And now for something completely different . . .
SHAVUOT: LOOKING A GIFT HOLIDAY IN THE MOUTH
The holiday of Shavuot was intended as a great gift from God. Consider: You need not build a new dwelling exposed to the elements and, even better, you need not sleep or eat outside. You need not vary your diet to exclude many essentials, like pizza. You don’t have to walk through the streets carrying tree branches and fruit. You need not invite constipation by eating unleavened bread, or heartburn by eating bitter herbs. You need not read a book out loud with your family, and discuss it extensively, with the discussion punctuated by songs, before you can eat dinner. Admitting that all those things have a certain appeal, it is still nice to have a holiday dedicated to . . . taking a holiday.
Instead of encouraging your wife to scrub and scour for weeks, as before Pesach, in connection with Shavuot you are instructed to wait, in bliss and anticipation, counting the days down (or up) to a holiday commemorating the greatest gift of all, the Torah. Simultaneously, in the time of the Temple, we celebrated God’s bounty by bringing the first fruits in what was a festive procession and festival. The emotive and evocative Book of Ruth is read, recalling many of the finest things in Judaism–the obligations to help the needy, welcome the stranger, and, ultimately, look forward to the advent of the Mashiach. Grain-based offerings became permitted in the Beit Hamikdash with the ceremony of shtei halechem (new grain had been permitted outside the Temple since the second night of Pesach with the offering of the Omer). (Some say that the counting and anticipation is not to mark the forthcoming gift of the Torah, but to mark the passage between the two grain offerings, with the symbolic and meaningful transition from barley, fit for animals, to wheat, fit for bread–the staff of life–and cookies.)
In any event, it appears to be intended as a magical, enjoyable, wonderful gift.
And then, as seems to be the case with every gift given to the Jews, we seem to try as hard as possible to mess it up.
No sukkah or matzo or stringent house cleaning and food preparation to make the holiday more difficult? Hmmm. Let’s make the men stay up all night, pray at the crack of dawn, and sleep through the day, letting the women deal with the children and the irregular mealtimes. Celebrating God’s bounty? Let’s eat . . . . dairy products. Yay, cottage cheese.
And that 7-week period of joy and anticipation leading up to the holiday? Here’s an idea–let’s convert it to a period of mourning. No music, no weddings–just amuse yourselves by trying to remember what number was last night.
I have spent many seconds, even minutes, contemplating this strange state of affairs and arrived at a totally unsatisfactory explanation, which, of course, I will share with you.
Before elucidating, let us focus on one of the stranger episodes in the life of the patriarch, Yaacov, when he awakes from the ladder dream, realizes that he is in a holy place, and makes a mind-boggling deal with God.
If God will be with him, he says, and protect him on the trip upon which he is embarking, and give him sustenance to eat and clothing to wear, and return him in peace to the home of his father, then God will be [accepted as] his God, and, upon his return, he will establish a place of prayer for God, and . . . wait for it . . the clincher . . . of all that God provides for him, he will return to God–wait for it a bit more, because it’s worth waiting for–10%.
Such a deal!
Consider. If God gives Yaacov $100, Yaakov will give God back–$10. And it gets better. If God gives Yaacov $1,000, Yaakov will give God back–$100. And so on. How could God turn down this proposal? It puts Ponzi and Madoff to shame.
More to the point, what was Yaakov thinking in proposing it? God has something. He gives it to Yaacov. Yaacov keeps 90% and returns 10% to God. Why would God take this deal? Why would Yaacov even think of proposing it?
The answer is simple. Yaakov knew that God needs nothing, but does want a few things from us. He has no material needs. There is nothing that we can give Him that He, kaviyachol, needs or wants or doesn’t already have. But, for some reason, it appears very important to Him that we acknowledge Him as God, as Our God, to the exclusion of all other gods. The very first three and maybe four of the Ten Commandments are focused on this imperative. I am God. You shall have no other gods. You shall not take My Name in vain. You will acknowledge that I created the universe and rested on the Sabbath. Then there are six commandments on how to behave. We see where God’s priorities are. Sure, He wants us to be good and to observe the mitzvot, but He really wants us to acknowledge, accept, and proclaim Him as God–our God–to the exclusion of all others.
Yaakov knew that what God wanted was to be acknowledged and proclaimed as God. God doesn’t need the 10%. He wants the acknowledgement that it all came from Him. He wants us to let the world know that the bounty we achieve is derived wholly from His beneficence, that we do not subscribe to the כחי ועצם ידי עשה לי את החיל הזה school of solipsism, or egotism, in which we believe that our own strength or valor brought about our success. So he promises that if God does all these good things for him, he will accept God as his God, build a sanctuary as a public proclamation of that acceptance, and then demonstrate his awareness and acknowledgement that God is the source of all bounty and beneficence by returning to Him a symbolic portion of everything that came from Him.
Which brings us back to Shavuot. There is no ritual on Shavuot because God is not asking us to remember or reenact anything, not that He redeemed us from slavery, or took us out of Egypt, or split the sea, or performed the miracles, or told us to leave in haste so that only matzo was available, or provided clouds of protection, and dwellings in the desert. He took care of those things and more on Pesach and Sukkot.
On Shavuot he just provides an opportunity for us to say thank you. He just wants us to acknowledge the blessings he has bestowed upon us. So He makes no demands. He just gives us a holiday in which we can be grateful, and, in passing, suggests some ways in which we can demonstrate that gratitude.
The first fruits–bikkurim–could be brought any time between Shavuot and Chanukah. But Shavuot is referred to in the Torah as Chag Ha-bikkurim. The bikkurim were accompanied by a statement recounting the history of the Jews, beginning with ארמי אבד אבי. We know it well because it is the basic text of the Haggadah. I just want to focus on a verse that begins just before the part that the Haggadah made famous, which says:
ובאת אל הכהן אשר יהיה בימים ההם ואמרת אליו הגדתי היום להשם אלקיך כי באתי אל הארץ אשר נשבע השם לאבתינו לתת לנו .
And you should approach the Priest there at that time and say to him: “I proclaimed (past tense) to your God that I have arrived at this land that God promised our forefathers to give to us.” But, at this point in the narrative, the pilgrim has proclaimed . . . exactly nothing. He hasn’t said a word. The speech with which we are so familiar comes later, when he hands over the bikkurim.
What is going on? I would submit that the pilgrim is referring to the non-verbal declaration he made with his actions leading up to the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and it is even more important than the more famous story that he commences one verse later. He hasn’t said anything verbally, but what has he said with his actions? He inhabited the land. He worked the land. He produced crops. He acknowledged his debt to God. He harvested the first fruits and placed them in a basket and traveled all the way to Jerusalem. These actions speak louder than words. He tells the Priest: הגדתי היום להשם אלקיך כי באתי אל הארץ אשר נשבע השם לאבתינו לתת לנו We are here because God promised this land to Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov. Yes, they went down to Egypt eventually, and yes, they suffered and yes, we were saved and conquered the land, and yes, God brought us to this land flowing with milk and honey. I am pleased to recount the dramatic events and repay my debt with first fruits. But . . . it all starts, it is all based on “באתי אל הארץ אשר נשבע השם לאבתינו לתת לנו.”
“I have come to this land that God promised to our fathers.” And now, he says, it is time for me to give back to God, to acknowledge that the bounty of this land derives from him, to demonstrate in public that I accept Him as God, my God, and the source of all the blessings I enjoy.
There appears to be no ritual observance (other than the bikkurim and the temple service) analogous to those of Pesach and Sukkot, but curiously, or appropriately, the Torah adds a PS to Shavuot in its listing of the holidays, requiring the farmer to leave various portions of the crop for the poor. This injunction is directly attached to the description of Shavuot (another reason we read Megilat Rut on Shavuot). None of the other holidays contain any laws not directly related to their observance. Only Shavuot–because giving back is part of its observance, is, indeed, the essence of its observance. In short, giving back is to Shavuot, as Matzo is to Pesach, or Lulav and Etrog to Sukkot.
This takes us back to Yaacov Avinu and the way he taught us to acknowledge God and his bounty. You give Him a portion of what He gave you, and it is like you built a sanctuary for Him, as Yaacov promised he would.
On Shavuot we give back. That is why there is no reason for us to commemorate any of the things God did for us. On Shavuot we, kaviyachol, do things for God.
So it is perfectly appropriate to stay up all night and immerse yourself in the torah–that is part of giving back, part of acknowledging God as our God and His gift to us as our torah. The rabbis got that right. As to converting the sefira period to mourning . . . the jury is still out. But, as it is based on a story linking the mourning to an absence of ahavat yisrael, maybe that points to another thing that God requires of us. To be nicer to one another.
And as to the reason for Shavuot?
It’s just so that we can say thank You.