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Ki Tavo
Deut. 26:1-29:8
Isaiah 60:1-60:22

Sometimes the mountain
is hidden from me in veils
of cloud, sometimes
I am hidden from the mountain
in veils of inattention, apathy, fatigue,
when I forget or refuse to go
down to the shore or a few yards
up the road, on a clear day,
to reconfirm
the witnessing presence.
-Denise Levertov, "Witness" (1992)

Mt. Rainier, the highest peak in the Cascade Range, is a majestic presence in the northwest landscape, glittering white and brilliant on a clear day, towering over everything else on the horizon. Its volcanic summit is encased in snow and ice; its slopes are sub-alpine meadows carpeted with wildflowers in summertime.

When the wife of 19th century explorer James Longmire first saw the view, legend has it that she cried, "This must be what paradise is like!" The poet Denise Levertov spent the last years of her life near Lake Washington, in the shadow of Rainier. Before her death from lymphoma in 1997, she reflected on what it means to live in proximity to a spectacular vista that is often shrouded in clouds and fog.

This week we encounter the parashah Ki Tavo, the portion that prepares the Israelites for a settled existence in the place they have been seeking for 40 years. Camped on the plains of Moab, the desert wanderers are tantalized by images of a fertile land and the rich and delicious fruits they will harvest from its soil.

Moses instructs them to bring an offering to the sanctuary, where they will make a ritual declaration of gratitude, and then to share the harvest with those who are in need: "And you shall celebrate, together with the Levite and the stranger in your midst, all the bounty that Adonai your God has given to you and your household." (Deut. 26:11)

Deuteronomy focuses here, as throughout the book, on the ritual's impact on the individual rather than its effect upon God. The ceremonial meal in a sacred place induces joy; its purpose is to uplift the Israelites and make them conscious of God's goodness. In years of scarcity and years of plenty, the ritual is the same: It is a spiritual exercise that teaches the soul to celebrate life.

While still in the desert, the Israelites prepare for what it will mean to live amid abundance. Prosperity induces a sense of entitlement; even paradise can become routine. The discipline of gratitude makes demands on perception and imagination. The farmers are commanded to sharpen their awareness of the miracle of harvest, to open their eyes to the mystery of blessings sprouting from the soil. Even in years of deprivation and drought — especially in years when there is little to gather in — they are instructed to summon forth reservoirs of joy.

We read Ki Tavo as the new year approaches, calling us to enter its precincts with festivity and joy. With each passing year, it gets harder to celebrate these beginnings and to muster the necessary resources of energy and hope. There is too much misery spread before us in the headlines, there are too many losses piling up in our personal life, to greet another year with easy optimism. Because celebration does not arise spontaneously, we are given the mitzvah of hakarat ha tov — the obligation to recognize the good, to search out goodness in seasons when it is hard to find, and to testify to its reality.

Sometimes the mountain is hidden from us; sometimes we are hidden from the mountain. Illness, depression and misfortune darken our horizon and conceal what is beautiful from our sight. Fatigue, indifference and immersion in routine cloud our vision and narrow our outlook on the world. Yet an attentive mind and a grateful spirit can still catch glimpses of the spectacular summit.

So the Israelites were taught to enter the new land with eyes attuned to blessings; so we Jews are reminded to enter the new year as witnessing presences, celebrating the splendors of this world.




Rabbi Janet Marder is the spiritual leader at Reform Congregation Beth Am in Los Altos Hills.

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