Ki Tavo | Stability and Movement

 

I. Another Covenant?

It is not an easy thing to go to shul on Shabbat Parashat Ki Tavo. On that day, we read the section of the blessings and the curses, which describes in detail the terrible blows that are liable to strike the people of Israel if they fail to keep the Torah. This section is part of a covenant to be entered into when the people of Israel arrive in the land, as it is stated at the end:

These are the words of the covenant which the Lord commanded Moshe to make with the children of Israel in the land of Moav, beside the covenant which He made with them in Chorev. (Devarim 28:69)

This verse reminds us that a covenant had already been made between God and Israel, following the revelation at Mount Sinai (Shemot 24). An obvious question arises: Why was another covenant necessary?

We are also familiar with the section of the blessings and the curses at the end of the book of Vayikra (chap. 26). That section was stated in the context of the covenant entered into at Sinai,[1] because blessings and curses are an essential element of making a covenant. The idea of ​​the covenant is an agreement in which the people of Israel commit themselves to keep the Torah, and part of the agreement is that there will be consequences for keeping the covenant or breaking it: blessings or curses. However, why do we need to make another covenant in the book of Devarim, and discuss the blessings and curses once again?

II. The Covenant of the Land

The covenant ceremony itself is described at the beginning of our parasha, where it is explained that the covenant should be made on two mountains: Mount Gerizim to represent the blessings, and Mount Eival for the curses (27:12-13). Shortly before this ceremony, however, comes a description of a lesser-known command – writing the Torah on stones at the time of Israel's entry into the land. This writing must also be accompanied by a ceremony, one that includes the building of an altar and the offering of whole and burnt offerings (27:1-8). This mitzva is related to the covenant, for it is performed on Mount Eival.

If we compare this to the covenant ceremony that took place in the aftermath of the revelation at Sinai, we see a similarity between the two:

And Moshe wrote all the words of the Lord, and rose up early in the morning, and built an altar under the mount, and twelve pillars, according to the twelve tribes of Israel. And he sent the young men of the children of Israel, who offered burnt-offerings and sacrificed peace-offerings of oxen to the Lord… And he took the book of the covenant, and read in the hearing of the people. (Shemot 24:4-8)

The making of each covenant included the presence of the Written Law and an altar upon which burnt-offerings and peace-offerings were sacrificed. But it is also possible to distinguish between the two ceremonies: on Mount Sinai the Torah was written as a book, whereas here it is written on stones. In addition, there they built an altar with twelve pillars alongside it, while here an altar is erected of unhewn stones (27:6).

What is behind these differences between the two ceremonies?

It seems that the differences attest to an essential difference between the covenants. The first covenant is connected to receiving the Torah at Sinai. At that time, the Torah was not identified with a particular place. It was given to the people wandering in the wilderness, taking their Torah with them from place to place. Therefore, it is written as a book and read by Moshe. The people must begin to observe it with the hope that it will lead them in their wanderings, until they reach the promised land.

In contrast, the covenant in our parasha is not about the Torah, but about the land. Keeping the Torah becomes a condition for receiving the land and remaining in it. This idea is embodied in the writing of the Torah on stones; the Torah is not written in a wandering book, but is now recorded on the stones of the land. There is also no need to read it at this time, but only to engrave it on the stones of the land.

This writing is presented as a condition for the people of Israel to be able to enter the land:

And you shall write upon them all the words of this law, when you are passed over; that you may come in to the land. (27:3) 

The ability to live in the land depends on the Torah. If the Torah is kept, Israel will live safely in their land, as described in the blessings. If it is transgressed, the land on which the Torah is written will tremble under their feet and cast them out, as described in the curses. The Torah is no longer simply in heaven or in a book. It is an essential part of living in the land of Israel.

Since the covenant is now about the land, there is also no need for the twelve pillars to represent the tribes of Israel. A separate covenant for the different tribes suited the initial period, when the people were separated into their tribes. Even in the land, the people will live in their tribes, but the purpose of the covenant is to create a mutual guarantee between the tribes regarding the observance of the Torah in the land. Therefore, they concentrate around one altar and one Torah. This trend is a continuation of the commandment that appeared in Parashat Re'eh, to worship God in the one place which God will choose (chap. 12).

III. Unhewn Stones

If we examine the mitzva of writing the Torah on stones, it seems that it is combined with the mitzva of building the altar:

And you shall write upon them all the words of this law, when you are passed over… And it shall be, when you are passed over the Jordan, that you shall set up these stones, which I command you this day, in Mount Eival, and you shall plaster them with plaster.

And there shall you build an altar to the Lord your God, an altar of stones; you shall lift up no iron tool upon them. You shall build the altar of the Lord your God of unhewn stones; and you shall offer burnt-offerings on it to the Lord your God… And you shall write upon the stones all the words of this law very plainly. (27:3-8)

The wording here seems strange: First comes the commandment to write the Torah on stones, then the commandment to build the altar from unhewn stones, and then once again the commandment to write the Torah on the stones. From the last verse, which appears after the commandment to build the altar, it seems that the writing should be done on the stones of the altar itself! Indeed, the book of Yehoshua describes it being done this way:

Then Yehoshua built an altar to the Lord, the God of Israel, in Mount Eival… an altar of unhewn stones, upon which no man had lifted up any iron… And he wrote there upon the stones a copy of the law of Moshe, which he wrote before the children of Israel. (Yehoshua 8:30-32) 

It turns out that the writing on the stones is not a separate mitzva, but rather part of the mitzva of the altar. Why combine an altar with the writing of the Torah – and why is the wording in our parasha so complicated? First, the mitzva to write the Torah on stones appears on its own; then the setting up of the altar, as if it is to be built using other stones; and only at the end do we find out that they are the same stones!

The Torah’s wording teaches that there are two separate matters here that must be combined. The first mitzva is writing the Torah on the stones of the land, which symbolizes the connection between keeping the Torah and living in the land. The second commandment is to worship God in the land, through the establishment of a holy place and offering sacrifices to Him, which is symbolized by the altar. These are two matters that exist separately – keeping the Torah and worshiping God. In the end, however, the two join together with the land; the worship of God is essentially keeping the Torah in the land. Therefore, both must be done with unhewn stones from the land.

It is emphasized both here and in the book of Yehoshua that these stones were unhewn.[2] The message is that now the worship of God and keeping of the Torah are integrated with the physical land. Were the stones hewn, the Torah and the altar would be on artificial stones. The use of natural stones symbolizes the connection to the land. The Torah is written on the stones that become the altar, and together they establish a union of a new worship of God that is entirely connected to living in the land. Thus, the land ceases to be an ordinary land where one can live in a relaxed manner. Living in the land of Israel depends on the worship of God and on the Torah engraved on its stones.

IV. The Mitzva of Bikkurim

Our parasha opens with two mitzvot before describing the ceremony of the covenant – the mitzva of bikkurim (the bringing of first-fruits to the Temple) and the mitzva of viddui ma'aserot (the passage recited upon completion of the tithing cycle). These two mitzvot conclude the lengthy oration of the commandments[3] that began in Parashat Vaetchanan (chap. 5). Seemingly, it would have been more correct to locate them in the previous parasha, Ki Tetze, which contains many mitzvot, and thus end the previous parasha with the conclusion of the oration of the commandments. This being the case, one has to wonder about those who divided the Torah into parashot: Why did they place these last two mitzvot in our parasha, which discusses the making of the covenant, and not in the previous parasha, which is entirely part of the oration of the commandments?

It is possible that there is a unique aspect to these two mitzvot, which turns them into a unit that relates to the making of the covenant and not only to the oration of the commandments.

In the passage relating to bikkurim (26:1-11), only one verse is dedicated to the practical aspects of bringing bikkurim to the Temple (v. 2). The passage consists primarily of the statements that must be made by the person bringing the bikkurim, which are known collectively as mikra bikkurim (the recital concerning bikkurim). First, when the person comes to the priest with his bikkurim, he declares: "I profess this day, to the Lord your God, that I am come to the land which the Lord swore to our fathers to give us" (v. 3). This statement sounds strange. It may be appropriate for the first generation that entered the land, who are now bringing their first-fruits to the Temple. But this is a mitzva for all generations! How is it possible that several hundred years later, a farmer is supposed to come to the Temple with his fruit and say: "I am come to the land"? His ancestors are the ones who came, not him! Moreover, the rest of the statements, in which the person bringing the bikkurim describes the exodus from Egypt and the entry into the land of Israel, are formulated in the first person – as if the events happened to him personally:

And the Egyptians dealt ill with us, and afflicted us, and laid upon us hard bondage. And we cried to the Lord, the God of our fathers, and the Lord heard our voice, and saw our affliction, and our toil, and our oppression. And the Lord brought us forth out of Egypt with a mighty hand, and with an outstretched arm, and with great terribleness, and with signs, and with wonders. And He has brought us into this place, and has given us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. (26:5-9)

It seems that the passage recited by the person bringing the bikkurim is the beginning of the idea later formulated by Chazal: "In every generation, a person must see himself as if he came out of Egypt" (Mishna Pesachim 10:5).[4] When a person brings his bikkurim to the Temple, he must feel as if he himself experienced the great historical events and that they are what brought him to this moment, the moment of enjoying the fruits of the land. But why is that so important?

Man naturally likes routine – the familiar and the stable. We don't like unnecessary storms and upheavals. If they occur, we generally yearn for stability and safe silence. When the storm ends, humans prefer to forget what happened and once again enjoy the stability. These are natural traits which in many ways are good, but they can also pose a danger. Sinking into routine and stability may lead to spiritual degeneration. There is less desire to exert oneself, to develop and to live a dynamic life, due to reliance on the familiar and the usual. This situation can also lead to excessive self-confidence and lack of attention to the challenges that lie before us. It is known that empires have fallen precisely when they were well established and stable. They sank into degeneration and crumbled from the inside.

This is also the danger facing Israel, an idea Moshe repeats several times in the book of Devarim.[5]

The passage recited by the person bringing bikkurim is meant to help confront this danger and to keep the people of Israel in a state of spiritual tension. It is precisely when a person enjoys his first-fruits that he is liable to feel a pleasant sense of stability and ease in the land. There is nothing wrong with that, but first he must feel as if he himself went out of Egypt and entered the land. In this way, he will experience the fact that living in Israel does not constitute an insurance policy. It was not always in our possession. It was given to us by God, but on condition that we walk in His ways. If that condition is violated, the enjoyment of the fruits will also not last forever.

Now it is possible to understand the connection between the mitzva of bikkurim and the ceremony of making the covenant. Both highlight the same point: in order to enter the land and continue to hold on to it, one must remember that living in it is not a given and that it depends on our actions. This connection can be seen in a phrase that appears in both passages. In the section dealing with bikkurim, it is stated: "And it shall be, when you are come into the land" (26:1), and "that I am come into the land" (26:3). So too in the covenant ceremony: "And you shall write upon them all the words of this law… that you may come into the land" (27:3).

Living in the land is not a static state. There is always a need to "come to the land" and thus to merit it again and again. The people of Israel must be worthy of the land; only in that way can they continue to “come to” it. If they stray from the correct path, they will be forced to stop coming to the land and instead to part with it, as described in the covenant. 

V. Viddui Ma’aserot

The mitzva of viddui ma'aserot expresses the same idea. At the end of every three years, all undistributed ma'aserot must be removed from the house and given to the Levites and the poor (26:12). Here too, as with the bikkurim, the main mitzva is performed through speech. After all the ma'aserot are brought, the person must state before God that he gave the ma'aserot in accordance with all of their rules (26:13-14). After that, he concludes with a prayer:

Look forth from Your holy habitation, from heaven, and bless Your people Israel, and the land which You have given us, as You swore to our fathers, a land flowing with milk and honey. (26:15)

Rashi explains the connection between viddui ma'aserot and this prayer:

We have done what You have laid upon us; do You now what is upon You to do. For You have said: "If you walk in My ordinances… then I will give you rain in its season" (Vayikra 25-3-4). (Rashi, ad loc.)

Viddui ma'aserot and the prayer at its end present the reciprocity associated with living in the land. The people of Israel must keep the mitzvot and tithe the land's produce. God, in turn, undertakes to grant the abundance and blessing of the land. This is precisely the idea of making the covenant: living in the land of Israel is conditional and is wrapped up with the actions of the people. In viddui ma'aserot, a person shows God that he did as was expected of him, and therefore he awaits the fulfillment of God's side of the covenant – by bringing the blessings promised in it.

In the light of this reading, we can understand the location of these two mitzvot in the parasha, as a prologue to the making of the covenant. These are mitzvot that help the people of Israel enter into the atmosphere that must be preserved while living in the land – enjoyment and stability, alongside maintaining constant spiritual tension.

(Translated by David Strauss)