Thoughts on Parashat Ki Teitzei, 5785
Parashat Ki Teitzei, a portion rich with mitzvot that guides us toward a life of compassion, justice, and holiness. Among these is the mitzvah of leket, found in Deuteronomy 24:19, which reads: “When you reap your harvest in your field and forget a sheaf in the field, you shall not go back to take it; it shall be for the stranger, the orphan, and the widow, so that the Lord your God may bless you in all the work of your hands.” This verse speaks of a simple yet profound act: leaving behind what we might claim for ourselves—forgotten sheaves of grain—for the most vulnerable in society: the ger (stranger), the yatom (orphan), and the almanah (widow). Leket is not about giving from excess or charity born of pity; it’s about restraint, humility, and recognizing that what we “own” is never fully ours. It is ‘imprinted’ in the Hebrew language which doesn’t have the verb ‘to have’ or ‘to own’ something – everything we own IS given to us. The Torah commands us to let go, to leave room for others to thrive, and in doing so, we invite God’s blessing into our lives.
In the context of our Polish-Jewish community, this mitzvah resonates deeply. Poland’s Jewish history is a tapestry of resilience, creativity, and faith, woven through centuries of challenge and triumph. Yet, we cannot ignore the shadow of antisemitism that still persists today—not only here in Poland but across the West. Recent years have seen a rise in hateful rhetoric, vandalism, and even violence against Jewish communities. In Poland, while significant progress has been made, we still encounter stereotypes and acts of intolerance that wound our sense of belonging. But on the other hand, in terms of statistics – direct acts of persecution and antisemitic violence – Poland seems to be one of the safest countries for Jews in Europe now. Whether we think it’s accurate or not, the mitzvah of leket offers us a lens to respond—not with despair, but with purpose.
The Mitzvah of leket teaches us to see the “stranger” not as a threat, but as a neighbor deserving of dignity. This should be absolutely applied to every stranger that came to the country legally, with good intentions to build life together and without prior, criminal record. In terms of those who are in need, the Torah could have simply said, “Give to the poor.” Instead, it instructs us to leave the sheaf behind, allowing the vulnerable to gather it themselves with agency and pride. This is a radical act of inclusion. It challenges us to create spaces where everyone—regardless of background—can participate in society’s bounty. In a world where antisemitism seeks to exclude and dehumanize, leket calls us to build bridges of empathy and justice.
Let’s consider the historical context of this mitzvah. In ancient Israel, the economy was agrarian, and leaving grain in the fields was a tangible sacrifice. For us today, leket might mean leaving room in our hearts and communities for those who feel rejected or marginalized. It means advocating for actions that uplift these people, including our own Jewish community, and fostering dialogue to combat prejudice. In Poland, where Jewish revival has been blossoming in recent decades—through festivals, museums, and renewed interest in our heritage—we can embody leket by inviting others, including those who think about themselves as the majority, to learn about our culture, to share in our story, and to see us not as “other” but as partners in building a better society.
The verse ends with a promise: “so that the Lord your God may bless you in all the work of your hands.” This blessing is not just material; it’s spiritual. When we practice leket, we align ourselves with God’s vision of a world where no one is left behind. In the face of antisemitism, this mitzvah reminds us to hold fast to our values—compassion, generosity, and resilience—rather than retreating into fear or isolation.
As Polish Jews, we carry a unique legacy. Our ancestors faced unimaginable hardships, yet they preserved our traditions with courage. Today, we honor them by living out the mitzvah of leket: by leaving space for others, by educating ‘the majority’, and by building a Poland where all can flourish. Let us commit to this work, trusting that God’s blessing will guide us.
May we leave behind sheaves of kindness, understanding, and hope—not only for the stranger, the orphan, and the widow, but for all who seek a world of justice and peace, no matter their history or identity.
Shabbat Shalom.
Rabbi Mirski
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