Parshas Ki Savo 5785
When I was a child, Thomas Jefferson was a hero, the founding father who had authored the Declaration of Independence and lent articulate voice to so many of the principles upon which the country was founded. Recently, that legacy has been called into question. Should we maintain such a generous view of someone who, on the one hand, wrote that “All men are created equal,” yet simultaneously owned slaves?
To some, this is just another frustrating example of cancel culture. To others, it is a refreshingly honest look back at a historical narrative we’ve been too quick to blindly accept. But either way, it underscores a point everyone can agree upon: Actions speak louder than words. Don’t just give lip-service to principles of morality; live by them.
Yet, what if the opposite had been true? If Jefferson had emancipated all his slaves, yet had never authored the words, “All men are created equal?” Would everyone now be content?
I hope not. Because as much as actions speak louder than words, in truth, they are not loud enough. The words themselves are still incredibly important.
Just as the first fruit on the tree makes an appearance, the farmer immediately wraps a ribbon around it, consecrating it for Hashem. Months later, similar fruits collected from each of his trees are delicately placed in a basket the farmer and begins the trip up to Yerushalayim. It’s an arduous journey, carefully balancing the basket on the back of his donkey over the three day trek, but he’s delighted. Every rocky step, every bead of sweat, every calloused fingertip is another expression of gratitude to Hashem for the bounty of his family’s farm.
Arriving at the Bais Hamikdash, he hands the Kohen the basket and then makes a proclamation: five pesukim describing the long, winding road the Jewish People have taken from the treachery of Lavan, through the oppression of Mitzrayim, to the glory of the current moment: the blessing of Jewish-grown produce upon holy soil.
The declaration is important. Not only as an additional expression of gratitude, the icing on the cake of months of activities already evincing his profound gratitude to Hashem, but because without it, apparently, this farmer would be cast as a total ingrate. When the pasuk (26:3) instructs the farmer “You shall say to [the Kohen],” prefacing the declaration that the farmer will make, Rashi explains “For you are not ungrateful.”
Really? If he keeps quiet, ungrateful? If he’s more of the reserved type, not one for declarations of a religious nature, his gratitude would be called into question? After dedicating the first fruits from their very inception, carefully monitoring their development, shlepping them up to Yerushalayim on rocky terrain under a blazing Israeli sun, all to present to Hashem in the Bais Hamikdash, an ingrate?
Apparently so. Because as much as actions speak louder than words, words must nevertheless be spoken. Of course you love your children. You work hard for them, clothe them, shelter them, shuttle them, bathe them, root for them at little league and display their artwork on the wall. Those actions bespeak the love you have for them in your heart. But they need to hear “I love you.” Your spouse needs to hear “I appreciate you.” Your friend needs to hear, “I’m in awe of you.”
Express those words without any actions to back them up? The words will ring hollow. But display the actions without speaking the words? Something is sorely missing. You can labor for days and weeks and months to express your hakaras hatov to another person, but those actions must be framed and labeled by words. “Thank you. I appreciate what you’ve done for me.”
Why is this so? There may simply the way our brains are wired that processes spoken words in a way that is even more profound than being doted on and given to. That we somehow just feel more loved, admired, or appreciated by hearing words that convey those sentiments than we would be if we are only the recipients of actions that intend to send the same message. That words are just magical.
But perhaps there is more, a consideration for the giver, not only the receiver. That when I act in a way that conveys gratitude or love, I am producing something that is an outward expression of my own creativity and talent. A basket of fruit, a dream vacation, a new treehouse. It is an object intended to acknowledge and highlight the recipient, but there is a whole lot of “me” in it. I built it, planned it, designed it. But with words, we surrender all that, and surrender more fully to the other person in turn. “Thank you,” states that I needed your assistance. “I love you,” states that my life would be incomplete without you. “I appreciate you,” means that I acknowledge something in you that I myself am lacking. All without reversing the spotlight: “And do you see these beautiful fruits I grew? And how I packed the basket? And how far I walked?” No me, just you.
While actions can speak louder than words—demonstrating that we’re willing to undertake the effort implied by the principles we profess—the words are still critical. They are an act of humility, of pure recognition of the contributions, merit, and value of the other, that even well-meaning actions simply cannot achieve on their own. Don’t just show Hashem you’re grateful, don’t just demonstrate your love for your family and friends. Be sure to say it out loud.