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Nor forgotten If you fulfill the commandment, obviously you didn't forget it! This couldn't be what the verse means.
[Rather] it is possible to forget a commandment even though apparently you seem to fulfill it. For instance, you could do it without intending to, in a unthinking, distracted way, or from force of habit, mechanically by rote, all the while your brain and your heart are preoccupied with other matters.
From Sefat Emet quoted in Sparks Beneath the Surface (ed.) Kushner & Olitzky
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We now approach Deuteronomy's climax with this week's recitation of blessings and curses (the latter called the Tokhekha or Reproach. See the similar parallel passage in Leviticus 26). Our parasha begins with a description of the Ceremony of First Fruits. "When you enter the land.. you shall take some of every first fruit...." (Deut. 26:1, 2) (While Shavuot is the official holiday of first fruits, bikkurim, different fruits ripen at different times; no date is specified in this passage.) The Mishnah describes the farmer bringing the first fruits in a basket before the priest in a festive ceremony with oxen crowned with olive wreaths and horns overlaid with gold. One can imagine the procession with pilgrims carrying produce in baskets on their shoulders, playing flutes and singing Psalms: 'I rejoiced when they said to me, Let us go to the House of Adonai' (122:1). The ritual is a lesson in reciprocity: God has given us the land, and now we express our gratefulness. How do we do that? First, we must acknowledge the present and our gifts. Second, we remember our history, any hurt or pain, and how we came through it. Last, we share our gifts with others less fortunate than us, and express our gratefulness to God. According to Rabbi Nancy Wechsler-Azen, this bikkurim ceremony is a template for expressing gratitude and for personal growth.
Although the text seems unambiguous, "You shall take some of every first fruit..." the rabbis limit this to only the seven species, Shivat Haminim, the produce especially associated with the land of Israel. (These seven species: wheat, barley, grape, fig, pomegranate, olive and date are particularly sensitive during their critical growing period to the unpredictable weather conditions between Passover and Shavuot). Clearly, this 'Basket Ceremony' is a ritual to express gratitude for the harvest and for the blessings that God has granted. The Torah wants the farmer's allegiance to be exclusive to Adonai, (and to not be lured into worshipping Ba'al- the Canaanite's god of rain). Israel's God is the true master of all nature, and God, and not humanity, is the source of our bounty and the land's fertility.
The passage continues with a recitation familiar to most of us from the Haggadah: "A wandering Aramean was my father and he went down to Egypt and sojourned there..." This passage was to be recited by all who made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Initially, all were able to recite it on their own; but later in the Mishnaic period when some required the assistance of a prompter, the procedure was changed so that everyone was led by a prompter. Even so, the familiarity with this brief text was one reason the rabbis chose this text as the kernel of 'Maggid'. In today's Haggadah, this passage is amplified and expounded on, making it the lengthy core of the Haggadah. Note both Hebrew words come from the same root- 'to tell' like the word ve'higad'ta; and you shall tell your children. Here too, in our passage, the farmer recites higad'ti I declared today. This text, in a few verses, encapsulates biblical Jewish history: We went down to Egypt; we were enslaved; we cried out to God, and God redeemed us and brought us to this land. This recited prayer shifts the agricultural focus from God's role in nature to God's role in history. This is a key feature of the Jewish conception of time. While each of the biblical pilgrimage festivals are rooted in agricultural harvests, each has been re-interpreted with a historical layer. This lesson that time is both circular (seasonal) and linear (historical) is, in Cahill's words, 'a gift of the Jews.'
After the description of bringing the fruit in the basket, the Torah continues: "You shall go to the priest in charge at that time and say to him, I declared [higad'ti] today before Adonai your God that I have entered the land...You shall then recite as follows before Adonai your God: 'My father was a wandering Aramean...' " Rashi is bothered that the farmer begins "I declared" in the past tense, but hasn't said anything yet! How could the farmer say "I declared" when no verbal declaration has been made yet. The verb 'Maggid' does not always mean to declare verbally: The heavens 'declare' God's handiwork (Ps. 19:2). The farmer's actions (in already bringing the fruit) demonstrate gratitude for God's gifts. The Etz Hayyim Torah commentary (JPS) renders higad'ti as 'acknowledge'. What then 'declares' gratitude for entering the land: the farmer's gift of first fruits or the recitation of the declaration? According to Rashi, the farmer's gift (which he has indeed already brought) acknowledges his gratitude, and so the farmer can indeed correctly say, I declared (already by bringing the offering) today ..
Like the bikkurim ceremony, our parasha continues with a second example of an oral declaration:
When you have made an end of tithing...Then you shall say before Adonai Your God.. I have cleared out the consecrated portion from the house; and I have given it to the Levite, the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow, just as You commanded me; I have neither transgressed nor forgotten any of Your commandments..."
Abravanel wonders, 'What need is there for the person to boast orally about what he has done?' The commentator Arama asks:
What point was there in demanding that the worshipper recount what he did and what he refrained from doing -- so long as he performed the commandments in its proper manner? Akedat Yitzhak
In general, Judaism puts a premium on a person's actions over one's motivation. As we saw last week, there can often be multiple reasons behind a particular mitzvah. Conceivably, a person could even perform some mitzvot for the 'wrong' reasons, (let's say lighting Shabbat candles because it creates a romantic mood for dinner) but it still would be considered a mitzvah. Yet, in the two examples here, it is not enough to go through the motions. There is an emphasis on the verbal declaration in our parasha as well; three different verbs for speech appear: "Say, Declare, Recite". Most prayer in Torah is spontaneous and it is most unusual for the Torah to specify a text to be recited. Here, 'talking the talk' is as important as 'walking the walk.' just like how the 'telling' aspect is essential in the Passover Haggadah. Rabban Gamliel reminds us: The person who does not explain these three items of Pesach, Matzah and Maror has not fulfilled the obligation. In other words, eating the ritual foods is not sufficient if the appropriate words (and reasons) are not recited.
Rashi is bothered by the last phrase: 'I have done all Your commandments...I have neither transgressed nor forgotten any of Your commandments.' If I have done all the commandments, why is it necessary to add that I haven't forgotten any! Avigdor Bonchek, a superb, contemporary teacher of Rashi, explains that while we may remember to do the mitzvot precisely according to the halachah, we may be so preoccupied with the details, that we forget the essence, which is to remember God in the first place. The Sefat Emet makes an additional point. If we do the mitzvot in a rote, mechanical fashion without kavannah [proper intention], then we have 'forgotten' to perform the mitzvot in the way they were intended. There is a danger that we remember the mitzvot and forget the Divine Source of blessing.
Lessons for Today
Lenny Bruce, in a classic stand-up comedy routine, talked about how over-using words can trivialize them. Take the example of 'thank you.' Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou. Recited without expression and with machine gun delivery the phrase loses all meaning. Too often our problem is 'talking the talk' but not 'walking the walk.' Speech can become routine, and empty words certainly have little meaning. But sometimes going through the motions is not much better. It is not enough to clear the dishes in appreciation for the person who has made dinner (although it's certainly a very recommended first step for shalom bayit- domestic peace). We also have to say the words. Our parents were right when they taught us to say 'please' and 'thank you.'
Why articulate our gratitude? Because sometimes words need to be spoken. Actions may speak louder than words, but words are still important! The Jewish tradition of saying 100 blessings a day helps cultivate that feeling of gratitude. Blessings remind us to thank God for every meal, every smell, every rainbow. (And while we're thanking God for bread, let us not forget the farmer, the miller, the baker, the grocer, and the person who served us the sandwich).
The more blessed we are, the more thankless we seem to be. Expressing gratitude is especially important, because it seems that 'forgetfulness' often accompanies God's blessings. (A few weeks ago we read: You will eat and be satisfied and will bless Adonai...[and then] Take care that you do not forget Adonai your God... Deut. 8:10). If we are careless about articulating our thanks, we become forgetful of the Giver. This poem by Edward Farrell captures the idea:
We ask for a piece of sand
and God gives us a beach
We ask for a drop of water
and God gives us an ocean
We ask for time
and God gives us the bond of everlasting life
And it is so easy for us to fall in love with the gift
and forget the giver.
Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote: "Humanity will not perish from lack of information but from lack of appreciation....It is gratefulness which makes the soul great." Perhaps, if we are careful to express our gratitude, it will help us remember the Source of Blessing.
Shabbat Shalom.
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