This week, forty-one years ago, my wife and I established our home in Israel, and our family's journey began.
Our eldest daughter married at a very young age. At the engagement celebration we held in our home, I quoted a song that seemed to play endlessly on the radio in those days:
“Our little girl, how we've missed you,
Wait a little longer, my little girl,
Before you grow up.”
I caught a bit of flak for that. People explained that I wasn't losing a daughter—I was gaining a son. And that is absolutely true. But the heart and its emotions do not always follow logic. The sadness we feel when our fledglings leave the nest is challenging with every child and at every age, but the first time leaves a particularly deep mark.
The theme of the firstborn and the first fruits appears again and again in Parashat Re'eh, a portion composed largely of laws and commandments that closely resemble the covenantal laws of Sinai in the Book of Exodus. The guiding principle behind dedicating to God every first fruit, every firstborn child, and every firstborn of both humans and animals is gratitude. It reflects the understanding that success is not ours alone, and that we ought to give thanks for what we have, for our achievements, and for the path that brought us here. Gratitude to God, to the universe, to the people we met along the way who helped us, whether greatly or modestly—gratitude for everything.
By dedicating the firstborn and the first fruits, we remind ourselves that success has many partners. This protects us from excessive pride and hubris.
Gratitude is especially important in difficult times, and especially for those whose work consists of identifying injustice and striving to repair it. Constantly focusing on what is broken can lead to despair and cause us to lose the generous eye through which we view our lives.
Regularly practicing gratitude trains us to notice the many blessings in our lives; blessings that far outweigh what is lacking or broken.
The firstborn and the first fruits also symbolize hope. Until now, there was only potential; now there is fruit. A first daughter or son is a sign that we are leaving behind a legacy—that there will be continuity for our family, our heritage, and our tradition. They are our opportunity to do things better and more faithfully: to raise children according to the values we believe in, and to give them what we ourselves longed for but did not always receive.
Children and first fruits are our hope for the future. They are an invitation to optimism, because we have no doubt that they will do it far better than we did.
Generation (Dor)* Ehud Manor
The next generation sleeps in the room next door;
I hear its breathing.
The next generation dreams in the room next door,
Murmuring its fears in sleep.
I want to go to it
And hold it tightly,
But then another thought stops me—
I was mistaken; it will be right.
Generation, generation,
Do not shatter your dream as I did mine.
Generation, generation,
Do not sell your world away.
Open your eyes,
But do not forget
All that you long for now.
Reach out your hands,
But do not trust
Those who call out in vain.
Do not be silent—stand before me.
Do not rely on my generation!
The next generation knows well the difference between good and evil,
And possesses a deeply developed sense of justice.
The next generation clearly sees what has happened,
And does not hide its feelings.
I want to tell it, “Enough already,
The world carries a heavy burden.”
But then another thought stops me -
It is still so pure; I no longer am.
*Dor, the Hebrew name for “generation” is also a common name in Israel, and the name of the firstborn of the artist performing that song.
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Rabbi Gabi Barzilai is a graduate of the Beit Midrash for Israeli Rabbis. He studies and teaches Bible and commentaries, Jewish cultural renewal, and Israeli songs. He is a traveller and tour guide, and is active in Jewish renewal organizations. He is a graduate of Bar-Ilan University, holding a PhD in ancient biblical interpretation. He volunteers with social initiatives such as Shoval (Education for Tolerance in the Religious Community). He lives in Mercaz Shapira, is married to Esterke, and is a father of five and grandfather of nine - so far!
Our eldest daughter married at a very young age. At the engagement celebration we held in our home, I quoted a song that seemed to play endlessly on the radio in those days:
“Our little girl, how we've missed you,
Wait a little longer, my little girl,
Before you grow up.”
I caught a bit of flak for that. People explained that I wasn't losing a daughter—I was gaining a son. And that is absolutely true. But the heart and its emotions do not always follow logic. The sadness we feel when our fledglings leave the nest is challenging with every child and at every age, but the first time leaves a particularly deep mark.
The theme of the firstborn and the first fruits appears again and again in Parashat Re'eh, a portion composed largely of laws and commandments that closely resemble the covenantal laws of Sinai in the Book of Exodus. The guiding principle behind dedicating to God every first fruit, every firstborn child, and every firstborn of both humans and animals is gratitude. It reflects the understanding that success is not ours alone, and that we ought to give thanks for what we have, for our achievements, and for the path that brought us here. Gratitude to God, to the universe, to the people we met along the way who helped us, whether greatly or modestly—gratitude for everything.
By dedicating the firstborn and the first fruits, we remind ourselves that success has many partners. This protects us from excessive pride and hubris.
Gratitude is especially important in difficult times, and especially for those whose work consists of identifying injustice and striving to repair it. Constantly focusing on what is broken can lead to despair and cause us to lose the generous eye through which we view our lives.
Regularly practicing gratitude trains us to notice the many blessings in our lives; blessings that far outweigh what is lacking or broken.
The firstborn and the first fruits also symbolize hope. Until now, there was only potential; now there is fruit. A first daughter or son is a sign that we are leaving behind a legacy—that there will be continuity for our family, our heritage, and our tradition. They are our opportunity to do things better and more faithfully: to raise children according to the values we believe in, and to give them what we ourselves longed for but did not always receive.
Children and first fruits are our hope for the future. They are an invitation to optimism, because we have no doubt that they will do it far better than we did.
Generation (Dor)* Ehud Manor
The next generation sleeps in the room next door;
I hear its breathing.
The next generation dreams in the room next door,
Murmuring its fears in sleep.
I want to go to it
And hold it tightly,
But then another thought stops me—
I was mistaken; it will be right.
Generation, generation,
Do not shatter your dream as I did mine.
Generation, generation,
Do not sell your world away.
Open your eyes,
But do not forget
All that you long for now.
Reach out your hands,
But do not trust
Those who call out in vain.
Do not be silent—stand before me.
Do not rely on my generation!
The next generation knows well the difference between good and evil,
And possesses a deeply developed sense of justice.
The next generation clearly sees what has happened,
And does not hide its feelings.
I want to tell it, “Enough already,
The world carries a heavy burden.”
But then another thought stops me -
It is still so pure; I no longer am.
*Dor, the Hebrew name for “generation” is also a common name in Israel, and the name of the firstborn of the artist performing that song.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rabbi Gabi Barzilai is a graduate of the Beit Midrash for Israeli Rabbis. He studies and teaches Bible and commentaries, Jewish cultural renewal, and Israeli songs. He is a traveller and tour guide, and is active in Jewish renewal organizations. He is a graduate of Bar-Ilan University, holding a PhD in ancient biblical interpretation. He volunteers with social initiatives such as Shoval (Education for Tolerance in the Religious Community). He lives in Mercaz Shapira, is married to Esterke, and is a father of five and grandfather of nine - so far!