Parshat Ki Tavo

Posted on by Rebecca

Experiencing The First Fruits Of Spring At The End Of The Summer

Our parsha begins with the bikkurim, the beautiful first fruits of spring. They are expressions of our hope and joy, which we would bring to the kohen at the time when we were blessed with a Beit Hamikdash. We would stand in the courtyard and retell our history, describing how Hashem took us out of Mitzrayim and brought us to Eretz Yisrael (this is the central declaration of the Haggadah). These words would move us to prayer.  The Midrash Tanchuma describes how, after we would bring the bikkurim, we would bow down completely before Hashem and pray for mercy for ourselves and all of Klal Yisrael. We would refuse to move from our place in the courtyard until we would hear a bat kol, a voice from heaven, declare “he will merit for this year and for the year to come.” We would leave with a feeling of connection, joy and serenity.

I am writing this at the end of the summer, when the world is hot and dry and preparing to hibernate for winter. Separated by so many years from the experience of the Beit Hamikdash, bringing bikkurim seems so very far away. It is therefore other words of the same midrash which resonate for me. The Midrash Tanchuma also describes how Moshe, standing outside of Eretz Yisrael, views with ruach hakodesh both the intensity of the bikkurim experience, and the loss of that experience through the destruction of the Beit Hamikdash. What was Moshe’s response? He established our three daily tefillot.

This is not a halachic explanation of how our tefillot were established (see Brachot 26b for that). Instead, the midrash is pointing out an important connection between the bikkurim and tefillah, a connection we do not want to miss out on at this time of year. Moshe understood that everything in the Torah is eternal, including the spiritual reality of the bikkurim. Moshe established our ability to access the spiritual power of the bikkurim through our prayers. In these days before Rosh Hashana, Rav Schorr invites us to explore this connection of bikkurim and tefillah, and to use our learning to enhance our tefillot.

The essence of tefillah is the recognition that everything comes from Hashem. We begin our prayers with the acknowledgement that everything, even the wisdom we use to pray, is a gift. This is the essence of the bikkurim as well: the recognition that everything we have, all the produce that we harvest, is all a gift from Hashem. We take the first of our possessions and revel in the joy of having them by consecrating them and connecting them back to Hashem.

The Chidushei HaRim points out that we can see our tefillot as a transposition of bikkurim into the medium of time. Davening shacharit means waking up in the morning and recognizing that our time in this world is a gift from Hashem. We take our first few moments of daily time, and revel in the joy of having them by using our tefillot to connect those moments back to Hashem. We do the same at mincha time, when the sun begins its downward trajectory in the sky. We recognize the change in time and hurry to dedicate the rest of the day to Hashem. When night falls, and the quality of our time changes again, we reaccept Hashem’s Kingship, and allow it to guide us in the darkness.

Another striking aspect of the bikkurim was how we completely prostrated ourselves before Hashem. This wasn’t just a simple bow. We would lay down on the floor and spread out our arms and legs in complete surrender before Hashem. This type of complete surrender to Hashem, complete yirah, was something that was unique to the Beit HaMikdash. The yirah, the awe, was the natural response to the re’iyah, the sight, of the revelation of Hashem’s presence that existed there.  Even though we no longer have the Beit HaMikdash, every time we daven we incline our hearts toward Jerusalem, the Beit HaMikdash and the kodesh hakedoshim. Spiritually, despite the distance, the connection to that experience still exists.

Even though it was only the Kohen Gadol who went into the kadosh hakesoshim on Yom Kippur, he entered as the emissary of the entire nation. His soul encompassed all of ours, and the halachic principle that ‘the emissary of a person is like the person himself’ was in effect. When the Kohen Gadol went into the kadosh hakedoshim, it was as if each one of us went in as well.

The kadosh hakedoshim on Yom Kippur was a place where the aspect of Hashem as One was revealed. In the presence of the unity of Hashem, there is no place for our sins to exist. They simply have no effect on that level of reality. Although we can no longer access the kadosh hakedoshim in space, we can access it in time, through the day of Yom Kippur, and we can access it on the level of our soul. Just as there are ten levels of kedusha in Eretz Yisrael culminating in the kodesh hakedoshim, there are ten levels of kedusha in our soul. The Chiddushei HaRim points out that each of us has a spiritual inheritance from Avraham Avinu, a spark that is completely holy, unaffected by any of our sins. Through our tefillot, and particularly through our tefillot on Yom Kippur, we can access that place within ourselves.

One of the ways we reach this aspect of self is by shedding the aspects of ourselves that are covering or hiding it. We do this by accessing our connection to hitchadshut, newness. This is an intrinsic aspect of the bikkurim. The gemara (Megillah 31b) tells us that we read this parsha right before Rosh Hashana because of the brachot and klalot, the blessing and the curses, that are in it. We end the old year and its curses and begin the new year with its blessings. The idea is that the new year is born from the nullification of the previous year’s failings. We let go of the sins that were the source of our troubles in order to begin anew.

In this way we are like the seedling. The seed planted deep in the earth cannot grow until it completely dissolves and disintegrates. We, too, go through this process of facing our failings head-on. We face our troubles and we let them go, recognizing that all our strengths, everything we have, comes from Hashem. When we let go of the things that were holding us down, we can find our personal kodesh hakedoshim within us. From our contact with that place, we can sprout into a new year.

The Torah tells us that the 98 curses of this week’s parsha occurred because “we did not serve Hashem with joy (Devarim 28:47).” We nullify these curses through the joy of the 98 korbanot of sheep which we bring on Sukkot (Rashi, Bamidbar 29:18). Our spiritual path through this period of time is a path that ends in joy.

 In these days before Rosh Hashana we face our failings of the precious year as seedlings. We let go of the parts of ourselves that are not serving us so that we can grow. We open ourselves up to the experience of finding our own personal kodesh hakedoshim on Yom Kippur. And we spend these days maximizing our prayer. We revel in the first moments of our time, sanctifying them and experiencing the joy of connection to Hashem. This path culminates at the end of the month, when we sit in the sukkah, immersed in Hashem’s presence, experiencing true joy.

Parshat Ki Teitzei

Posted on by Rebecca

Some Advice for Elul: How to Fight to Win

Part I: The War

According to the Rambam this week’s parsha has 72 mitzvot, making it the parsha with the most mitzvot in the Torah. The mitzvah it begins with is one that talks about war, and the Ohr HaChaim teaches us that this is not just any war. The parsha begins, “when you go out la-milchama,” to the war, the known war. This is the war against the Yetzer Hara.

War is a big theme in Devarim. Last week’s parsha also spoke about war, and Rav Shapiro draws our attention to one pasuk in particular (Devarim 20:3). In this pasuk the kohen, speaking to the nation just before they are about to go to war, tells them not to be afraid four times. Rashi tells us that these four separate warnings relate to four separate battle strategies of the enemy: striking their shields loudly, stamping the ground, beating the horses’ hoofs, and blowing horns.

Why do we need four separate warnings not to be afraid? Because there is a very important message in the number four. There are also four separate warnings against avodah zara in the ten commandments (see Shemot 20:3-5). The Maharal explains that the number four represents externality. Any center point can expand in four directions. The expansion is the external aspect that revolves around the center point.

There are two ways that we can look at this four-fold expansion to externality. As each side expands in its own direction, it can only express a piece of reality. If it remains connected to the center, then the individual piece of reality it expresses is an expression of truth. But if it cuts itself off from the center and claims to represent all of reality while only representing part of reality, it is falsehood. This, says Rav Moshe Shapiro, is the essence of avodah zarah. It is external reality cut off from its source. It is one side of the scene, claiming to express the whole picture.

This is the pattern that is built into the creation of the world. In the beginning, Hashem created the world. This is the center.  The world then continuously expanded in four separate directions. “The earth was desolate and empty with darkness over the face of the abyss.” (Bereisheit 1:2) These four elements expand and separate themselves from the center. Our Chachamim identify them as the root of the four kingdoms under which we were exiled.

The war that we fight in life, the war against the yetzer hara, is always a war of four. The message from Hashem is that we are not supposed to be afraid. The four strategies of the enemy are all just noise. The chapter begins, “when you go to war against your enemies.” The Ohr HaChayim points out that ‘your enemies’ is written so that it can also be read as ‘your enemy’. “The true battle is against the one enemy who deflects us from the essence. Everything else is merely the natural consequence of this war.”

Our parsha is also replete with mitzvot. They are our secret weapon. Rav Schorr describes how, in the same way that the neshama lights up and vitalizes our body, the mitzvot are the inner light of the world. The Midrash in Bamidbar Rabbah (17) describes how Hashem planted the light of the Torah throughout our physical world by means of the mitzvot. There is nothing in this world left without a mitzvah. Wherever we go, whatever we do, there is a mitzvah to accompany us. We harvest grain and have the mitzvah to give to the poor. We kneed dough, and have the mitzvah of challah.  

Rav Schorr explains some of the depth behind this. The light of the Torah was apportioned by Hashem into 613 mitzvot. Each mitzvah was put into the places where we are most likely to forget Hashem. Specifically, each time we change the form of this world, we find ourselves potentially further from our source. We become part of the expansion. The mitzvot return us to our center.  And so, with every change of form, we find another mitzvah. For example, when we harvest the wheat and change its form from plant stalk to wheat, we may find ourselves further away from our source.  We may presume that it is our actions that create our food. The mitzvah to leave the corner of the field for the poor person returns us to reality.

Part II: The War in Elul

From one perspective, Elul is an interesting month in that it is the last month of the year, the farthest month from the beginning. We feel this in Elul when we say to ourselves, “I’m no where near ready for Rosh Hashana to come.” On the other hand, the year is a circle, which means that Elul is also the month right before Rosh Hashana. We feel this when we remember that ‘the King is in the field.’ Hashem is close to us, and teshuva is available at any moment.

The Chidushei HaRim brings our attention to Tehillim 110:3, which speaks about Hashem as our shepherd. According to tradition this pasuk is read in two ways. It is written with the word lo, spelled lamed-aleph, which means ‘not’ and expresses that Hashem created us and we are ‘not’ self-made. It is read with the word lo as if it were spelled lamed-vav, which means his and expresses that we belong to Hashem. When you put these two spellings of the world “lo” together, you have the letters of Elul.

Our avodah in Elul is to combine these two readings of “lo.” On the one hand, we experience how far we are from where we want to be. We are ‘not.’ On the other hand, that recognition is meant to bring us to an awareness that we are ‘His.’ We are always close to Hashem. In this way we are all we need to be and we have everything we need.

Rav Shapiro tells us that Elul, the last month, is also parallel to the end of the Torah and to the end of days. Elul is the month that embodies the nature of the time we are living in. It is a time when the external world is making a lot of noise. There are many forces screaming at us from every direction. The message from Hashem is that we do not have to be afraid. It is only noise. It has no independent reality. It is the expansion of the world, separated from its source. The secret to winning the war in the month of Elul is to ignore all the noise and keep connecting ourselves back to center.