Gratitude, Land, and Reflections

As we delve into Parashat Ki Tavo, we are confronted with profound themes of gratitude, land possession, and our actions’ moral underpinnings. After October 7th, the significance of these themes becomes even more palpable. The tension between blessings and curses in the Torah echoes in our contemporary discourse, inviting us to reflect on our collective journey.

Reflecting back at what I wrote about Parasha Ki Tavo last year, so much has changed:
“When I look at the opening words of the Parsha, I want to cry out and ask—How can any Jew live anywhere but Israel? Hashem is calling us to His Land—week after week. So, what are we waiting for? This Land is blessed, and we have the merit to dwell in it.

‘Look down from Your holy abode, from heaven, and bless Your people Israel and the soil You have given us, a land flowing with milk and honey, as You swore to our fathers.’
הַשְׁקִ֩יפָה֩ מִמְּע֨וֹן קׇדְשְׁךָ֜ מִן־הַשָּׁמַ֗יִם וּבָרֵ֤ךְ אֶֽת־עַמְּךָ֙ אֶת־יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל וְאֵת֙ הָאֲדָמָ֔ה אֲשֶׁ֥ר נָתַ֖תָּה לָ֑נוּ כַּאֲשֶׁ֤ר נִשְׁבַּ֙עְתָּ֙ לַאֲבֹתֵ֔ינוּ אֶ֛רֶץ זָבַ֥ת חָלָ֖ב וּדְבָֽשׁ׃”
(Deuteronomy 26:15)

We are truly blessed. On this coming Rosh Hashanah, we should drink a l’chaim to God and the land, expressing gratitude for all the good and challenges that help us grow.

On a recent train journey, I had the privilege of meeting Akiva, a young man living in the old city of Jerusalem with his wife and four children. He is one of 80 families residing in what is now the Muslim quarter, a place that was once a mixed area of Jews and Muslims until the Jews were expelled in the 1920s. His life is undoubtedly challenging, yet it is a life of profound meaning, a continuation of the Jewish narrative in our homeland. His dedication fills me with awe. While we cannot all be at that level, I urge all my brothers and sisters to come back home.”

This year, we are all Israelis and Jews. October 7th has made us all dedicated and committed to a higher purpose. Everyone has a role to play in this fight against evil and for the right of Israel to live securely in peace. Indeed, in next week’s Parsha of Nitzavim, we are standing together on Rosh Hashanah. We’re all standing as warriors. We’re all standing to defend Israel, our heritage, our mission, and our Judaism, and to pronounce our Judaism.

The Parsha then goes into a series of blessings and curses, a dichotomy that parallels the tension between light and darkness in today’s world. After witnessing the evil unleashed on October 7th by Hamas and the global response that followed, the presence of darkness feels even more pronounced. One could argue that we are living through a time when the curses mentioned in the Torah seem to be manifesting.

A Personal Reflection: Italy and Jewish History

My wife and I recently took a brief holiday to the coastal area of Cinque Terre in Italy. With its five picturesque towns, it feels like a summer escape where tourists come for the views, walks, and sundowners. You see people leisurely sipping their espresso or wine, enjoying life seemingly without a care in the world.

Although life may appear to go on as usual in Israel, the reality in Israel is a fight for its survival; there are too many threats, too many displaced persons, homes and cities, the cruel and unknown fate of the hostages, and the death and severe injuries of so many beautiful young Israeli soldiers. This war challenges our way of life and the principles of goodness vs evil. The contrast could not be more dramatic.

After Cinque Terre, we moved on to Milan. As I wandered through the city, I noticed the ancient city walls and delved into the history of Milan’s Jewish community. I discovered that it was quite small, with an influx of Jews from Libya in the 1950s and 1960s, followed by others fleeing Iran, increasing the population to about 7,000 -10,000 persons. This influx of Jews fleeing Arab countries marked the start of a second wave of Jewish life in the city. Tucked away in my mind, I thought about how these waves of Jewish migration are so often stories of escape, survival, and adaptation.

On Shabbat, we visited the Central Synagogue, originally built in 1892, but destroyed by bombs during World War II and later rebuilt. I read through a little book on the synagogue’s history, and it became clear that the city walls I had been admiring had once been used to keep Jews out. Milan was “Judenrein”—Jews were only allowed in the city for brief stays and were banned from living there. It wasn’t until the 1840s, with the formation of the Italian Republic, that Jews were allowed to settle in Milan permanently, where they eventually became an integral part of the city’s commerce and culture.

The synagogue, constructed in a grand style, represented the prestige and honour the Jewish community had earned at the time. Yet, this recognition was short-lived. The events of World War II and the Holocaust destroyed both the physical and social structures of Jewish life in Milan. On the Shabbat morning service we attended, only a few handfuls of Jews gathered for prayer in the once-thriving synagogue. It was a sobering reminder of how precarious our existence has often been, even in the heart of Europe.

This history of Jews being pushed to the margins, locked in ghettos in Rome and Venice, and only recently gaining proper rights, reminded me that the freedom we enjoy today is fragile. Jews were given citizenship in Italy just 160 years ago, but within a short span, the Holocaust shattered any sense of permanence. Jews were once outcasts, and in many ways, the cycle of exclusion continues. Anti-Semitism persists as re-incarnated as anti-Israel or Zionism, Perhaps because of our resilience and success or simply due to age-old hatred fueled by power, greed, and religious intolerance.

It makes me think deeply: What is the true crime we’ve committed as a people? Why, after all this time, does this hatred linger? What is the world still trying to take from us? And what will it take to end this cycle? It’s a question with no easy answer.

Gratitude and Possession of Land

At the heart of Parshat Ki Tavo is the commandment to express gratitude. We are told to take possession of the land that God has given us, to bring forth the first fruits as an offering, and to give thanks. This act is not merely about the produce itself; it represents a deeper spiritual connection to the land. The Torah emphasizes that we must acknowledge God’s role in our success, survival, and ability to inhabit this land.

But in today’s world, it seems our possession of the land has provoked anger and controversy. Our rights to the land of Israel are constantly questioned, and the world pushes back against our claim. Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook offered a profound perspective on this: he viewed the rebirth of the Jewish nation in Eretz Yisrael as part of a grander process of teshuva—repentance for both Israel and the world. This return is not just physical; it is spiritual. It demands that we introspect and consider whether we are living up to the moral and spiritual standards that our tradition requires.

The Context of Global Reactions

As I highlighted in my trip to Italy, this prejudice and hatred against Jews is not new. It now includes the nation-state of Israel.

The world’s reaction to Israel, particularly in times of conflict, often feels disproportionate and unjust. The consistent challenge to our right to exist in our ancestral homeland begs the question: why? Is the world’s opposition a reflection of something more profound, perhaps a failing in our moral conduct as a nation? Or is it the result of global ignorance and misunderstanding of our historical and spiritual claim?

Rabbi Kook’s idea of national teshuva invites us to examine ourselves. Are we united as a people or fragmented, divided by internal disagreements? The curses mentioned in Ki Tavo remind us that disobedience and moral failure have dire consequences on both personal and national levels. The global outcry against Israel may be a test—a challenge to see if we can rise above the discord and embody the values of justice, peace, and righteousness that the Torah commands.

A Path Forward

Parashat Ki Tavo urges us to take stock of our actions and reflect on the moral state of our nation. The Torah’s message of gratitude is not just about saying thanks; it’s about living with gratitude, recognizing the gifts we’ve been given, and using them responsibly. As we confront the growing challenges, both from within and from the outside world, we must ask ourselves: Are we living up to our divine mandate?

Moving forward, we must seek unity—among ourselves and with God. Our possession of the land must be anchored in righteousness, humility, and a deep sense of responsibility. If we can embody these principles, perhaps we can shift the global narrative, transforming the world’s curses into blessings. As Rabbi Kook suggested, the ultimate teshuva involves not only our return to the land but also the world’s recognition of our rightful place in it.

In conclusion, Parsha Ki Tavo challenges us to live with gratitude, uphold the moral values of the Torah, and strive for unity in the face of adversity. By doing so, we can honour the blessings we have received and work towards a future where peace, justice, and righteousness prevail—both in Israel and across the world. Let us be guided by gratitude, reflect on our purpose, and act in a way that transforms the curses into blessings for generations to come.