The Hidden Challenge of Success: A Lesson From Parashat Ki Tavo

In stark contrast to the previous portion, Ki Teitzei, which deals with wars and difficult events, Ki Tavo begins with a peaceful, quiet scene. A person sits on his land in the Land of Israel. The trees have borne fruit. He goes down to the field, notices the first-ripened fig, and ties a reed around it.

At that moment, he might naturally want to sit beneath his vine and fig tree, rest, or spend time with his family. But precisely at this tranquil point, the Torah commands him to leave his home, go up to Jerusalem, place the first fruits of his soil before the altar, and retell his history: “My father was a wandering Aramean, and he went down to Egypt... The Egyptians mistreated us... We cried out to Hashem... Hashem took us out of Egypt... and brought us to this place.”

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch explains that Ki Tavo is built around one central question: What happens to individuals and to a nation after they succeed? How do they preserve an awareness of their purpose once they have land, homes, fields, harvests, thriving cities, and a functioning economy?

Remembering Where Everything Comes From

Rabbi Hirsch notes that the two mitzvot at the beginning of the portion—the declaration over the first fruits and the tithing declaration—effectively conclude the long section of mitzvot in the Book of Deuteronomy. In his view, this is no coincidence. Together, these two mitzvot connect two fundamental ideas: the historical memory of the Jewish people and the practical responsibility that follows from it. The first fruits remind a person where he came from, while the tithing declaration asks what he has done with what he received.

According to the Torah, the person bringing the first fruits must say: “Today I have declared to Hashem, your God, that I have come to the land.” Yet seemingly, he has not declared anything yet. He has simply arrived with his basket.

Rabbi Hirsch explains that a declaration does not always have to be spoken. Sometimes, an action itself makes the statement. The farmer’s very appearance at the Temple, holding the first of his harvest, declares that the land beneath his feet and the fruit growing from it are not things he takes for granted. Leaving his field, home, and family to bring the first fruits to Jerusalem is itself an expression of recognition and gratitude.

The Torah does not ask a person to reject material success. He may work, plant, prosper, and enjoy what he has built. But before enjoying the new harvest, he is asked to stop and recognize where his blessing ultimately comes from.

That is also why the declaration over the first fruits does not consist of a simple “thank You.” The farmer recounts an entire history, beginning with his ancestors, continuing through Egypt and slavery, and ending with the Exodus and arrival in the Land of Israel. His basket of figs and pomegranates is suddenly placed within a story stretching back centuries. His success did not begin with him.

Enjoy the Good—and Share It

The passage ends with a beautiful command: “You shall rejoice in all the good that Hashem, your God, has given you and your household—you, the Levite, and the stranger in your midst.”

Rabbi Hirsch explains that holiness does not require a person to distance himself from the good things in life. On the contrary, there is a place for enjoying and celebrating them. But the verse immediately includes the Levite and the stranger, reminding us that true joy cannot remain entirely focused on ourselves.

Immediately after the section on the first fruits comes the tithing declaration: “I have removed the sacred portion from the house, and I have also given it to the Levite, the stranger, the orphan, and the widow.”

Only then does the person ask Hashem to “look down from Your holy dwelling, from heaven, and bless Your people Israel.” Before asking for more blessing, he must account for what he has done with the blessing he already received.

The two passages therefore complete one another. The first fruits teach us to recognize the source of our abundance. The tithes teach us what to do with it.

What Happens When No One Is Watching?

From here, the Torah moves from the individual farmer to the covenant of the entire nation. At Mount Gerizim and Mount Eival, the Jewish people hear a series of transgressions whose perpetrators are declared “cursed.”

What is striking is the kind of behavior the Torah chooses to emphasize. Many of these are not obvious public crimes. They are things a person might believe he can get away with: misleading the blind, perverting the justice of the stranger, orphan, or widow, striking another person in secret, or taking a bribe.

A society can build courts, establish laws, and employ people to enforce them. But no human system can see everything a person does.

Rabbi Hirsch points to the verse, “Cursed is one who strikes his fellow in secret,” and cites Rashi’s explanation that this can also refer to slander. The victim may not even know who damaged his reputation, peace, or happiness. There may be no court capable of holding the person responsible. But being hidden from other people does not mean being hidden from Hashem.

The message goes even further with the verse, “Cursed is one who does not uphold the words of this Torah to carry them out.” Rabbi Hirsch explains that it is not enough simply to avoid doing wrong. A Torah society depends on people actively upholding its values rather than standing by indifferently while those values disappear.

When Abundance Becomes a Blessing

Only after this covenant does the Torah describe the famous blessings: “Blessed are you in the city, and blessed are you in the field. Blessed is the fruit of your womb and the fruit of your land... Blessed is your basket and your kneading bowl.”

Interestingly, the city is mentioned before the field. At first glance, we might expect the opposite, since the field produces the food that sustains the city. Rabbi Hirsch sees a deeper message in this order. When family and social life are built on morality, justice, and responsibility toward others, the abundance produced by the field can truly become a blessing.

Material success alone cannot create a healthy society. It is the values of that society that determine what its prosperity ultimately becomes.

This gives new meaning to one of the best-known verses in the rebuke: “Because you did not serve Hashem, your God, with joy and gladness of heart, amid an abundance of everything.”

The verse is often understood as a warning against serving Hashem without joy. But Rabbi Hirsch also draws attention to the words “amid an abundance of everything.” The problem is not simply a lack of happiness while performing mitzvot. It is receiving tremendous abundance and failing to turn that blessing into gratitude, joy, and service of Hashem.

This brings us directly back to the beginning of Ki Tavo: “You shall rejoice in all the good that Hashem, your God, has given you.”

At the beginning of the portion, a person stands with his first fruits and learns how to enjoy what he has while remembering where it came from and sharing it with others. Later, we see the opposite possibility: a person can have “an abundance of everything” and still forget the Giver and the purpose behind what he has received.

The Challenge of Having Everything

At the end of Ki Tavo, Moses tells the Jewish people: “But Hashem did not give you a heart to know, eyes to see, or ears to hear until this day.”

The generation standing in the plains of Moab has lived through 40 years in the wilderness. Now, everything is about to change. Their challenges will no longer center on manna falling from heaven or water emerging from a rock. Soon they will have private fields, homes, property, cities, businesses, and abundance.

And perhaps that is the deeper message running through Ki Tavo. The challenge is not only how we respond when life is difficult. It is also what we do when life is good.

Do we remember where we came from? Do we recognize where our blessings come from? Do we share what we have with others? Do we maintain our values when no one is watching? And can we enjoy everything we have without allowing it to make us forget the One who gave it to us?

Ki Tavo begins with one piece of fruit in a farmer’s hand and ends with an entire nation preparing for a life of abundance. The message connecting the two is simple but powerful: Success itself is not the destination. What matters is what we choose to do with it.