The Boat That Saves Us - Ki Tabo

Ki Tavo el ha’aretz… — When you come to the Land… (Devarim 26:1).

This week’s parashah begins with a mitzvah of gratitude: bringing the first fruits to the Beit HaMikdash. For us, it also stirs deep gratitude — that so many of our children and grandchildren are already settled in Eretz Yisrael. Baruch Hashem, the dream of two thousand years has become their daily life.

And yet, alongside the joy is a touch of sadness. FaceTime is nice, but it doesn’t replace a hug. And I each morning, I see Shimon’s face in my mind’s eye — my guiding angel. 

And when my friend Abie, following Irving and family’s Aliyah, joined the “commuting to visit the grandchildren club,” I smiled. Because every trip, every hug, every birthday, is a reminder: our destiny is there. May we all one day “commute” permanently.

Reading through my parsha notes for Ki Tabo, i had to pause and acknowledge again the loss of Rabbi Berel Wein זצ״ל — a teacher to so many of us. 

His voice shaped a generation. His perspective was unique, his humor sharp, and his weaving of Torah with Jewish history one of a kind. For many of us, his cassette tapes — yes, those plastic rectangles we wore out in our car stereos - from the Destiny Foundation, were for years, our daily Torah.

Act I – Fairy Tales in the Talmud

Rabbi Wein had a gift for turning even the strangest aggadah into a mirror of Jewish history. Take Bava Batra 73b, where Rabba bar bar Ḥana describes a ship that landed on what seemed like an island. Grass grew on it. They lit a fire. But it was a fish’s back! The fire burned, the fish flipped, and only the nearby boat saved them from drowning.

Rabbi Wein would say: this is not a fairy tale. This is our history. We Jews convince ourselves we are on solid ground. We build, we invest, we imagine permanence. But in reality? We are standing on the back of a fish. One shift, one fire, and we’re tossed into the sea. The only salvation is the boat — the Torah, the mitzvot, the covenant with Hashem.

Act II – Beams and Guarantees

He once told of his Monsey years, building a new synagogue. Canadian beams came with an 80-year guarantee. Someone pointed out Finnish beams with a 300-year guarantee. Rabbi Wein asked: Are we planning for 300 years in exile?

This wasn’t a joke. He remembered Detroit: Jews built a synagogue, then moved. Built another, then moved. Each time, they sold the old building to a church. At one point, the pastor asked to join their building committee — since eventually, he’d be buying their next synagogue too!

That was Rabbi Wein’s sharp eye: we think we are building on bedrock. In truth, history proves otherwise.

Act III – The Human Parallel

One Yom Kippur in his Jerusalem shul, a beloved chazan faltered. A diabetic reaction left him unable to continue selichot. He sat down, they gave him something to drink. He was shaken. Rabbi Wein reflected: that’s life. One small imbalance, and a man collapses. We are so fragile.

Look at fortunes built in gold and oil, fortunes gone in a generation. Look at empires — Rome, Spain, Germany — each thought eternal, each flipped over like Rabba bar bar Ḥana’s fish.

And so he would hammer it in: The only thing that lasts is the boat. The boat is Torah. The boat is mitzvot. The boat is kindness. The boat is Hashem’s truth.

Act IV – Ki Tavo and the Land

Now return to our parashah. Ki tavo el ha’aretz… “When you come into the Land.” The mitzvah of bikkurim is not only gratitude for fruit; it is gratitude for permanence. Unlike the exile, this land is not a fish. It is a promise.

Yet to the world, Israel looks like the most unstable “island” on earth — surrounded by hostility, tiny, fragile. But Rabbi Wein would remind us: this is Hashem’s boat. It may look shaky, but it is the one place guaranteed by prophecy, covenant, and eternity.

Act V – The One Request

As Rosh Hashanah approaches, we arrive with lists. Health, livelihood, success, peace. But let me ask you: if you could only request one thing, what would it be?

Rabba bar bar Ḥana gave us the answer: Stay in the boat. That’s it. If we and our children are in the boat, anchored in Torah and mitzvot, connected to Hashem, we are safe.

That boat is our synagogue, our family table, our little slice of Yerushalayim, our bond across generations. Whether shopping in Machane Yehuda to fill a fridge in Jerusalem or singing Adon Olam with a three-year-old sabra in Tel Aviv — that is permanence.

Closing – Rabbi Wein’s Legacy

Rabbi Wein once said that history is Hashem’s way of showing us the patterns we refuse to see. Exile is a fish. Israel is the boat.

So in his memory, let’s live his message. Don’t trust the guarantees of 300-year beams in exile. Trust the covenant that has already lasted 3,000 years.

“וְשָׂמַחְתָּ בְּכָל־הַטּוֹב אֲשֶׁר נָתַן לְךָ ה׳ אֱלֹהֶיךָ וּלְבֵיתֶךָ אַתָּה וְהַלֵּוִי וְהַגֵּר אֲשֶׁר בְּקִרְבֶּךָ”

“Then you shall rejoice in all the good which Hashem your God has given you, and your household — you, the Levite, and the stranger in your midst.”

Amen.

David