In the agricultural community that was ancient Israel, the ripening of the first fruits of the season was an occasion of great rejoicing and gladness. For the farmer of that day, it represented the beginning of a year of prosperity and plenty. It dissipated his fears of ruination by drought or locusts. It meant that he would have a harvest so that he could feed his wife and children during the winter and that the worries that weighed on him from the time the first blossom opened were over and done with. At such time, he would gather up these first fruits, called the bikurim, and bring them to Jerusalem, where, according to this morning’s Sidra, he recited a prayer upon offering them up, a prayer which is moving in its simplicity, its beauty, its sincerity, and its depth. This short prayer is primarily a testament of the historical relation between G-d, the People of Israel, and the Land of Israel. Having lived to see his labors so well rewarded and the land bear its fruit, the Jew came to his Temple, brought the first fruits to the Kohanim, and declared that this Land was given to him and his people only by the goodness of G-d. It is therefore a prayer of thanksgiving and gratitude, which is, at the same time, a resume of the history of Israel, which is, in return, the story of the relationships between the G-d of Israel, the People of Israel and the Land of Israel.Now since this is a prayer of this kind, giving insight into this history and these relationships, its importance far transcends the ancient farmer and the agricultural community of that day. A prayer of this kind has meaning and urgency for all Jews of all time, for are we not always a people, always praying to our G-d – and for our Land? Its meaning, then, should give us some serious clues as to our own predicament today.In this connection, the very first three words of the prayer of bikurim are of greatest significance for they set the tone and establish the basic premise of what a Jew and Judaism rea…

Towards the end of the special prayer recited by the Jew bringing bikkurim (first fruits), he says a seemingly anti-climactic phrase: "lo shachachti" – “I have not forgotten.” What an amazing expression. Of course he didn’t forget – how could he? This man went through a long, devoted, loving, and detailed process: watching for the first blossom, tying it, watching it grow, gathering the fruits, preparing for a long pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and presenting the fruits with care and reverence. After all that, the idea that he might have “forgotten” seems absurd. It's like praising someone as highly spiritual – and also noting that he doesn't pick pockets or torment the elderly. Yet, in those two small words lies a profound chunk of Jewish hashkafah – philosophy.They reveal that it's possible to perform many good deeds, even mitzvot, and yet “forget” them – to do them by habit, by social pressure, by imitation, without conscious intent. That is, one can live a superficially pious life without ever being spiritually alive. The key question is: Why am I doing this? Am I religiously awake or asleep? If someone lives decently but never reflects on their actions or their purpose, then while they may be a “good person,” they haven't truly lived religiously. The phrase lo avarti mi’mitzvosecha – “I have not transgressed Your commandments” – may indicate the absence of sin, but it is not the presence of virtue. Only when one adds lo shachachti – “I have not forgotten” – meaning: I remember why I do this, I do it consciously, with kavvanah, because God commanded it, because I accept my destiny and acknowledge my dependence on the Divine – only then has one performed a real mitzvah.This is the meaning of kavvanah – of meaningfulness. That’s why ritual mitzvot need constant reflection and intention. They should not become mere habits, but meaningful habits. That’s why we say hineni muchan u’mezuman – “behold, I am ready and prepared” – before certain mitzvot.So many areas of mode…

The major portion of this morning’s first Sidra deals with mundane, prosaic financial law – the disposition of real estate, the law of Shemitah (the sabbatical law which controlled agricultural development), with loans and debtors and creditors, and with the care and treatment of the poor and the indigent. And then – at the very conclusion – we find an abrupt shift from a Torah for businessman to the great and timeless religious principle which is so often repeated in the Torah and is one of its sacred fundamentals: Lo sa’asu lachem elilim, upesel umateivah lo sakimu lachem. And here the student of Torah wonders: what does real estate and commerce have to do with idolatry? What is the relation of illegitimate business dealings to icons?Our Rabbis were in all probability as vexed by this passage as we are. And that is why they clearly identified the idol here intended by the Torah. They maintained that in this verse the Torah did not have reference to all idols in general, but especially to the one called Markulis, a pagan idol also known as “Mercury” or “Hermes.”And with this interpretation of the Sages, the Biblical passage assumes new dimensions and becomes extremely meaningful to Jews of all times, and for us as well. For Mercury or Markulis was the pagan god of the merchants, the idol of commerce. And what the Torah thus tells us is that if Torah is to be just ceremony, just synagogue procedure, just dignified ritual, and not a way of life which governs our conduct in business and trade as well as in shul – then we are no better than the worshippers of Markulis or Mercury. For if G-d and Torah have no place in the professional life and business life of the Jew, then he is in effect worshipping business and trade as an end in itself, he is a devout communicant in the cult of Mercury, god of commerce.This is the challenge of today’s Sidra: either G-d or Mercury. There is no middle position. Either you are a Jew all day and all week, or you are a pagan even when c…

I. Tonight, סליחות, refrain is י"ג מדות, ד' ד' א-ל רחום וחנון וכו' and חז"ל say ד' קודם החטא and ד' לאחר החטא (ר"ה י"ז)/ Now, ד' = מדת הרחמים. This appropriate אחר חטא. But who needs רחמים before חטא. Answer (JB) – need רחמים וסליחה for our good deeds – done only half-heartedly. II. אבות ד'-י"ג: רבי אליעזר בן יעקב אומר – העושה מצווה א' קונה לו פרקליט אחד – one advocate, one angel to protect him. If the מצוה is incomplete, grudging – then his defense is crippled

This is the season when Americans of all kinds speak of faith. Our country has recently experienced a series of crises in its international relations. Our leaders urge us not to lose heart, to have faith in America. This is the time for election campaigns. Our candidates and their supporters punctuate their partisan oratory with appeals for faith: faith in a particular party or candidate, faith in the future, faith in democracy, faith in the American way of life. It is in place, therefore, to call your attention this morning to a particularly significant verse in this morning’s Sidra that affirms the call to faith. It is phrased negatively, telling us of the curse of not having faith. It is at the end of the long list of punishments, known as the tokhachah, to which Israel will be subject if it disobeys G-d and goes astray after strange gods, that we read the climax of all these horrors: ve’lo taamin be’chayekha – “and you will not believe in your own life.” Disease, poverty, exile – all these are merely a prelude to the most devastating and tragic of all the frightening allusions in the tokhachah: not to believe in yourself, in life itself. But what does that mean, “and you will not believe in your own life?” What does faith in life imply, and why is it deemed so vital that its absence is regarded as a curse?Rav Bibi, in the Talmud (Menachot 103b), answers that question as follows: zeh ha-somekh al ha-palter, the definition of lack of faith in life is “one who relies upon the baker.” What strange words!Of course, what Rav Bibi meant is that when a man is reduced to such abject poverty that he must rely upon the goodness of his baker for his daily bread, that he lives from meal to meal because of the charity of his storekeeper, then he has lost the opportunity to find meaning and satisfaction in his own life. Ve-lo taamin be’chayekha.But please bear with me if I purport to find meaning in Rav Bibi’s words deeper than a mere assertion that poverty is no good. There …

At the beginning of today’s Sidra we read of two institutions which were legislated for our ancestors by Moses. The first is the bikkurim, the commandment to bring the first fruit to the Kohen or Priest. The second is the maasrot, the various tithes which were obligatory for the Jew: a tenth of one’s income to the Levite every year and, on alternate years, an additional contribution to the poor and underprivileged, and the bringing of one’s fruit to Jerusalem and eating them there joyously. There are a number of similarities between bikkurim and maaser. For one thing, both are compulsory contributions. Further, each of them is accompanied by a set recitation. And finally, both of them became effective only upon the entrance of Israel to the Holy Land: ve’hayah ki tavo el ha-aretz.But even more significant than the similarities are the differences between these two great institutions. In introducing the recitation that is to accompany the giving of the tithe or maasrot, the Torah merely says v’amarta, “and you shall say.” Before the recitation for the bikkurim, however, the Torah prefaces the words v’anita v’amarta, “and you shall call out and say.” That extra word v’anita was interpreted variously by our Rabbis. Thus, they said that the bikkurim are to be brought and the recitation is to be read be’kol ram, in a loud voice; whereas the recitation for the maasrot is to be pronounced be’kol namokh, in a whisper. Furthermore, the recitation for bikkurim must be bi’leshon ha-kodesh, in the Holy Tongue or Hebrew; whereas the maasrot reading may be be’khol lashon, in any language. A third difference involves the terminology used: the bikkurim recitation is called mikra, a reading or proclamation; whereas the maasrot reading is called viduy, which means a confession. And then there is also a historical difference between the two. The bikkurim was offered in the Holy Land as the Temple was in existence. The reading for the maasrot, however, was interrupted in the middle of…

There is a verse in the Psalms that we read every Shabbat morning as part of our services, and that we also recite, with special gusto, at the end of our Grace or ברכת המזון. The verse reads: יראו את ה’ קדושיו כי אין מחסור ליראיו, “Fear the Lord, you, His holy ones; for those who fear Him will suffer no מחסור, no lack or want or need.” On the face of it, this is a beautiful verse, but rather unexceptional: those who are God-fearing will be rewarded by not having to suffer need or privation.However, on second thought this sentence appears somewhat puzzling and troublesome. Is this not basically an uninspired appeal to selfishness? Is it spiritually worthy to appeal for piety on the grounds that we will be handsomely rewarded for it? Is this not a classical case of what the Rabbis called, disapprovingly, the servant who obeys his master על מנת לקבל פרס, on the condition that he will receive a tip or reward?A meaningful answer is offered by the great Hasidic teacher, author of the “בני יששכר.” Divested of its complex Hasidic terminology, his answer is that the fear of God, which is simply the Hebrew idiom for “religion,” is fundamentally different from any other kind of יראה. Every other fear is caused by a חסרון or מחסור, a lack that I recognize within myself. I fear the government because I know that I am powerless and weak by comparison. I fear the Internal Revenue Service, because I know that I lacked integrity in preparing my returns. I fear an examination, because I know that I failed to study and hence lack the learning to pass it. I fear exposure to disease, because my body lacks the strength to combat and endure illness. Every יראה is symptomatic of an inner מחסור. However, the fear of God is not the result of any personal מחסור. I do not fear God because I am afraid of Him in the ordinary sense. My religion is not motivated by some basic material or psychological needs that I experience and that cry out for fulfillment or care. I am not religious because – a…

It goes without saying that the current drive to restore the ecological balance to our environment is a good thing that has come none too soon. Surely there are few more worthy and urgent causes of the many that clamor for our limited attention in these tumultuous times. Human nature being what it is, unless some nasty, well-defined, and easily recognizable opposition materializes to hold attention and focus its activity, this energetic campaign may yet go the way of all fads. The ecology movement deserves all the support it can get. Hence this effort to show that the values and norms of a great religious tradition support and encourage a movement which affects the very survival of life on this planet. Unfortunately, we shall be somewhat deflected by a new pollution problem – a fall-out of silliness in the theological environment. The New York Times (May 1, 1970) reports an altogether as-pected theological conference on the subject. Most of the (Protestant) divines at the Claremont symposium were “with it,” from the crisp title (“Theology of Survival” – in an age when Portnoy's Complaint is elevated into a “Theology,” why not?) to the conventional self-flagellation. After all, having written the obituary for the Deity and debunked His best-seller, what is so terrible about theologians asserting that religion is responsible for our dirty planet, and that the solution requires another one of those “major modifications” of current religious values? Yet, some of the confessions were so extravagant that they deserve at least passing comment, particularly when they affect aspects of the Biblical tradition presumably shared by both Judaism and Christianity. The case for the ecological movement is obvious and beyond dispute. One point, of the many cogent ones made in the growing literature on the subject, is worth repeating here. Rene Dubos has reminded us that we still know precious little about pollution. Seventy percent of all the precipitate contaminants in urban air a…

As one year draws to a close and a new one is about to begin, I bring you greetings from the Holy Land – the land about which it is written (Deut. 11:12) ארץ אשר ה' אלוקיך דורש אותה, תמיד עיני ה' אלוקיך בה מראשית השנה ועד אחרית שנה – a land which the Lord thy God cares about; constantly are the eyes of the Lord thy God upon it, from the beginning of the year to the end of the year. It is a beautiful, exciting, lovely, inspiring – and holy land, even in times of crisis. I tell this to you not to convey information which you did not know before, but rather as a way of mutually affirming love and affection for this land of ours.The temper of Israelis has undergone a rather serious change as a result of recent events. Most of them are upset, angry, and disappointed in the United States Government. It is true that governments can change their minds, especially on the basis of their own national interest. Sometimes they can even be fickle. But the shocking action of the American Government towards Israel is simply inexcusable. The guarantees that America gave Israel concerning the cease-fire were merely the first of a long list of guarantees in a yet-secret letter that Pres. Nixon sent to Mrs. Meir. When the United States failed to honor those initial commitments, and when, in addition, the State and Defense Departments ridiculed Israel, Israel refused to go any further in what seemed to be an international farce. Unquestionably, many of the practical details will be ironed out in the summit meeting that is taking place now between the leaders of both governments in Washington. But the psychological consequences of this betrayal will take much, much longer to heal. Israelis have lost respect for the United States, and that cannot be disposed of in fifteen minutes or even fifteen days.Israelis high and low are not panicking, as Diaspora Jews sometimes tend to do. They are also not as supremely confident as they often seem to be. The missile threat is a very, very real one…

In the portion of this week’s reading which describes the blessings that will come upon Israel, we read one verse that is outstanding by its magnificence: וראו כל עמי הארץ כי שם ה’ נקרא עליך ויראו ממך,  “And all the nations of the world will see that the name of the Lord is called upon you, and they will be afraid of you.” What does Moses mean when he says that “the name of the Lord will be called upon you?” The Talmud (Ber. 6a) quotes an answer by one of the greatest of all sages, Rabbi Eliezer Hagadol (the Great). In a pithy comment of but three words, he says: אלו תפילין שבראש, the “name of the Lord”' that is “called upon us” refers to the Tefillin that we wear upon the head. How remarkable! Is that all it takes to frighten away the anti-Semite bent upon a pogrom? Is the Tefillin worn upon the head really sufficient to neutralize the venom of the anti-Jewish enemy, his plentiful arms and allies?If we turn to the Talmudic passage from which this quotation is taken, and study it in context, we discover what I believe is the real meaning of the statement of Rabbi Eliezer the Great. Immediately after quoting his response, the Talmud asks: הָנֵי תְּפִילִּין דְּמָרֵי עָלְמָא מָה כְּתִיב בְּהוּ? אֲמַר לֵיהּ ״וּמִי כְּעַמְּךָ יִשְׂרָאֵל גּוֹי אֶחָד בָּאָרֶץ״. אָמַר לָהֶם הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא לְיִשְׂרָאֵל: אַתֶּם עֲשִׂיתוּנִי חֲטִיבָה אַחַת בָּעוֹלָם, וַאֲנִי אֶעֱשֶׂה אֶתְכֶם חֲטִיבָה אַחַת בָּעוֹלָם.The Agadah often speaks of the Tefillin that are worn not only by man, but by God. Now the Talmud asks: we know that in the Tefillin of man is written the profession of unity, “Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is one.” But what is written in the Tefillin that, so to speak, God himself wears? They answer that the Tefillin of God bear the message: “Who is like unto Thy people Israel, one nation upon the earth.” And the Rabbis explain: The Lord said to Israel, “You made of Me a unity in the world.” Our espousal of God’s oneness is reciprocated by God’s affirming our uniqueness in the world. Now, reading our original passage in context, we see that “the name of …