Ki Tavo: Learning To Be Thankful for Everything

This week’s Torah reading describes the mitzvah of bringing bikkurim, the first fruits. When the Jewish people lived in the Holy Land – may it be rebuilt and established by Mashiach, speedily, in our days – it was a land flowing with milk and honey. Before a farmer would take any of the fruits from the harvest for himself, he would bring the choicest to the Beis HaMikdash. This was an act of thanks to G‑d for His blessings that were manifest in the fruits of the earth.

The bikkurim differed from the other sacrifices in that they were not burned on the altar, but given to the kohanim.

This leads to two somewhat divergent lessons: the first concerns showing gratitude to G‑d; the second concerns the scope of our Divine service.The grain and the fruits of the earth grow only after plowing, seeding, and performing the other labors involved with growing the produce of the land. Yet, after all these activities were completed, the first and choicest of this produce were not taken for one’s own self, but transformed into holiness by being given to the kohanim.

Certainly, such an act aroused an inner challenge. After all the work and effort invested in producing the crops, why were the best and the nicest given away? Even if it was necessary to give a portion of the harvest for holy purposes, why the first and choicest fruits?

However, contemplating this mitzvah leads to the understanding that such questions can arise only when one lacks faith that “the fruit of the earth” is what “You, G‑d, have given me,”3 and instead, thinks that “it was my strength and the power of my hand that made this wealth for me.”4 Contemplating the above leads us to realize that such thoughts are the very opposite of the simple faith that every Jew, without exception, possesses. Although it might appear that certain people lack this faith, in truth, they possess it in the inner recesses of their hearts. All that is necessary is to bring it to the surface so that it will affect their day-to-day lives.

The second lesson derived from this mitzvah is rooted in the fact that, in contrast to other offerings, the first fruits were not burned on the altar in the Beis HaMikdash, but were given to the kohanim, who would use them for food and other purposes, as is the law regarding bikkurim. This teaches that even the sweetness and the flavor of the fruit can be used for holiness. When a person prepares himself in an appropriate manner and makes himself holy – dedicating himself to G‑d with a full heart so that, in a figurative sense, he becomes a kohen – he can serve G‑d by bringing the fruit to the Beis HaMikdash and eating it in His service. Such an act is equivalent to serving G‑d by bringing other sacrifices – for example, a burnt offering – that is consumed entirely by fire on the altar in the Beis HaMikdash.

This is one of the fundamental lessons of the teachings of Chassidus: that one can – and must – serve G‑d not only during the times when one is praying or studying Torah, but also when one is eating or working. During one’s occupation with his profession or business, he can serve G‑d at that time via the profession or business itself. Nevertheless, there is a caveat. As is understood, this different type of service requires more and deeper spiritual preparation. However, the reward such service brings is commensurately greater.

When viewed in this light, the mitzvah of bikkurim also exists in the era of exile, even outside of Eretz Yisrael, and can be fulfilled even on an ordinary weekday. When one acknowledges from the depths of his heart that everything he has is what “You, G‑d, have given me,” all his possessions become holy, so much so that using them can be part of his Divine service.

When the mitzvah of bikkurim was carried out in a literal sense in the Beis HaMikdash, it would bring forth a blessing from Heaven, “As you have brought the first fruits today, [so] may you bring them again next year!”5 This blessing also included an assurance that then the mitzvah will be fulfilled with greater satisfaction and joy, as the Torah promises,6 “Then, you shall rejoice with all the good that G‑d, your L‑rd, has granted you and your household.”

Similarly, in the present day, using the possessions that G‑d gives us in the manner that He intends brings forth Divine blessings. We are enabled to carry out the spiritual counterpart of bringing the first fruits in the following year as well to an even greater extent – since we must “always ascend in holy matters”7 – and to do so with greater satisfaction and joy.

Originally, this and the following sichah were published for Parshas Ki Savo together with other sichos. We have presented here only two of those sichos. We understood these two as linked because our gratitude to G‑d for His goodness (the reason for bringing bikkurim) should not be limited to those instances when His goodness is obvious. Instead, as the coming sichah emphasizes, G‑d’s goodness is manifest in all matters, even in those in which the goodness is not initially apparent.

Our Sages use two different expressions to communicate the concept that everything that happens is for the good:

a) “Everything the Merciful One does is [ultimately] for the good.”8

b) “This, too, is [itself] for the good.”9

There is a difference between these two expressions: In their source texts, “This, too, is [itself] for the good” is in Hebrew, Lashon HaKodesh, the Holy Tongue, a holy and clear language. As such, any concept expressed in the Holy Tongue is clear. And, in this context, it is clear that everything is for the good.

By contrast, “Everything the Merciful One does is [ultimately] for the good” was rendered in Aramaic, the popular vernacular of the time, used for translation. This phrasing implies that although it is also ultimately “for the good,” “the good” is not perceived so clearly.

The distinction between these two expressions becomes evident from analyzing the difference between the two stories that the Talmud cites as illustrations of these expressions.

The story the Talmud uses to illustrate the insight, “Everything the Merciful One does is [ultimately] for the good” involves Rabbi Akiva⁶ who, when traveling, took with him a lamp, a donkey, and a rooster on his journey.

Today, people take other things when they travel, such as a checkbook, a toothbrush, etc. Then, it was different. When one traveled, he would take a lamp so that he could study Torah even when it was dark, a donkey to carry his physical things so that he would not be burdened by them, and a rooster to wake him at midnight so he could pray and study.

G‑d designed the circumstances in such a way that no one in the nearby city offered Rabbi Akiva hospitality, and he had to spend the night in the field. A wind came and blew out his lamp so he was forced to remain in the dark. A lion came and devoured his donkey, and a cat came and consumed his rooster. Despite all this, Rabbi Akiva said, “Everything the Merciful One does is [ultimately] for the good.”

Later, it became evident that everything was indeed for the good. That night, the nearby city was attacked and its inhabitants captured. Had he spent the night there, he would have been seized with the others. Had his lamp been burning in the field, the attackers would have seen him. Since it is natural for donkeys to bray and roosters to crow, had they remained alive, these sounds would have been heard. Rabbi Akiva’s presence would have been detected and he, too, would have suffered the fate of the others. Thus, the entire chain of events, though they appeared undesirable at the time, led to him being saved.

The example the Talmud uses to illustrate the insight, “This, too, is [itself] for the good,” is a story involving the Sage, Nachum Ish Gamzu.⁷ He was so named because the Hebrew for “This, too, is for the good,” is Gam zu letovah. He would repeat this expression regarding every event, so much so that it became characteristic of his personality and he came to be called Ish Gamzu.

Once, he was charged by his fellow Jews to go on a mission to Rome, and was given a chest of precious stones and pearls as a present for the Caesar. At night, the owner of the inn where he was staying stole the gems and filled the chest with simple earth. When Nachum Ish Gamzu discovered this, he said, “This, too, is for the good” and continued on his journey. He reckoned that since the Jewish people had appointed him as a messenger to the Caesar, he had to carry out his mission and G‑d would certainly help him.

When he came to the Caesar, he gave him the chest as a present. When the chest was opened and all saw that it was filled with earth, they thought of treating Nachum Ish Gamzu as one who rebelled against his ruler. However, G‑d immediately sent Eliyahu the Prophet in the guise of a Roman officer and he suggested to the Caesar that perhaps the earth that Nachum Ish Gamzu brought was of the same earth that miraculously brought Avraham victory in war.10 The Romans had no lack of wars, and they immediately took the earth into battle to see what would happen. With it, they, too, miraculously emerged victorious over the Caesar’s enemies.

There is a difference between these two stories:

Rabbi Akiva suffered loss and discomfort. His donkey and rooster were killed. He was forced to spend the night in darkness in the field. While, ultimately, it was for the good, the actual experience was one of discomfort.

But Nachum Ish Gamzu never experienced any loss from the outset. On the contrary, had he brought gems to the Caesar, who knows whether the Caesar would have accepted them?! After all, were gems lacking in the king’s palace?11 When he brought the earth, it was accepted.

Rabbi Akiva suffered discomfort. It is only that, through this temporary discomfort, he was saved from a greater and more permanent ordeal. By contrast, in Nachum Ish Gamzu’s experience, even that which may have appeared to be a loss was itself entirely good.

From the above, we can see the advantage of the expression, “This, too, is for the good,” over the expression, “Everything the Merciful One does is for the good.”

“This, too, is for the good” means that the event itself is good. It is not only good in the end; it is good now, in and of itself,12 although this may have been concealed initially. When one’s eyes are closed, it might appear that harm and discomfort are involved. However, when one’s eyes are opened, it becomes evident that everything was good from the outset.

Nachum Ish Gamzu was Rabbi Akiva’s mentor,13 implying that Rabbi Akiva lived one generation after Nachum Ish Gamzu. Over the passage of that generation, the darkness of exile became even stronger, because with every generation the darkness of exile increases. Therefore, in Rabbi Akiva’s generation, it was impossible to clearly see that the negative itself was good.

Even when we know the truth and accept straightforwardly that everything is itself good, in the realities of the world, the good is not always revealed. In Rabbi Akiva’s time, all that was possible to be revealed was that “everything the Merciful One does is [ultimately] for the good.” Nachum Ish Gamzu and his generation lived a generation closer to the era of the Beis HaMikdash (or perhaps in that era). At that earlier time, it was possible for it to be revealed – even in the world – that “this, too, is for the good.”

Presently, we are approaching the era of the Ultimate Redemption, the time when “those who love Him will [resemble] the sun when it shines with its might.”14 Then, “the Holy One, blessed be He, will remove the sun from its sheath,”15 and it will be possible to see – in an overt manner – that everything “is for the good.” When the sun of G‑dly light will be removed from its sheath,16 all will say,17 “This is the G‑d for whom we hoped.”

Adapted from a letter composed on 6 Elul, 5715 (1955) and a sichah delivered on 20 Menachem Av, 5711 (1951)