Weekly Dvar Torah: Sweat Now, Sweetness Later
The two Parshiyos of Behar and Bechukosai present a fascinating contrast. On one hand, they speak about labor, struggle, warnings, consequences, exile, and hardship. On the other hand, they speak about blessing, growth, abundance, empowerment, and infinite goodness. At first glance, the ideas seem almost contradictory. But perhaps the deeper message of these Parshiyos is precisely that the struggle itself is the planting ground for the sweetness that will eventually emerge.
The Torah begins by speaking about the blessings of the land of Israel. Most of the Mitzvos of the Torah are connected specifically to the land, and when the Jewish people live in the land and follow Hashem’s will, the Torah promises blessing in the work of the soil, in the seeding and planting of the earth.
But there are two very different forms of growth.
There is seeding grain, where a small seed produces enormous quantities of food. The final product resembles the original seed, but the blessing lies in the massive increase. Yet grain requires tremendous labor afterward. It must be ground, kneaded, baked, and processed before it becomes nourishing bread.
Then there is planting a tree. A tiny seed disappears into the earth for years, and eventually emerges as a majestic tree producing beautiful, sweet fruit. The fruit bears no resemblance to the seed that produced it. And unlike grain, the fruit is immediately enjoyable; it can simply be picked and savored.
These two forms of growth are also two forms of Jewish life.
There are souls whose mission is constant labor, sweat, refinement, and effort. They build the world brick by brick, one action at a time. Then there are rare souls that emerge like sweet fruit, souls whose very presence illuminates and sweetens the world. But even the sweetness of the fruit begins with a seed buried in darkness beneath the soil.
And perhaps this becomes the key to understanding the frightening section of Bechukotai, the section of rebuke and curses that the Torah later reads.
The custom is that no one is formally called up for that Aliyah, because nobody wishes to be associated with the curses. Yet Chassidus reveals an astonishing perspective. The story is told that when the Mitteler Rebbe once heard the curses read publicly, he became physically ill. When people asked him why this year affected him so deeply although he had heard the same words many times before, he answered: “This year I heard them from someone else. All other years, when my father, the Alter Rebbe, read them, I heard no curses at all.”
“When a father reads, you hear no punishments; they are all blessings.”
The same words can sound harsh or comforting depending on how deeply one recognizes the voice behind them.
Kabbalah explains that there are two forms of Divine kindness: revealed kindness and hidden kindness. Revealed kindness comes down in a form we can immediately recognize and appreciate as good. Hidden kindness, however, originates from an even higher and deeper place in Heaven, from such an intense level of goodness that it cannot descend into this finite world in an open and comfortable form. If it would appear openly, mortal human beings would be incapable of containing its overwhelming intensity. Therefore, these loftier blessings become enclothed within difficulty, challenge, and even suffering. On the outside they appear harsh and frightening, but beneath the external garment lies an infinitely deeper goodness waiting to be uncovered.
Ordinary stones lie everywhere on the surface of the earth. Diamonds and gold are buried deep underground. The miner descends into darkness, danger, pressure, and exhaustion, but when he emerges he carries treasures beyond imagination.
Two people may climb the same mountain carrying equally heavy loads. One complains bitterly while the other dances. Why? Because one carries rocks while the other carries diamonds.
This is the revolutionary understanding that Chassidus brings to Bechukosai.
The sentence אִם בְּחֻקֹּתַי תֵּלֵכוּ is usually translated: “If you will follow My laws.” But the Chassidic masters read the words very differently.
The word אִם does not merely mean “if”; it means “please.” Hashem is not threatening; He is pleading lovingly with His children.
The word בְּחֻקֹּתַי means not merely laws, but engraved laws — something carved so deeply into the soul that it can never truly be separated from the person.
The word תֵּלֵכוּ means “you shall go,” “you shall move,” “you shall grow.” A Jew is never meant to remain stationary.
Suddenly the Parsha changes entirely. It is no longer merely a conditional contract of reward and punishment. It becomes empowerment. Hashem is telling the Jew: Please reveal the infinite engraving already implanted within you. Become a mover. Grow beyond your limitations.
And then even the curses begin to transform.
The Gemara tells the remarkable story of how Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai sent his son, Rabbi Elazar bar Shimon, to receive blessings from the sages Rabbi Yonasan ben Asmai and Rabbi Yehuda ben Geirim. Instead of giving ordinary blessings, they told him: “You should sow and not reap, you should bring in and not take out, you should take out and not bring in, your house should be destroyed and you should dwell in a temporary home, your table should be confused, and you should not see a new year.”
Rabbi Elazar returned home shaken and distressed. “Father,” he cried, “instead of blessing me, they cursed me!”
But Rashbi smiled and explained every phrase. “You should sow and not reap” means you should have children who will live and not die. “You should bring in and not take out” means your sons will marry wives who will remain in the family because your sons will live long lives. “You should take out and not bring in” means your daughters will marry and never have to return home widowed. “Your house should be destroyed and you should dwell in a temporary home” means you will merit long life in this temporary world before entering the eternal World to Come. “Your table should be confused” means your home will be overflowing with children and grandchildren creating noise, commotion, and joyous chaos around the table. And “you should not see a new year” means your wife will live long and you will never need to remarry and begin a painful “new year” with another wife.
What sounded like curses were, in truth, the deepest blessings imaginable — blessings so profound they could only arrive disguised.
The words sounded frightening, but beneath them lay love and blessings.
How often has Jewish history itself reflected this mystery? Even in difficult periods, hidden treasures emerged. During the terrible Corona epidemic, people later spoke nostalgically about the unity, kindness, prayer, volunteerism, Torah classes, and care for one another that suddenly blossomed during those dark months. And how can we forget the 15 million dollars raised for Hatzalah in just 24 hours.
Communities discovered strengths they never knew they possessed. Hidden diamonds surfaced from beneath crushing pressure.
This does not mean pain stops hurting. A child still cries when his father pulls him away from danger. But with maturity comes the realization that the father’s actions came from love all along.
And perhaps this is why immediately after finishing these difficult Parshiyos, we proclaim together: חזק חזק ונתחזק — “Be strong, be strong, and we shall strengthen one another.”
Not because life is easy. Not because every question has been answered. But because after hearing the deeper voice beneath the words, after realizing that even the hidden seeds buried in darkness are preparing sweetness beyond imagination, we march forward strengthened and empowered.
We are still planting. We are still sweating. We are still grinding the grain of history. But the Torah promises that eventually the fruits will emerge in all their sweetness.
So let us cherish every moment of the labor now, because the harvest is closer than we think. The seeds buried in darkness are already growing into trees bearing the sweetest fruits of redemption.
Pass that sweet apple, please.
Have a Sumptuous Festive Shabbos,
Gut Shabbos
Rabbi Yosef Katzman
