“To see the world in a grain of sand, and infinity in the palm of your hand!” William Blake said. To be able to look at a basket held in the palm of a farmer’s hand and see infinity in this very experience – this is at the essence of Judaism!
True, this basket may contain nothing more than a few simple grapes of the type they serve on airplanes (may G-d preserve us.) But these fruits are his. He grew them with his sweat and tears. And when he brings them to Jerusalem, as a gift to the Almighty, we all participate in the celebration. The farmer is called to enter the Holy Temple and make his personal offering to G-d. And when he makes his declaration, he is enjoined to do it with gusto and fervor, while everybody around – including all of the great sages and priests -- remain silent and listen. Why? Because what matters is not how much you bring, but that it comes from you. It is your heart, your passion, your soul.
“That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse,” Walt Whitman wrote. What matters most is not how long or poetic the verse, but that it is YOUR verse. It contains your individual contribution; your truth, your music, your heartstrings.
What ultimately matters, the Torah is teaching us, is not what you are giving and creating in life. Rather, what truly matters is that what you are creating is truly yours. Put yourself into life. I don’t need you to bring large and fancy baskets. All I want is YOUR basket. We want your distinct voice, your own ballad, your unique heartbeat.
Boring Prayers?
Today, Bikurim are gone with the destruction of Temple. What is the closest thing we have left?
The Midrash says (2): “Moses saw that the Temple would eventually be destroyed, and Bikurim aborted, therefore he established Prayer three times a day.” Just as Bikurim are the first and freshest fruit of my harvest, prayer is the first and freshest moment of my day.
But the comparison runs far deeper. On the surface, there is nothing more routine and potentially more boring than the daily prayers. The same prayers day in and day out, the same words, the same boring congregation, the same monotonous rabbi, and the same people sleeping during the sermon. Comes the Torah and tells us that we can view it in a very different way.
Your prayers may be like the fruit basket of an impoverished farmer or like the fruit basket of the wealthy farmer. That does not matter; what matters is that it is yours. When you are real with G-d, when you speak your heart, your truth, your feelings, when you show up with your voice, then all of the angels in all of the worlds become silent to listen to your daily declaration in the Temple.
What matters most is that you speak it in your authentic voice. And then your prayers too, just like Bikurim, become a momentous opportunity.
An Angry Lion
The Baal Shem Tov, one of the most profound thinkers in the history of Jewish spirituality (1698-1740), whose birthday is celebrated on the 18th of Elul, once shared this following allegorical story.
Once upon a time, says the Baal Shem Tov, the lion grew furious with all of the other jungle animals. Since the lion is "the king of animal life," and is most powerful and dominant, his ire evoked deep fright in the hearts of the other animals.
"What should we do?" murmured all the animals at an emergency meeting. "If the lion lets out his anger, we are all done."
"No worries," came the voice of the fox, known as the wiliest of animals. "In the reservoirs of my brain are stored 300 stories, anecdotes and vignettes. When I present them to the lion, his mood will be transformed."
A wave of joy rushed through all the animals as they embarked on a march toward the lion's home in the jungle, where the fox would placate him and restore the friendly relationship between the lion and his subjects.
The Fox Forgets
During the journey through the jungle pathways, the fox suddenly turns to one of his animal friends and says, "You know, I forgot 100 of my entertaining stories."
Rumors of the fox's lapse of memory spread immediately. Many animals were overtaken by profound trepidation, but soon came the calming voice of Mr. Bear. "No worries," he said. "Two hundred vignettes of a brilliant fox are more than enough to get that arrogant lion rolling in laughter and delight.
“They will suffice to do the job," agreed Mr. Wolf. A little while later, as the extraordinarily large entourage of animals was nearing the lion, Mr. Fox suddenly turned to another colleague. "I have forgotten another 100 of my anecdotes," lamented the fox. "They simply slipped my mind."
The animals' fear became stronger, but soon enough came the reassuring voice of Mr. Deer. "No worries," he proclaimed, "One hundred fox stories will suffice to capture the imagination of our simple king."
“Yes, 100 jokes will assuage the lion,” agreed Mr. Tiger. A few moments later, all of the hundreds of thousands of animals were at the lion's den. The lion rose to his full might and glory, casting a fierce gaze at all of his subjects, sending a shiver through their veins.
The Encounter
As the moment of truth arrived, all of the animals looked up with beseeching eyes to their bright representative the fox, to approach the lion and accomplish the great mission of reconciliation. At that very moment, the fox turned to the animals and said, "I am sorry, but I forgot my last 100 stories. I have nothing left to say to the king."
The animals went into hysteria. "You are a vicious liar," cried they cried. "You deceived us. What are we to do now?"
"My job," responded the fox calmly, "was to persuade you to take the journey from your own nests to the lion's nest. I have accomplished my mission. You are here. Now, let each and every single one of you discover his own voice and rehabilitate his own personal relationship with the king."
Lacking a Personal Relationship
This story, concluded the Baal Shem Tov, illustrates a common problem in institutionalized religion. We come to synagogue on Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur, or any other time of the year, and we rely on the "foxes" -- the cantors and the rabbis—to serve as our representative to the King of Kings.
"The rabbi's sermon today was unbelievable," we often proclaim after services. "He is really awesome." Or, "That cantor? His vibrato just melted my soul."
These clergy all-too-often become the "foxes" who know how to get the job done for us.
Yet, sooner or later, we come to realize that the foxes, with all due respect, don't really have what it takes to address the king on behalf of you and me. Each of us must discover his or her own inner voice and inner passion and spirit, and speak to G-d with a distinct and unique.
Cantors and rabbis during the High Holidays (and the rest of the year) ought to view themselves as the Baal Shem Tov's foxes: Their function is to persuade and inspire people to leave their own self-contained domains and embark on a journey toward something far deeper and more real. But each and every one of us must ultimately enter the space of G-d alone.
This, then is the message we can learn from the fruit basket gifts. This year on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, don't rely on any foxes. Speak to G-d directly. With your own words, with your own soul. Heart to heart, from your truest place to His truest place.[8]
Class Summary
Imagine the delivery-boy brings the new fruits of the season to the synagogue, places the fruits on his shoulders and begins lecturing on the history of the US and the Founding Fathers. Sound a bit strange? Well in ancient biblical times, a youngster brought a fig, a date and a cluster of grapes to Jerusalem and the entire city went out to greet him. The flute played and the Levites sang. The youngster then entered the Holy Temple and gave a declaration about the genesis and evolution of Jewish history. Does this ceremony not seem an over the top dramatization of a simple, nice gesture?
Here, in the mitzvah of Bikkurim, we discover how Judaism sees a “world in a grain of sand and eternity in the palm of your hand.” All of Jewish history can be captured in a single fruit basket in the palm of your and. It is not about how much you offer, but that YOU show up and bring YOUR contribution. That you offer your individual verse to the play of life; that you bring to the table your passion.
