Ki Tavo: Averting Eviction
(Based on a lecture of Rabbi Ari Kahn delivered in September 2025)
This week, we read Parashat Ki Tavo. For me, this parashah carries personal resonance. When we made Aliyah, our last Shabbat in America was Ki Tetze, and our first Shabbat in Israel was Ki Tavo. That transition—between exile and home—mirrors the thematic shift embedded in the parashah itself.
Many instinctively recoil from Ki Tavo, associating it with the tochacha, the harrowing rebuke. But before we confront that litany of curses, we must attend to the structure and progression of the parashah, and indeed of Sefer Devarim as a whole.
Devarim: Not Mere Repetition
Though often described as a repetition, Devarim is not simply a restatement of earlier laws. It is a theological reframing. The repetition is primarily narrative, not legal. And as we approach the end of the book, a shift occurs: the Torah begins to articulate a national vision—a covenantal blueprint for life in the Land.
From Re’eh, which centers on the Beit HaMikdash and the concept of HaMakom asher yivchar Hashem, we move to Shoftim, which introduces national institutions—judges, kings, prophets. Then Ki Tetze addresses the complexities of war and civil society. These mitzvot are not merely personal or communal—they are national. They presuppose sovereignty.
For two millennia, we have lived without this reality. We have been Jews in exile, not a nation in our land. To speak of Torah observance without acknowledging this is to speak of a truncated Torah. The full corpus of mitzvot—particularly those tied to agriculture, governance, and sanctity of the Land—has been dormant.
Ki Tavo: Inheritance and Identity
The parashah opens with a declaration:
"וְהָיָה כִּי-תָבוֹא אֶל-הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר ה' אֱלֹקיךָ נֹתֵן לְךָ נַחֲלָה, וִירִשְׁתָּהּ וְיָשַׁבְתָּ בָּהּ"
“And it shall be when you come into the land which Hashem your God gives you as an inheritance, and you possess it and dwell in it.” (Devarim 26:1)
The verse does not merely speak of a divine gift—it speaks of nachalah, inheritance. This is not a transactional acquisition; it is a covenantal bequest. The land is not earned—it is inherited. But inheritance presupposes lineage. And lineage presupposes Sefer Bereshit.
You cannot read Ki Tavo without Bereshit. The patriarchal promises, the covenant with Avraham, the descent into Egypt, and the long arc of return—all culminate here. The land is not merely a place—it is the fulfillment of ancestral destiny.
Moshe and the Deuteronomist
Scholars often ask: what did the “Deuteronomist” know? But the Torah is not a redacted anthology—it is divine instruction. Moshe Rabbeinu speaks with Ruach HaKodesh. He knows Bereshit. He knows the covenantal arc. And Ki Tavo is his theological commentary on that arc.
The Land of Israel is not merely a possession—it is an inheritance. And inheritance implies lineage, continuity, and covenant. It presupposes a backstory, a sacred history that begins not with conquest but with promise.
"וְהָיָה כִּי-תָבוֹא אֶל-הָאָרֶץ… נַחֲלָה, וִירִשְׁתָּהּ וְיָשַׁבְתָּ בָּהּ"
“And it shall be when you come into the land… as an inheritance, and you possess it and dwell in it.” (Devarim 26:1)
The Torah’s language is deliberate: nachalah—inheritance—followed by viyarashta—you shall possess—and viyashavta—you shall dwell. This triad is not merely descriptive; it is prescriptive. It defines our orientation to the Land. To reject dwelling in the Land is to reject inheritance. It is to turn away from the divine bequest entrusted to our people.
This is not a political statement—it is a theological one. The Land is not earned through merit alone; it is received through covenant. And that covenant is rooted in Sefer Bereshit, in the promises made to Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov.
Reshit and the Garden
The mitzvah of Bikkurim, the offering of first fruits, begins with the word reshit:
"וְלָקַחְתָּ מֵרֵאשִׁית כָּל-פְּרִי הָאֲדָמָה…"
“And you shall take from the first of all the fruit of the ground…” (Devarim 26:2)
The echo of Bereshit is unmistakable. The first fruits are not merely agricultural—they are theological. They are a tikkun, a rectification, for the primordial sin in Eden. There, humanity took the first fruit in defiance; here, Israel offers the first fruit in submission. The gesture is reversed. What was once theft becomes a gift. What was once rebellion becomes ritual.
The fruit is placed in a teneh—a basket. The Hebrew batene evokes the Aramaic, yet more familiar sal, the woven container carried on our shoulders. But this is no ordinary basket. It is a vessel of memory, a cradle of covenant.
Makom and Memory
The offering is brought to hamakom asher yivchar Hashem—the place which God will choose. This phrase, recurring throughout Devarim, signals the centralization of worship, the sanctification of space. The Land is holy, but within it is a holier place—a locus of divine presence.
The ritual continues with a declaration:
"וְעָנִיתָ וְאָמַרְתָּ לִפְנֵי ה' אֱלֹקיךָ: אֲרַמִּי אֹבֵד אָבִי…"
“And you shall declare before Hashem your God: ‘My father was a wandering Aramean…’” (Devarim 26:5)
This passage, more familiar from the Haggadah than from Bikkurim, is a liturgical retelling of our national origins. It links the avot—the patriarchs—with the banim—the children of Israel. It is a bridge between exile and redemption, between wandering and dwelling.
Ironically, the Arami oved avi text is more deeply embedded in our Passover ritual than in our agricultural one. In the Haggadah, it becomes a springboard for Torah she’be’al peh, for rabbinic expansion. In Bikkurim, it remains a fixed liturgical formula. Yet both serve the same purpose: to root our present in our past, to narrate our identity through memory.
Avot and Banim: A Tension of Inheritance
Here we arrive at the central tension: the relationship between the avot and the banim, between the ancestors who were promised the Land and the descendants who inherit it. The avot walked the Land as strangers; the banim dwell in it as heirs. But inheritance carries responsibility. To inherit is not merely to receive—it is to uphold, to preserve, to sanctify.
The Torah does not present this tension explicitly—but it is there, pulsing beneath the surface. The avot were nomads, pilgrims of promise. The banim are settlers, builders of covenantal society. The shift is profound. And Ki Tavo marks that shift.
Three Rituals, One Message
At the beginning of the parashah, we encounter three rituals. They are not random. Moshe is not emptying a bag of leftover mitzvot. These rituals are deliberate, thematic, and deeply connected to the transition from exile to sovereignty.
- Bikkurim – the offering of first fruits, a gesture of gratitude and memory.
- Viduy Ma’aser – the declaration of proper tithing, a statement of ethical integrity.
- Stones and Covenant – the inscribing of Torah on stones, a public affirmation of national identity.
Each ritual reflects a facet of covenantal life in the Land. Each is a response to the gift of inheritance. And each demands not only memory but responsibility.
The ritual of Bikkurim is not merely performative—it is cognitive, reflective, and transformative. It demands not only action but articulation. The declarative component forces the participant to develop historical consciousness—to trace the arc of divine providence, to understand how we arrived in the Land, and to express gratitude for that arrival.
This ritual links past and present, memory and mission. It is not enough to offer the fruit; one must narrate the journey. The declaration—Arami oved avi—is not a history lesson. It is a covenantal affirmation.
The Mitzvah of Joy
Following the declaration, the Torah commands:
"וְשָׂמַחְתָּ בְּכֹל הַטּוֹב…"
“And you shall rejoice in all the good…” (Devarim 26:11)
This mitzvah—to rejoice—may be the most difficult for our generation. It is not optional. It is not circumstantial. It is commanded. And it is communal. The joy must overflow, touching the Levi, the ger, the orphan, and the widow.
This joy is not self-contained—it is expansive. It is Avraham-like.
Avrahamic Generosity
Avraham is the archetype of covenantal generosity. He spreads joy. He shares divine blessings. He opens his tent to strangers. He embodies the ethic of chesed—lovingkindness.
The Torah’s insistence on joy and inclusion in Ki Tavo is a call to emulate Avraham. The rituals of Bikkurim and Ma’aser are not merely agricultural—they are ethical. They demand that we care for the disenfranchised, that we open our gates, that we become conduits of divine blessing.
"וְנָתַתָּ לַלֵּוִי וְלַגֵּר לַיָּתוֹם וְלָאַלְמָנָה…"
“And you shall give to the Levite, the stranger, the orphan, and the widow…” (Devarim 26:12)
This is not policy—it is prophecy. It is the Avrahamic ethic embedded in national law.
Inheritance and Deservedness
The Torah returns to the theme of inheritance:
"הַשְׁקִפָה מִמְּעוֹן קָדְשְׁךָ מִן הַשָּׁמַיִם, וּבָרֵךְ אֶת עַמְּךָ אֶת יִשְׂרָאֵל…"
“Look down from Your holy dwelling, from heaven, and bless Your people Israel…” (Devarim 26:15)
The verse concludes with a reminder: the Land is ours because God swore it to our ancestors. The tension between avot and banim persists. We inherit the Land, but we must deserve it. And deserving it means embodying the values of the avot.
Ramban: Walking in God's Ways
The Torah then shifts to a broader theological declaration:
"אֶת ה' הֶאֱמַרְתָּ הַיּוֹם לִהְיוֹת לְךָ לֵאלֹקִים, וְלָלֶכֶת בִּדְרָכָיו…"
“You have declared today that Hashem will be your God, and that you will walk in His ways…” (Devarim 26:17)
Ramban comments:
"שֶׁתַּעֲשׂוּ הַטּוֹב וְהַיָּשָׁר וְתִגְמְלוּ חֶסֶד אִישׁ לְרֵעֵהוּ…"
“That you shall do what is good and upright, and act with kindness toward one another…”¹
This is not ritual—it is moral. It is not about fulfilling all 613 commandments in technicality. It is about embodying divine attributes. It is about being Avraham-like.
Avot vs. Banim: A Theological Distinction
Chazal teach that the avot kept the entire Torah. But this cannot be literal. Yaakov could not have fulfilled all 613 mitzvot unless he was simultaneously a Kohen, Levi, and Yisrael; a man and a woman; a husband who gave a getand performed yibum and Halitzah. The claim is not about technical observance—it is about spiritual alignment.
The avot were mekayem et haTorah—they fulfilled its essence. They embodied its spirit. They walked in God’s ways. They were moral, upright, and kind.
This distinction is crucial. To be a ben—a child of Israel—is to be bound by law. To be an av—a patriarch—is to be bound by covenantal character. The Torah demands both.
A Dangerous Misreading
This theology is potent—and potentially dangerous. One might say: “I will be like Avraham. I will be kind. I do not need ritual.” But that is antinomianism. That is a rejection of halakhah. And that is not what the Torah teaches.
The Torah demands that we be banim—observant, law-bound, covenantal. But it also demands that we be avot—moral, generous, joyous. The tension is not a contradiction—it is a calling.
We are not called to be Avraham. Halavai—if only—we could. But that is not our mandate. Avraham Avinu is the hero of Sefer Mada, the section of Rambam’s Mishneh Torah devoted to knowing God. He is also the hero of Hilchot Teshuvah, particularly in Chapter 10, which speaks not of repentance but of love—ahavat Hashem.¹
Avraham’s greatness lies in his intuitive knowledge of God, his moral clarity, his capacity to arrive at truth without command. He contemplates the cosmos and concludes: there must be a Creator, and that Creator must be good.²
Why Not Just Be Like Avraham?
If Avraham is the ideal, why did God not simply say at Sinai: Be like Avraham?
Because we cannot. We are not Avraham. We are a nation, not a solitary seeker. We are flawed, distracted, vulnerable. We build golden calves. We fail the first test.
So God, in His kindness, gives us structure. He fills our days with mitzvot. He gives us ritual, rhythm, and law—not because we are perfect, but because we are not.³
The Kotzker Rebbe once said: I want chassidim who are too busy doing good to have time to do bad. That is the essence of halakhah. It is not merely a path to holiness—it is a safeguard against chaos.
The Third Ritual: Stones and Covenant
The third ritual in Ki Tavo is a one-time rite of passage: the inscribing of Torah on stones upon entering the Land.
"וְהָיָה בְּעָבְרְכֶם אֶת-הַיַּרְדֵּן תָּקִימוּ אֶת-הָאֲבָנִים הָאֵלֶּה…"
“And it shall be when you cross the Jordan, you shall set up these stones…” (Devarim 27:2)
This ritual is consecratory. It echoes Sinai. It mirrors the offerings of Olot and Shlamim brought during moments of covenantal renewal—at Sinai, at the Mishkan, and now at the threshold of the Land.⁴
But what is inscribed on the stones? Not the Aseret HaDibrot, as one might expect. That was already given in Parashat Va’etchanan. Instead, we receive a list of curses—arurim—each one condemning a violation of moral or ritual law.
Avraham the Iconoclast
The first curse:
"אָרוּר הָאִישׁ אֲשֶׁר יַעֲשֶׂה פֶסֶל וּמַסֵּכָה…"
“Cursed is the one who makes a graven image or molten idol…” (Devarim 27:15)
This is Avraham’s legacy. He is the iconoclast. He breaks his father’s idols. He rejects falsehood. He affirms the One.
The echo of Aseret HaDibrot is clear. But the context is different. This is not revelation—it is reaffirmation. It is not divine speech—it is a national declaration.
Avot and Banim: The Covenant Refracted
Once again, we encounter the tension between avot and banim. The avot walked the Land as seekers. The banimenter it as inheritors. The Avot embodied Torah before it was given. The banim receive Torah because they need it.
Moshe could have chosen any mitzvot to inscribe. He could have listed all 613. But he chooses a curated set—moral, ethical, foundational. Because entering the Land is not about technical observance alone. It is about covenantal consciousness.
As we continue through Parashat Ki Tavo, we encounter a series of arurim—curses—that form the backbone of a covenantal reaffirmation. These declarations, made at Har Eval, are not random prohibitions. They are a curated cluster of moral imperatives, echoing the foundational values of the Torah and the ethical legacy of Avraham Avinu.
Echoes of Sinai and the Aseret HaDibrot
The first curse:
"אָרוּר מַקְלֶה אָבִיו וְאִמּוֹ"
“Cursed is one who dishonors his father or mother.” (Devarim 27:16)
This takes us directly to the Aseret HaDibrot—honor your father and mother. The next:
"אָרוּר מַסִּיג גְּבוּל רֵעֵהוּ"
“Cursed is one who moves the boundary of his fellow.” (27:17)
This is theft, cloaked in deceit. We move from the right side of the Aseret HaDibrot—between man and God—to the left side—between man and man.
Then:
"אָרוּר מַשְׁגֶּה עִוֵּר בַּדָּרֶךְ"
“Cursed is one who misleads the blind.” (27:18)
This is Vayikra-language, classic bein adam lechavero. These are not ritual violations—they are ethical breaches.
Justice, Vulnerability, and Avraham’s Legacy
The list continues:
"אָרוּר מַטֶּה מִשְׁפַּט גֵּר יָתוֹם וְאַלְמָנָה"
“Cursed is one who perverts justice for the stranger, orphan, and widow.” (27:19)
This is Avrahamic. Avraham is the one who demands of God:
"הֲשֹׁפֵט כָּל-הָאָרֶץ לֹא יַעֲשֶׂה מִשְׁפָּט?"
“Shall the Judge of all the earth not do justice?” (Bereshit 18:25)
Avraham’s moral clarity is not passive—it is confrontational. He holds God to account. He embodies justice.
Sexual Ethics and National Survival
The next cluster of curses addresses sexual immorality:
- "אָרוּר שֹׁכֵב עִם אֵשֶׁת אָבִיו"
- "אָרוּר שֹׁכֵב עִם כָּל-בְּהֵמָה"
- "אָרוּר שֹׁכֵב עִם אֲחוֹתוֹ"
- "אָרוּר שֹׁכֵב עִם חוֹתָנְתוֹ"
These echo Vayikra 18, where the Torah warns:
"כְּמַעֲשֵׂה אֶרֶץ-מִצְרַיִם… וּכְמַעֲשֵׂה אֶרֶץ-כְּנַעַן…"
“Do not act like the practices of Egypt or Canaan…” (Vayikra 18:3)
These societies were expelled from the Land for these behaviors. The Torah warns: the Land will vomit out those who defile it.⁴
Avraham and Sarah both experience the moral depravity of Egypt firsthand. Sarah is abducted. Yosef is assaulted. These are not abstract warnings—they are lived experiences.
Avrahamic Decency as National Foundation
The final curse:
"אָרוּר אֲשֶׁר לֹא-יָקִים אֶת-דִּבְרֵי הַתּוֹרָה הַזֹּאת"
“Cursed is one who does not uphold the words of this Torah.” (27:26)
This is the summary. The Torah is not merely a legal code—it is a moral vision. And the entry into the Land is not merely geographic—it is covenantal.
The cluster of curses reflects the Sheva Mitzvot Bnei Noach: justice, sexual ethics, theft, idolatry. But it also reflects the ethical DNA of Avraham Avinu. When we enter the Land, we do not merely accept mitzvot—we reaffirm Avrahamic decency.
Ramban: Dual Covenants
In Devarim 28:9, the Torah promises:
"וְהָיָה ה' לְךָ לְעָם קָדוֹשׁ…"
“And Hashem will establish you as a holy people…”
Ramban comments:
“Either the covenant made at Sinai, or the covenant made with Avraham to be a portion to his descendants.”⁵
This is the dual covenant: Brit Avot and Brit Sinai. Rabbi Soloveitchik often spoke of this duality. The Brit Avrahamis identity; the Brit Sinai is an obligation. One is inherited; the other is accepted.
Ethics as Entry
The rituals of Ki Tavo culminate in a covenant. The blessings and curses are not threats—they are consequences. The Land is holy. It cannot tolerate moral corruption. To dwell in it, we must embody the ethics of Avraham and the obligations of Sinai.
This is not a tension—it is a synthesis. We are banim—children of the covenant. But we must also be avot—bearers of its moral legacy.
The themes of Ki Tavo—inheritance, covenant, and moral responsibility—are not isolated. They echo earlier passages in Sefer Devarim, particularly in Va’etchanan and Eikev. These sections articulate the same tension: the Land is promised to the descendants of Avraham, but it is not granted unconditionally. It must be deserved.
Not Because of Merit
"לֹא מֵרֻבְכֶם מִכָּל-הָעַמִּים חָשַׁק ה' בָּכֶם וַיִּבְחַר בָּכֶם…"
“Not because you are more numerous than all peoples did Hashem desire you and choose you…” (Devarim 7:7)
The Torah is explicit: Israel is not chosen for its greatness. In fact, "כִּי אַתֶּם הַמְעַט מִכָּל הָעַמִּים"—you are the fewest. The choice is rooted in love and in the covenant with the patriarchs.
"כִּי מֵאַהֲבַת ה' אֶתְכֶם… וּמִשָּׁמְרוֹ אֶת-הַשְּׁבוּעָה אֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּע לַאֲבוֹתֵיכֶם…"
“Because of Hashem’s love for you and His keeping of the oath He swore to your ancestors…” (7:8)
The promise is ancestral. The merit is not ours. But the responsibility is.
Inherited Promise, Earned Presence
"וְיָדַעְתָּ כִּי ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ הוּא הָאֱלֹקִים הָאֵל הַנֶּאֱמָן…"
“Know that Hashem your God is the faithful God…” (7:9)
God keeps His side of the covenant. But Israel must keep theirs:
"וְשָׁמַרְתָּ אֶת-הַמִּצְוָה וְאֶת-הַחֻקִּים וְאֶת-הַמִּשְׁפָּטִים…"
“And you shall keep the commandment, the statutes, and the judgments…” (7:11)
This triad—mitzvah, chukim, mishpatim—recurs throughout Devarim. It is the structure that replaces the intuitive morality of the avot. They were not given mitzvot; we are. They lived by covenantal decency; we must live by halakhic detail.
The Danger of Self-Righteousness
"אַל-תֹּאמַר בִּלְבָבְךָ… בְּצִדְקָתִי הֱבִיאַנִי ה' לִרְשֹׁת אֶת-הָאָרֶץ…"
“Do not say in your heart… because of my righteousness Hashem brought me to possess the land…” (Devarim 9:4)
The Torah warns against spiritual arrogance. The Land is not ours because we are good. It is ours because the previous inhabitants were corrupt—and because of the promise to the avot.
"כִּי בְּרִשְׁעַת הַגּוֹיִם הָאֵלֶּה…"
“Because of the wickedness of these nations…” (9:5)
And yet, we are not innocent. We are "עַם קְשֵׁה-עֹרֶף"—a stiff-necked people. The term is repeatedly linked to the sin of the Golden Calf. We are not inherently deserving. We are recipients of mercy and covenant.
Avraham’s Decency vs. Israel’s Failure
The contrast is stark. Avraham is chosen for his emunah—his faith—and his chesed—his decency. Israel inherits the promise but fails the test. The sin of the Golden Calf is not a minor lapse—it is a betrayal of the very foundation of covenantal relationship.
"וּבְחֹרֵב הִקְצַפְתֶּם אֶת-ה'…"
“At Horeb you provoked Hashem to anger…” (Devarim 9:8)
And yet, God forgives. The covenant endures. But the terms change. We are no longer living by Avrahamic intuition—we are bound by Mosaic law.
The Contractual Model
The Torah’s response to Israel’s failure is legal structure. We are given mitzvot—not because we are righteous, but because we are not. It is like a landlord who rents to a tenant out of loyalty to the tenant’s grandparents, despite the tenant’s immediate damage. The solution? A detailed contract. A covenant with clauses, conditions, and consequences.
Avraham’s Torah: Two Views
The Talmud (Yoma 28b) records two views:
- Rav: Avraham kept the Sheva Mitzvot Bnei Noach.
- Shmuel: Avraham kept the entire Torah.
We often remember only the second. But the first is significant. It suggests that Avraham’s greatness was not in ritual observance, but in moral clarity. He kept the foundational laws of humanity—justice, sexual ethics, and monotheism.
Many sources refer to Torah before Sinai as the Aseret HaDibrot. This is not a full legal code—it is a moral compass. Avraham’s Torah is not halakhic—it is ethical.
Torah on Top of Decency
The rituals of Ki Tavo—Bikkurim, Ma’aser, Har Grizim, and Har Eval—are not merely ceremonial. They are affirmations of a deeper truth: Torah must rest on the foundation of Avrahamic decency. We accept all of Torah, but we must first be decent. We must first be just. We must first be faithful.
The Land is inherited through promise. It is preserved through righteousness.
The claim that Yaakov Avinu kept all 613 mitzvot is both beloved and problematic. In Parashat Vayishlach, Yaakov tells Esav:
"עִם-לָבָן גַּרְתִּי וָאֵחַר עַד-עָתָה"
“I lived with Lavan and delayed until now.” (Bereshit 32:5)
Rashi famously interprets “garti” as a hint to taryag—613—suggesting that Yaakov kept all the mitzvot even while in exile.
But this Rashi is contested. Some scholars note that this phrase does not appear in early manuscripts and may have been added later, possibly drawn from a late Midrashic source such as Lechach Tov. The idea that Yaakov kept all the mitzvot is not universally accepted—and for good reason.
Halakhic Impossibility
Yaakov marries two sisters—an explicit Torah prohibition (Vayikra 18:18). To claim he kept all 613 mitzvot is halakhically untenable unless we posit that the mitzvot were not binding outside the Land, or that pre-Sinai observance was spiritual rather than legal.
Indeed, the Ramban, Ibn Ezra, and Ba’alei Tosafot all grapple with this tension. Ramban suggests that Rachel’s death was a consequence of this transgression, as the Land of Israel cannot tolerate such behavior.
Spiritual Fulfillment vs. Legal Performance
The Talmud (Yoma 28b) records two views:
- Rav: Avraham kept the Sheva Mitzvot Bnei Noach.
- Shmuel: Avraham kept the entire Torah.
We often quote only the second, ignoring the first. But the first may be more historically accurate—and theologically profound. It suggests that the avot lived by a moral code, not a legal one. They were mekayem—they fulfilled the essence of Torah, not its technicalities.
The Izhbitzer’s Dangerous Beauty
The Mei HaShiloach (Izhbitzer Rebbe) dances near antinomianism. He suggests that mitzvot can obstruct true divine service. He even claims that Zimri was right and Pinchas was wrong—a deeply disturbing assertion.
Yet the Izhbitzer also offers profound insights. He sees the avot as operating on a higher spiritual plane, where mitzvot are unnecessary. They walk with God. They live in divine consciousness. They do not need the scaffolding of halakhah.
This is not a rejection of mitzvot—it is a recognition of spiritual hierarchy. The avot are the exception. We are the rule.
Messianic Vision and Avot Consciousness
In source 12, a description of the Messianic age emphasizes justice and knowledge of God—not ritual observance. This is striking. It suggests that the Messianic ideal is not halakhic maximalism but Avrahamic consciousness.
The avot lived in this consciousness. They did not need Eruv Tavshilin. They did not need Birkat HaMazon. They lived with God.
Why We Need Mitzvot
We are not the avot. We are not capable of sustained divine consciousness. We need reminders. We need structure. We need brachot.
The rabbis instituted blessings—not because the Torah required them, but because we did. Brachot create God-consciousness. They transform eating into worship, routine into ritual.
"בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה' אֱלֹקֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם…"
“Blessed are You, Hashem our God, King of the universe…”
This is not clutter—it is clarity. It is the scaffolding that holds up our spiritual lives.
The avot did not need Torah. We do. The Torah is not a burden—it is a gift. It is God’s response to our fragility, our forgetfulness, our failure.
We inherit the promise of Avraham. But to deserve it, we must live by the law of Moshe. We must build Avrahamic decency on the foundation of Sinaitic structure.
We need more God-consciousness. Not just in moments of prayer, but throughout the day. We need to think about God while eating, walking, working, and speaking. But we struggle. We forget. We compartmentalize.
Avraham did not. Avraham lived in constant awareness of God. His kindness was not performative—it was theological. He saw a world created in chesed and responded with chesed. He was God-like because he was God-conscious.
The Lease and Its Conditions
We are not Avraham. We mess up. We build golden calves. We forget the covenant. And yet, God lets us enter the Land—not because of our merit, but because of His friendship with our ancestors.
But the lease has conditions. The Land has rules. It cannot tolerate idolatry, immorality, or injustice. It is not ours by right—it is ours by covenant. And a covenant requires commitment.
The Tochacha: No Guarantees
The tochacha—the rebuke—is not a threat. It is a warning. There are no guarantees. The lease can be broken. The exile can return. The suffering can resume.
But before the tochacha, we are given three rituals:
- Bikkurim – Offering first fruits and remembering the avot.
- Ma’aser – Sharing with the disenfranchised.
- Har Grizim and Har Eval – Affirming moral decency and rejecting corruption.
Each ritual is a call to emulate Avraham. To be kind. To be just. To be joyous.
Avraham: The Rambam’s Hero
Avraham is the Rambam’s hero—not Moshe, not David. Because Avraham embodies yediat Hashem—knowledge of God. He lives in divine awareness. He acts with divine ethics. He is the model of what it means to be a religious human being.
The Messianic Age: A Return to Consciousness
In the Messianic age, the Torah describes a world filled with knowledge of God:
"כִּי מָלְאָה הָאָרֶץ דֵּעָה אֶת-ה' כַּמַּיִם לַיָּם מְכַסִּים"
“For the earth shall be filled with knowledge of Hashem as the waters cover the sea.” (Yeshayahu 11:9)
This is Avrahamic. It is not about Eruv Tavshilin. It is about divine awareness. Whether mitzvot will remain in the Messianic age is debated. But what matters is that mitzvot lead us to God—not away from Him.
Mitzvot as Means, Not Ends
Mitzvot are not clutter. They are scaffolding. They are the structure that supports our fragile spirituality. They are the reminders we need to stay connected.
The rabbis instituted brachot—blessings—not because the Torah required them, but because we did. Saying “Baruch Atah Hashem” before eating is not ritual—it is a relationship. It is a moment of gratitude, of awareness, of connection.
The Dual Relationship with the Land
The Land of Israel is ours—but it is also theirs. It is inherited—but it must be deserved. We are heirs—but we must prove ourselves worthy.
The rituals of Ki Tavo remind us: we are not just entering the Land—we are entering a covenant. And that covenant is built on Avrahamic decency and Mosaic law.
Conclusion: Deserving the Inheritance
To live in the Land, we must be more than descendants—we must be disciples. We must embody the ethics of Avraham and the obligations of Sinai. We must be kind, just, joyous, and God-conscious.
Thankfully, God gave us mitzvot. They keep us out of trouble. They keep us connected. They keep us deserving.
Shabbat Shalom.
