The Roots Behind the Fruits
Ki Savo: The Roots Behind the Fruit
In Parshas Ki Savo, the Torah teaches us the mitzvah of *Bikkurim*. When a person in Eretz Yisrael saw his first fruits beginning to ripen, he would mark them, bring them to the Beis HaMikdash, give them to the Kohen, and make the declaration of *Mikra Bikkurim*:
“ארמי אובד אבי וירד מצרימה ויגר שם במתי מעט ויהי שם לגוי גדול עצום ורב.”
He would recount the descent of Yaakov Avinu and his family to Mitzrayim, the suffering of Klal Yisrael, the *Shibud*, the *Geulah* and the arrival of the Jewish people in Eretz Yisrael:
“ויבאנו אל המקום הזה ויתן לנו את הארץ הזאת ארץ זבת חלב ודבש.”
There is something remarkable here. A person has come to the Beis HaMikdash carrying the first fruits of his own field, the result of his own efforts, and yet the Torah asks him to begin by recounting the history of Klal Yisrael, going all the way back to Yaakov Avinu and the descent to Mitzrayim. If he has come to thank Hashem for the produce of his field, why not simply thank Hashem for the fruit?
The Torah is teaching us that a person cannot properly appreciate the fruit unless he remembers the roots.
The farmer worked the field, but the story did not begin with him. The land in which he planted was not his creation, and the Jewish presence in Eretz Yisrael certainly did not begin with his generation. He was one link in a *Seder HaDorot* that began with Avraham Avinu, Yitzchak Avinu and Yaakov Avinu, and with the Bris that HaKadosh Baruch Hu made with them.
That is why the *Mikra Bikkurim* takes him back to the beginning. Before he says, *”הנה הבאתי את ראשית פרי האדמה אשר נתת לי ה'”*, he must remember *”ארמי אובד אבי”*, Mitzrayim, the *Shibud*, the *Geulah* and the gift of Eretz Yisrael. The fruit he is holding is not an isolated achievement of the present. It is part of a chain that stretches back through generations.
The same is true of the *mesorah* of Klal Yisrael. There were generations in which the branches of Jewish life seemed to have been broken. Communities were destroyed, Torah centres disappeared and Jewish life in entire places was uprooted. Yet the *mesorah* continued because the roots remained. Torah, mitzvos and the traditions preserved by earlier generations could take root again and give life to another *dor*.
Chazal give us a powerful description of the difference between strong and weak roots in the Mishnah in Pirkei Avos:
“כל שחכמתו מרובה ממעשיו, למה הוא דומה? לאילן שענפיו מרובין ושורשיו מועטין, והרוח באה ועוקרתו והופכתו על פניו.”
A person whose *chochmah* is greater than his deeds is compared to a tree whose branches are numerous but whose roots are few. The Mishnah continues:
“אבל כל שמעשיו מרובין מחכמתו, למה הוא דומה? לאילן שענפיו מועטין ושורשיו מרובין, שאפילו כל הרוחות שבעולם באות ונושבות בו אין מזיזין אותו ממקומו.”
The Mishnah teaches us that the strength of a tree is determined not by what is most visible, but by what lies beneath the ground. A tree may have many branches and beautiful leaves, but if its roots are shallow, a strong wind can uproot it. When the roots are deep and strong, however, even *כל הרוחות שבעולם* cannot move it from its place.
The same is true of Yiddishkeit. A person may know a great deal about Judaism, feel a strong connection to Jewish history and take pride in belonging to Klal Yisrael. But these things cannot replace a life rooted in Torah u’mitzvos. The *mesorah* was preserved from one generation to the next because Jews continued to live as Jews: they kept Shabbos, learned Torah, observed mitzvos, built Jewish homes and transmitted what they had received to their children.
The roots of our existence are the Bris with HaKadosh Baruch Hu, lived through Torah u’mitzvos and *avodas Hashem*. This is the inheritance our ancestors preserved for us. They did not merely pass down an identity or a memory of the past. They passed down a way of life and accepted the responsibility of transmitting it to the next *dor*.
This is something we should appreciate particularly in our generation. After everything that Klal Yisrael has endured, the fact that we are here today as Jews, learning Torah, keeping mitzvos, raising Jewish families and living in Eretz Yisrael is itself a tremendous reason for *Hakaras HaTov* to Hashem.
To live in Eretz Yisrael after two thousand years of *galus* is an extraordinary *chesed*. We see Jews throughout the land learning Torah, keeping mitzvos and building Jewish homes. But our return to Eretz Yisrael is not the end of the story. The *mesorah* that carried us through the generations of *galus* must continue to sustain us here. The Torah and mitzvos that preserved us as a people are no less necessary now that we have returned to our land. They are what give our return its true meaning and permanence.
This is what the farmer standing in the Beis HaMikdash was expressing through *Bikkurim*. He was not simply thanking Hashem for the produce that had grown in his field. He was recognizing the *Seder HaDorot* that had brought him to that moment. He was standing in Eretz Yisrael because he was part of a history that had begun long before him, and the fruit in his hands represented what he had received as well as what he had produced.
We, too, are standing at a particular point in that history. Our parents, grandparents and the generations before them received Torah from those who came before them, and they made sacrifices to preserve it and transmit it. We are living today from what they built yesterday. But the *mesorah* does not continue by itself. What we received has to be strengthened in our own lives and then passed on to those who come after us.
Perhaps this is especially important to consider now, in the midst of Elul.
Elul is a time of preparation for Rosh Hashanah, a time of *cheshbon hanefesh* when a person stops and looks honestly at where he stands before Hashem. We increase our *tefillos*, hear the *shofar*, examine our actions and consider what needs to change as we approach the *Yom HaDin*.
But a proper *cheshbon hanefesh* is not only about where we have gone wrong. We also have to look at what we have received.
This is precisely what the farmer does with *Bikkurim*. He stands with the first fruit of his field and looks backwards. He remembers Yaakov Avinu, Mitzrayim, the *Shibud*, the *Geulah* and the arrival in Eretz Yisrael. He does not see what he has in his hands as something that began with him. He recognizes that he has received from those who came before him and, ultimately, from HaKadosh Baruch Hu.
Elul gives us an opportunity to do the same. What Torah have I received? What did my parents and grandparents sacrifice so that I could live as a Jew? What did earlier generations endure to preserve the *mesorah* that has reached me? How many generations stand behind the Jewish home in which I was raised? And how much has Hashem given me during the past year that I may have failed to appreciate?
These are questions of *Hakaras HaTov*. A person who recognizes what he has received approaches Rosh Hashanah differently. He does not take his Torah, his Yiddishkeit, his family or the opportunity to live in Eretz Yisrael for granted.
But there is another side to the *cheshbon hanefesh*. After asking what we have received, we must ask what we have done with it.
This brings us back to the Mishnah in Pirkei Avos. It is possible to have many branches and yet have weak roots. It is possible to know about Torah, to speak about Yiddishkeit and to feel deeply connected to Jewish history, while the actual roots of Torah u’mitzvos in our daily lives are not as strong as they should be.
Elul asks us to look beneath the surface. Is our *chochmah* leading to *maasim*? Is our knowledge bringing us to greater *avodas Hashem*? Is the Torah we have received truly taking root in our lives?
How much time do we give to Torah? How seriously do we keep mitzvos? What place does *tefillah* have in our lives? What kind of *Yiras Shamayim* are we transmitting to our children?
These are not only questions about our own spiritual standing. They are questions about the future of the *mesorah* entrusted to us.
The Torah our parents and grandparents learned, the mitzvos they kept, the Jewish homes they built and the sacrifices they made became part of the inheritance we received. We are here because they strengthened the roots and refused to allow the *mesorah* to be broken, even in the most difficult circumstances.
Now it is our turn.
Our task is not simply to be grateful for what we received. We have to make sure that it remains alive. We have to learn Torah, keep mitzvos, build homes of Torah and *Yiras Shamayim*, and show our children through the way we live that Yiddishkeit is not merely an identity or a connection to Jewish history. It is a Bris with HaKadosh Baruch Hu that shapes our entire lives.
As we approach Rosh Hashanah, our *cheshbon hanefesh* should therefore include two questions: What have I received, and have I properly appreciated it? And what have I done with that inheritance, and what am I preparing to leave for the next *dor*?
The farmer bringing his *Bikkurim* knew that the fruit in his basket had roots reaching back generations. We, too, have received the fruit of generations of Torah and *mesorah*. Now we have the responsibility to ensure that the tree continues to grow.
The roots are the *mesorah* we received from our parents, grandparents and all the generations before them. We are the branches that have grown from those roots, and our children will carry that tree into the future. For that to happen, the branches must remain connected to the roots and continue to draw their nourishment from them.
That is the challenge of Elul. It is not enough to be proud of our history or to speak about the generations that came before us. We have to examine our own lives and ask whether that connection is alive: whether our Torah, our mitzvos, our homes and our *avodas Hashem* are drawing their strength from the *mesorah* entrusted to us, and whether that strength is reaching the next generation.
Are our branches truly connected to our roots?**
Are we nourishing those roots through Torah u’mitzvos, so that they will remain alive and continue to nourish our children and the generations that will come after them?**
That is the *cheshbon hanefesh* of Elul. We are holding the fruit today. The question is whether we are strengthening the roots so that the tree will continue to grow and bear fruit for the generations that come after us.