The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us; they imposed heavy labor upon us. (Deuteronomy 26:6)
And oppressed us. They forced us to perform labor that brought them no benefit, but purely for the purpose of afflicting us. (Ha’Amek Davar)
And if you make for Me an altar of stones, do not build it of hewn stones; for by wielding your tool upon them you have profaned them. (Exodus 20:22)
You must build the altar of your God the Lord of unhewn stones. You shall offer on it burnt offerings to your God the Lord (Deuteronomy 27:6)
“And if an altar of stones you make for Me...” This is mandatory. You say it is mandatory, but perhaps it is optional, for it is written (Deuteronomy 27:6) “Of whole stones shall you build the altar of the Lord.” It is mandatory and not optional [to build an altar]. And what is the intent of “if an altar of stones”? If he wishes to build it of stones, he may do so. If he wishes to build it of bricks, he may do so. (Mekhilta DeRabbi Yishmael, Tractate Bachodesh 11:13)
Parashat Ki Tavo is most commonly known as the Torah reading of blessings and curses. This familiar frame casts the covenant as a quid pro quo: blessings for those who comply, curses for those who deviate. But the Ki Tavo begins by describing the first fruits offering, a gratitude practice that is about celebrating freedom and telling the Passover story. The script recited during the offering of the first fruits (bikkurim) provides the original kernel of the Passover Haggadah. How do we go from a scene of gratitude and joy to a forewarning of punishment and catastrophe for the wayward? To answer this question we need to understand the essence of labor in Egypt vs. Israel.
We might think that the worst part of Israelite bondage was the back breaking labor, and the exploitation, but it was just as much if not more so, the meaninglessness of the work. The Israelites lacked a sense of “why” anything they did mattered. You could interpret this to mean that they lacked an appreciation for the pyramids and why they should exist, or a more alarming possibility, suggested by Ha’Amek Davar: their labor was pure busy-work, amounting to no real aim whatsoever. This is slavery. Work for the sake of work. Work to check a box. Work to please a taskmaster. Total cynicism. Complete disassociation.
During the recitation of the blessing over the first fruits, the Israelites remind themselves of what work used to involve so as to cultivate gratitude for their current work, by contrast. The work in the land is purposive. Agricultural work aims at the end of nutrition. Religious work aims at the end of deeper commitment, motivation, and spiritual connection. This work is also hard, as it was in Egypt, but morale is high, because everyone wants to do the work. Carving large stones and writing on them is a monumental project, but it’s own that involves a sense of ownership, comprehension, and buy-in. Not so, the brick-laying in Egypt. The joy of the first fruits is a joy not only in harvest and abundance, but in having meaningful work. Work is not a curse; it’s a religious obligation (“6 days shall you work”). Meaningless work is a curse.
This is the set-up for the litany of curses: when the covenant is meaningless, it becomes a curse. When the covenant is meaningful, it becomes a blessing. When one takes the covenant lightly, one risks turning it into a curse. The covenant doesn’t become a curse overnight, it becomes a curse from neglect and stagnation. The only way to maintain one’s connection to God is to grow in one’s connection to God. The punishments externalize and dramatize the idea made explicit in Pirkei Avot that a commandment is its own reward and a transgression its own punishment. Making work meaningful takes work. Stop that meta-work, and one may find oneself back in Egypt.
The Midrash points to a potential contradiction between two verses that both speak about an altar made of unhewn stones, one in Exodus and one in Deuteronomy. The Exodus verse suggests the stone altar is optional, the Deuteronomy one that it’s required. The reconciliation: a stone altar is optional, but an altar is not optional. If the altar is made of stones, it must be made of unhewn ones. This reading may be anachronistic but suggests a psychological insight. Egypt is known as the place of bricks. Thus, one might associate stones with liberation, a new project. But don’t be so quick to write off bricks or praise stones; the significance of the altar is not a function of the material. Bricks can be deployed to sacred ends; stones can also be used in the construction of buildings to nowhere.
The Midrash also captures another aspect of meaningful work: autonomy about the means, alignment around the ends. The people and God agree that the goal is connection, commitment, sacrifice; but God is not a micro-manager in this instance. No, God is not always in “founder mode.” If the people want to use bricks, they have the prerogative. Over-focus on ancillary means elevates the status of the trivial and sews confusion and disempowerment. Embedded here is advice for how to ensure the covenant becomes a source of direction and accountability without becoming a source of oppression and absurdism. People leave religion—and Abraham challenged the religion of his own time—because they find it baffling; lacking an understanding of the ends, and finding an over-emphasis on the means, they see religion as oppression. The Israelite religion needs to be protected from this outcome, and the key to doing so is offered in the ritual of bikkurim, which is an act of ascribing meaning and intentionality to work. When we take ownership over our own religious lives, rather than see the covenant as a form of “command and control” we are blessed. Then we fulfill the words of the psalmist:
One thing I ask of the Lord, this I seek: To dwell in the Lord's house all the days of my life, To gaze on the Lord's beauty, to visit God’s temple. (Psalm 27:4)