Amalek is telling the Jews to destroy evil while remembering the bitterness they experienced so harshly via the barbaric assault on their stragglers by their nemesis. The Israelites likely saw that fierce and wanton attack as the epitome of evil, the roots of which they would viscerally want to destroy. Through this, the basic concept of eradicating evil would be forever cemented within the Jewish national consciousness.
As per our adaptation of Abarbanel, the second part of the Jewish mission is to do good. Here too, it would not be enough to simply say, “Do good.” There would need to be some sort of model of the good with which the Jews were tremendously impressed – so much so that they would want to emulate it. They did not have far to look. God had taken the small family of Ya’akov with which the Jews began, nurtured it and favored it against overwhelming odds, and ultimately gave it a land full of unsurpassed bounty. As with the immediate repulsion that the Jews would feel when remembering the actions of Amalek, likewise would they immediately and overwhelmingly feel a sense of gratitude when remembering all the kindnesses shown them by God. Just as the commandment to wipe out Amalek is actually a stand-in for all the commandments of “turn away from evil,” so too, the firstfruits are meant to represent all commandments that could be summarized by the phrase, “Do good.”
Bikkurim and Ma’aser
The “doing good” symbolized by the firstfruits is not the last commandment of the trio – which it might very well have been if it were the end of the Jewish mission. The last commandment, the declaration concerning tithes, takes the idea of the firstfruits one step further. It tells us that the feeling engendered by bringing one’s firstfruits is not meant to end there, but rather – and this is what the commandment of tithes is all about – to give to others, and spread good further. Jews are taught not just to admire but to imitate the God Who had been so munificent toward them. In these specific circumstances it would mean giving tithes fully and ungrudgingly, but in the larger picture it should be taken as the charge to act with kindness and generosity in all circumstances.
As pointed out by many, the phrase that appears most in the bikkurim section is that of what God has given (natan) to the Jewish people.140See Martin Buber, “The Prayer of the First Fruits,” in On the Bible: Eighteen Studies (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1982), p. 125, who is subsequently cited by R. Elchanan Samet in Torah MiEtzion, Devarim (Jerusalem: Maggid Press, 2012), p. 310. See also Recalling the Covenant, p. 983, note 2, concerning the final use of this verb in the adjacent section on vidui ma’aser. Although generally overlooked, the same theme is also used repeatedly in the subsequent passage discussing man’s gifts to his fellow. In the context of the spiritual challenges posed by bounty, this type of awareness is extremely important. By being reminded of where bounty comes from and being instructed on how to look at his national past, the Jew is helped in accomplishing the Torah’s elusive goal of “serving God in joy” (Devarim 28:47). Such a goal includes the practical outcome of emulating God in this context: Just as He Who has everything gives of that which belongs to Him, so too, when we have much we should also give to others.
This is precisely what makes the declaration concerning tithes so central. The illusion of security brought about by wealth allows one to forget how precarious his existence is, and consequently to simply ignore his obligations to God and to his fellow man. The Torah thus warns that if we cannot remember to serve God when times are good, His only recourse is to take away those good times in order that we will feel we really “need” Him (Devarim 28:45–48). The sort of vicious cycle which forces God’s hand to punish the Jews and elicit a “no atheist in a foxhole” response is exactly what the internalization of the bikkurim declaration is supposed to prevent.
Of Screams, Primal and Otherwise
Let us now return to the periscopic declaration made at the bikkurim rite. Besides the obvious theme of God’s kindness to the Jews, something else stands out: The centrality of the Egyptian experience is boiled down to its spiritual essence. It begins with Ya’akov and his family going down to Egypt – with no mention of God.(Devarim 26:5) However, as soon as things get really bad, the children of Israel bring Him into their lives. And they do so in a highly intense way, by “crying out to Him” (Devarim 26:6–7). Only then does the Torah describe God as hearing and seeing the plight of His people. Jewish tradition, as well as most other theistic conceptions of God, cannot accept the literal implication of this, i.e., that God is not always aware of what is happening to people. But for all human purposes (according to which the Torah is written141See Redeeming Relevance in Exodus, pp. 15–20.), if God doesn’t overtly react to the oppression of innocents, it is as if He is not hearing and not seeing. We certainly want God to “hear and see” us, and hear and see us He does – but only after the children of Israel initiate the connection by their action of crying out to Him. This is a central lesson of the Egyptian experience: we can bring about Divine involvement only if we elicit it.
Evoking God’s involvement is not always easy. What is implied in the above retelling (and also in its initial rendition in Shemot 1–2.) is that it is not enough to pray or to make declarations. Rather, one has to cry out with a high level of intensity. We all know that conjuring this up when times are good can be quite difficult. Constantly reminding ourselves of the need to connect to God through the bikkurim declaration might not be enough to engender the required intensity, but at least it gives us a chance to quickly and simply reflect on our dependence on God in a significant way.
The bikkurim declaration doesn’t bring just an idea to our attention however. The Torah doesn’t call upon the Jew to merely meditate on the need to be grateful to God; he has to truly speak about it. And lest he conjure up listless recitals of the American Pledge of Allegiance, the Torah uses the word ve’anita (“answer”) instead of the word ve’amarta (“say”). According to Jewish tradition, and posited by many commentators as well, ve’anita means to respond in a loud voice.142Sotah 32a; Rashi on Devarim 26:5. In particular, according to Rabbi Y.S. Reggio, the word really indicates loud song.143Rabbi Y.S. Reggio, Devarim, ibid.
As opposed to simply raising one’s voice, then, one actively seeks to access emotion. And emotion here is actually the whole point. Be it the emotion of thanksgiving as with the firstfruits, or the emotion of desperation with regard to Egyptian oppression, the Jew will be successful in his relationship with God only if he pursues it from the depths of his heart.
When the Jew performed the bikkurim ritual, speaking about his ancestors crying out to God, he himself was speaking loudly, thereby reenacting the experience rather than just telling it over. And even if his cry was a joyful one and therefore not in line with the cry of his forebears, both represent true engagement of the heart.
Although the bikkurim ritual was focused on times of bounty, the Jewish people took the idea even further, understanding the centrality of the message for bad times as well as for good. As a result, they incorporated this passage, if not necessarily its complete performance, into the Haggadah text, which has been used from the earliest Roman oppression and throughout the long Exile that ensued.
History, Torah and Relationship
Obviously, any five-and-a-half-verse summary of several centuries of Jewish history cannot include all of the most important events, let alone those of lesser importance. Still, we would be remiss if we didn’t look more carefully at what is being excluded here. Rabbi Moshe Shamah brings up the most glaring omission, the revelation at Mount Sinai, which is not even hinted to in this summary. His answer that the farmer’s gratitude for his land makes it superfluous144Recalling the Covenant, p. 981. may well be true, but it requires further explanation. Given that this is not only a declaration for the farmer but one that would designedly take a central role as the declaration of Jewish history, the question takes on more urgency.
While it is the subject of another and longer discussion, we must remember that some of the Bible’s greatest heroes lived before the Torah was given. This did not prevent them from living exemplary lives and from connecting with God via sublime prophecy and prayer. The constant for the Jews who lived in the era covered by the bikkurim declaration, i.e., from Ya’akov’s going down to Egypt until and including Egyptian oppression, is the striving to attain an ethical and spiritual lifestyle, the tools for which do not have to be based on the Torah per se. Hence it would be an error to see the revelation at Sinai as a complete game changer. As central as the Torah is to Judaism, it remains a means and not an end in itself. Granted, the only way a Jew can ideally fulfill his role in life is by following the precepts of the Torah. His actual goal, however, remains living that role, which the Torah but helps him fulfill.
On some level, the point of man’s existence can be boiled down to one idea, and that is positive involvement with God.145See Makkot 24a, where two suggestions are given for the one idea that summarizes the entire Torah. Both suggestions (Amos 5:4 and Habakkuk 5:4) relate to the relationship between man and God. Accordingly, the history of the Jewish people is more about relationship than it is about the Torah or about any particular story. Relationship primarily consists of communication, which by its very nature goes in both directions. At Sinai the Jews likely heard God more clearly than at any other point in history, but God did not hear the Jews. This is not to take anything away from Ma’amad Har Sinai. As we discussed in Chapter Three, the atmosphere was meant to be one of fear and trepidation and so communication was not supposed to be going in two directions.146Pp. 47–49. Had the Jews also been enraptured in prayer, it would have taken away from what that event was all about.
Instead of Ma’amad Har Sinai, it is the Jews’ crying out about their dismal condition in Egypt and God’s long-term response to it – which doesn’t end until He brings them to the Land of Israel at the conclusion of the book of Devarim – that ends up being the most emblematic of the Jewish people’s involvement with God. And that is why it is the crux of the recitation here.
The giving of the Torah may still have been the single most important event in the history of the Jewish people, but that doesn’t mean it had to be included in the bikkurim declaration. The declaration’s being a historical summary notwithstanding, its point is not history. Its point is to instill a burning desire to do the right thing. Just as the Talmud (Megilla 21b) points out that it is very difficult to hear two voices at the same time, so too is it difficult to understand two messages at the same time. The idea of summarizing history here is to boil it down to a single message and nothing else.
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In our spiritual lives it is not uncommon to feel that God is not answering us. An adult student once asked about that during a class I was giving, whereupon another student asked her whether she had ever truly prayed. The members of this class were people who all prayed on a daily basis. But the second student had actually made an extremely incisive point! How many of us can say that we have really and truly prayed with the intensity of the Jews in Egypt?
Part of our spiritual quest is to make our connection with God real even when we don’t feel motivated. Indeed, the Torah’s many laws attempt to deal with this problem by legislating all sorts of rituals and remembrances aimed at focusing our attention on that which should always be at the center of our lives, but generally is not – namely, our relationship with God.
It behooves us to go the extra mile and seek out ways of creating intense communion with God. As with the bikkurim declaration, it need not be something we do every day, but it must take place at regular intervals. Some people make regular pilgrimages to the Kotel in Jerusalem for precisely this reason. Others make a pilgrimage to the grave of R. Nachman of Breslav at Rosh Hashanah. They feel the experience of praying there with so many others on that auspicious day is enough to inspire them for the rest of the year.
These are only two examples of what can be done, and there are many others. Whatever we do, however, it is critical that we understand that we must constantly strive to be in communication with God. For if these last three laws of the Torah which we have just discussed were seen to be a summary of how the Torah wants us to act, their centerpiece, the bikkurim declaration, reminds us of what the Torah is ultimately all about.