Parashat Ki-Tabo begins with the Misva of Bikkurim, which requires landowners to bring their first ripened fruits to the Bet Ha’mikdash, and present them to a Kohen. The Torah commands, “Ve’samta Ba’teneh” – that the fruits must be placed in a basket.
The Gemara in Masechet Baba Kama (92a) makes a startling comment about these baskets used for the Bikkurim. It teaches that the wealthy landowners would bring their Bikkurim in ornate baskets, which the Kohen would then return to them, whereas the poor farmers would bring their Bikkurim in simple, crude baskets made from reeds, and the Kohanim would keep these baskets for themselves. The Kohanim would not return these simple baskets to the underprivileged farmers. The Gemara points to this Halacha as the Biblical source for the Aramaic proverb, “Batar Anya Azla Aniyuta” – which, loosely translated, means, “The poor get poorer.” Whereas the rich, who could easily afford to buy a new basket, get their baskets back, the poor, who struggle to obtain a simple reed basket, forfeit their baskets.
The obvious question arises as to why this should be the case. Why is it fair that the rich get their baskets back, whereas the poor do not? Why should the poor get poorer?
One answer is that this is done for the purpose of saving the poor farmers from embarrassment. In order to return their baskets, the Kohen would need to remove the poor farmers’ fruits from the baskets, and everyone present would see their produce, which, in all likelihood, was low-quality. Poor farmers could not afford the advanced equipment or extra labor needed to grow fruit of the highest quality, and they would therefore be embarrassed when the Kohen removed their fruits from their baskets. It was thus to their benefit that the Kohen kept the baskets, so that the fruits would not be exposed to the public.
But there is also an additional explanation.
Let us take a step back and imagine how the wealthy farmer and the poor farmer obtained their baskets. The wealthy landowner, most likely, walked into a high-end store selling exquisite bowls and other utensils, found one he liked, pulled out his wallet, paid, took the merchandise, and left. The poor farmer, of course, couldn’t do that. He, in all probability, found some reeds along the riverbank, picked them from the ground, brought them back home, and spend hours together with his wife weaving the pieces of reed together to form a simple, makeshift basket.
When the two bring their baskets of fruit to the Bet Ha’mikdash, the Kohen, representing Hashem, keeps the basket that the poor man spent hours making, but is not interested in the rich man’s basket, which he easily purchased from a local store. The simple reed basket prepared by the underprivileged farmer with the sweat of his brow, into which he invested a great deal of work and effort, is far more precious than the luxurious bowl purchased by the wealthy man.
G-d values not the final product, but the work and effort that we exert in the performance of Misvot. This work is truly a labor of love – effort that expresses our deep love for Hashem, and our passionate desire to fulfill His will. And so this is what G-d cherishes the most. As the Mishna in Pirkeh Abot (5:23) teaches, “Lefum Sa’ara Agra” – we are rewarded in accordance with the “Sa’ar,” the grueling work we put in. A Misva that was performed with pristine perfection, but that entailed no effort, is valued less by Hashem than a defective Misva which a person tried performing with all his might – because it is the effort that demonstrates the individual’s love and commitment.
I once saw an advertisement in a community publication by a catering service, promoting its readymade Shabbat food. The advertisement said: “Save yourself the hassle of cooking for Shabbat!” I do not approve of the message conveyed by this advertisement. Cooking for Shabbat is not a “hassle” that we should be trying to save ourselves from. It is a labor of love. It is an expression of one’s love for Shabbat, and, by extension, of Hashem.
As we enter the holiday season, let us remember this fundamental principle of religious life - that what matters most is the work we put in. We need to invest time, thought and effort into our Tefilot, into Teshuba, and into the holiday meals and all the Misvot associated with this time of year. We should feel fortunate and privileged to put in this work, and we should feel gratified over the effort we exert, regardless of the final outcome.