A little girl asked her mother for two dollars to give to an old lady in the park. Her mother was touched by the child's kindness and gave her the required sum.
"There you are, my dear," said the mother. "I guess she is too old to work?" "Oh no," came the reply. "She sells ice cream."
The Torah commands in this week's Torah portion the Mitzvah of Bikkurim, the First Fruits, only after the entire Land of Israel had been conquered and divided among all the tribes.
Why? If I have my land, my fruit, and my blessings, why should my gratitude wait until everyone else has their portion?
The Rebbe offers a powerful answer.
Because Judaism teaches that true gratitude is never just about what I have.
I cannot fully celebrate my blessing while my brother is still waiting for his.
My blessing becomes complete when I remember that I am part of something bigger than myself.
The Jewish people are one people, one family, one soul. As long as even one Jew had not yet received and settled his portion of the Land, no Jew could fully celebrate his own.
Yes, the farmer had his land. His crops were growing. He had every reason to rejoice and thank G-d. But how could he celebrate completely when his brothers were still waiting for their homes and fields?
They may have lived miles away and belonged to another tribe, but their fulfillment was his fulfillment.
This is the profound message of Bikkurim: we are never complete alone.
Their victories are our victories. Their pain is our pain. Their struggles are our struggles.
For me to truly win, my brother must win too.
During the 2012 Olympics, Jewish gymnast Aly Raisman became a star, winning gold with her unforgettable floor routine to Hava Nagillah. But one of the most memorable parts of her story was not Aly; it was her parents in the stands.
They were gripping their seats, sweating, wincing, leaning with every movement, encouragement she could not even hear. When she finished, her father wiped his face and let out a tremendous sigh of relief.
Why? Because her fate was their fate. Her victory was their victory.
That is natural with our children. We feel their pain and celebrate their triumphs as though they were our own.
But Bikkurim teaches us to take that feeling beyond our immediate family.
The Jewish people are one family. Your pain is my pain. Your success is my success. Your struggle is my struggle.
As long as one Jew is still waiting for his blessing, I cannot celebrate mine completely.
Because in Judaism, we don't truly win unless we win together.
The father turned to the Lubavitcher Rebbe. The Rebbe’s answer was unequivocal: “Don’t sign anything. Do everything possible to save both the mother and the baby.”
The parents followed his advice. A C-section was scheduled, and the anxious father was sent home to be with his other children.
At 4:00 AM, the doctor called: “Mazel Tov! Mother and baby are healthy!”
The father immediately informed the Rebbe’s office.
At 7:00 AM, the Rebbe called to wish him Mazel Tov, and then asked:
“Was the baby born at 4:00, or at 3:30?”
The father was stunned. The hospital records said 4:00. But when they checked with the nurse, they discovered the truth: the baby had been born at 3:30.
The nurse had recorded the time only after caring for the baby.
The father asked the Rebbe how he could have known.
The Rebbe replied:
“I could not go to sleep until I knew that the mother and baby were safe. At 3:30, I was able to go to sleep.”
Think about that.
A mother and baby, hundreds of miles away, were in distress—and the Rebbe could not sleep because their pain was his pain.
This is the meaning of Jewish unity.
The way a parent feels the pain and joy of a child, the Rebbe felt the pain and joy of every Jew.
And that is what Bikkurim teaches us:
We are not separate Jews. We are one family. Their victory is our victory. Their pain is our pain. And their blessing is our blessing.
The story is told of a man who bought a ticket to ride on a large ferry.
As he arrived to board the ship, he was disappointed to find his seat was far from any windows, and try as he might, he could barely catch a glimpse of the water.
“I only got a ticket; I could see the water,” he told himself angrily.
Frustrated, he began banging away at the floor of the boat to drill a hole so he could see some of that lovely blue water.
The alarmed sailors quickly stopped and seized the man, and hauled him before the captain, reporting exactly what the passenger had done.
“What in the blazes do you think you were doing?” demanded the furious captain.
“I was just trying to make a hole under my seat,” said the man, “after all, I paid for that seat with my own money - I should be able to do whatever I want with it!”
“You fool,” said the captain. “If you make a hole in the ship, we will all sink.”
No, we can never be blind to the challenges and to the travesties that occur around us, anywhere in the world. Remember, if you lose, I lose. For me to win, I need you to win.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky
Heather Delaney wrote...