Earlier this week I took an apple out of the refrigerator and immediately noticed an imperfection near the bottom. Fortunately, my one year old loves apples and doesn’t notice the blemishes. But modern society’s desire for perfect apples has seriously affected apple farmers across the country. In a recent interview with NPR, fourth generation apple farmer, Phil Schwallier, explained how recent unpredictable weather patterns have affected his livelihood. A season is too hot, and a red delicious apple turns pinkish-brown instead. If the temperature drops after the apples begin to grow, a cosmetic defect known as russeting develops, leaving rusty brown splotches on the apples. Farmers have adjusted with both low-tech and hi-tech solutions, but ultimately they admit that a good harvest is somewhat out of their control.
Our Parsha begins with a brighter side of farming, as we read of the Torah’s farmer celebrating a successful season through the performance of a host of mitzvot. He brings the first fruit to Yerushalayim, he removes the tithes, and he makes the following declaration:
וְאָמַרְתָּ֡ לִפְנֵי֩ ה’ אֱלֹקֹּיךָ בִּעַ֧רְתִּי הַקֹּ֣דֶשׁ מִן־הַבַּ֗יִת וְגַ֨ם נְתַתִּ֤יו לַלֵּוִי֙ וְלַגֵּר֙ לַיָּת֣וֹם וְלָאַלְמָנָ֔ה כְּכָל־מִצְוָתְךָ֖ אֲשֶׁ֣ר צִוִּיתָ֑נִי לֹֽא־עָבַ֥רְתִּי מִמִּצְוֺתֶ֖יךָ וְלֹ֥א שָׁכָֽחְתִּי׃
You shall declare before the L-RD your G-d: “I have cleared out the consecrated portion from the house; and I have given it to the Levite, the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow, just as You commanded me; I have neither transgressed nor neglected any of Your commandments:
לֹא־אָכַ֨לְתִּי בְאֹנִ֜י מִמֶּ֗נּוּ וְלֹא־בִעַ֤רְתִּי מִמֶּ֙נּוּ֙ בְּטָמֵ֔א וְלֹא־נָתַ֥תִּי מִמֶּ֖נּוּ לְמֵ֑ת שָׁמַ֗עְתִּי בְּקוֹל֙ ה’ אֱלֹקֹּי עָשִׂ֕יתִי כְּכֹ֖ל אֲשֶׁ֥ר צִוִּיתָֽנִי׃
I have not eaten of it while in mourning, I have not cleared out any of it while I was unclean, and I have not deposited any of it with the dead. I have obeyed the L-RD my G-d; I have done just as You commanded me.
A proclamation of triumph, the farmer proudly boasts his proper performance of the relevant mitzvot.
Surprisingly, Chazal allude to a radically different understanding of this proclamation.
The Mishna, Bikkurim 2:2, states:
יש במעשר וביכורים מה שאין כן בתרומה, שהמעשר והביכורים טעונים הבאת מקום, וטעונים וידוי, ואסורין לאונן.
There are [laws] which apply to [second tithe] and bikkurim but not to terumah: That [second] tithe and bikkurim must to be brought to [the appointed] place; They require confession; They are forbidden to an onen.
Maaser and Bikkurim require vidui, they require confession.
When I hear the word vidui, my back starts to bend forward, my fist clenches, and my mind begins to play the familiar tune (oy oy oy oy oy, oy oy oy oy oy oy, oy oy oy oy oy oy, ashamnu bagadnu…) But our Sages refer to this proclamation of triumph, to עָשִׂ֕יתִי כְּכֹ֖ל אֲשֶׁ֥ר צִוִּיתָֽנִי, as a vidui! How can that be?
Rabbi Soloveitchik brilliantly points out the farmer’s word choice: עָשִׂ֕יתִי כְּכֹ֖ל אֲשֶׁ֥ר צִוִּיתָֽנִי, the farmer uses the word “kchol”- I did like everything, nearly everything.
No farmer survives a perfect season of כֹ֖ל אֲשֶׁ֥ר צִוִּיתָֽנִי, of doing everything G-d asked. Just as none of us arrives at the Yomim Noraim with a clean slate. No mortal can claim they have done כֹ֖ל. Perfection is impossible. עָשִׂ֕יתִי כְּכֹ֖ל אֲשֶׁ֥ר צִוִּיתָֽנִי, I did not everything; I did nearly everything.
This is the vidui maser; yes, I did this mitzvah and that mitzvah, but as I account for my actions at the end of the day, I admit that I did not do כֹ֖ל אֲשֶׁ֥ר צִוִּיתָֽנִי; I did כְּכֹ֖ל אֲשֶׁ֥ר צִוִּיתָֽנִי.
It is not just a religious reality that we are unable to achieve that coveted כל. Some of us attempt to live a healthy lifestyle; we eat well and we exercise, and though we hopefully feel good about our bodies, we are nowhere near being in full control of our health. We work hard in our careers and try to make financially responsible decisions, and though we expect to see the dividends, we are not in full control. Every time we step into our cars, we may not like to think about it, but no matter how well we adhere to the rules of the road, we are not in full control.
The farmer of our parsha knows this all too well. After a season of plowing, planting, and caring for his crops, he understands that he needs Mother Nature to do her part as well. A farmer puts forth tremendous effort, but he cannot guide every apple to fruition; some brown splotched apples are inevitable. The farmer is the perfect person to teach us this lesson of כְּכֹ֖ל, reminding all of us of our limitations and that we can only do so much.
We all live lives of כְּכֹ֖ל. We do nearly everything, but inevitably end up short of full control. It is simply beyond our human limits to have full control of the results in just about any area of our lives.
This past week we were all shocked and horrified to hear of the arrest and confession of a leader and teacher in our local school. Our community is still in shock. I too am grappling with the range of emotions: angry, disappointed, worried. This is still so raw, and there is a sense of hopelessness as we continue processing what happened.
Perhaps the farmer’s כְּכֹ֖ל should be on our minds to help guide us as we process this heinous crime. We wish we could do everything; we wish could be in control. We do everything we can for our children, and I am not just referring to the parents in the room, but all of us who do everything we can for the children of our community. We can do our due diligence and run background checks as SAR did, but the unthinkable can still happen.
Though we must double and triple check that we are never doing less than כְּכֹ֖ל, we must acknowledge that no matter what we do, just as we cannot fully control the weather, our health, or our financial success, our religious institutions can only do so much.
The vidui maser is not a depressing declaration. It really is a proclamation of triumph, albeit one that confesses to our limits. That awareness, while sobering, is necessary to prepare ourselves for disappointments we face in personal and communal lives, both big and small. A reminder that if we feel a knee jerk reaction to cast blame on anyone other than the perpetrator, it may stem from an unrealistic expectation.
Our community has endured a lot and has much to be proud of. Let the pain, disappointment, and shock we experienced this week only increase our efforts to strengthen our institutions, so that as a community we can proudly proclaim עָשִׂ֕יתִי כְּכֹ֖ל אֲשֶׁ֥ר צִוִּיתָֽנִי.
(Credit to Rabbi Dovid Zirkind for sharing this thought with me which inspired this post)
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