At the start of our perasha, the Torah tells us about a farmer who has harvested his first fruits. He places them into a basket and travels to Jerusalem. Upon reaching the Bet HaMikdash, he makes the following declaration: “An Aramean [Laban] sought to destroy my father [Yaakob]. He [Yaakob] went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there; but there he became a great and very populous nation. The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us; they imposed heavy labor upon us. We cried out to the G-d of our ancestors, and G-d heard our plea and saw our plight, our misery, and our oppression. G-d freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm and awesome power, and by signs and wonders, bringing us to this place and giving us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey, and so I now bring the first fruits of the soil that You, G-d, the One, have given me” (Debarim 26:5-10).
At first glance, the scene seems very serene and filled with gratitude. The farmer is thanking G-d for his successful harvest. Still, what is the purpose of this elaborate declaration? The Mishnah (Bikkurim 2:1) even refers to it as a confession of sorts. Also, why does it begin all the way back with Yaakob and Laban? Why mention Egypt and all the hard times of the nation, only to end with the farmer standing in front of the altar with a basket of fruit? The farmer standing there never experienced the hardships of Egypt. He was not there when Laban threatened Yaakob. These were not his personal trials nor those of his generation. Yet the declaration instructs him to say “our plight” and include himself in “us.” Why?
Let’s pause for a moment and consider everything that brought this farmer to this point, standing before G-d, ready to offer the first fruits of his field. Before he even existed, previous generations fought to conquer the land. The generation before that wandered through the desert for 40 years. The generation before heard G-d speak the Ten Commandments on Mt Sinai. Ultimately this man didn’t get here by accident. His parents, grandparents and great grandparents, and so on, made sacrifices, endured ups and downs, only for this person to arrive here at this moment. Therefore, how could he not mention everyone and everything that led him to this point? That is precisely why the declaration begins where it does! Before the farmer can say “thank you,” properly, he must first acknowledge his beginnings. You cannot truly appreciate where you are without feeling everything that brought you here.
Too often, we celebrate the outcome while ignoring the process. We focus on our successes without recognizing the obstacles, painful moments and people who helped shape our journey. Sadly, we may even forget G-d who paved the way.
The misva of bikkurim teaches that real gratitude cannot be rushed. The farmer does not simply hand over a basket, say a quick thank you, and move on. He pauses, tells the full story, and recalls the struggles, the history, and the Divine Redemption that made the basket of fruits he’s holding in his hands possible. As anyone can tell you, myself included, as life gets busier, gratitude and appreciation easily degrade into a rushed, transactional habit. G-d designed the bikkurim declaration precisely because He knows how easy it is to forget. He gave us a blueprint that forces us to pause, look back, and tell the full story.
There are people in our lives today that we are grateful for not despite the hard times, but because of them. A friendship that survived a falling out, or a setback that forced us to grow. A relationship that broke apart and found its way back to something unexpected and real. We appreciate these more because of what it took to get there.
We all have an origin story, and we cannot afford to forget it. We owe our current standing to our grandparents who fought so hard to survive so we could be here, and to the people who stood by us through our own trials. Above all, we know that without G-d leading the way, none of this would be possible.
When we look at our successes today, we must do more than offer a passing nod of thanks. Yes, our efforts count, and we should always feel great about where we are, and where we’re headed but we did not get here alone. A true “thank you” remembers the full journey. Together, we got here. It acknowledges everyone who brought you to where you now stand. Don’t rush past it. Tell it, feel it, say “thank you” and mean it.