17 Sep BASKETS AND BLUE RIBBONS

Let’s travel back in time to the days the
Beis HaMikdash stood in Yerushalayim.
It’s harvest time, and the farmers are in the
field. They’re busy collecting bikurim, the
first fruits of the Shivas Haminim, the
Seven Species that Eretz Yisroel is known
for – wheat, barley, grapes, figs,
pomegranates, olives and dates.
The farmers of each community would join
together and make the trek to Yerushalayim.
What a sight it must have been! An ox
would walk before them, its horns adorned
with gold, and a wreath of olive leaves
resting upon its head. Melodious tunes
from a chalil, a flute would accompany
them until they approached Yerushalayim.
Upon nearing the city, they would send
word ahead about their imminent arrival.
The farmers would then decorate their
bikurim baskets with flowers. Important
officials would come out to greet them. The
tradesmen of Yerushalayim would stand
before them, and in a display of unity call
out “Acheinu, our brothers, men of such

and such a place, we welcome you in
peace.” (As described in the Mishna
Bikurim)
This week’s parsha, Ki Savo, tells of the
mitzva of bikurim, the giving of the first
fruits to the kohein.
“Ki savo el ha’aretz…, When you enter the
land that HaShem, your G-d, gives you for
an inheritance… You shall take the first of
all the fruit… and you shall put it in a
basket, and go to the place that HaShem,
your G-d, will choose to have His name
dwell there.” (Devarim 26:1-2)
Rabbi Moshe Alshich, known as The
Alshich HaKodosh (1508-1593), teaches
that the mitzva of bikurim is a lesson in
hakoras hatov, recognizing the good,
gratitude and appreciation. A lesson that not
only applies to the generations that merited
to see the Bais HaMikdash, but a life lesson
for all generations, for all time. By giving
bikurim, the farmer is saying, even though
I worked the field, I planted, I fertilized,
and I harvested, I acknowledge that it is
HaShem who makes the rain fall and the
crops grow. No matter man’s effort, we
need HaShem’s brachos.

Memories. As a girl in a sleepaway
upstate, I went on a camp trip to a
country fair. There were displays of
animals and homemade crafts, shows
and rides. There were also farmers
who exhibited their best fruits in
baskets, competing for the blue
ribbons, the best in fair.
I think of the farmers who took their
baskets to the kohein in a display of
gratitude to HaShem, and appreciation
of HaShem’s gift of the land. I then
think of the farmers at the fair, vying
for the prized ribbon. Whatever we
do, wherever we go, we are
Yehuddim, first. Yehuddim, from the
Hebrew word hoda-ah, to thank, to
praise, to acknowledge. To live every
moment of our lives as a “Thank you
HaShem” moment.
It’s not just the farmer who should live with
a connection to HaShem, but all of us. No
matter where life takes us, no matter what
profession or pursuit we choose, we must
acknowledge HaShem being with us,
guiding us along the way.
Just recently, I spoke with a friend whose
mother underwent a serious surgery, that
Boruch HaShem had a successful
outcome. When she thanked the doctor, he
told her that it wasn’t his skills, but “G-d
and His angels were resting on my
shoulders”. A humble thought that is the
spirit and meaning of bikurim. A spirit
that each of us can and should bring into
our lives. Our Torah is a living Torah. Its
holy words are timeless. It’s up to us to
internalize them so that they penetrate our
mind, our heart, our soul.
When the farmer would offer his bikurim,
he would do so with a tefilla – Mikra
Bikurim, Declaration of the First Fruit. He
would recall the miraculous Exodus from
Egypt, and HaShem’s giving us “Eretz
zavas chalav u’devash, A land flowing
with milk and honey.” (Devarim 26:5-10)
The Sifri commentary on Devarim learns
from here the importance of actually
voicing words of thanks. It’s not enough
to think it, but one must say it. HaShem
gave man a special gift, the power of
speech. We must choose our words
carefully. And always remember to say
thank you. Two small, yet powerful
words.
One is never too young, or too old to say
thank you. My mother a”h would share a
story of when she and her immigrant
family arrived to the United States and
settled in a one room basement apartment.
It didn’t take long before my mother

developed a fever. Not having a doctor, or
even the funds to go to one, my grandmother
didn’t know what to do. A kind neighbor
provided aspirin and helped my
grandparents find a doctor.
Of course, my mother, just a child then,
thanked the neighbor, but for years after,
whenever my grandparents saw the
neighbor, they would repeat the story and
thank the kind woman. And, if my mother
would be with them, she too would say
thank you.
Through my grandparents’ example,
hakoras hatov became a value that was part
of my mother’s life.
Never too old. It was a few days before my
dear father, HaRav Meshulem HaLevi zt”l,
left this world. From the time he entered the
hospital, he was confined to his room,
unable to be outdoors, to breathe in fresh
air.
It was winter. A cold, grey day. My father
made a request. To go outside. The doctors
agreed. My father was bundled up and
wheeled outdoors.
Abba was weak, frail, and in great pain, but
he had a message. As he sat in the
wheelchair surrounded by family, he looked
up to the sky above and thanked HaShem
for the world He created. For giving us His
Torah. For giving him life, and the merit of
being a rov and leader to so many. For the
gift of an eishes chayil, a wife who stood by
his side. For the gift of family, children and
grandchildren. My father then said some
Tehillim, and it was time to go back inside.
We are in Chodesh Elul, our prep time for
Rosh Hashanah. A time to realize all the
good in our life and thank HaShem. It is
also a time to look at those around us, our
family, friends and neighbors, and thank
them for all they do for us. In that merit
may we all have a K’siva V’Chasima Tova.