Dvar Torah: the Memory Behind the Gratitude; When the Past Deepens the Present
In this week’s parshah, we read about the mitzvah of Bikkurim. An integral part of this mitzvah, aside from bringing one’s first fruits to the Beis Hamikdash, is the recitation of Parshas Bikkurim.
In that declaration, the farmer recounts some of the darkest chapters of our nation's history: Lavan’s persecution of Yaakov Avinu and the bitter slavery of our ancestors in Mitzrayim.
At first glance, this trip down memory lane seems strangely out of place. After all, as the Rishonim explain, the mitzvah of Bikkurim is fundamentally an expression of hakaras hatov to HaKadosh Baruch Hu for the bounty He has bestowed upon us. The farmer stands there holding the first fruits of a successful harvest. Why, at precisely that moment, must he recall the suffering of generations long past?
Rabbeinu Bachya explains this idea based on the pasuk in Koheles: “B’yom tov heyei b’tov, u’v’yom ra’ah re’eh” — “On a good day, be immersed in the good; and on a bad day, reflect.”
Rabbeinu Bachya explains the pasuk to mean: “B’yom tov re’eh b’yom ra’ah” — when experiencing good, look back at the difficult times.
True appreciation for the blessings Hashem has granted us comes when we view them against the backdrop of what life would look like without them. When a person remembers how difficult things once were — or how easily his present blessings might never have been — and then considers how far Hashem has brought him, his gratitude takes on an entirely different dimension.
This explains why the farmer does not simply hold up his beautiful fruits and thank Hashem for them. He first remembers: Arami oveid avi. He remembers Lavan. He remembers Mitzrayim. He remembers slavery and suffering. Only then can he fully appreciate what it means to be standing on his own land, in Eretz Yisrael, holding the fruits that Hashem has given him.
A similar idea has been suggested to explain a famous question concerning the Seder.
Rabban Gamliel teaches that the three central concepts we must discuss on Pesach night are Pesach, matzah, and maror. But why are they presented in that order? Historically, the maror — representing the bitterness of slavery — came first. Only afterward came the Pesach and matzah, representing redemption and freedom. Shouldn’t maror therefore come first?
It has been suggested that the order teaches us something about hakaras hatov. It is specifically when we are already experiencing freedom that we are told to turn back and contemplate the bitterness of slavery. Only against the backdrop of what came before can we fully appreciate what we have now.
The maror, then, is not merely a reminder of an earlier chapter in the story. By recalling the bitterness while sitting as free men at the Seder table, we experience the freedom itself more deeply.
This is precisely the lesson of Bikkurim. The farmer stands with the fruits of his land in his hands, surrounded by blessing. Yet at that very moment, the Torah tells him to remember Lavan, Mitzrayim and slavery. Hakaras hatov is not simply recognizing the good that we have. It is recognizing how different things could have been — and how far Hashem has brought us.
Such a sentiment was often expressed at family simchos by our grandparents, the survivor generation. We would watch as a zeida would get up to speak and, with deep emotion, recount how he had been the sole survivor of a large family; how he arrived in North America with little more than the shirt on his back; and how, decades later, Hashem had miraculously blessed him with hundreds of descendants.
For him, the contrast was impossible to miss. Looking around the room at children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, he could not separate the blessings of the present from the memories of the past. The very recollection of what he had lost — and of how little he once had — magnified his appreciation for everything Hashem had subsequently given him.
In a sense, this was his own Parshas Bikkurim: standing amidst the fruits of Hashem’s blessings while remembering where he had come from.
As that generation sadly passes on, it is incumbent upon every one of us to preserve that perspective. We, too, must reflect on our nation’s history, on our own personal struggles and triumphs, and on the many brachos that Hashem continues to shower upon us.
For it is only when we remember where we have been that we can fully appreciate how far Hashem has brought us.
Largely inspired by a shiur from Rav Ahron Lopiansky, shlit"a
