Alfred Nobel and Ki Tavo

This week's Torah portion is Ki Tavo, "When you enter." The Israelites are poised to finally enter a land promised to them thousands of years ago, so we are being given final instructions on all the things we should do as we settle into the land.

We had been nomads or slaves for several thousand years. Our story began long before being slaves in Egypt, so this is why so many rules and admonishments and instructions are given throughout the Torah. As we left Egypt and traveled a very long and arduous journey through the desert, we needed to be prepared for a way of life we had never experienced, nor had the previous generations. This story began long before the Exodus!

Here's the background: There is archaeological evidence which tells us that in the 13th century BCE, there was a lengthy war between the Hittites and Aram. (Aram is at the border of what we now know as Turkey and Syria.) Thousands of people became refugees fleeing for their lives to other nearby countries where the situation might be better.

We came from Ur, (not in Chaldees in southern Mesopotamia as is misreported in Genesis, but a different Ur) in northern Mesopotamia, a tiny area called Aram. We became Kurdish refugees on the run, without land, possessions, or security, heading for safety, for our very lives. We fled to Egypt because Egypt was a fertile land with food and work, and it was relatively easy to get to (head to the coast, turn left, and keep walking!).

So that's where we headed. We had a better chance at life being refugees in Egypt than staying in war torn Aram. And after getting settled into Egypt, we began to prosper there.

What happened next? After defeating Aram, Mesopotamia turned its intention for power and control onto, you guessed it, Egypt. We who had been Kurdish refugees in Egypt, the lowest rank in society, were there when Egypt was now being oppressed by those who had oppressed us in Aram. So how did the Egyptians feel about us now? And whose status is lower than that of a refugee?

This is when Egypt enslaved us. Deuteronomy 26:6 indicates that "Egypt dealt harshly with us and oppressed us." From that point on, the story is more familiar to us now. It is the story of years of slavery and hardship in Egypt, and finally rising up and once again fleeing for our lives. This time, we fled to the desert, and after many more years, we were perched on the precipice of becoming, for the first time in hundreds of years, a settled people.

From nomads to refugees to slaves back to nomads, many many generations later we were finally moving back into becoming settled people with land. We were going to be farmers, providing for ourselves and our families. And so Moses gave us detailed instructions about how to do that, and admonished strongly not to forget the story of how we got there.

The first ten verses of this portion we find in Deuteronomy chapter 26 is teeming with information! It opens by describing a new command for each farmer to bring the first fruits (bikkurim) of the harvest to the priest and make certain declarations, as a sign of gratitude for the gift of the bountiful harvest.

Usually when going to the priest to fulfill a ritual, we expect the priest to do the talking, to lead the ritual. Our responsibility is to show up, and our participation is very minimal after that point. For example, we affirm a baby name or baptism, we say "I do" to wedding vows and repeat after the officiant, we receive communion or accept a statement of faith by a simple assent. The spiritual leader's role is to lead us, to do the ritual around us, and, for the most part, our role is to show up and say yes.

However, in this ritual of the first fruits, we find something very different going on.

We are moving from a life of slavery into a life of nomadic wandering, and then into being settlers in the land and beginning to live in cities. During our desert sojourn, even our food was provided via manna every morning. All we did was gather it and eat. Now, we will become settled, own land and farms, and begin to grow ourr own food. We will work hard, and at harvest, look at all that our hands have created.

From the very first harvest, we were to set aside the best of the first produce from the harvest, gather it into a basket, and take that basket to the priest for the bikkurim (first fruits) ritual.

However, we do not simply hand the basket of first fruits to the priest and affirm or repeat whatever the priest says after that. Instead, we show up before the priest with our basket of beautiful and amazing vegetables and fruits which we have grown ourselves, no longer refugees on the run, slaves, or wandering desert nomads.

And when we show up to the priest with that basket of vegetables, the very first thing we do is tell our story.

In these 6 verses in Deuteronomy 26, our narrative is condensed: "There is war, there are refugees, there is escape, then their is oppression, slavery, persecution, humiliation..."

And then, at the very end of verse 6, the narrative changes. G!d enters the story, and this G!d, unlike other ancient gods, is on the side of the forgotten, the oppressed, the downtrodden and enslaved. This G!d did not sanction those in power doing the oppressing and enslaving, but was on the side of those who had fled for their lives.

And it is THIS message that becomes the core narrative: Even though two great ancient civilizations, both Mesopotamia and Egypt, tried to annihilate us, here I stand today with my basket of vegetables which I grew on land I now own, and it is entirely because G!d brought me here. We who are the children of slaves and the grandchildren of refugees bring our baskets of first fruits, and remember where we came from, and rather than bitterness, we come to say thank you for bringing us here to this land, to this moment.

Ki Tavo opens with the story of who we are and where we came from, and it reminds us that despite so many challenges and brutal obstacles, we always remember our humble beginnings and to be grateful for where we are. As we settled into the land, it became easier to forget our story, so this bikkurim ritual served as a perpetual reminder, not of the awful oppression, but that we are here today with our big basket of beautiful produce because we are blessed. We remember the slavery, because we are now no longer enslaved. We remember fleeing for our lives because we are no longer on the run.

As we head towards the end of our Torah and the end of this year and stand on the precipice of a new one, Ki Tavo opens with a reminder to gather our harvest and present it to the priest, and to tell our story of how we got here. As we look towards the High Holy Days, we look at our narratives.

The person who says, "I am cursed, everything I touch falls apart, I have no value in the world" lives in the world they see, as we've talked about in more detail last week. This person carries a certain map in their head and heart, and what they look for, they find. The story they tell themselves about how awful things are as if they have no power to change the story, is exactly what they will get next year.

The person who says, "I am blessed. I am so filled with gratitude. I see so many blessings in my life! I've been touched with grace!" also lives in the world they see. This person also carries a certain map in their head and heart.

Even if the facts are the same for these two people, the narrative they tell themselves is the narrative that will unfold for them in the year ahead.

So the questions before us this week are,

What is my narrative? What is the pattern I draw among the facts of my existence that determines who I am?

If we begin with your blessings, even with the same facts, a different pattern will emerge. By redirecting our narrative into a different pattern, we tell a different story, and we redirect the narrative of our lives.

The story I tell myself determines who I am. It is the map I live in. If I forget my blessings, my gifts, my harvest, my abundance, I forget the important part of the story.

The bikkurim ritual begins with the acknowledgement of a fulfilled promise, and it ends with the abundant blessings in which we find ourselves at this moment.

As we review our year behind and look towards the year ahead, what basket of produce do we wish to bring to G!d? The rotten stuff, or the best of the bunch? Ki Tavo, in Deuteronomy 26:1-10, tells us to begin with the promises that have been fulfilled, acknowledge the struggles, and end with how blessed we are. If there is something we need to change, we prepare to do that work.

We project forward our patterns of thinking and the narratives we live. Those patterns and narratives determine how we're going to look at tomorrow. We ARE our stories. What we are going to do tomorrow might alter the story we told yesterday. Many of us have had disappointments, failures, setbacks, obstacles, and challenges yesterday that turned into wonderful opportunities.

Remember the story of Alfred Nobel, the man who invented dynamite? A Swedish businessman, chemist, engineer, inventor, and philanthropist, Alfred Nobel held 355 different patents, dynamite being the most famous. He also owned arms manufacturing companies.

In 1888, the death of his brother Ludvig caused several newspapers to publish obituaries of Alfred in error. One French newspaper published an obituary proclaiming "The merchant of death is dead." Alfred read the obituary and was appalled at the idea that he would be remembered in this way. His decision to posthumously donate the majority of his wealth to found the Nobel Prize has been credited at least in part to him wanting to leave behind a better legacy.

He changed his narrative. A different story is told of him now. We hear "Nobel" and think "Peace Prize."


"Ki tavo," when you enter.... when you enter the new year on Sunday evening, September 29th, what will your basket hold? What story will you tell about yourself as you stand before the altar with your basket of first fruits for the new year?