Remembrance and Narration: Ki Tavo.22

Remembrance and Narration: Ki Tavo.22

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

September 14, 2022

Our history isn’t only found in books. We make history. We write the pages that future generations will read and study.

This conclusion has become more apparent to me than ever these recent days, as I sit Shiva for my mother. (Shiva is the 7-day mourning period prescribed by Judaism as part of mourning for a close relative). 

It wasn’t my mother’s death that defined her—it was her life. As people gathered from near and far to comfort us mourners, the stories of her escape from the Nazis were repeated over and over. But even those events, huge as they were in her life, were almost dwarfed by what followed that horrific period of history. It wasn’t only that she survived and lived—it was the meaningful life she created afterwards. 

Everyone who gathered during the past few days and evenings expressed how they were touched by meeting or knowing her. My mother refused to be defined by hate or vengeance. Rather, she spread love and compassion. People somehow sensed the sadness that was there inside her, but they also felt uplifted by her refusal to give in to it. 

With love, determination and sheer will power, my mother created not only a new life for herself, but also helped raise a large family of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. It wasn’t only the kibbutz that she helped build—it was the State of Israel. What she did wasn’t only for her family, but also for the entire Jewish People.

My mother was barely 5 feet tall, yet she was a fountain of strength. Up until the last two months of her life, she refused to give up. She walked miles every day, greeting people with an indomitable smile. Strangers became friends; friends became family.

This is how you create a Nation.

In this week’s Torah portion, Ki Tavo (“When you enter the land,” Deuteronomy 26:1—29:8) we find one of the oldest historical formulas ever to define a people. As part of the ritual of bringing the first fruit of the season to the Priests at the Jerusalem Temple, the ancient Israelites were instructed to retell the story of their origin: “An Aramean [sought to] destroy my forefather, and he went down to Egypt and sojourned there with a small number of people, and there, he became a great, mighty and numerous nation” (Deut. 26:5). This narrative—repeated at every Passover Seder—reminds us to this day not only of our humble and tragic beginning, but also of our eventual triumph. 

It's a short and streamlined version of our history. Yet we know that it wasn’t that simple. The events that resulted in the Exodus and eventual settlement of the Land of Israel took decades to complete. The miracle of Israel’s survival wasn’t only the work of God; it was also the result of the love, dedication and hard work of Moses, Aaron and Miriam as they strove to unite the Israelites and define their identity and purpose. 

The 3600-year-long story of the Jewish People is filled with miracles. Our survival in itself is one huge miracle. But it also is the result of the tireless efforts of individuals like my mother and her fellow fighters and survivors—men and women who took it upon themselves to help defend, sustain and uplift their neighbors and friends. 

After the end of the Shoah, every year on November 29—a defining moment in their history-- surviving members of the partisan group that my mother was part of—the Nasha Groupa (“Our Group”) have been gathering to repeat and retell the stories of heroism and survival. This group—originally a few dozen men, women and children—now counts hundreds among its members. They now include second, third and fourth generation members. They are more than friends. There are binding ties there that today extend around the world. Yet their strength is far greater than merely in numbers. It comes from the lessons they learned and taught one another. Our purpose as a nation may be part of God’s message; our survival, however, is also a reflection of our own determination and dedication. It isn’t only about ourselves; it’s about our devotion to our traditions. It’s about the love we have for our family, friends and people. 

That is why this portion, Ki Tavo—“When you enter the land”—commands us to narrate the story of our survival. It reminds us of what it takes for a people to overcome all challenges, to outlive all its enemies. 

My mother’s legacy is apparent not only in the number of people who have been coming to comfort us, her survivors. It’s also in the lesson she has taught us. Through her life, my mother embodied—and continues to embody, beyond her own life and death—the history of the Jewish People. It’s a story that deserves and needs to be retold in every generation.

“When you enter the land…”

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman